#their jobs rarely overlap like. at all.

[isaacathom]

i gotta sit down at some point and figure out how all the members of the crew relate to eachother because ive figured out a lot of the extremes (the duos who are very close, the duos who hate each other) and that leaves a fuck ton of middle ground of just like. zayvia and gideon sitting at opposite ends of the common room doing their own shit. zayvia's quietly doing embroidery, gideons got the tv on watching smth, and literally noone says a damn fucking thing. if pressed to make a statement they would both say 'well, i guess we're friends?'

[elodieunderglass]

You put that info dump about jockeys in the tags of the info dump post, but oh my stars do I need you to write an actual post about it if you have the time! Or if you've already done that, point me in the direction of where I can find it, because dude, am I invested now!!!!

Oh I can go on about jockeys forever. Let’s do a crash (ha) course while dressing my jockey OC, Killie. Killie is an Irish-British racing jockey over the flat AND jumps, operating in the UK.

NOTE TW below the cut for injuries, weight talk and references to disordered eating, because, regrettably: professional horse jockeys. Infuriating people.

We start with Killie’s fairly battered and frankly very tiny body. At 4’10” Killie is comfortably at the bottom range of jockeys, who usually range from 4’10 to 5’7”. There’s no height limit; there is a weight limit. A naturally small man at about 118 lbs of fairly fit racing weight, Killie is in condition to race on the flat in the UK without too much starvation, dehydration, and substance abuse those are just his hobbies. Jockeys and their gear are weighed before and after each race. Weight limits for jockeys include their body, personal gear, riding gear and safety equipment.

Flat jockeys - who race horses on a plain circular track, like the Kentucky Derby - must be lighter and smaller than jump jockeys. In the USA, flat jockeys tend to be about 118 lbs, the weight of a potential Kentucky Derby competitor. In the UK, flat jockeys and their gear can now go up to 142 lbs, thanks to increased welfare standards; this includes the 3lb allowance for the body protector that UK jockeys must wear as of 2018, and, as of 2013, Flat jockeys in the UK can now have an additional 1 lb of allowance for warm clothing in winter.

Jump jockeys, who race in steeplechases (USA) like the Grand National (UK) aka races with jumps - are allowed to be slightly heavier, and often taller with it, as their sport requires even more strength and stamina.

Jockeys have to be able to maintain ~118 lbs of very fit, fighting-quality muscle, every day of the week. Thus, most jockeys are short, averaging 5’2” in a sport dominated by men, because that’s the cost of packing on enough muscle for the required strength/stamina. add in excellent horsemanship, high pain tolerance, lack of natural fear/truly bonkers physical courage, the ability to go for days without food and other pleasures of life, an ongoing commitment to fitness, excellent mental arithmetic/timekeeping skills, and the ability to tolerate abysmal working conditions, to understand why most short people aren’t immediately natural jockeys. Taller jockeys are becoming ever more common, as the conditions that shaped the historically legendary small jockeys (enslavement/slaver starvation, concentration camps/Nazi starvation, birth complication/premature birth, bad nutrition) are thankfully becoming far less common. This is in turn driving pushes towards higher weight limits, which can only be a good thing.

Why aren’t jockeys all little people? Because it isn’t just about being small - it’s more important to be light and strong. Jockeys generally don’t have medical conditions underpinning their size, and are not generally considered part of the little people community, although their size may overlap with little people. It’s important to repeat that the working conditions of jockeys are still bad; they're a loose collection of freelancers who very rarely become contractors, they don’t bargain collectively, have nominal professional associations, and have 500 years of absurdly feudal working conditions to battle. Little people who are motivated to handle horses could have a comparable time - and genuine union protection! and fans! and visibility! and benefits! and safety coordinators! and less substance abuse! And clothing! - by working as stunt actors. Jockeys just have a shitty job, so when we ask why marginalised people don’t dominate the field, we have to look at working conditions.

Why don’t more women (who tend to be a bit smaller statistically) go into racing? Some of it is historical sexism, but again, the working conditions. Female jockeys have raced throughout history, and are active today. Men and women compete equally in horse racing without any gender segregation or handicap (or even different clothing) and with no statistical difference in performance. Of course, male and female horses also compete alongside each other, for what it’s worth! equestrian sports are generally refreshingly free of TERF nonsense about Masculinity Being An Advantage (it isn’t, in human or horse.) but again, it isn’t a choice career for people with better options, so to improve diversity/inclusivity the working conditions should be addressed first, not the other way around.

Also note: horse racing is declining in popularity. With its preferred audiences traditionally being "stupidly posh aristocrats who wear alarming fascinators" and "conservative working-class old men who shout at TVs in sports bars," with a side order of "sketchy gambling-addicted weirdos," the sport doesn't really appeal to, for example, Tumblr users. Millennial-and-younger generations basically just ignore the whole industry. Most people can't name a single racing jockey; people could maybe name Secretariat, one of the most famous named animals in history, who had a film about him.

At any rate, Killie comes by his frame honestly - he is just generationally tiny and lanky, from a family of jockeys.

Killie starts his outfit in “jockey” briefs and a very lightweight high-neck top. Remember that the carry weight of his gear comes out of his weight allowance, which also includes his own body and riding equipment, so he’s wearing a lightweight mesh skivvy, even in cold weather.

The terminology of jockey briefs and the Jockey underwear brand come from horse racing. "Jockey" comes from the British/Scottish word "jock," for a young boy; jockey being a diminutive of this. The phrase "jock" as in "sportsman, opposite of nerd" in the USA comes from "jockstrap", which is apparently a completely separate underwear-related sporting etymology.

Men and women wear the same clothes, which are sold to everyone equally; there aren’t “girl versions” for racing gear, just heavy or lightweight gear. Women usually add a sports bra, and men have personal preferences for briefs to keep things contained. However, anecdotally, some women race in 'men’s' underwear - and some male jockeys wear 'women’s' underwear to keep gear weight down - so whatever. Pantyhose can be worn to prevent chafing, add a vague layer of warmth, fight the see-through effect of racing breeches, and are a compromise for socks, which would add unnecessary weight.

If there was a reason to leave off his base layer, Killie could cheat by wearing a neck wrap - basically a high collar with a bib that would make it LOOK like he was wearing something under his silks.

Today, in the UK and Australia, jockeys wear body protectors! These are fairly new to the sport and aren’t even remotely universal in the USA. Body protectors can shield the spine, lungs and heart from falls, kicks, and crush injuries.

Killie has also added his high-waisted racing breeches. These are basically-see-through polyester breeches of unbelievable thinness and lightness. Unlike normal riding breeches/jodhpurs, they don’t offer much at all in the way of comfort/grip/protection.

Pull-ups are a kind of tight compression tube that bridge the breeches/boots gap, preventing chafing and making sure that breeches taper into the boot.

Time for silks!

Silks, or racing colours, are colourful high-necked thin jackets that are buttoned over the body protector and tucked into the breeches. Silks represent the owner of the racehorse, for example the Queen of England or Godolphin Stables. Jockeys don’t own racehorses or own/choose silks.

Killie is a licensed jockey under contract to a stable - a highly desirable position. this means that he has HIS OWN PERSONAL SILKS, which actually fit him on purpose. He also knows the horses he rides. This is a very rare and comfortable post - the gold standard for champion jockeys, and what everyone in the profession is desperately hoping for.

Most everyday jobbing jockeys are paid £100 per ride, plus a cut of the purse if they win (but most jockeys in a race necessarily don’t win.) jobbing jockeys are chosen by racehorse owners like itinerant labourers or puppies from a box. Jockeys compete desperately to be offered the best mounts. The owners’ silks are kept in a changing room and when a jockey is chosen by an owner to ride a particular horse, they are handed the owner’s silks to put on over their base layer. These silks are unisex and one-size-fits-all, so jockeys tuck them into breeches to hide when they’re too large, and small jockeys use hair elastics to roll back and secure the sleeves.

People have a vague idea from heartwarming movies that the racehorse, owner, trainer and jockey are familiar with each other - perhaps they have a beautiful relationship. It’s important to remember the real pecking order here: the owner is usually a billionaire or royalty. The racehorse is usually a valuable, highly-bred animal with a proper dollar value on it, which the billionaire loves as an extension of their own wealth and power and beauty and influence. And the jockey is a sort of disposable starving dog that talks, which you graciously choose from the pack, based on their stats, like someone picking a Mario Kart, and assign to make your horsey win. Sometimes “just before the race” is the first time the jockey even touches the horse they’re about to ride! At any rate, the patterned jacket is chucked at the jockey to button on over their clothes(unless they’re Killie and have their own.) They also stretch a thin flexible matching cover over their helmet.

The design of the silks is ancient in intention; everyone can intuit that it’s resonant with medieval alliances and heraldry and tournaments, and the wearing of colours facilitates your ability pick out “your” mounted knight from a scrum of other screaming horses and bodies. Today they help commentators and the audience to see their horses. All silks must be unique, with colour/design/pattern being registered in databases. You can play with the British Horseracing Authority's silks database to see whether your design of silks would be available!

Killie is wearing his racing boots. They're flexible, made of very leather, with practically no sole, and weigh less than half a pound.

Killie wears racing gloves - these are optional, and often fingerless since jockeys like to feel the reins. He also has goggles. Jockeys usually take multiple pairs, perched on their helmet and pulled down in turn. You can have tinted ones for sun/rain, but they’re most important for keeping mud and stones out of your eyes at 40mph. They’re very lightweight, and when they become too dirty to see through, you pull them down to hang around your neck and then pull down the next pair over your eyes. here's jockey Gary Stevens after a muddy race with several pairs of goggles pulled down.

Killie's got his helmet, so now he's dressed. He needs to add his gear. Again, the jockey's body and their gear are part of the same weight allowance; a lighter jockey can have heavier gear. Here is UK jockey Hollie Doyle showing hers:

Interestingly, the weight of the saddle (plus stirrups, girth, and lead cloth) belongs in the jockey's weight allowance. (The racehorse brings its own bridle and saddlecloth.) Hollie is shown here with multiple saddles - for various riding conditions, weights, etc. Racing saddles only weigh about 1-2 pounds - contrasted with the 20lb of a normal English riding saddle - and are basically a strap that the stirrups hang from, since jockeys mostly stand up to ride.

This concludes "Getting Cillian Dressed, the Awkward Little Sod That He Is." Thank you so much for joining me and prompting this.

Appendix:

I depict Killie as a lightly bruised skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of mental problems, with the temperament of an unloved stray dog. This is not a nice state for a fellow to live in, so if I were to give him a happy ending, I would like Killie to age into a sort of healthy, roguish Franny Norton type (Franny, below, is the older jockey in white base layer. He raced for over 30 years and retired in 2024.) So if Killie were to be developed as a character, he would be poised for having some kind of fictional redemption arc that aligns with the overall improvement of working conditions for jockeys in 2025 and the potential redemption arc of his whole profession. it is possible, and increasingly less rare, for jockeys to be More Normal than Killie - as they very much should be!! the take-home message here should be that the profession has the potential to improve and may even do so. Emphasis on jockey and racehorse welfare would only help.

[gay-jesus-probably]

Okay so I have a lot of thoughts about the whole thing of the Gerudo being a race of entirely women, with the only exception being one man born every hundred years, and that man automatically being their king. Now this worldbuilding comes from Ocarina of Time, and there's obviously a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications there, because it was 1998. And it seems that Tears of the Kingdom is sticking with the lore of Gerudo men being extremely rare and becoming the King of their people, which once again has a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications because it's 2023 and Nintendo has somehow gotten even worse about this shit.

But let's set aside the whole... everything, and look at this from just the in-universe perspective. How does it work? I mean, it's pretty clear that there is no overlap between the kings; the old ones are normally long gone by the time a new one is born, but the Gerudo manage to take care of themselves during the hangtime. So they must have an established system of government and leadership that doesn't involve a king, and somehow that system is set up in a way that does a smooth transfer of power once a new king is born and old enough to take the throne. But why bother always declaring a random guy to be your King when you already have a perfectly functional system in place?

I mean again, the whole thing has a lot of sexist implications, but we're not looking at this from a real world context, we're examining it in-universe. And we could just go the lazy route and say that their king is in charge just because he's the only man, but I don't like that. I mean come on, the Gerudo are a race of entirely women, and most of their outside problems come from Hylian men being creepy about it. They are entirely a matriarchy; there is literally no reason for their culture to have an inherent respect for men, even if the man in question is one of them. And they're desert people; they live in an extremely harsh and dangerous landscape, if they don't have their shit together, they will die. By sheer necessity, their culture needs to put a lot of value in being practical, because if they're stupid about things, people die. They really can't afford to have a shitty leader take over, and just letting some guy take the wheel doesn't really fit with the way their culture must otherwise work.

So again, why the fuck do they bother having a King?

I think it's mainly just a ceremonial position. Yes, if the guy is a good leader he'll be in charge, but if he isn't good at being a King or isn't interested in the job... fuck it, they've already got a functional government system that's been leading their people the whole time, why fix what isn't broken? The title of Gerudo King isn't about leadership or power. I think it's more about belonging. Because the Gerudo are a culture where every single one of them can be defined in the same way... and there is exactly one exception once a century. Men are considered to be inherently outsiders at the best of times, and more often they're enemies. A man born into this culture is a natural outsider; he is completely unique, and that means he doesn't really fit into his community. And well... when someone is fundamentally different from the rest of their community, they tend to be ostracized.

So I think that's why the position of Gerudo King exists. It isn't about them needing or even wanting a man to lead them. The title of King doesn't need to involve any leadership at all. It's about giving the man born every century a place in their society. It's a way of saying yes, you are one of us, you are a Gerudo, you belong here, you are wanted and you are loved.

The Gerudo know that every hundred years, one of their children will be fundamentally different from all of his peers. And so their society is built to ensure that a child who is completely different from them will still be loved and accepted. He will always have a place in their society. He doesn't need to earn their love, he has it just for existing. These are his people.

The title of Gerudo King isn't an inherent position of authority. It's a promise of acceptance.

[ask-the-eggmans]

hello!!! ooc question, but i am very curious about the story behind this askblog. i’m pretty sure it’s an au of sorts, definitely not directly from the movieverse judging by a few artworks, and i was just curious about the world and such that surrounds them! how did you fit stone into it all?

apologies if this is a strange question, i just love hearing people talk about their work

Oooo what a fun question, and for me specifically!!!

WARNING- Long rant ahead:

Is this an Au?:

Okay, so yes, this is an AU now, I suppose? So what is this AU exactly? I don't really know? I guess it's my perfect Sonic Universe built inside the recesses of my mind, with more of a heavy focus on Doctor Robotnik and Agent Stone than the actual Sonic team.

Does this AU take place in a specific Sonic!verse?/ Why and how is Stone here?:

I like to think it is my perfect mix of the movie-verse, comics, and games.

The movie I obviously pulled Agent Stone out of that universe and struck him right into this one. But I also change a lot of things around about his character and others to make him fit and the stories more complex and interesting.

Exhibit A: Stone is the one who built and designed Metal Sonic in this AU... and Robotnik doesn't even know Metal exists😀 (yet). (This one is personally based off my own desires and theories for the next movie.)

So what's this weird Sonic!verse hybrid AU that you've created? How does this world function???:

I'd like to think this universe takes place not on Earth but the planet Mobius ofc. Where humans are rare and mobians are more commonplace.

Robotnik and Stone did not grow up together they probably are from completely different human (only. I like to think humans are pretty isolated species considering their rarity here) cities or something like that, but they were both very involved and curious about the mobians that resided outside of human residencies. Their common interests and somewhat overlapping jobs brought them together.

I'm still fumbling around with these ideas in my head. If any like diehard "I've been a Sonic fan since the womb" fans have (kind!) suggestions I'd like to read 'em. They might inspire me.

How did you make their designs?:

The games mostly are what inspired their designs. Uh I took Eggmans design from Sonic Adventure 2 (iconic ofc I would) and I had to look at Stone from the movies, other people's designs, and Eggman's game design to basically wing it for that one. (Originally, I was only making the first drawing I did of them and the kiss experiment comic. It's only because they blew up, and I walked specifically petitioned for an askblog that I'm still here, haha🖐😭) I'm really glad that Stone's design seems to be so beloved, though. I made it in like... 15 minutes? If I had known his impact, maybe I would've spent longer, but honestly, I love him so I wouldn't change anything.

[canisalbus]

Sorry if this has been asked a bunch of times already but...How did they meet?

In the original canon, they were both studing theology in Venice at the same time. Vasco had been sent there by his parents, who had recently found out he's gay and hoped that proper strict education would straighten him up. Machete's former mentor had just became a bishop and no longer had time for keeping an apprentice, so he funded his further studies as a rare display of goodwill. Their classes overlapped a little bit so they knew each other by sight, but they mostly hang around in different circles. Vasco was well liked in his friend group which consisted of other sons of rich nobles, and Machete spent a lot of his free time voluntarily helping teachers and professors around the faculty or kept to himself. One of Vasco's buddies started picking on Machete and Vasco (as an overprotective 'can't have people feeling bad or sad around him' good boy he is) felt responsible and started following him around (mostly to soothe his own guilty conscience) and eventually they became friends.

Over time their relationship started to gain romantic tones and they ended up living together in a tiny rented attic room. I'm not sure how their break up played out exactly, but in the end Machete graduated and went on to be ordained as a priest (a goal he had trained for all his life), while Vasco dropped out and reluctantly returned to his parents, who swiftly forced him into a lavender marriage to cover up his sexuality. I can imagine them anquishing over the situation as the end loomed ever closer, trying to come up with a scenario where they could still secretly be together. Unfortunately at least one of them would have to throw away a promising future for a plan that could fail at any time. The price was too high and the risks were immense so they just had to allow the separation to happen. Some 10+ years later they meet again by random chance, Machete has advanced in his career rapidly and is now a cardinal secretary of state, and Vasco has followed his father's footsteps into politics and works as a Florentine ambassador. Since both of their jobs center around diplomacy and foreign relations, they end up working together frequently, which conveniently enables them to see each other off-the-clock as well. They resume where they left off.

[hannahbarberra162]

I was wondering if you could do an SFW Alpha!Marco x Omega!Reader ABO Drabble? I don’t know if you would do a soft power dynamic between the two, where Reader is under Marcos Division. They have a big fat crush on them but low-key refuse to acknowledge it until they’re stranded on an island together. Reader goes into heat and usually they would just power through it in their own or ask Tate for suppressants. However no one is available and Marcos the only one around that catches it before Reader gets hunkered down. He goes into Mother Hen mode cause, Y’know he’s their division commander and wants to make sure they’re okay, however reader gets flustered and it’s just angtsy sweetness

Soda licious, Nonnie. I absolutely love this idea….. I think I kept the gist of what you were looking for. Hope there’s enough angst for you <3

I’ve been thinking about a night nurse reader for a long time but didn’t know where to put her - I was originally going to pair her with Haruta… BUT

Imagine you’re an Omega in the First Division...

And I wrote a second half :)

~~~

“Tate, I don’t think I can stay on the ship anymore,” you lamented to your friend, tossing back another shot. It was Girl’s Night on the Moby, meaning you had a rare opportunity to spend some quality time with Tate. All the nurses were hanging out in the galley, which was closed off to the men of the crew. You enjoyed the monthly girls nights for the atmosphere and time spent with your friends and coworkers, especially your old friend Tate. As the night nurse, you didn’t see her much except for an hour a day when your shifts overlapped in the morning and evenings. Tate had hired you to run the infirmary at night so everyone else would feel secure enough to get a good night’s sleep.

You’d met Tate long ago, the two of you bonding in nursing school over a shared interest in helping those less fortunate. You’d become study buddies and had been friends ever since. Over the years as your lives had taken different turns you’d kept in touch, keeping each other up to date on the adventures you’d taken.

Not that you had been helping the unfortunate, it turns out you needed to take a regular job to earn a living. Before working for Whitebeard, you had been the ship nurse for Doflamingo. The gig had been alright but really boring as Doflamingo didn’t sail very often. Save for the few times a year he left for Warlord meetings, you spent most of your time on the ship doing nothing and waiting around. You didn’t renew your contract with the Warlord and were taking short term jobs at different hospitals when you’d gotten a letter from Tate inviting you to be the night nurse for the Whitebeard Pirates.

After interviewing with Tate and Marco, you accepted the unconventional job and you’d been with them ever since. It was interesting, fun, and there was always something going on with 1,000 wild pirates on board. In terms of clinical care, you enjoyed your work and found tending to the Emperor’s crew to be rewarding in its own way. You enjoyed interacting with Whitebeard, the old man reminding you of your own grandfather who you missed dearly. No, the problem wasn’t with the job or the crew, you thought to yourself.

“Why do you wanna leave me? I thought you liked it here,” Tate whined, grimacing as the bite from the vodka hit her throat. Tate wasn’t using a chaser, the two of you already a few drinks into the night. Not that it was a problem, you’d both given your livers quite the workout during nursing school.

“I do like it here, it’s a great job but -” you started, trying to break the news gently.

“It’s Marco, isn’t it? I knew it, I knew you liked him. You’ve got good taste, he’s a catch. You don't need to leave because of some crush," Tate said with a smirk, making you choke on the beer you were drinking between shots.  The Commander in charge of the First Division was...something else. He was smart, kind, charming, and an incredible doctor. His handsome smile disarmed you daily as you passed off the patient reports to him at shift change. He treated you like an equal, not like a lowly Beta nurse as you’d come to expect from Alpha doctors. His scent was amazing, better than anyone you’d ever been around before. And yes, you could admit to yourself that he was stunningly handsome. You weren’t sure what lucky star he’d been born under to make him such a perfect person. 

“No, it’s not that. I don't have a crush on him, I just don’t know if I can keep this up,” you said, motioning to your whole body.  Marco was one thing, but you’d worked with intelligent and sweet doctors before. No, the bigger issue was that you were an Omega. It was well known on the seas that Whitebeard didn’t allow Omegas onto his crew, not even among the nurses. He said that they caused nothing but trouble as their scents and heats would throw the crew into chaos. And so it had been…until you’d come around. Tate begged you, literally on her knees, to join the crew. She said there wasn’t anyone else she trusted to take care of the crew at night, that she couldn’t sleep at night over worry for the patients, that you were the only person who could fill the job. She said she’d keep suppressants secretly stocked on the ship and that no one would ever know. You thought it was a bad idea to disobey an Emperor’s command but the offer of working with Tate on the ship was too alluring to turn down.

Month over month you took the suppressants to dull your heat down to an unpleasant sensation similar to period cramps. It messed with your head sometimes but overall the medications were working. None of the many Alphas on board smelled your heats or tried to scent you and they treated you like any other Beta. It was kind of freeing in a way, not to be taken less seriously because of your designation. Omegas were thought to be flighty, vapid, and childish, even if it wasn’t true. You were finally getting a taste of what it would have been like to be born as something other than Omega and you'd been enjoying it.

The suppressants worked but the stress you felt every month was overwhelming. You didn’t want to have to answer to Marco in case they ever failed. You started having stress dreams about going into heat and someone finding out, the Captain making you walk the plank to your demise because you were an Omega. Knowing Whitebeard's personality you didn’t think it would happen but ultimately he was a powerful pirate who answered to no one. So even though you enjoyed the work, you didn’t think you’d renew your contract with Tate. You just couldn't take the stress of hiding your dynamic from Marco anymore.

“Oh, come on. No one knows and no one will ever know. The meds work just fine and besides I don’t think anyone would care at this point. You’ve saved me n’ Marco so much anxiety by being here that Whitebeard would make an exception for you,” Tate explained, already eyeing the bottle of vodka for another shot.

“I don’t know, I think it also does something to me. Y’know, avoiding…that for so long,” you said quietly, indicating your heat. Suppressants weren’t meant to be taken long term and you’d already been on them for six months, you needed to take a break or they’d stop working. You’d have to pay the piper and suffer through another heat. You didn’t know where you’d do it - you’d have to find some island far away from anyone on the ship that might know you. 

“Just do it on the next set of islands - there’s a huge city filled with all kinds of people on the main one but you can rent private cabins on the smaller surrounding islands. If you’re missing from the crew no one will notice with so many people and smells around. Rent a cabin room and find some rando to help you. I’ll cover for you, say you need a break from the crew if anyone asks,” Tate argued, filling your shot glasses again. You hummed, mulling over the idea in your head. It wasn’t a bad plan and you hadn’t had a break from work in months.

“Alright, that might work. Let’s think through the details tomorrow - after these SHOTS!” you finished with a whoop, causing the other nurses to woo their enthusiastic reply. You’d deal with all your Omega problems in the morning, it was time to have fun with your friends. 

A few days later you came around to Tate’s idea. The Moby docked at a densely populated island known for its nightlife and partying. Surrounding the main island were quieter islands known for their tranquility and privacy. No one was likely to find you during your leave, you’d booked a solo cabin on a small island. You were spending a ton of money on the cabin and you didn’t think the other crew would bother spending their hard earned wages on something that they couldn’t drink.

You were preparing to leave the ship, making sure your notes and reports were all finished when you felt someone looking over your shoulder. Glancing up, you saw the beautiful blue eyes of the First Division Commander and became flustered.

“Oh, h-hi. I’m just wrapping up, I have um - well, you know, you approved it -”

“Shore leave,” Marco finished your sentence with a lazy smile. He glanced down over your notes from his high vantage point and leaned over your shoulder. Your face burned with a flush as he took the pen from your hand and crossed out a word in your report and rewrote it from behind.

“You accidentally wrote carotid with two ‘r’s. I’m a stickler for spelling,” Marco said, putting the pen back in your hand. You hadn’t moved an inch, the heat and proximity of his body throwing your senses into overdrive. If Marco stayed for a moment longer you were going to combust from all the blood rushing to your face.

“Whatever perfume you’re wearing for your trip is becoming yoi,” Marco said with a tilt of his head and a smile, straightening up and walking away. You felt sweat dripping down your back from sudden stress- you weren’t wearing any perfume. You’d stopped your suppressants that day in anticipation of going into heat for the next few days but you hadn’t expected your scent to begin to come on so strongly so quickly.

“Uh, t-thank you Mar- Commander. Commander Marco,” you stammered, trying to end the conversation so you could get away from the ship full of Alphas.

“Just Marco is fine. I’ll be on shore leave too, maybe we can meet up for a drink?” His tone was calm but his eyes held a fire in them that you couldn’t identify.

“Ah, oh. Um, I’m gonna be busy, I have to - um…I’m busy,” you trailed off, not wanting to tell him the reason you’d declined. If he asked you a second time you felt like you’d fold immediately, telling him anything he could ever want to know about you. 

“Of course, maybe another time then yoi,” he said easily, unwinding his stethoscope from around his neck to continue working. 

“Y-yeah, another time,” you said, still blushing.

You practically threw your notes at Tate to get away from Marco as you left the infirmary that morning. Any other time you might have considered his offer to get a drink but today was not happening. You were already tired from working the night before and you still had a ways to go before you could rest. The urge to nest was building in you, you could hardly stand being on the dinghy to the island with the Alphas and Betas on the crew. It felt like it took an eternity to get from the ship to the little island with the cabin you’d rented. You were bursting with the need to arrange the clothes you’d brought with you as you disembarked on the tiny island. You were walking on the path to your cabin when a familiar bird landed on the dock of the island and transformed. You felt the blood drain out of your face as you ducked and tried to hide behind a tree from your Commander. It didn’t work as Marco spotted you right away and waved. Cursing in your head you couldn't think of a way to get rid of him without at least speaking to your boss.

He began walking over to you with a smile but it faltered into something more serious as he sniffed the air. Tilting his face and looking about, he quickly located what he was looking for - you. He walked briskly over to you in long strides, his brow furrowed as he continued to take deep breaths through his nose.

“Come along,” Marco said calmly like he was talking to an errant child, taking your forearm in his large hand. You bristled at the contact, hoping he was just smelling your stronger scent like in the morning, not reacting to you going into heat. Maybe he was just upset that you’d turned him down for a drink saying you were busy and found out you were alone on a vacation island instead. There was no way he should know you were going into heat this early, the suppressants should hold you over for a few hours until you had time to make your nest.

“W-wait, I need to get to my cabin, I rented -” you tried to object weakly.

“No, you’ll stay in mine, I rented the only other cabin on the island. It’s bigger and has better accommodations. I need a break from my siblings every now and again yoi. I didn’t expect you to be here - and going into heat,” Marco said with a pointed look as he pulled you towards the larger cabin. Your hopes were dashed along with your future - you hung your head as you continued to trail behind your Commander, tears falling unbidden down your cheeks. Finally reaching the little house, Marco opened the door and pushed you gently inside. When the door shut, your fingers itched to begin making your nest in the bedroom, wherever it was.

Marco was right, his cabin was way better than the one you had rented. It had two bedrooms, a full kitchen and a huge claw footed bathtub. You hadn’t had a bath since you’d joined the Whitebeard Pirates and the thought of soaking in hot water was enough to make you swoon. But you had to deal with Marco first, your Commander looking at you sternly as you set your bag on the floor.

“How long do you have until your heat comes on?” Marco asked with concern. He was standing in front of you as you studied the floor at his feet. You couldn’t make eye contact with him right now, it was too overwhelming. He was your boss, your Commander, and the only Alpha in the room and you didn’t want to make things worse.

“It’s supposed to come in about two to three hours,” you whispered. Marco tutted at you, wiping your tears off your cheek with his thumb.

“And what was your goal yoi? To have it here, alone on the island? What if another Alpha smelled your scent and tried to get to you? What if the pain became too unbearable and you suffered? Not a very good plan.” he said, chastising you gently while cupping your cheek. The heat building in you had you wanting to nuzzle into his hand but you were able to stop yourself - for now. You took a deep breath and held it to calm yourself down.

“I didn’t - wasn’t - I’ve been on suppressants,” you stated plainly, glad to be done lying to Marco. 

“I figured that out yoi. I won’t help you through it if you don’t want me to. But I’d like you to stay here where I can keep you safe. I would feel…neglectful if you were hurt during an unattended heat,” he said, stroking his fingers along your cheek.

“Because you’re my Commander?” you asked in a whisper.

“Something like that. Go on now, make your nest,” Marco replied, picking up your bag and handing it to you. You grabbed it with both arms, clutching it to your chest. What you really wanted was the shirt he was wearing and his sash - you needed it for your nest. Maybe you’d ask later but for now you were already ashamed enough at being caught lying to the Emperor and being caught going into heat by your boss. You didn't know what the punishment was going to be but your mind was already clouding with the heat. Scurrying along, you quickly found the bedroom and threw your clothes on the bed. You didn’t have much time before you were hit by the pain of heat onset, you had to hurry. 

You felt Marco watching you from the door frame as you stripped the bed of its blankets and pillows to move them around. Sniffing through the room, you tossed out the rank decorative pillows into the hallway.

“Do you need anything else? Any more linens?” Marco asked, still watching you.

“Ah, no. I think I brought enough,” you said, staring at his sash. Following your gaze, he removed his sash wordlessly and handed it to you with a soft smile. You flushed furiously but took the garment, barely able to stop yourself from putting it over your face to bask in the scent.

“And did you bring ibuprofen for when the pain starts?” Marco asked as you worked his sash into your half built nest.

“It doesn’t help much,” you said while arranging the sheets into a new formation. Marco hummed and continued to watch you. Having him observe your process was even more nerve wracking than it usually was to go into heat. Part of you wanted to tell him to leave but another part was preening for the Alpha in the room. Pushing off the wall, Marco walked towards you slowly. You watched him warily, putting down the shirt in your hands.

“What?” you asked suspiciously as he approached you.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to yell at you. I’m disappointed you hid the truth from me but now’s not the time for that discussion. We can talk it all through later. Tell me what you need, little Omega.”

You cleared your throat and looked up at the handsome doctor. He was watching you with concern, like you were something precious about to shatter. No one had helped you in so long, you'd been taking care of yourself for years. Maybe just this once you could depend on someone else, on someone you knew you could trust.

“I need you, Marco.”

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

So, I had finaly read the WD au after like, an year procrastinating, and it is amazing, but, there is something I keep wondering, keep in mind that I had read it all on Tapas, so I might not know if it is the case, but why dont you try working with the au? I mean, I dont know if you gaing enought from donations to sustaing yourself just with that, but it whould surprise me if you didn't, because your art is amazing and the story is even better, so, there is a reason you still work? That is, if you do, as I said, I only read the au trought Tapas, so I whould'nt know if you said thatbon Tumblr. English isbnor my first language, so sorry if I messes up some sentences or words, I love your au, have an amazing day! <3

Hey, thank you for your kind words!

The reality is, even with the very generous support of those people who subscribe to my Patreon, I simply Do Not earn enough money to live off of my art.

Most of my fans are kids, which means they don't have means to pay, or have to save their money for better things - and even those who DO read my comic and are adults are rarely able to/inclined to donate money. The comic is available for free on Tapas, after all. I don't want to paywall it - Patreon is entirely for perks.

Of my total followers on tumblr (not counting instagram and twitter follower count because there's probably a lot of overlap)...

...only 1.25% subscribe to my Patreon.

And I'm LUCKY for that number. That number is enough to allow me to work part time at my IRL job and devote a couple of days a week entirely to art. Which is great!

But WDAU is not MY comic. It's a fancomic based off of original material. I cannot/do not want to put it behind a paywall and sell it as a product. I can monetize some sketches and give people benefits through Patreon, but that's not the same thing.

[flightlessangelwings]

FawKtober2024 Part 10, Finale- Santiago Garcia

Santiago Garcia x fem!sex worker reader

Kinks- exhibitionism, lap dancing, public sex

Word count- 2.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), reader is a dancer/sex worker, sex in a club, harassment, protective!Santi, brief minor violence, chair sex, oral (f receiving), feelings, hinted that she's slept with all the TF guys, no physical description of reader other than body parts, no use of y/n

Notes- Happy Kinktober finale!! Please note while this reader is a sex worker, sex work is not the kink it's her job. This one has a bit of plot too for the finale and of course I had to add protectiveness! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs!

~

Lights pulsed in the club as a loud dance beat filled the room. Beautiful people in sparkly outfits danced around poles while patrons threw money at them. Cheers erupted every time a dancer did something especially sexy or shook their ass a little more. It was a fun place to be, on either side of the dance stage, and everyone always had a good time every single night.

Santiago, Frankie and the Miller brothers spent many nights at the club. Many of the dancers and bartenders knew them all by name, and all the guys were already greeted with a smile. Benny even worked as security some nights when they needed a little extra help, which was always very much appreciated.

The guys all had their favorites, their preferences, and most of the time they wanted something different enough that they rarely overlapped. But there was one dancer who they all frequented. It took some fighting through emotions, but they all came to an agreement that whatever happened on the stage or in the private rooms was no one’s business. 

Besides, for you it was just work.

Tonight, it was Santiago who had you in his lap. And fuck you looked so beautiful. The way you shook your ass to the beat of the music was mesmerizing. He groaned as he caressed your hips as you writhed in his lap. The beads on your tiny outfit caught the light spectacularly. And you were so warm against him that Santiago couldn’t help but harden under your thighs.

“Santi…” you murmured his name as you turned around to face him, your hands skimming over the stubble on his jaw.

“You look so pretty tonight, baby,” he smirked at you as you continued to dance in his lap. And the fact that this happened right in the middle of the club in sight of everyone only turned him on more. 

“So do you, baby,” you cooed. 

Santiago groaned as he bucked his hips up against your body, his hands squeezing your ass. He knew other people watched, and he was sure there were some that wanted the same thing as he was getting. You were aware too, and it wasn’t your first time being with Santi like this. Truth be told, you were just as turned on as he was because of it.

But it was just your job, you kept telling yourself. With anyone else, it was easy. Even Santiago’s friends, who you were fond of, were easy to push aside when their time was up. They were all kind and good men, but they were just clients to you. No, it was only Santiago that was different. You couldn’t let it show, though; it was your job. 

“What do you say about taking things a little further, baby?” Santiago purred in your ear as he nibbled on your skin. His hand fondled your ass before it moved around to the front of your thigh, his fingers just grazing the little piece of fabric that covered your pussy.

“Mmm, you thinking what I’m thinking?” you grinned as your lips hovered over his.

“How about we give these fuckers a real show, huh?” Santi’s tone dropped as his fingers slipped under the fabric and ghosted over your folds.

You gasped as your mouth dropped open as his thick finger played with your pussy. Santi always took such good care of you, and you did in return. His touch sent jolts of electricity up your spine as he pushed a finger inside you. The moan you let out was drowned out by the music around you, but Santi could still feel it against his skin.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned as he felt your warmth around his finger. He exhaled deeply as he pushed another finger in you, making you mewl in his ear. Santi’s hardness got too much to ignore, and the way you rocked in his lap only added to his need. “I gotta fuck you now, baby.”

“Then fuck me, Santiago,” you murmured as you ran your hands down his chest, giving his pecs a squeeze before you unzipped his pants and freed his cock.

“Glady,” he pulled his fingers out of you and adjusted himself under you so that his cock lined up with your pussy, “And with all these people watching too,” he growled as he guided your hips down, impaling you with his length, “Fuck,” his eyes went from your open mouth to the many pairs of gawking eyes from around the club, “I bet they all wish they were here right now,” he murmured in your ear as he sat you in his lap.

“Let them watch,” you moaned as you rested your forehead against his, “I want them to watch how good you fuck me, baby.”

Santiago let out a low growl as he jerked his hips up into you, “Good,” he thrust again as he squeezed your hips hard, “Let them watch how good you take me,” he grunted as he thrust again and you moaned loudly, “Let them watch how fucking sexy you are riding my lap like this.”

“Fuck… Santi…” you cried out as you threw your head back and rocked your hips to match his pace. 

The two of you ground your hips together to the beat of the music in the middle of the club. All the peering eyes felt just additions to the lights as you lost yourselves in each other. Your pussy wrapped around his cock tightly, and he could tell from how wet you were that you were genuinely turned on. And so was he. The thrill of fucking you right int he middle of the club was unlike anything else, and Santi had done a lot with you.

“You feel so good, baby,” Santi murmured as his hands ran up your sides to grab your breasts, “So fucking good.”

“Santi…” you moaned, all the wit leaving your body with every thrust of his hips.

He watched in awe as your mouth hung open, letting out moans and screams that he couldn’t always hear. But he could feel it. And he could feel you. Every little movement in his lap went a wave of pleasure through his body. You were unlike anything Santiago Garcia had ever felt before, and he craved more. 

“Fuck…” he grunted as his hips stuttered from how good you felt around him, “Baby I need you to cum.”

“Then make me, Santi,” you moaned as you leaned forward and took his lips with yours.

Santi groaned in your mouth as he tasted you. His hand snaked in between your bodies to rub at your clit as his tongue tangled with yours. He swallowed the moan you let out as his hand on your clit synchronized with the thrusts of his hips. The chair he sat in rocked and skidded from the force of his movements. 

Breaking away, you moaned loudly, “Santi! Fuck!”

Chills ran through your whole body as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you. Your climax hit without warning as you squeezed Santi’s cock while your body trembled in his arms. Screaming his name, you jerked your hips in his lap as tears filled your eyes from how good you felt.

“Shit, baby,” he growled as he felt you tense around him. Santi thrust his hips deeply into you a few more times before he also fell apart, spilling himself inside you as he groaned your name in your ear. Fire felt like it flowed through his veins, and he gladly embraced it as he rode out both your orgasms right in the middle of the club.

“Fuck,” you huffed as you collapsed forward, resting against Santi’s chest as you breathed heavily.

“I think that was the best fuck we ever had,” Santi laughed against you as he rubbed your back, “You alright?”

Lifting yourself up to meet his gaze, you smiled, “Best fuck we ever had,” you threw his words back at him with a grin, “But I agree,” your tone dropped as you leaned in and kissed him deeply. You would have liked to stay there all night, in Santi’s lap with his cock buried deep inside you and his arms securely around you, but the weight of many heavy gazes around you caught your attention, “I gotta get back to work, baby.”

*

“So when are you gonna man up and tell her?” Frankie’s voice broke Santiago out of his thoughts. 

He turned his eyes to his friend before looking away, “I don’t know what you mean,” Santi shrugged and tried to act nonchalant as he took a swig of his beer. 

“Fuck, man,” Frankie rolled his eyes, “You haven’t taken your eyes off her all night.”

Santiago met Frankie’s gaze in a challenge. But, when neither backed down, he let out a deep sigh, “Shit,” he ran his hands through his hair, “I can’t man. It’s…”

“Shit, Pope, do you love the girl or not?” Frankie snapped.

His abrupt snap came as a surprise, but Santi couldn’t deny it any longer, “Am I that fucking obvious?” he said with a weak laugh. 

“You are,” Frankie nudged him, “Even Benny can see the way you make heart eyes at her.”

“Shit,” Santi muttered under his breath. Hanging his head down, he sighed. Frankie was right of course. He should tell you. Even if it doesn’t change anything, and it wouldn’t unless you wanted it to, he should tell you.

Looking back up, Santi scanned the room for you, but he couldn’t find you. “Shit,” he spat as he darted away from Frankie and scoured the club for you. The last time he saw you, you were roaming around with a tray of shot in your hand, and he knew you couldn’t have passed them all out in the time he talked to Frankie. 

After not finding you, Santi decided to try out back. He wasn’t supposed to be back in the alley, only employees were supposed to be there. But he had to make sure you were safe. Bursting through the door, he heard yelling, and Santi moved before his mind caught up with him.

“Get the fuck off her!” Santi found the source of the shouts, and ripped the guy off of you. He had you pinned against the alley wall, ready to hurt you, but Santi wouldn’t let that happen. Kicking the man and shoving him against the opposite wall, Santi spat insults and curses at him.

“Santi…” you breathed in relief. You stayed against the wall as Santi pulled him back up and shouted in his face.

“If I ever find you in the club or anywhere near her again, I will kill you. Understand?” he never sounded more angry in his life.

The man instantly changed from a mean, tough guy into a crying baby, and he nodded before he hobbled off into the night. Santiago watched as he disappeared into the shadows, making sure he was gone before he turned back to you. “Baby?” he cupped your face, “You ok?”

You gasped as your mind caught up to you, “Y-yeah…” you looked Santi in the eyes as you repeated yourself in a more confident tone, “Yeah, I’m fine,” you let out a shaky breath, “Thank you, Santi.”

Santi’s face softened as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, “You don’t have to thank me,” he held you tightly, “I’ll do anything to keep you safe,” he murmured against you.

“Santi?” you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes again.

He exhaled deeply, “I…” he cleared his throat, “I’ll always protect you, baby. I love you,” he paused as your mouth dropped open, “It doesn’t matter to me that you do this, I don’t care. And if you don’t feel the same, we can pretend this never happened. Or you can tell me to fuck off…”

Santiago was interrupted when you slammed your lips against his, kissing him deeply. A muffled surprised gasp came from his lips before he leaned into your kiss, holding you even tighter.

“I love you too, Santi,” you whispered against his lips, “I have for a long time now…”

Santi smirked against you, “Aren’t we a pair?”

You laughed back, “Apparently.”

He kissed you again, slowly yet deeply. He took his time with you, feeling every inch of you he could. When he broke away, Santi murmured, “How about you take the rest of the night off? We can make up for lost time.”

“Santi,” you couldn’t help but laugh, “We’ve been fucking this whole time!”

“Yes,” he cupped your chin, “But we haven’t made love,” Santi’s tone dropped as his gaze bore into you.

You gasped as you felt a jolt of arousal between your legs, “Well, what are we waiting for?” 

*

“Oh fuck!Santi!”

Santiago’s curls filled the space between your parted legs as his hands kept them open. He wouldn’t dream of bringing his head up to look at how beautiful you were though. You tasted too good to break away. Instead, he groaned into you as he tongue ran up and down your folds.

You screamed as you arched your back as Santi ravaged you. One hand stayed buried in his hair, tugging at his thick locks while the other clutched at his sheets. You threw your head back to cry out more as his tongue hit your clit.

“Oh fuck!” you moaned as his lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked hard, “Santi!”

He wanted to encourage your screams. He wanted to tell you to say his name over and over again. He wanted to tell you how good you tasted and how fucking pretty you were. But Santi couldn’t break away, even for a breath. He was too hooked, too addicted to you.

Santi kneaded your thighs as he devoured your pussy. You had cum twice already and it still wasn’t enough. No, Santiago Garcia wasn’t going to stop until you begged him to. He was determined to make you cum over and over and over again until you couldn’t move your body. And then he would hold you close and watch over you as you slept safely in his arms.

“Santi… I’m…” you cried out as you felt another climax quickly build.

He slurped at you loudly and obscenely as he ran his tongue up and down your pussy, flicking hard at every spot that made you mewl. He groaned into you and dug his fingers into your skin as he picked up and pace, ready for you to splash him again with your release. And he didn't have to wait long to get what he wanted.

With another loud scream of his name, you came hard. Your legs shook on either side of his head as your body felt like it was about to float away if it weren’t for his strong grip. Tears fell from your eyes as you never felt this good. Your body shook as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you.

You gasped as you flopped down limp on his bed, “Santi…” you breathed, “Fuck!”

Finally, he broke away from you, grinning at you as his entire face glistened with your juices, “Fuck me,” he huffed, “You are so fucking pretty.”

You  opened your eyes and your heart fluttered in your chest from the way he looked at you, “I love you Santi,” you whispered, “This is something new for us,” you added with a laugh.

“I never want to stop,” Santi groaned as he licked his lips, “Ready for another round baby?”

“Already?!” your eyes shot wide.

Santi kissed the inside of your thigh, “I told you we have a lot of time to make up for...” 

[learnastrowallura]

💚The 10th house in astrology💚

The source if this information is The Astrology Podcast (Chris Brennan) on Youtube and I will add a personal example plus some of my own thoughts as well

10th house: career, occupation, profession, work, enactment, achievement, reputation, intention, choice, actions, public image, visibility, exposure, rank, position, demand, duty, reward, honor, MC, legacy, bosses, power dynamics, angular

The sign and planet(s) in the 10th house can show us the image that is apparent or visible to others within a professional context, what we do exactly or how we take action toward achieving what we desire, what is the vision that we have and the contribution that we make (within the 6th house it is more... well what you HAVE to do, whereas with the 10th it is more end result based aka what impact will I have in the world), what is my role to play here etc, technical abilities and talents, career potential, our tendencies or even enthusiasm pertaining to taking action (or in the opposite case hesitation toward it) during work, which type of career the individual will take on, what we are known for

Looking at the ruler of the 10th house can, of course, give us more detail on career/reputation matters.

The midheaven in hellenistic astrology may not always fall in the 10th house, so for example if it falls in the 9th house your career may involve spiritual and/or religious matters, teaching people perhaps in college, and if it is in the 11th house then it may involve friendships so maybe there is an overlap with the coworker and friend relationship, or if you pay attention to the talks that you have with your friends there might be a certain theme that comes up that may be a good fit for you in your career, etc (use whole sign house system for this)

Personal example: Leo in 10th house, no planets

Right well this one is a bit tricky to delineate, to be honest

Starting with Leo I definitely make... a statement, I suppose? See the thing is with the 10th house it is something that becomes easier to analyze and figure out in adulthood. I would say I am known for being a certain kind of provocative and bold at my school for sure. Leo is all about shining and self expression and I do not shy away from being authentic and presenting myself as I am, yk? Not many people like it but yea

The reason why I mention college is because I do believe the way I behave there is close to how I would behave in jobs as well since it does count as 10th house work for me but that is my own perspective on it so take it with a grain of salt <3

Right now I am doing an internship which is as close as it gets to a job as of now and I would say I am all fired up to get shit done and I am also quite focused on doing the things that I have to do in a good and proper way (fixed sign quality; stability is prioritized) even though the situation rarely ever demands it; I would say I have good work ethic personally.

My midheaven is in my 10th house so there is not much to talk about there it is the most common case

My Sun which is the ruler of my 10th house is in 1st house placidus and I do resonate with that because my career, my legacy is of priority to me and I take that shit super seriously like it is this huge like goal of mine

Whereas with WS my Sun is in my 2nd house and to me that manifests in being very financially driven so while I do have a good work ethic if I find myself investing my time and energy into something long term that is not going to give me a financial ROI then I will look for something that does idc

My Sun trines my Saturn in the 9th house which does make me feel like that slowly but surely success in career vibes are relevant to me and that hard work and leaning into spiritual studies is going to be quite beneficial

My Sun is also square my Uranus in 4th house and I am not in a stage within my life in which I can quite explain that, however, I do think that shit constantly happening within my private life and home could potentially make me lose my focus and weaken my resolve at times butttt I always bounce back so it's oki

Thank you for reading <3

Masterlist

Paid readings available

x

[riding-the-sunset-bird]

This is the one! This is the last of all the Cove posts digging into what you can change either through your own choices or the Cove Creator!

We're talking about what changes Cove's future and how Studious/Sporty he is!

Here's a rough recap of everything from the last two posts:

What Cove favors in terms of academic/indoorsy or athletic/outdoorsy activities is a spectrum where he can be either Studious, Mixed, or Sporty. Step 1 Cove begins as Mixed, not favoring either, then can either lean one way or stay where he is in following steps depending on the player's choices.

A player who encourages Cove to do more athletic things rather than bookish things will lead to their Cove being Sporty, and vice versa with encouraging him to do more bookish things to get a Studious one. A Mixed Cove is more likely to happen if the MC doesn't lean Cove either way (not just balancing but actively not encouraging either types of activities).

Cove may also lean in the opposite direction of the MC if the MC's choices indicate/imply that they are better at something bookish/athletic than Cove. The MC and Cove can both still be studious at the same time or sporty at the same time, but the MC just has to be careful not to exclude Cove from the studious/sporty things they participate in.

How this factors in at the end of a step is a point system, which is also how the warm-moderate-cold spectrum works. Depending on how the MC interacts with Cove when certain options are presented to them, he'll gain either studious points, sporty points, or none at all. Whichever Cove has more points of in at the end will be used to calculate if he's Studious/Sporty or not (if there aren't enough points to make him Studious or Sporty, he'll be Mixed), and the other points are "thrown away."

The way Cove ends up looking is unrelated to whether he's Studious/Mixed/Sporty, except in cases where such choices may overlap, which is exceedingly rare.

Despite the Cove Creator having options between Studious and Mixed as well as Mixed and Sporty, these options do nothing and will simply behave as if you chose a Studious/Sporty or Mixed Cove, depending on the Step you're in.

Following that last bullet point, the Cove Creator continues to work as it does in Step 3: the button for Studious, Mixed, and Sporty work as you'd expect, whereas the button for Studious-Mixed and Mixed-Sporty will lead to a Mixed Cove. There's no need to worry about potentially missing anything though, as there's nothing that would've been exclusive to a hypothetically Studious-Mixed or Mixed-Sporty Cove anyway (which has been the case for the whole game anyway; the game only checks to see if your Cove is Studious, Mixed, or Sporty).

How Cove's future is affected by whether he's Studious/Mixed/Sporty goes like so:

If Cove is Studious, he will go to college to study marine biology. His goal is set on becoming a natural resource technician (or finding environmental consultation jobs on the side if he shares a business with the MC) and he volunteers at ORCA when his workload allows it.

If Cove is Mixed, he will get a two-year degree and begin working full-time at ORCA (or part-time if he shares a business with the MC), helping educate the public on ocean conservation efforts and participating in shore restoration efforts.

If Cove is Sporty, he will decide against pursuing a degree and focus fully on his career. He will get a small business teaching surf lessons (or only do it on the side if he shares a business with the MC) and volunteer at ORCA when his workload allows it.

Though, beyond Cove's actual future, you won't actually get any extra narration/dialog if your Cove is Studious. Mixed and Sporty Cove get a bit, but share the same ones. If you only care about getting the most dialog/narration possible, don't have a Studious Cove.

There is at least one fun difference in how this works compared to the other steps though, which you'll also find all the way at the bottom of this post. In all other steps, whether your Cove was already Studious/Mixed/Sporty had no impact on what he could become next, so a Sporty Cove staying the way he is from one step to another was just as easy as a Studious Cove becoming Sporty.

Here, however, the game will add a single point towards sportiness if your Step 3 Cove is Sporty, and it's the same with a Studious Step 3 Cove towards studiousness.

See for yourself! Here's the final list on Cove's modifiers!

Step 3 Intro

[NONE]

Hang (Cove's Version)

When Cove asks the MC what they'd like to do on the beach:

"The water sounds good." (if the MC is wearing a swimsuit) [sporty +1]

"Taking a stroll would be fun. I don't mind my feet being in the water." [studious +1]

You planned to just get some sun. [studious +1]

"Either way is fine. What would you wanna do?" [sporty +1]

(following above choice) When Cove talks about letting the mermaid dream go:

You burst into laughter. [no change]

"That's hardly proof. It's not like this is the only beach in the world." [studious +1]

You pretended to be shocked and disappointed. [no change]

You shook your head. [no change]

"Wow, good for you with that revelation." [studious +1]

While the MC and the others wait for Cove:

You wrote 'wash me' in the dirt on his car. [sporty +1]

You waited for Cove. [no change]

As Cove talks about how Sunset Bird felt bigger growing up:

"It definitely felt bigger then." [sporty +1]

"It's always seemed like there wasn't much here." [studious +1]

"There are tinier places out there." [sporty +1]

"You guys are lucky to live in decent sized cities." [studious +1]

You quietly nodded along. [no change]

You shrugged. [no change]

When the offer is given to return to the neighborhood or go to the park:

You decided to go back to the neighborhood with Cove. [studious +1]

You wanted to continue the hang out session at the park. [sporty +1]

Errands

If the MC chose to wander the market with Cove and is in a good mood/feeling better during their break (non-Indifferent only):

"Can you give me a piggyback ride?" [sporty +1]

"Could you carry my things?" (if the MC has any bags) [studious +1]

"Want me to carry your bags?" [studious +1]

"Want a piggyback ride?" [sporty +1]

You quietly enjoyed the break from walking. [no change]

(note: I swear I didn't swap any of these, Cove gets a studious point for carrying your things and a sporty point if you offer a piggyback ride; I don't know why)

Talks

[NONE]

Charity

If the MC is an ORCA member:

[studious +1]

After it's time to wrap up at the beach (if the MC is an ORCA member):

You raised your hand for a high-five. [no change]

You nudged your shoulder against Cove's. [no change]

You started pushing Cove on the back to move forward. [studious +1]

You ran off. [sporty +1]

You started to walk. [no change]

If the MC is not an ORCA member:

[sporty +1]

If the MC joins Cove for fireflies and suggests the door, leading Cove to ask if he should follow behind (non-Indifferent only):

"No. Just don't make any noise." [sporty +1]

"Yeah. Follow me." [studious +1]

You outlined the optimal route to keep your path the farthest from your parents' room. [studious +1]

You shrugged. [sporty +1]

If the MC joins Cove for fireflies and suggests the window, leading Cove to ask if they want help (non-Indifferent only):

You nodded yes. [sporty +1]

You shook your head no. [no change]

While the MC is relaxing on poppy hill with Cove:

You continued watching fireflies. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You wanted to catch some fireflies. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You asked Cove if he wanted to catch fireflies. {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

You challenged him to a rolling race down the hill. {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

↳ "I made it down first." [studious +1]

↳ "You won." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

↳ "Looks like we tied." [sporty +1]

↳ "Did you see who won? I didn't..." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

↳ You stayed silent. [no change]

You asked Cove to dance with you. (if non-Indifferent) [no change]

↳ "I'd just like to." (if Soiree didn't happen) [no change]

↳ "I think I want to dance with you again, before it's over." (if the MC danced with Cove in Soiree and had the conversation with him) [no change]

↳ "It makes sense, look at how you're dressed." [no change]

Drive

After Cove and the MC take a break to eat and refuel (if the MC has a driver's license):

You took shifts driving throughout the trip. [no change]

You helped Cove stay alert while he drove. [studious +1]

After Cove talks about he and MC being responsible adults (non-Indifferent only):

"Yes, very responsible." [studious +1]

"No, we're not." [sporty +1]

"Well, I am. Cove, though..." [sporty +1]

"Cove is, though I can't say the same for myself." [studious +1]

You simply smiled at him. [no change]

"Uh, maybe you should sleep in the living room after all." [no change]

Reflection

After Cove admits to wanting to try jet skiing again (Indifferent only):

"That seems like a bad idea." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"Good luck." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"That sounds fun!" [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"Can't wait to see your new scar." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"Are you sure?" {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You stayed quiet. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

When Cove talks about the legal age of jet skiing in California being eighteen (non-Indifferent only):

"Yes!" [sporty +1]

"No!" [studious +1]

"Let's use our adult powers for a jet skiing adventure!" [sporty +1]

"You want to break another bone?" [studious +1]

"There are more exciting things adults can do," you joked. (if Crush/Love and not dating Baxter) [no change]

You were silently shocked. [no change]

When Cove looks nervous from jet skiing (if the MC went with him to talk to Mr. Holden a second time):

"Go Cove! You can do it!" [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"Come on, are you really gonna chicken out now?" [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"It'll be alright, Cove. Trust yourself!" [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You let him have a moment. [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

Late Shift

all studious/sporty points are exclusive to non-Indifferent interests

After Cove wonders what to do since the moms didn't specify what color peppers they wanted the MC to get:

"No, it doesn't matter." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"We'll have to get one of every color." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"I'll text mom real quick to ask." {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"She left it out, that means I get to make the call." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"I don't know... What do you think?" [studious +1]

When Cove realizes that he needs to get fruit for his breakfast:

"Whatever it is, you better hurry 'cause I'm getting in line." [sporty +1]

"Cove, you had plenty of time for that before we were leaving." [no change]

"I can go back to look with you." [studious +1]

If the MC saves their and Cove's spot at the table in the fast food place, letting him get the food himself:

[sporty +1]

If the MC goes with Cove to get the food trays at the fast food place instead of saving their spot at the table:

[studious +1]

Serendipity

[NONE]

Boating

When Lee wonders who should go first in the party game:

"Me!" [no change]

"How about rock, paper, scissors to decide?" [studious +1]

"We could have an arm-wrestling contest to choose." [sporty +1]

"I don't care." [no change]

You waited for someone to speak. [no change]

If the MC helps Cove during the party game by hinting at french fries or their moms' liking of potatoes:

[studious +1]

If the MC fails to help Cove during the party game:

[sporty +1]

If the MC is seasick/scared and is sent below deck, but refuses when Cove offers to fetch them a drink (non-Indifferent only):

[studious +1]

If the MC is seasick/scared and is sent below deck, then allows it when Cove offers to fetch them a drink (non-Indifferent only):

[sporty +1]

When Cove admits that he's a little slow with things (if Mall happened and if the MC either didn't feel seasick/scared or did and felt better soon after):

"That's an understatement." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"You're sharp when you want to be." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"It's okay Cove, you're good exactly the way you are." {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You didn't comment. {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

Happiness

all studious/sporty points require the MC's interest level to not be Indifferent

When Cove asks the MC which of the three "unexpected outings" they'd like best:

Seeing a play. [studious +1]

The aquarium. [no change]

Ice skating. [sporty +1]

if going ice skating

When Cove admits to not having taken a jacket:

You were right there with him. (if the MC chose to dress normally) [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

"Yeah, your parents can't tell you what to do. You're a big boy." [sporty +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

You scolded him for not preparing for what you were doing. [studious +1]

"You're probably gonna regret that once we get there." [studious +1] {note that this will give Cove warm +1}

"I like that you don't wear a lot of layers too." (if Crush/Love and not dating Baxter) {note that this will give Cove cold +1}

You simply shook your head. [no change]

if going to the theater

When Cove asks what kind of show the MC wants to see:

"I wanna see the comedy." [sporty +1]

"I wanna see the romance." [studious +1]

"You pick." [no change]

"Let's have chance decide." [no change]

after the second outing with Cove

When the MC debates on surprising Cove back or not:

You were determined to fully appreciate his effort. [sporty +1]

You wanted to prepare a gift to surprise him with, too. [sporty +1]

You resolved enough was enough. You were going to change the plans and make him surprised. [studious +1]

You resolved enough was enough. You were gonna thank him with a gift and surprise him with a change of plans. [studious +1]

if the MC chose to surprise Cove with a trip to a poppy field

When Cove asks what he should do now when he and the MC arrive near the field:

"Cover your eyes. I'll lead you in the right direction." [sporty +1]

"I'm gonna cover your eyes. You need to let me lead the way." [studious +1]

Step 3 Ending

If the MC was upset at the restaurant and left, did not message their family in the car, and approves of Cove's joke about selling pretzels with them (non-Indifferent only):

"What kind of pretzels will we sell?" [no change]

"We will have pretzels for our meals too." [no change]

"We better research the apartment we get well." [studious +1]

"I'd also like to perform on the shopping street." [sporty +1]

the following are rolled when meeting Cove on poppy hill

If Cove was Sporty in Step 3:

[sporty +1]

If Cove was Studious in Step 3:

[studious +1]

[shaunamilfman]

forever is the sweetest con

Summary: "You know you should be angry when your girlfriend mentions that she kind of wishes your best friend was also here on your date. But if you're honest with yourself, which you rarely are, you kind of wish she was too. Things have been different with Nat in the last year since you and Lottie got together; Just how different, is the question."

A/N: Lottienat x reader! Cowboy Like Me part 2. You don't strictly need to have read Cowboy Like Me to read this, as long as you know that Lottie is your girlfriend and Nat is your best friend.

“God, Nat. It's only 2 PM,” You say teasingly as you slide onto the barstool across from her. “Already hitting the bar?”

“Already hitting the bar?” Nat mocks in a high-pitched voice as she rolls her eyes, but you can see just a hint of a smile appear as she looks up from the glass she's cleaning. 

You prop your head up on your hand as you set your backpack on the seat next to yours. “Busy day?” You ask. 

Nat gives you a crooked grin as she shakes her head. “Mmm, no. But we had–” 

“Always taking up seats from paying customers, ” Your boss Paul complains as he walks in from the back. You make a show of looking at him and slowly looking around the empty bar, a few regulars strewn about drinking in silence and a man dressed in a suit passed out on the other end, before looking back at him. He grumbles in irritation before adding to Nat, “If you're gonna sit here and talk on my money she better order something.”

Nat holds her hands up placatingly before giving you a questioning look. You hum thoughtfully as you look at her before asking, “Can I get some water?” Nat snickers quietly as Paul storms off to the back. She hands you the glass before walking off to wake the drunk businessman up. 

You sit at the bar doing coursework for the next few hours, making sure to pointedly take a sip from your water every time Paul walks out to glare at you. He storms out at 5:59 PM with a smug look on his face, certain he's going to be able to tell you off for it, only to see you smiling innocently as you pour a drink with your backpack hidden behind the bar.

Bartending wasn’t ever something you saw yourself doing, especially working for a man like Paul at his shitty dive bar, but you can’t deny how much you enjoy doing it. Admittedly, that could be because you're working with your best friend. You’d think now that you’re living together you’d be sick of seeing her all the time, but honestly, you think you might be seeing her less than ever. Between Nat working full time and your course load, you barely saw her until you decided to start picking up shifts.

Your girlfriend Lottie stopped by almost as often as you did, happy to sit at the bar when your shifts overlapped to monopolize both of your time. You couldn’t deny her efficiency. You think it might be the only reason that Paul puts up with you doing homework at the bar, as your girlfriend throws enough free money at him when she’s here that he tolerates your presence in order to keep her coming. It certainly wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, as you all agreed he didn’t have one.

Lottie was initially less than pleased with the change. She knew you were going to have to get a job, but she found the hours you were working to be rather irritating. She'd had some… rather convincing arguments about why you should get a retail job instead, but you managed to hold strong on that particular decision. It had grown on her after a while as she rather enjoyed the sight of you in a black button-up. Besides, she'd missed Nat too and seemed oddly excited to see her as well. 

It has surprised you how much Lottie grew to love Nat, but you certainly weren't going to complain. You'd worried a lot about Lottie and Nat not getting along once the nature of your relationship with Lottie changed, but all of your worry was for naught. In fact, they seemed to enjoy ganging up on you together almost as much as they enjoyed hanging out with you. Overall you were pretty pleased with the situation, even if Lottie had started abandoning some of your study sessions when she got bored to go hang out with Nat instead. You never could get Lottie to focus on any one thing for too long at a time. 

Besides, it made you feel a lot better knowing that Nat wasn’t walking home that late by herself all the time when you weren't working– you didn’t exactly live on the best side of town. Your girlfriend offered to let both of you move into the large two-bedroom apartment her father is renting for her, why he thinks she’ll need that much space you’ll never know, but Nat full out refused to accept it. You of course would never leave Nat to have to move in with some random ass roommate who would more than likely murder her as she didn’t exactly make an imposing figure.

…

Still, as you curl up next to Lottie in the one bed you brought from home with the temperature as high as you can afford to keep it you curse both Nat’s pride and your loyalty. Nat clears her throat awkwardly and you peer over Lottie’s shoulder to look at her. “I can go sleep on the floor–” Nat starts.

“No,” You and Lottie say in unison, rolling your eyes at Nat. Nat grumbles quietly as she buries her head in her pillow, seeming a little uncomfortable on the other side of the bed. Now that you've gotten a good look at her you notice how cold she looks. 

You and Nat had gotten used to cuddling together for warmth since you’d moved in, and you’re nearly kicking yourself for forgetting about her. You think guiltily of all the times she must have shivered across from you while Lottie was staying over.

“You're shivering,” You accuse, shifting up on your elbow to get a better look at her. Lottie makes a displeased noise as you pull away, her eyes blinking open as just the hint of a pout graces her face. “Come here,” You say, moving the arm wrapped around Lottie's back to tug at Nat's arm. 

“I'm good here,” Nat says. 

“Nat,” You groan. “You're obviously cold, just come here.”

“I'm not even cold,” Nat lies, badly. If it wasn't so dark you'd be able to see the blush spreading across her face at the idea of cuddling up to the two of you 

“Don't be a baby,” You mutter, tugging at her arm again.

Nat scoffs. “I am not being a baby,” She defends immediately as her head snaps up from her pillow. 

“That's what someone who's being a baby would say,” Lottie says wryly. 

Nat sputters for a response before groaning in irritation. You can faintly hear the sounds of her cursing both of you out under her breath as she scoots closer. You bury your head back into Lottie's shoulder, the tips of your fingers brushing against Nat's body as you wrap your arm back around Lottie. Lottie makes a contented noise as she's pressed between your body and Nat's side

It's quiet for a long moment before you add, “Now, was that so hard?”

You hiss in pain at the pinch that gets you from Nat, grumbling quietly as she snickers.  “You never quit while you're ahead,” Lottie murmurs against your ear. 

“Mm. No,” Nat agrees, the smile evident in her voice. 

“Fuck both of you,” You mutter. 

“Fuck both of you,” Nat and Lottie both mock, just a second out of sync. Nat immediately starts cracking up, and you can feel Lottie shake with silent laughter. 

“Oh, whatever,” You mutter, pushing against Lottie's shoulder as you pretend to move away. 

“No,” Lottie whines, her arm tightening around your back as she pulls you closer. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“How quickly you give in,” Nat accuses wryly. 

“It's not my fault Y/N went nuclear,” Lottie complains.

“Mhm,” Nat murmurs. “Sure.”

Your eyes slip shut to the quiet sounds of their bickering, content to drift off in the comforting weight of Lottie’s arms.

You catch Nat’s eyes over Lottie’s shoulder in the morning, giving her an amused look. Nat’s face creases in confusion for a moment before looking down at her arm. Her face flushes in embarrassment as the realization of her position sets in. It seems that she’s found herself spooning Lottie at some point in the night. She glances at you guiltily as she scoots away, clearing her throat as she slides out of bed and walks off to the bathroom. You laugh quietly as you see the amused look on Lottie’s face. She’d pretended to still be asleep to spare Nat the embarrassment, but you had no such qualms.

…

Nat groans as she walks into the room, her nose scrunching up in distaste. She quickly replaces it with a feigned smile as Lottie glances over at her, upper body damp and covered in soap in her attempt to wash the dishes. Nat leans against the counter next to you as she murmurs, “Is Lottie trying to make breakfast again?” You nod solemnly as you choke down another bite of burnt toast. You slide the plate with your runny eggs over in front of Nat as you quickly make your exit to go get ready for class. 

You ignore the sound of her frantically trying to convince you to come back as you start brushing your teeth, effectively leaving Nat to her fate of either finishing Lottie’s cooking or upsetting her. You spit your toothpaste out with a sigh of relief as the taste is finally washed out of your mouth. You love your girlfriend, truly, but you wish you could ban her from ever entering a kitchen again. Nat shoulder-checks you on the way out, glaring at you as she rushes to brush her teeth too. the smug look you send her only seems to irritate her more, but you take the narrowing of her eyes as a sign to get the fuck out of there.

You press a quick kiss against Lottie’s cheek as you grab your bag and rush out the door. You don’t quite feel safe from Nat’s wrath until you're on the bus towards college, but even then you know she’s just going to get you when you least expect it. As the sweet taste of the granola bar you stuffed in your bag for emergencies fills your mouth, you can’t deny that it was worth it. As you pull your bag out in the lecture hall to find that every single pen, pencil, or highlighter has been taken from your bag you start to wonder how true that statement was. You can’t deny that Nat moves quickly. 

…

“Hey, Y/N,” Nat calls out as she enters the kitchen. You hum in acknowledgment but don't look up from your textbook. Your eyes were starting to cross from the strain, but you only had a few pages left. “What is this?” Nat asks as she flops down in the seat across from you. You glance up to see Nat holding a toothbrush. 

“A toothbrush,” You offer helpfully, hiding your grin as you look back down at the textbook. 

“I know that,” Nat mutters irritably, a hint of fondness still peeking through despite herself. “I also know that there are three toothbrushes in our bathroom and only two people living here.”

“Maybe I bought a second toothbrush.”

“And it just happens to be purple, Lottie's favorite color?” She questions. 

“Heliotrope,” You murmur distractedly, finally giving up on finishing your reading. “Lottie's favorite color is Heliotrope.”

“What's the difference?” Nat asks wryly, holding the toothbrush up to the light to examine the color. 

You shrug. “Fuck if I know.”

“And the clothes in the closet? Those just happen to be yours too?” 

You close the textbook with a soft thud as you lean forward and rest your head on your hand. “Something you want to talk about, Natty?” You tease. 

The grin on your face slowly fades at the unreadable look on Nat's face. You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to address it before saying “She can stay over less if it's bothering you, Nat. We can start staying at her place more.”

“No, no,” Nat says quickly, almost a little panicked. “That's not it, exactly. I just…” She trails off. She looks a little frustrated as she buries her head in her hands with a loud sigh.  “I dunno it’s kind of lame, I guess.”

“Nat,” You say softly.

She pulls her hands away as she looks at you, hair messy from where her hands were touching it. “Don’t you and Lottie think it’s like… super lame that I’m here all the time? Three’s a crowd and all that?”

“Hey,” You say soothingly, reaching forward to grab Nat’s hand. You eye the toothbrush that Nat’s dropped on the table at some point, making a note to buy Lottie a new one. What Lottie doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “You're my best friend, Nat. I’ll always want you here.”

“What about-”

“Lottie does too,” You interrupt, giving her hand a firm squeeze. “I know she does. Lottie’s not shy, remember? You’d know if she didn’t like you.” Nat nods slowly as she considers what you said. 

“Besides, if I had a problem about anything it would be you spooning my girlfriend every night,” You tease. Nat gives you a weak glare.

“Shut the fuck up,” She mutters, voice tinged with embarrassment. “It’s cold.” You give her an amused look, not even dignifying that with a response.

Her eyes slowly fall onto your clasped hands. You watch curiously as a blush slowly appears on Nat’s face. She pulls her hand away suddenly, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Good talk,” She mutters as she stands up and walks off. You can’t help but laugh. Nat’s allergy to emotional conversations was well-documented at this point.

“Love you too!” You call out, hearing Nat make a vague noise in response.

…

“Y/N?” Nat calls out as she pops her head into the doorway. You clear your throat awkwardly as you peek your head around the shower curtain.

“Yeah?” You shiver at the rush of cold air that greets you, already mourning the loss of warm water.

“Have you seen my hoodie? The Yellowjackets one?” She asks, looking a little frustrated.

You pause. “I… I can’t say that I’ve seen it in a while,” You say guiltily, trying not to look at the pile of clothes you’ve left on the floor. Nat’s eyes narrow immediately, knowing you well enough to tell when you’re lying.

“Is that right?”

You nod, feigning the most innocent look you can.

“So it’s not going to be in your hamper?” Nat asks dryly.

You grin smugly as you shake your head. Nope, definitely won't be there. You think. Nat seems surprised at your sudden confidence, leaning against the door with her arms crossed as she considers the situation. You think you’d almost get away with it if it wasn’t for the sudden giggle behind you.

You stiffen immediately as you glance back to give Lottie a dirty look. She sticks her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout in an attempt to look cute as she steps closer, but the immediate change in her expression as she gets hit with a face full of water from the shower head she’s on eye level with does little to further her agenda. You snicker quietly as you turn back to face a shocked-looking Nat. 

“Has– has Lottie been there the entire time?” She asks in disbelief. You shake your head innocently.

“Lottie? Why would Lottie be here?” This time when Lottie giggles you can’t deny your urge to join, making Nat sigh in exasperation. Lottie wraps her arms around your stomach as she presses up against your back.

“Water’s going to get cold,” Lottie complains in your ear, pressing a kiss against your neck. You and Nat both agree without words to not acknowledge the way the top of Lottie’s head sticks out above yours. Nat finally glances down at the floor in an effort to hide her embarrassment, her cheeks flushed red at the thought of what she’s interrupted when she finds her hoodie lying amongst your and Lottie’s discarded clothes. Nat scoffs as she steps forward and snatches the hoodie out of the pile, turning around and stomping out of the room.

You share a wide-eyed look with an amused Lottie who seems overjoyed to have you to herself again. Just as you're about to turn around to face her you can hear the sound of Nat’s thudding footsteps as she walks back in. Nat, somehow even more flushed than before, tosses your bra back into the pile of clothes on the floor. “It was– it was– hoodie. In the hoodie,” She sputters, practically running out of the room in her haste to leave.

…

Going to a planetarium wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, but the tickets were free and you were broke. Besides, you knew Lottie would love that shit and you were right as always. Admittedly you had a different idea in mind upon realizing you were the only ones in the theater, but Lottie was far too happy watching the constellations appear. She'd even made a little game of making you guess them, but you think she mostly just enjoys knowing things you don't. 

“And that one?” Lottie asks fondly. You eye it critically, trying to see it abstractly but failing hard. 

“A branch?” You offer helplessly. Lottie's face lights up as she giggles, burying her head in your neck to muffle it. She pulls her head back, still shaking with silent laughter to look at you. Her hair is messy and her forehead is red from where she was pressing it against your shoulder.

“A branch?” She asks, pressing a hand against her mouth as she tries not to lose it.

“Yes! Look at it, Lottie. There’s the stick,” You defend amusedly, pointing at the screen. “And then it branches off. Therefore, branch.”

“That’s Taurus,” She says quietly, a smile splitting her face. “The bull.”

“That’s bull!” You mutter, sending Lottie into another round of laughter. “That’s more ridiculous than the stick.”

“You’ve got to look at it-”

“Abstractly, I know,” You quote wryly. You’ve been losing this battle for the better part of an hour. “Where’s Nat when you need her? She’d see the branch too.”

“Nat thinks the curtains are just green,” Lottie points out. “Not sure if you want her on your side.” You scoff, going to defend her before slowly relaxing back against your seat.

“Yeah,” You breathe out, defeated. Lottie grins smugly, squeezing your hand affectionately as she revels in her victory. She leans her head against your shoulder as the slide show moves on– you understand why the tickets were free now– happy to be here together even if you feel like something is missing.

“Is it weird that I wish Nat was here?” Lottie asks quietly after a few minutes. You lean your head on top of hers as you consider it. Your first instinct is to be offended: your company isn’t enough to entertain your girlfriend? But after you move past your initial hurt you strangely find yourself agreeing with her. You kind of wish Nat was here too. It was kind of strange to realize it, given that Lottie was the only person you’ve hung out with without wishing Nat was also there. Nat’s been your best friend just about as long as you can remember, but you do think that things have been different lately.

You sigh, giving Lottie an embarrassed smile as you say, “I tried to invite her.”

Lottie giggles quietly, giving you that secret little smile she saves just for you. “Mmm. And how'd that go?”

“She laughed in my face, ” You admit with a shrug. You knew better than anyone that this wasn't really Nat's scene– it wasn't really yours either– but you'd still been a little sad when she declined. 

“Sounds like Nat,” Lottie comments, letting the moment go as she turns back to the screen. “And that one?” You groan.

…

You and Lottie laugh quietly at each other as you stumble into the doorway, not wanting to separate long enough to walk properly into the door. Lottie nearly takes the both of you down as her foot catches on the doorframe, sending both of you careening into the room. You curse quietly under your breath as your back hits the side table, Lottie bumping into you and further pressing you into the corner currently digging into you. Lottie quietly laughs her way through an apology, hands running up the back of your jacket as she checks for ‘damage’.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lottie murmurs, not looking at all sorry. She slips her hands up the back of your shirt, making you jump as her cold fingertips make contact with your bare skin. You gently tug at the neckline of her shirt as she leans down to kiss you, your hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck. 

She pulls back with a gasp as your fingers tighten in her hair, her fingers flexing against your back as she tilts her head back to lessen the sting. You chuckle at the slight flush on her face as you lean up to attach your lips to her neck. She makes a pleased noise at the action, pulling you flush against her as she tilts her head back further. 

You're overcome with fondness as she rubs circles on your back with her thumb as you kiss your way across her neck. She lets out a loud moan as your teeth come into play, nipping gently at her neck. “Y/N,” She murmurs suddenly, pulling away with a guilty look on her face. “Is Nat asleep?”

“What? No,” You say dismissively, trying to move back to Lottie's neck. Lottie takes a step back with an amused look on her face as she looks down at you. 

“Where is she then?” She asks, grinning as if she's caught you in a lie. 

“It's Friday,” You remind her. “Nat's working tonight.”

Oh, She mouths, looking surprised. She gets over it quickly as her face lights up. She grabs your hand and laces your fingers together as she drags you off to your bed, pointedly ignoring your laughter as you eagerly follow behind her. 

You wrinkle your nose at the smell of Lottie's cigarette as you bury your face further in her chest in the hopes of escaping it. Lottie strokes your hair with her free hand with a murmured sorry as she laughs out clouds of smoke. You'd never really gotten the taste for them yourself, too bitter and chemically to ever hold your attention, but you couldn't help the nostalgic feeling that came over you whenever that acrid smell filled the air. 

Suddenly you were 13 again, coughing your way through the pack of cigarettes Nat had nicked from her dad. You hadn’t been the most enthusiastic about the idea to start with, but you’d been goaded into many things at the sight of Nat’s crooked grin. Nat had always seemed so cool, larger than life even, ever since you were kids. You hadn’t– and still haven’t– ever seen a kid as intimidating as Nat seemed back then. Sometimes you think you’d do anything she asked of you as long as she watched you with that proud grin of hers afterward; When you're being honest with yourself you know that you would.

You got so sick afterward that you've never touched another one since, but Nat was never able to kick the habit. You'd spent many a cold winter day leaning up against a brick wall trying to pull your jacket impossibly closer as you talked with Nat as she smoked. You lived for those quiet moments shared only between the two of you. You’ve always been the most important person in Nat’s life, you’ve never doubted that, but something about the sanctity of that space has always made you feel important. You’re never more honest with each other than you are then, as if the clouds of smoke have brought you somewhere else entirely.

You'd almost laughed the first time you watched Lottie light up, the air filled with the achingly familiar feeling of home. It was almost funny: the smell had always been a comforting reminder of Nat– a way to bring her with you no matter where you went– so of course Lottie would be a smoker too. It felt like fate, sitting on Lottie Matthew’s porch as she lit up the same cheap brand that Nat smoked. You suspected Lottie probably stole them, but you never cared enough to ask. You'd let them have their secrets, they always came to you when they were ready. 

You were startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening, you and Lottie sharing a panicked look as you both stumbled your way out of bed to pull your clothes back on. “Guys?” Nat calls out cautiously as she softly shuts the door, clearly unsure if you're awake. 

“Yeah?” You call out, trying to sound nonchalant. You quickly pull the rest of your clothes on as you join Nat in the kitchen. Your face lights up at the sight of the brown bags on the table. 

“You got dinner this late?” You ask happily. Lottie presses a kiss against your head as she slips past you to the table. You and Nat share an amused look as Lottie finds her food and digs right in, happily ignoring the rest of you as she eats. 

“Hungry, Lot?” Nat asks wryly as she slips into the seat across from her. Lottie shrugs, a hint of a smile on her face. 

“Long day. Used a lot of energy, you know?” She glances over at you when she says it and you pointedly clear your throat as you slide into the chair next to her. Nat glances back and forth between the two of you suspiciously but ultimately decides to let it go. 

You end up talking long into the night, so tired by the time you all finally stumble into bed that you can barely keep your eyes open. Whether it was by chance or conscious choice you were never quite sure, but as you collapse into bed you fall with Nat in the middle. She seems a little unsure as the two of you cuddle up to her, cheeks flushed and expression unreadable, but makes no move to stop you. If you had to pick a moment that the change in your relationship truly cemented, this was definitely it: head resting on Nat's chest as you listened to the soft thumping of her heart. 

…

You stare at Lottie open-mouthed as you try to take the situation in. “So I’m not hearing a no,” Lottie says, trying to seem nonchalant but failing as her voice shakes with nerves. She takes a slow slip from her drink– which you absentmindedly notice looks a lot like the cups from work– as she watches your expression closely. You sputter uselessly for a moment before you finally manage to get your mouth to work correctly.

“You want to date Nat?” You ask, the hurt clearly creeping into your voice. Lottie’s eyes go wide as she chokes on her drink in shock, holding one finger out to tell you to wait as she coughs out the water she swallowed wrong. Normally you’d be nearly keeled over laughing at her, but you’re so upset that it doesn’t even seem that funny. 

“No, no,” She chokes out in a panic, shaking her head frantically. “Well, yes,” Lottie says after a moment of consideration. “But like you and Nat.” She makes a vague gesture with her hands as she tries to signify all three of you together, but can’t seem to find a configuration for it and ends up dropping her hands awkwardly into her lap.

You feel all the tension in your body drain out as you slump back in your seat. You bury your face into your hands and groan, slowly dragging them down to fall limply on the table. “You couldn’t have found a better way to word that?” You ask, voice tinged with a slight irritation. Lottie shrugs apologetically, blowing you a kiss in lieu of an actual apology. With a roll of your eyes you clarify, “So you want to date both of us? Like a throuple or something?”

Lottie nods, crossing the kitchen to prop herself up on the table as she sits on the edge of it. You sigh, running your hands up Lottie’s thighs as you wrap your arms around her back. You bury your head into her stomach with a muffled sigh, nuzzling your face further against her as she starts running her fingers through your hair. “Is it really a surprise to you? I thought that you– that you felt it too. Don’t you?” She asks guiltily, a tinge of desperation entering her voice the longer she speaks. The hand she’s got resting against your shoulder clenches tightly around the neckline of your shirt as if she’s afraid you’ll leave her here if she gives you the chance.

“I've never thought about her like that,” You say slowly, as if trying to convince more than just Lottie.

Lottie sighs, fingers soothingly massaging your scalp. “You can lie to me, but don't lie to yourself,” She says softly, gently pulling your head away so she can look at you while she speaks. 

“She's… She's my Nat,” You say helplessly as you look up at her. 

Lottie nods as she cups the side of your face. “I know, Y/N,” She murmurs. She gently strokes the side of your face with her thumb as she adds, “What are you so afraid of?”

“I don't want things to change,” You admit, eyes tearing up as your vision blurs. “What if… What if it's different? What if she doesn't want–”

“What if she does, though? What if she wants it too and is too afraid to ask. Wouldn't you, if you were Nat?” Lottie interrupts, wiping your tears away with her thumb. 

“Do you really think so?” You ask hesitantly. 

“I think it's more difficult for you and Nat to see because your relationship has always blurred those lines,” She says. Your eyes widen as you quickly try to deny it but she holds a finger up to your lips. 

“I'm not saying either of you did anything wrong. I just think you've been so close for so long that you don't realize that it isn't a normal friendship,” Lottie continues, looking a little embarrassed as she adds “I was pretty jealous of your friendship before we started dating.”

You lean back against your chair, honestly stumped as you think about the implications of what she's said. Have you and Nat always been like this? “I know you were jealous when I kissed Nat at the party, but–” You start. 

“It's not just about the party,” Lottie says wryly. She's got that expression on her face that you've seen teachers use when they're talking to small children. You try not to be too offended over it. “The two of you have a way of making everyone around you seem like they don't exist. Like they don't matter as long as the two of you have each other.” Your face softens at the admission, squeezing gently at her hips. 

She smiles as she shakes her head. “You've never made me feel like that, though. Not since the party. That's why I know that Nat feels the same. You'd never be able to look past each other if she didn't.”

“Besides,” She adds with a smug grin.” I've seen the way she looks at us when you're not looking.“ 

Your eyes widen in glee. “She…” You trail off expectantly. Lottie shakes her head in exasperation. 

“She was getting more than a glance in that shower. You really didn't notice?” Lottie asks. You pause. Now that you think about it, she was getting quite an eyeful. 

The more you know. 

“So you're 100% sure that–”

“Y/N!” Lottie groans, burying her head in her hands. 

…

Nat groans in irritation as she looks over at you. “Stop doing that shit,” She accuses.

You wonder idly if you always walk this loud or if it’s your own nerves that make every step feel like it’s echoing down the street as you walk home. You think it’s probably the nerves, or at least you certainly hope it is. You glance anxiously down at your shoes as you walk just in case, wondering if Nat’s hearing it too. No, that was stupid. Cut it out. You think, shaking your head as if to clear it from your mind.

You almost want to back out of the promise you’ve made, knowing that you’ve already made enough of a fool of yourself tonight. It’s not your fault that the idea of confessing you and your girlfriend’s attraction to your best friend was driving you up the walls. Sitting on that knowledge would psych anyone out, right?

God, why did you let Lottie talk you into asking Nat about it yourself? You knew damn well that Nat wouldn’t react well if it was the both of you– she tended to strike out if she felt like she was backed into a corner, after all– but you desperately wanted Lottie’s support right now. You don’t know why you're so nervous, it’s only Nat. But that seems to be the crux of the issue: it’s Nat. 

You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever been nervous about telling her anything, and you're absolutely falling apart in the process. You know that she must know that something going on, how could she not; Nat’s always known you better than you know yourself. It’s one of the things you love most about her, the shared ability to speak without ever saying a word. 

You clear your throat awkwardly, purposely avoiding eye contact as you look over at her. You're almost thankful for the darkness as you can’t quite make out her expression, knowing that it means it’s hiding the blush you know must be present on your own face. You feel an intense flash of guilt you fear at the uncertainty on her face. You knew she had to have been picking up on your weird mood all night, but you never wanted to make her feel bad about it. Nat tugs anxiously at the sleeves of her jacket, pulling it tighter around her as if to better shield herself from the world. Nat’s always done that when something makes her feel small and insignificant. 

Fuck.

“What’s up?” You ask hesitantly. Nat stops in her tracks, watching you carefully as you stop a half-second later.

“What’s up?” She asks pointedly. “You dropped enough glasses tonight that you probably lost more than you made and now you’re doing whatever the fuck this is!”

The first thing you notice is how frustrated she sounds, and you can’t help but shrink slightly under her gaze. She’s glaring at you and you can suddenly understand why people used to jump out of her way in high school. You’ve never had that look directed at you before so it takes you a second to come to terms with it, which is the only reason it takes you so long to notice. She looks hurt. Her jaw trembles with it like she’s doing everything she can not to cry.

“I’ve… Just got some things going on, is all,” You mutter, flashing her a weak smile.

“I know that, Y/N,” Nat says with a scoff. “What I don’t know is when we stopped telling each other things.”

“Nat, I–”

“I’m not done speaking,” She interrupts. You nod solemnly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how fucking weird you’ve been lately. You and Lottie sharing all those little looks when you think I can’t see them.”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Nat adds as your eyes widen in surprise. “I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Nat,” You say gently. “I… I guess I’ll just go out and say it, yeah?” Nat nods stiffly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. You’re gracious enough to pretend that she isn’t crying, knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate being called out on it when she’s feeling this vulnerable.

“Okay,” You murmur slowly, tapping your fingers anxiously against your thighs as you try to hype yourself up. Nat smiles fondly at the gesture despite herself, glancing away so that you can’t see it just a second too late. It’s the last push you need to gather your courage together as you blurt out “Lottie and I have a crush on you.”

“What? Slow down. I didn’t catch any of that shit.”

You groan. Again? “Lottie and I… have a crush on you.” Nat makes a surprised noise, anxious hands falling limply at her sides.

“Like… Both of you? At the same time?” Nat asks aloud, clearly just voicing her thoughts. 

You watch nervously as her mind races, scuffing your shoe against the ground as you try to look literally anywhere else. She hasn’t run screaming all the way home, so it’s already going better than you feared it might. You hate when Lottie’s right: she’s always so smug about it later.

Nat slowly starts walking, still deep in thought, and you quickly speed up to fall into step next to her. You try to let her have her space to think it over, but you can't help but glance over at her every few seconds to see what she's thinking. The two of you are completely silent the rest of the walk home, and now you really do think Nat can hear your footsteps. There's certainly not anything else to distract from it. 

You curse silently to yourself, wishing you'd stuck with your initial urge to keep it to yourself. What if–

“You can say no,” You offer suddenly, the deep silence feeling like daggers piercing your skin the longer it lasts. You climb the stairs behind her as you make your way up the stairwell to your apartment. That in itself felt strange given that you'd always walked side-by-side. You figure that it could've been worse. Had the elevator been working, a first in the six months you lived for, you would've been stuck in a box with her. Small mercies. 

“What– What am I even saying no to?” Nat asks quietly as she wrings her hands. 

“Going out with us. Being our girlfriend,” You rush out, deciding it's probably beneficial to be as blunt as possible with Nat. You can tell from her sudden exhale that she appreciates it and you relax in kind. Her hands finally relax as she goes digging in her pockets for her keys, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. 

You watch her every movement carefully as you walk inside, leaning against the arm of the couch as she steps in behind you.”Can I think about it?” She asks. You nod quickly, a little too quickly you think given by the sudden twinge of pain in your neck following the action. 

“Yeah! Take all the time you need, or whatever. I'll just be here,” You trail off awkwardly as you look toward the couch. You should probably sleep on the couch, right? 

“You're not sleeping on the couch,” Nat says wryly, as if she's read your mind. You startle slightly as you whirl your head around to face her. 

“Don't fucking make things weird, idiot,” She mutters, rolling her eyes. Nat steps past you to walk towards the bedroom, but not before taking the chance to push you over the arm of the couch you've been sitting on. You land on the cushion with a soft thud as you’re left staring up at the ceiling, no worse for wear as your legs hang uncomfortably over the arm. You grumble at the sound of her laughter as her footsteps sound down the hall. 

…

You wouldn’t say the next few days were awkward, but only because Lottie made you promise not to say anything about it. Many times over the last few days you’ve caught Nat looking at you or Lottie only for her to quickly look away the second she realizes that she’s been caught. You weren’t sure whether those interactions should leave you feeling hopeful or not, as they often left you feeling quite glum, but Lottie kept insisting that “no news is good news.” 

You’ve often found Lottie’s moods to be quite infectious in the past– no one was having a good day if Lottie wasn’t– but you’ve found yourself to be curiously immune this time around. You tried not to let Nat catch you moping around the apartment, not wanting to make her feel guilty, but the more time that passed the more you began to regret speaking up in the first place. 

You’re lamenting this once again to a long-suffering Lottie who idly traces circles across your stomach as you lie on the couch with your head in her lap. “You’ve just got to give her time,” Lottie murmurs knowingly. She’s probably said this about a dozen times by now, and you’d normally get annoyed at receiving the same response every time if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve lodged the same complaints just about as many times. Your girl had the patience of a saint, but even she had to be getting a little annoyed with you by now. You feel a little guilty at the thought, especially knowing that Lottie would never say anything about it. 

It’s been so tense with everything going on with Nat lately, and the only person you really wanted to talk about it with was unavailable for obvious reasons. You’re left with a strange sense of loneliness, one that you haven’t been familiar with since you were a child. You thought you’d long forgotten what the dreadful years before Nat had moved into town were like, but you’ve found yourself stuck back in them just as easily as you had left them behind.

It made you ache something fierce as it forced you to think about how lonely Lottie must have been growing up. You wouldn’t know it from talking with her, but sometimes she gets this look in her eyes when she thinks no one is watching her. It’s only a pale reflection of the look you saw so many times on her face as a child, but it still pulls at your heartstrings. Just the thought of that resigned look on her face and dull eyes as she swung in silence during recess has you tearing up. You wish so badly sometimes that you could take it from her, that you could go back in time and push two desperately lonely children together. Still, the thought that always comes to mind is whether it would mean never meeting Nat. You’re not sure you could ever trade one for the other.

You force yourself out of your gloomy thoughts to give Lottie an apologetic look as you reach a hand up to cup her face. Lottie closes her eyes as she nuzzles into your hand, pressing her cold face against the warmth of your palm. Her expression is relaxed and open as she reclines against you, stunning even with her cheek smushed unflatteringly against your palm. She remains motionless save for the rise and fall of her chest with every breath. 

Her stillness reminds you suddenly of old statues of goddesses, untouched and immortal; The knowledge they’re made of cold marble contradicted by the strange feeling that they’d be soft if only you reached out and touched them. But she’s so much more than a mere monument: she's flesh and blood, kindness and warmth. She's filled with an endless curiosity about the world that leaves you with an awe bordering on reverence. She's a goddess in all but name, and there is no altar that you would not worship Lottie Matthews on.

As if sensing your gaze she opens her eyes to give you a toothy smile, the edge of her pointed canines peeking out just enough to make you smile in turn. You silently mourn the loss as Lottie moves her head to watch the door a moment before it suddenly swings open. Nat steps inside slowly and she looks around, seemingly feeling an equal measure of surprise and relief to see the two of you relaxing on the couch. 

“Hey,” Nat says awkwardly, a little unsure. “Could we… Could we talk about that thing you brought up the other night?” 

You glance up at Lottie who gives you a reassuring smile as she slips her hand back out from beneath your shirt. You sit up and scoot to the other side of the couch, purposely leaving Nat the seat in the middle. Nat eyes it anxiously before gathering her courage and plopping down on the seat between you. You cross your legs as you turn to face her, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Nat glances back and forth between you as if she can’t decide where to look. Lottie snickers at Nat’s indecisiveness, ironically helping her make the decision as she turns to glare at her. Lottie just grins in response, winking at you over Nat’s shoulder. Nat groans as she relaxes back on the couch, head thrown back lazily as she stares up at the ceiling.

“I’ve been thinking–” Nat starts.

“Oh no, did you hurt anything?” You interrupt, earning yourself a quick flick to your arm. You hiss at the sudden sting, giving Nat a weak glare that she shakes off easily as she continues.

“I thought it would be different when you and Lottie started dating. Most people have less time for their best friend when they get a girlfriend, y’know?” Nat exhales slowly, turning her head to face you. “Kept waiting for it to change. For you to ditch me a few times to hang out with Lottie fucking Matthews instead. But it just never happened.”

“Nat, there’s always going to be a place for you in my life. You know that, don’t you?” You hold out your hand and she slowly reaches forward to lace your fingers together. She’s got a look on her face that you’ve never seen before as she looks down at your joined hands. She squeezes your hand before turning to look at Lottie.

“And you…” Nat trails off.

“And me,” Lottie says with a perfectly feigned smile. Lottie always hides her nervousness in her hands, and you can see the way she idly picks at the skin around her manicured nails.

“You’re not at all what I thought you were, you know that?” Nat asks. Lottie looks surprised, but her smile suddenly turns genuine as a hint of a flush rises to her cheeks. “We spent nearly four years on that team and never spoke, but still I thought I knew exactly who you were: You walked around in those expensive clothes you probably bought with Daddy’s money, to store in your walk-in closet. And then…” 

Nat stops to laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “I found out you fucking stole them. From TJ Maxx of all places.”

“They have good clothes,” Lottie says unrepentantly. “You’re… You’re not who I thought you were either.”

Nat’s smile fades a bit as she asks, “Not as big of a burnout as you thought, huh?”

“No,” Lottie laughs, “I used to think you were cool, you fucking loser.”

Nat scoffs, looking back at you to playfully ask, “Are you going to let her talk to me like this?”

You shrug. “As if I could stop her. She’s got a mind of her own.”

“She can hear you,” Lottie says dryly. You hold your hands up placatingly, dragging Nat’s hand up with yours. Lottie hums in acceptance, but you have a feeling she’s going to bring it back up when you least expect it.

“Got a little off track, but uh…” Nat says, tentatively holding her free hand out for Lottie. “I wouldn’t mind dating you. Both of you, obviously.” Lottie holds her hand up to Nat’s as she compares the size of their hands, grinning smugly before she laces their hands together. 

“We should probably talk about this more,” You acknowledge, sharing a look of understanding over Nat’s shoulder with Lottie.

“Definitely,” Lottie breathes out, as she leans in toward Nat. 

Nat’s eyes are blown wide as she glances back at you as if asking for permission. You just laugh, raising your free hand to gently turn Nat’s head towards Lottie as their lips meet. You're content watching as they move against each other, Lottie quickly getting lost in the hurricane that is Nat Scatorccio. You’d almost be sympathetic if you didn’t know she was giving it almost as good as she was giving it. Your normally composed girlfriend pulls away with a quiet gasp as she loses the battle against her need to breathe. Her cheeks are flushed, and she almost seems overwhelmed. Nat turns to you with just a hint of a smirk, and you surge forward with the knowledge that you no longer have to ignore the urge to kiss it away.

…

After a few hours of actual conversation, spread out among other activities, you find yourself lying across your bed next to Nat. You’ve been watching Nat try to guess the constellations Lottie’s been tracing across her bare back for the last ten minutes, each guess more pitiful than the last. You think she’s just making them up at this point. Judging by the look of amusement on Lottie’s face, you figure that she’s definitely clocked on to that long before you did.

You stretch out lazily as you lean closer to steal a quick kiss from Nat. She smiles dreamily at you as if it still seems too good to be true. You can’t help but return the look, snuggling impossibly closer to her. “Don’t distract her,” Lottie whines playfully. Nat groans as she buries her head into the pillow.

“This is impossible,” She complains, voice muffled by the pillow. Nat sighs. “Orion?”

“Orion?” You ask in disbelief.

“I don’t know any other constellations,” Nat mumbles.

“You’d know more if you didn’t skip out on going to the planetarium,” Lottie comments wryly. You and Nat share a look as she feigns a fearful shudder. You bite lightly at her shoulder in response, laughing at the surprised yelp it earns you.

[piratesfromspace]

Shell-Shocked (Price x Reader)

Pairing: Reader x Price Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.8k Summary: Price and his unit have been tasked with retrieving an important asset: you. (Lots of self-indulgent hurt/comfort) Note: It's been almost a year since I posted a real fic, 2024 ended quite awfully for me with the passing of two family members and me losing my job for economic reasons. So I'm back with a classic hurt/comfort fic because that's how I cope.

Content: fem!reader, kidnapping, violence, physical torture (light), threat of noncon, hurt/comfort, sexual tensions, description of caring for wounds and burns

MASTERLIST

“Bloody hell, Kate, what is this about?” Price’s voice is even rougher than usual.

Price can’t believe what he’s hearing. He had been summoned inside Laswell’s office in the middle of the night, and it sounded important. But he wasn’t ready for the news that Graves and his Shadows had betrayed them and stormed the Los Vaqueros base. He was even less prepared to learn that the mission Laswell was tasking him with was not to capture Graves but rather to retrieve an agent.

“You heard me, there was a girl stationed with Los Vaqueros, she’s an asset of mine. Graves must have captured her when he took over the base. You need to retrieve her and bring her back to me. Unharmed.” Kate is trying her best to control the waver in her tone, but John knows her enough to understand something is wrong - terribly wrong - worse than the treason of Graves.

“Are you even sure your agent is still alive?” he asks, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I’m not sure of anything right now, but you must do everything you can to find her.” Laswell sighs and then she says something Price has only heard her say a couple times in the decade he’s known her “ Please , John”.

“Must be really important if you’re saying please ” “It’s… it’s personal.” she admits, lighting a cigarette.

John pauses for a bit, a concerned frown on his face “Wait, is it who I think it is?”

“ Please John”, she begs again, “you’re the only one I trust for this mission.” Laswell sounds so unlike her usual self, it’s unsettling to him. “What about Graves?” John inquires, anger lacing his voice when he says the name of the traitor. “I don’t give a fuck about Graves anymore. Kill him for all I care. Just bring her back.”  “Whatever the cost?” He asks, making sure Laswell understands what she’s asking of him and his team. Kate blows the smoke of her cigarette upwards before answering. “I know you’ll make the right choices.” and her words have a finality in them John doesn’t dare to challenge.

A few hours before, on Los Vaqueros base

You’re getting ready to crash in your cot after a day of training. Your hair is still damp from your shower, and you can’t wait to shed your clothes and boots for something more comfy.

The training had been rough, but as a young CIA agent, it was a rare opportunity to be able to train here with Los Vaqueros. Actually, you wouldn’t even have heard of this opportunity, if not for your aunt Kate Laswell. Your presence here was a favor to your aunt and everyday you try your best to not disappoint her or Alejandro and his men. Even if the pressure doesn’t make it easy.

You’re just about to get in your pj, when you hear clear gunshots outside. Nothing like the dulled and regular sound from the shooting range, no, it was way too loud and chaotic. There are shouts, alarms - something is wrong. When you open your door to peak into the corridor, you understand the base is under attack. You’re used to gunshots, to police swipes of drug or weapon labs, but the chaos in front of you - it immediately sends you into a state of high alert, senses overwhelmed by the bright neon lights, the overlapping sound of fighting and siren, the distant smell of smoke and tear gas, the acidic taste of stress on your tongue. 

You have to think quick, because the sound of heavy boots and gunfire is coming at you real fast. You don’t want to hide under your bed risking getting caught in the dead end of your room, and for a lack of a better option, you decide to flee. You’re glad you still have your combat boots on, pushing your already-exhausted body through the long corridor. You run for your life, until you take a hard turn and just end up face to face with a bunch of soldiers, all clad in black, clearly not Vaqueros - but rather your assailants.

You’re stunned for a few seconds, stuck in place, just as they are. One of them doesn't have a mask on - white male, dark blond hair, and an insufferable air - Philipp Graves himself. You’ve seen him already in briefing video calls, you know his reputation, and it takes you a couple seconds to understand that he’s betraying what are supposed to be his allies. His eyes grow big with the surprise of recognizing you as well. 

“Grab the girl, I want her alive!” he barks at his soldiers.

You don’t linger, start running back from where you came. Bullets are coming from everywhere and windows on your right are breaking into myriads of glass shards as you dash through the corridor. You try to focus, to conjure up the map of the building in your mind to plan an escape, but the stress of the situation is sinking its fangs into your nape, an icy feeling turning your thoughts into useless panic.

You’re a fast runner, but it’s not enough. One shadow crashes into you from behind and topples you to the floor. The shock steals the air from your lungs, and it’s a small miracle you don’t bash open your skull on the hard floor. But you’re not gonna yield just now. You squirm in his grasp, try to fight him off, aiming for the tender parts of his face, just like you learned in your self-defense classes. You manage to draw blood with a mean scratch of your nails near his eyes, but his fellow soldiers are on you before you can do more damage. Two more Shadows seize your limbs, lean their weight on you, glass shards slashing your bare skin in dozens of cuts when they force your arm and the side of your face flat against the floor. You scream - more so in anger than in pain - and the inhumane cry coming out of your mouth scares you. You didn’t know you could sound like this. 

The acrid smell of tobacco is what wakes you up. You’re fully awake in an instant, adrenaline spiking in your system the second you open your eyes and remember your situation. You must have dozed off after your capture, but now you’re faced with one of the guards blowing off the smoke of his cigarette right into your face. You cough and it’s like all your nerves have a misfire, your whole body hurts like hell. From sleeping on the hard floor with your hands bound behind your back and from the cuts all over your arms and the left side of your face. Cigarette in mouth, his colleague laughs at your pained reaction, cruel bastard . 

“Fuck you” you manage to utter out between two coughing fits. The first guard is unimpressed, he just laughs, but his colleague makes a crude joke about teaching you a lesson or two while he grabs his crotch in an unambiguous threat, punctuating his sentence by a few kicks in your legs. It’s far from the first time a man has made this type of comment, and in a rageful reaction, you retaliate by trying to kick him back. You know you made a mistake when he easily grabs your ankle, pushes your pants back up your leg, removes the cigarette from his lips and brings the glowing head right to the fragile skin of your shin. The burn fucking hurts. You scream, and trash against his hold. It’s no use and he has the time to inflict a second burn, before the whole commotion attracts the attention of the rest of the room - including Graves himself.

He’s visibly not very happy to stop the fight and to remind his guards that he needs you untouched for now. He also orders them to allow you a trip to the bathroom and to give you some water. What a gentleman - you want to taunt him and be all cynical, but you’re also scared he will withdraw his little crumb of a peace offering. 

You’d be so easy to break, you realize bluntly. If Graves decided he wanted to ask a few questions about your aunt, you’d be fucked. A dash of torture, the promise of a glass of water, and you would spill the beans. You don’t know much about Laswell’s missions, but you know where she lives, the name of her wife, you know one alias or two. You could probably guess a few of her passwords. Fuck , you think you’re all tough and shit, promising CIA agent sent to train with some badass men, ready to take on the bad guys all over the world - that’s bullshit . Nothing can prepare you for the real deal.

You could keep wallowing about how bad you’d be at resisting interrogation, but you settle for trying to understand whatever the fuck Graves thinks he’s doing here.

“Why are you doing this Graves?” you ask, voice raw and on edge. “That’s none of your business darling” he answers, insufferable swaggers on, no matter that it's probably 5am by now. “Then release me. You must know who I am, otherwise I’d be dead by now, so you also know it can’t end well for you to keep me here like this.” you plead. “I’ll take my chances” he concludes with a smirk, leaving you to the surveillance of the two cruel Shadows.

After this, you can’t fall asleep again. No matter how exhausted you still feel, your anxiety is through the roof, and your whole body is vibrating with it - the pain not helping. It’s still dark outside, even though dawn is just minutes away.That’s when you start hearing gunshots all over again. Everything is turning into chaos, but it seems this chaos is the result of someone coming to take the base back.

Graves is yelling orders to his shadows, the sound of grenades coming off is getting closer and closer, and you try to think of a plan. The sudden shot of adrenaline at the prospect of a rescue mission on the way makes you bold. Maybe you can turn this diversion into the opportunity to flee? Your train of thoughts is cut short when one of the Shadows grabs you by the arm, massive gloved hand yanking you up, leaving mean bruises in its wake. You scream to let you go, but the giant is deaf to your protests and he drags you across the room, following Graves and a couple more soldiers into the stairs.

You quickly understand their plan is to reach the roof so they can fly away from this clusterfuck safely tucked into their helicopter. And apparently you’re supposed to come with them. As a literal human shield and as a guarantee the assailants won’t shoot their heli down and risk your life. And who knows what they’ll do to you once they successfully leave this place. No matter what you can think of, one thing is for sure: it’s not gonna be pretty and whatever it takes, you can’t board this helicopter.

Floor after floor, your little group is closing on their exfil point way too quickly. You keep screaming, trashing with all your strength against the grip of the Shadow holding you. With one vicious kick, you almost got free, but the Shadow has enough of your fighting. With nothing more than an exasperated grunt, he hauls you up on his large shoulder like you were a naughty child, tightly securing your legs against him, holding you with so much pressure, you’re afraid he’s gonna break a bone. You see black spots for a few seconds, head dizzy with the sudden move and all your blood rushing to your skull.

All your screams and squirming are not stopping your captor in its track, and you reach the final floor. You remember its layout: a few desks and shelves are scattered through the open plan. And on the other side of it: a flight of narrow stairs going to the roof. Graves yells to the group to hurry up and starts sprinting through the floor. The man carrying you follows, his shoulder digging painfully into your stomach with each of his heavy steps. It’s only a matter of minutes before you all will finally board this helicopter. If you can’t escape right now, it’s gonna be too late. But you won’t go down without a fight. It’s frantic and probably a little pathetic the way you fight back against the grip of steel on your legs. You throw everything you got into it. The last scraps of your energy burning in your desperate attempt to break free - to no avail. 

You’re halfway through the floor when the terrifying whizz of bullets come from behind you. Shadows drop dead around you.You raise your head up at the best of your ability, and spot a few soldiers coming after you. Their gear looks familiar. American-issued helmets. Boots you recognize. Allies. Allies are here, but for now, they are also shooting at enemies dangerously close to you.

The guard holding you doesn’t falter, heading even more rapidly towards the stairs to the roof. More bullets are grazing you both and some Shadows are returning fire. You feel more helpless than ever, not a single inch of protective gear on your body, just your thin skin, already slashed and bloody. Gunshots and screams fill the air. The soldier holding you turns to face the opponents. You momentarily lose sight of your saviors, your hearing now the only way of knowing what is happening behind you. That’s when the sound of a shot is perfectly timed with the recoil of your captor, who falls to his knees with a grunt of pain. 

Hit . He’s been hit . 

His grasp on you grows weak, his balance undermined by your dead weight. And now that you’re closer to the ground, you don’t hesitate, roll yourself violently on the side, and fall hard on the floor. Free, at last . Not for long though, because after a moment of pause, another round echoes in the air and the giant Shadow falls down for good, his limp body crushing you under him, pushing the air out of your lungs. Everything goes fuzzy around you for a moment as statics fill your ears.

Are you dead? That’s what you think until you hear the noise of the room again, the screams of Graves and his men as they flee to the roof and leave you there. You can hear the low rumble from the heli starting up, and then the hurried steps of the men who shot your captor growing louder as they got closer to you.

Panic grows when you realize you’re now trapped under the heavy dead body of the guard, your wrists still tied, his warm blood drenching your clothes, in a disgusting tepid embrace. You gasp for air, breathing made difficult by the weight pressing you down. Until someone carefully lifts the body of the dead guard from you. That’s when you finally see your savior. Striking blue eyes, straight nose, and a thick beard covering a square jaw. You… know him somehow?  

“John?!” you whisper, too stunned to address him by his rank or family name like you’re supposed to - you’re not even sure it’s him and you’re not just being delirious.  “Careful, dear.” he crouches next to you, promptly cutting the zip ties with his knife. You can’t believe it, but in front of you is John Price. You spent a couple months with him a few years ago when you shared a training facility. He taught you a few tricks back then, became your sparring partner and a friendly face you were always happy to see. Well, now even more than ever. “Are you hurt? Can you stand?” he asks as he helps you sit up, eyes scanning your body, methodical, efficient, just like he used to be. You don’t understand why he’s losing time helping you, the traitor is fleeing just a few stairs away, you’re definitely not a priority.

“Graves, he’s gonna to escape, you need to go after him…” you wheeze between two coughs. Your protest is cut short by his answer. “I’m not here for Graves.” “Then, what are you…” the question dies on your lips when the realization sinks in. There are 3 other men with him you notice, taking defensive positions around you. Price is already getting body armor out of his backpack, and starts securing it on your chest. Orders are being given to his men, his voice soft but assured, confident. You understand now. He’s not here for Graves. He’s here for you .

You let him work the straps without any fuss, still light-headed from it all: the bullets that grazed at you, the pain from your numerous cuts and bruises, the tiredness, the lack of food, the sticky blood from the dead guard coating your clothes. The rest of it is a bit of a blur. You’re slowly feeling yourself getting into some sort of shock. You only register the sound of Graves’ heli flying away, and then being escorted out of the building, Price holding you upright while the rest of his squad opens the way for you. You’re finally hauled into a jeep, and you’re on the road just as the sun rises, sky bathed in oranges and pinks, peaceful and oblivious to the massacre you just escaped.

You can’t say how long the ride was before you parked in front of a random farm - a safehouse John provides. The place looks old but clean enough, the kitchen you’re ushered into definitely more inviting than the room you spent the night in.

You want to ask a million questions to John, but you settle for a very simple what is the plan now? His familiar low voice is a blessing after all the noise of the battlefield, but you can sense the worry in his tone.

“We have an exfil plan for you, but right now we need to focus on keeping you alive, yeah? Can’t have you die from septic shock or Laswell will have my head.” 

You wince when he removes the body armor from your chest, revealing your blood-drenched tank top. Price orders you to sit on a wooden chair, as he carefully cleans his hands in the kitchen sink. He drags a stool to sit next to you, and gives a glance to the rest of his team that conveys in a silent request that they leave you both alone. You’re oddly grateful for that, because you could sense your growing unease at being under the watchful gazes of the 3 other unknown soldiers. Especially the black-clad giant with a literal skull mask who looks a little bit too much like a Death allegory for your peace of mind.

“Let me see” Price finally asks and he takes hold of your wrist to turn your arm a little bit, trying his best to assess the damage under the grime and the caked blood - yours and the one from your captor. His touch is firm but gentle, his fingers dry and warm against your sticky skin. You’re mesmerized for a second by the sheer size of his hands, closing so easily around your whole wrists, dwarfing your own, holding your whole head when he checks you for concussion  - you had forgotten how much space his body is taking. 

He takes some time prodding at your skull before he hums, satisfied by your encouraging answers, and turns his attention to your injured arm. He pours the contents of his water bottle on your upper arm, and the feeling of the cold water is soothing until it awakens the numerous cuts from the broken glass, making some of the tiny wounds bleed again. Bright red streaks mixing with the dark crimson in a gory painting. Price tries his best to clean them with a pad of cotton dipped in antiseptic, the sting of it making you hiss between gritted teeth.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, but I can see a couple of glass shards still in your arm.” the captain states clinically “I’m sorry, darling, it’s gonna hurt a bit.” he adds more softly, apologetic.  You flinch when he brings the thin tweezers he fished out of his medkit near one of the most painful cuts. “Easy, girl, stay still.” He commands although there is no anger in his words. “I’ll be gentle.”

You’re pretty sure you’ve already known worse pain - but it was different. Minor medical issues or training injuries that had nothing to do with being thrown on the ground in a sea of broken glass by real enemies before being tied down for a whole night and thrown over a shoulder like a vulgar sack. It’s… a lot. And now that you’re somewhat safe, with the release of the pressure comes the release of all the fear and pain that were dulled by the adrenaline and the stress. 

You’re shaking by the time Price has disinfected every wound and removed all the shards from your arm - almost a dozen of them, tiny cristales leaving red drops on the white porcelain of the plate he drops them on.

“Good, you’re doing good, breathe for me love.” he encourages, his voice low and soothing. “I just need to bandage your arm now”. 

He wraps gauze around your arm in small sections, careful not to tighten it too much, before taping it in place. He presses the final bit of tape on the top of your hand, and gives your palm the gentlest squeeze. You respond to it immediately, and your uninjured hand settles on top of his, silently asking him to keep it on your bandaged skin. His warmth seeps through the gauze, helping less with the pain and more with the bubbling cocktail of awful emotions clawing its way through your initial defense mechanism. It reminds you of the time you spent together a couple years ago - the firm hand that brings you up from the training mattress, your fingers touching when he hands you a bottle of water, the light touches against your elbow or your hips to correct your fighting stance, never lingering more than necessary, professional and respectful, that made you crave him even more.

It reminds you of the drinks you shared on a few occasions in that lively pub next to the base. How you were dancing on the line between regular camaraderie and coy flirting when tucked against his side on those too small benches. But nothing ever happened. It’s not like he openly turned you down, more so you both did not know how to take the final step, too afraid to break something that would be impossible to mend. So you had to settle for late night reveries, your fingers between your feverish legs under your thin sheets, pretending it were his. You knew your attempt would feel nothing like his capable hands, but you still came the hardest when thinking about him.

Pain brings you back to the here and now, and your eyes find his, the light of the morning sun catching in the baby blue of his gaze. He looks older than the last time you saw him. He used to shave clean but now a thick beard styled in mutton chops covers the lower half of his face. When he smiles gently at you, the corners of his eyes wrinkle. The grizzled look talks of experience and wisdom, and he’s even more handsome than before , you think to your own surprise - the crush you hardboarded for him had been long locked away in your memory as an unrequited and hopeless thing, frivolous and naive. But here, in the shambles of your life, covered in dry blood and antiseptic, shell-shocked in this unknown kitchen, his kind hand laying on top of yours is enough to reignite the amber of your dormant love.

“Let me look at your face, dove”.

The captain is thorough, cleaning the superficial wounds there, shushing you with gentle mouth sounds when you whimper because it bloody stings, he even promises morphine once he’s done examining you. He puts a strand of hair back from your face to have a better view of your bloodied brow bone and he smooths his palm absent-mindedly over your hair, just once or twice. A reflexive attempt at comforting you like you were a frightened kitten and the intimacy of the gesture makes your heart flutter.

You thank him once he’s done with your face. He keeps busy, cleaning and putting his tools away, feigning detachment when he asks you with careful words if you’re wounded anywhere else. When you answer a weak no, he can’t help himself to finally look at you, concern written all over his face. 

“I’m good” you whisper. He wants to believe you, really, so he doesn’t push for now. Instead he stands up and calls for one of the boys - callsign Gaz - to bring some fresh clothes and some warm water for you, grumbles something about how it’s not possible to let you in those blood-drenched pants. The younger soldier sets a plastic bucket filled with steaming water, a towel and a pile of black clothing on the table next to you, and quickly leaves the room when Price gives him a glance and a nod that clearly says you can leave the lady alone now . 

John takes a few steps himself, ready to leave you to clean and change yourself, but you stop him. The fabric of your top is way too tight, stiff from the dried blood, and you’re pretty sure you’re gonna rip off half your bandages if you try to remove it on your own. Plus, the pain from your ribs and legs is starting to seriously hinder your move range.

“Okay this is embarrassing but… I think you’ll need to cut off my top” you confess, feeling the warmth of shame heat your cheeks.

The metal of the trauma shears is cold against your skin, making your breath catch in your throat - how close Price is from your body as he’s cutting open the front of your tank top is definitely not helping. He’s going slowly, concentrating on not hurting you in the process. The fabric finally parts, and reveals large bruises that extend across your ribs. More bruises appear when you shyly remove your pants to expose the skin for his examination. His eyes zero in on your shin. Amongst scratches and smaller bruises that Price recognizes for “grab mark” contusions, there are two circular wounds from the cigarette burns, their clearly defined shape unmistakable. His gaze flicks to your gray panty, also stained with blood, and suddenly he’s not so sure it’s not your own.

“What have they done to you?” his voice stays calm but you can hear the tinge of anger behind it. “I need you to tell me exactly what” he continues, the commanding tone of Captain Price replacing the soft voice of John - it’s enough to spook you. You must have flinched too visibly, because he immediately adjusts his request “It’s not an order. I- I just need to understand so I can help you, dove.” 

The word of endearment is what breaks your resistance, and you tell him what happened. How Graves’ guards found it fun to torture you for a minute - not even asking questions, just for their cruel amusement. You don’t shed a tear, you just feel a bit sick and tired - so fucking tired - and you’re shaking and everything hurt. He listens, cerulean eyes focused on your face, not straying for a single moment until you’re done. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” his voice is low, wants to be reassuring, but you can hear the underlying guilt, the part he leaves out, that he’s sorry for coming in too late, sorry for not being more aware of Graves’ allegiance .

You swallow gratefully the mix of painkillers and anxiety meds he places into your hand, before he kneels in front of you to carefully tend to the burn wounds. The meds kick in almost immediately, sticky heat dropping heavy and soothing on your limbs. You’re grateful for it, because you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have let him touch your ankle otherwise. 

“Torture. Can’t say I’m surprised.” Ghost comments dryly, while inspecting his gun, getting ready to leave the safehouse for exfil.  “Bastard” Soap provides, his accent thick on the word, betraying his anger. “What did they ask her?” Gaz inquires, serious and focused. “Nothing. Was for the sake of it.” Price answers, and his boys are quick to pick the unusual sadness in his tone. 

They finish gearing up in silence, until they are ready to escort you to the car, where Price takes the wheel. The exfil point is a short ride away, and the moment you hear the familiar sound of a Black Hawk filling the sky, something lifts from your chest.

(please let me know what you liked, comments and reblogs are very important for writers and the community overall! Also let me know if you want a part 2?)

[noneorother]

The art director & the Good Omens book cover tier list of doom, part 2

Part 1 l Part 2

I am your resident Art Director/Good Omens enthusiast, and welcome to my completely meta-free book cover tier list. Listen, making a book cover is HARD. I should know. But while we salute these artists for their hard work and time, I think we can all admit that once in a while, the vision is just not on. And on very rare occasions, publishers seemed to have managed to commission the cover art directly from hell... here's where we left off last time:

Onwards and upwards, as they say. 11. International paperbacks, Goda Omen

It is inexplicable to me but I LOVE this cover art. It's so sweet and innocent, the colours are contrasty and fun, and the layout leaves enough room for the text. Maybe I would call it slightly inaccurate to have our boys dancing on Greenland while the UK has drowned in a great flood, but hey. It's charming. The international cover gets a thwack with a ruler for trying to fit "creator of Discworld" in between the two wings like that, though. Tier: Great

12. Italian Cover, Buona Apocalisse à tutti!

The Italian translation of Good Omens into "Happy Apocalypse to All!" really tickles my funny bone. Unlike this cover which is trying to scrape at it with a dull knife until I'm screaming on the floor. I know demons can only dance badly, but does Crowley *really* have to fracture both ankles while trying? Aziraphale pelvic thrusting his way into heaven is a visual I didn't think I'd ever want. Minus so many points for random murder alley where this is all occurring. At least the designer managed to wrangle the type into one of the best proportional layouts I've seen thus far? Tier: Bad

13. Italian Cover, Good Omens

A truly valiant attempt here to rectify a terrifying situation with that earlier Italian version. While this one actually seems much more interesting at a glance, the details kinda get to me. The Bentley's steering being on the wrong side, the word Omens kindasortanotfquite fitting on the black wing, the motorcycles with no drivers... TIMES NEW ROMAN FOR THE AUTHORS NAMES. I don't think it can even be redeemed by the most powerfully rendered Sacred Heart/Cardi B W.A.P. imagery I've ever seen. Tier: Good (Omens)

14. Japanese cover, Good Omens

Look, this designer GETS IT. Crowley and Aziraphale are a pair, a group of the two of us. Do not separate. It's also the only cover I've seen that uses shades of grey! The woodcut vibes are STRONG AND POWERFUL. The type is well placed! I should love this, except the end result kinda looks like a manual for clinical depression in the workplace? It's ending up higher on the list than it deserves, frankly.

Tier: Good (Omens)

15. Japanese cover, Good Omens

This cover might as well be an Ethereal/Occult firemen's calendar. Someone wanted teens to cut off this cover and tape it to their bedroom wall. I can't even judge the typography or the symbolism because I'm just getting hit with waves of pheromones and angst. I can't even tell if it's good but it's going in the Good pile because I can't look at it anymore...

Tier: Good (Omens)

16. Japanese covers, Good Omens

Other people have assured me that this is, in fact, a dual Good omens cover. Alas, I cannot tell. I don't possess compound eyes or even an exoskeleton, and as such lack the ability to decipher these decisions.

Tier: WTF

16. Japanese cover, Good Omens

Holy overlap, Batman! I can’t fault this designer for wanting to reuse the wonderful dual illustrations in a Ying-Yang layout, all the elements are there, but there’s a clinginess to the type and positioning that makes me feel like someone is trying to hurt the letters? Is this designer okay? Do they need a hug?

Tier: Does the Job

18. Chinese cover, Good Omens

Can I say how charming it is they’ve managed to conserve the halo and devils tale on the Chinese title, as well as the woodcut detailing? However, the simplicity of the cute, contrasting wing design is sadly swallowed by the intense, New-York taxi cab vibes coming off the yellow and checkerboard text block. It could have been so good! Chinese readers: I am mad on your behalf!

Tier: Not so good (Omens)

19. UK 1991 paperback, Good Omens

What are we doing here, people. I think I've stepped into a Jungian analysis of what it feels like to have read Good Omens. It's dreamy yet unsettling. Right yet very wrong. And Ol' "Tiny Hands" Aziraphale up there is really judging me for what they found inside my mind. In less upsetting news, we've kept the improved typography and layout of the authors and book title. All is not lost to the nightmare.

Tier: Not so good (Omens)

20. 50 Shades of Gray rip-off cover, Good Omens

*panic* WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE, PEOPLE...?! Bonus : the guardian quote is almost as much of a mystery as the cover it’s on.

Tier: WTF

End of round 2.

[night-market-if]

Is there a way to romance Gabe without having to spend so much time around Bella? It kind of feels like he prefers her to my character, so I would like to minimize her presence.

Um, I'm not sure how to answer that. Because I have separate documents for each character and have to write separate routes for each one. So, it's not like the overlap is extreme unless it is for a plot purpose. Personal scenes are rarely together. I can think of maybe one outside of the plot. Also, I have all the characters interacting with each other throughout the books. Because I think it is important that it feels like they are all in this together. Not just one RO and the MC. So, on every route, it is like that. Not just romanced routes.

I do want to add, too, I think you all are putting a lot more emotion to Gabriel than he actually has. The man does not prefer anyone. The man barely wants to be around anyone. He is married to his job.

[void-ink-studios]

Gala of the Gods (Part 3)

Alright, Part 3 is here!

You get art this time around as well, as I couldn't resist drawing their fancy outfits! Hmm, nothing like attempting to draw these characters for the first time in fancy clothing with patterns and shit, I'm a smart one.

Hope y'all enjoyed this little 3-parter. If anyone have more ideas, I'd love to hear it, because I like writing these two.

Also, before you read, just as a heads up, it gets a little suggestive at the very end. It's a firm fade to black, but it is a thing that exists. Look for a line of dashes if you'd rather not read it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 -You Are Here-

Word Count: 2,300

The Organizer was not a god of... standard form. She wasn't a god of standard anything, to be fair. Scarab couldn't recall many run-ins with her, as their work very rarely overlapped, but that did not make sitting in her office with her staring down at him any more comforting or less nerve racking.

There was a constant noise, as her many, many arms carried on with her daily tasks. Some were writing, others were stamping, some were shredding, it was all happening at once. Her many eyes free roamed around the office as she worked, but she had decided to keep maybe half a dozen glued to the two gods sitting across from her desk.

Lucky them.

No one spoke for a long time. Scarab just nervously fiddled with his can, while Prismo seemed to be doing his best to will the floor to swallow him, shoulders coming up to his ears.

"I thought I had made the policy of fighting at my Gala very clear." Her voice echoed all over the room, rather than coming from some visible mouth. The both of them flinched at the sudden break of silence. "Scarab, while I might be less surprised due to past behavior, I must say I'm still disappointed with your recent track record. Prismo, I can't say I expected to see you in my office of all gods."

"But-"

"I-"

They both started at the same time, but were silenced by a single raised hand.

"However. I am not all-knowing. That is the Observer's job. Prismo, you are not one to cause problems often. And Scarab, despite your difficulties with others, you always filed your paperwork on time. So, I am giving each of you a chance to explain yourselves."

Scarab waited for some signal from her that he was permitted to speak.

"...Prismo, it was you who started it, so you will be first to explain yourself."

Prismo audibly gulped.

"O-Okay... I'd just like to clarify, Scarab and I were not fighting, not in the way you might be expecting. It was my fault..."

Scarab's eyes widened, about to jump in, but was silenced by a hard glare from the Organizer. She gestured for Prismo to continue.

"I lost control over an aspect of myself, and started lashing out. Scarab was just trying to neutralize the threat and calm me down. He wasn't trying to hurt me. Just stop me from hurting others."

There was more silence as the Organizer mulled this information over. Her gaze shifted to Scarab.

"Scarab. Can you confirm this story?"

"Yes ma'am. I was not trying to do harm onto Prismo. I had never seen that aspect of him act out, and I was not sure if or when he could regain control. So I worked to put a stop to it. The only weapon I used was a glorified flashlight."

"I see." Scarab saw distantly a set of arms start sorting through a filing cabinet. "Can you tell me why this aspect of Prismo got so out of control? Last I understood, Prismo, you had achieved complete control and cohesion with all aspects of your dream form. Has this changed?"

"No, no! It's, uh, different..."

"How so?"

"Well... my nightmare aspect only flares up under extreme negative emotions... Stuff life fear or really bad sadness or... when I'm really, really angry. That's what happened tonight, ma'am. I hit a boiling point and it... blew up."

She gave a pointed gaze toward Scarab, causing the beetle to sink into his seat.

"No! It wasn't Scarab's fault!"

"It wasn't?"

"No! I mean, Scarab's related, but it wasn't his fault!"

"How is he related, but not his fault, Prismo?"

Prismo ran a hand through his curls, trying to collect himself.

"So, Scarab's been under my management after the whole Fionna and Cake fiasco, right?"

"Yes, I remember signing that change of management form. I must say, I was a bit confused when I heard you had volunteered. My understanding was the entire incident was caused by a conflict between the two of you."

"It was but... well, the whole thing was my fault to begin with. I did make a rogue universe, and Scarab was just doing his job. He went too far at the end, and it was definitely more personal than his other cases, but I still did what he said I did, and he was right to try and do his job."

The beetle sighed. This was a conversation they had had many times. A lot of confusing feelings had needed to get detangled if they were going to live together. They had forgiven each other for quite a while.

"So, what did Scarab's assignment to you have to do with what happened tonight?"

"Well, Scarab and I have been getting closer. Bonding. We're actually really close now." The Organizer have him a very knowing stare. "I consider him one of my best friends and... I've been learned a lot about him. A lot about how he's been treated by our coworkers and... it wasn't nice and it wasn't fair. I've been getting more and more angry at the others for how they've been treating someone they don't even know, particularly Orbo."

Prismo's hands clenched into fists as he took a deep breath. The Organizer hummed. "What happened between you and Orbo?"

"Orbo cornered me tonight and tried to convince me that Scarab was changing me for the worse because I've been less than nice to him and others who keep trying to act like Scarab's some sort of monster. I got sick and tired of people acting like I was stupid for helping him, that I'm being manipulated. I'm tired of hearing 'Poor Prismo, getting stuck with Scarab, it's so sad for him', like I didn't volunteer for it!"

Scarab felt his mandibles tense... that's what had happened...? Orbo said that...? Was it... true... was he changing Prismo for the worse?

"Orbo making these comments are... interesting."

Scarab raised a brow. "Interesting how?"

"Because he filed complaints and write ups for you every Glob Forsaken time he thought he could."

All color drained from Scarab's face. His heart raced, and he started shaking enough for his carapace to click together.

"He what?!"

"He's submitted thousands of these things over the years. Pretty much none of them went anywhere because the Observer never confirmed the infractions described in the write-ups. Of all your write ups, only three have ever been acted on."

"...Three...?"

"Yes. The first two had notes that Orbo had the authority to discipline as he saw fit within reasonable boundaries. The third lead to the decision to move you into Prismo's management."

Authority to discipline as Orbo saw fit...

He touched the cropped stumps of his former antenna... he felt the lingering burn in his shoulders from his ripped wings...

"Do you... know what those punishments were...?"

"I was not privy to details. Just that they were carried out, and you returned to your duties."

There was a heavy pause, as both Prismo and Scarab processed that news.

"Well, if what you say is true, and I will be calling in the Observer to confirm, then it seems a meeting between Orbo and I is in order. However."

Prismo took hold of Scarab's hand.

"You two did break one of my only rules of the Gala. While it might not have been a true fight, it did cause panic and damage in the Judgement Hall. While it was not either of you who instigated the conflict, it was you two who escalated it to physical violence. It needs to be addressed."

The Organizer pinned the both of them down with a withering stare. Scarab would never not feel like he was a child around her.

Especially now. He saw the way her hands moved, the relentless precision with which she worked. It would be... frighteningly easy for her to pull his arms or legs off... He cast a worried glance to Prismo. His mortal body was much... softer than Scarabs... it... wouldn't survive getting plucked apart...

"...As punishment, you two are going to be my assistants for the time being. Prismo, your job as Wishmaster is still in effect, and you both will be allowed to return to the Time Room. However, you should expect paperwork to periodically be teleported into the chamber. I expect you both to work to complete that paperwork in a timely manner, as accurately as possible. You will be granted limited access to the divine records room for reference. Failure to perform this new duty will have me dragging the both of you back in here. And I won't be as nice next time."

There was a decisive stamp suddenly in front of them, as the Organizer slid a piece of paper in front of them.

Scarab read it. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He almost wept. Paperwork. He could handle that. He wasn't getting pulled part today. Prismo wasn't getting pulled apart today.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am" they both said together.

"Good. Now, off you go, I have a Star Core I need to speak with."

Before either could say another word, they were warped away in a rainbow of light, and deposited quite ungracefully on the floor of the Time Room.

"Ugh, that sucks a lot when someone else is warping me... Paperwork's gonna suck though, right Scrabs?"

Prismo rubbed the back of his head as he sat up. He spotted Scarab in the corner, huddled down, making himself as small as possible. His heart squeezed as he crawled over to him.

"Hey Lovebug..." He tried to put his hand on his shoulder, but the beetle shied away from the touch. "...Are you okay...?"

Scarab sighed a tired chirp. "No Prismo... I'm... not okay. You were... so angry... you were angry because of me... You're... you're very frightening when you're angry..."

Prismo frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, Lovebug. That wasn't your fault..."

"But it is... You've been so... so kind to me, Prismo... So accommodating and forgiving and sweet... You're making enemies out of friends over me... And... what have I done? What have I done to deserve any of that..."

"Scarab, no-"

"Look at me, Prismo" he snapped. "I'm... not worth this... I'm not good, not like you. I've just been... a problem. An obstacle. Something to work around..."

Scarab's voice sounded so small... Prismo wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

"Scarab. You are not an obstacle. I do those things because I want you to feel safe and cared for. And... tonight, you've done more than anyone really has before."

"...How...?"

"Look... When Nightmo takes control, there's not much hope for me coming down on my own. He's a protective measure, but he works too well. He feeds off of negative feelings, the fear and anger around him. He just gets bigger and bigger and more hostile, until there's nothing left to feed on. He has to be subdued or he'll destroy everything around him. I've... I've never seen him back down willingly. Not until tonight."

Scarab looked into Prismo's eyes, wide and uncertain.

"But... but he didn't back down, I had to neutralize him..."

"Scarab, you talked Nightmo down. Yeah, you had to get him small enough to pay attention, but it was your words that got him to fall back. He... He knows you're safe. He'll retreat because he believes you'll protect me. And that's... never happened before. Ever."

Scarab saw the tears pooled in Prismo's eyes, a sad and tired smile spread across his face. He pulled the beetle closer to give sweet kisses to his cheek and neck.

"You've been opening my eyes, Scarab. I was only everybody's pal because they thought I was... in on the joke. I didn't even realize what complete and total wads they were, because they thought I was "cool" or whatever. I don't want to be friends with people who could do the things they've done to you, just because they think no one will care. I have standards. And now I know they don't meet them. I'm not losing friends over you, I'm just finding out who really is and isn't a friend."

Prismo placed a soothing hand at the base of one of Scarab's wings.

"So no, Lovebug. You're not making me worse. You make me, even the worst parts of me, feel safe. I love you. All of me loves you."

Scarab should've been a bit embarrassed by the noises he was making, but it didn't particularly matter now. Not when the two trapped each other in a tight embrace, and a loving kiss. Mandibles threaded through gray hair, talons touched the soft skin they found, and gentle hands soothed aching shoulders.

"I love you too, Prismo" Scarab whispered as they separated for air. He chirped softly as the Wishmaster continued kissing at his neck, his wings twitching and fluttering as best they could.

-----------------------

"...You're so beautiful. You look so beautiful like this..."

Prismo's hands held his waist firmly, thumb rubbing at a seam in his carapace.

"Hmmm... What are you planning, oh great Wishmaster?"

"Well... We do have these bodies. For a little bit longer. I've got no plans for right now. But I could. Or, we could cuddle. Up to you, Lovebug."

Prismo busied himself with Scarab's neck again as the beetle thought. Or, well, as he tried to, but his own shell was suddenly feeling a bit warm. One of his claws traced around the Wishmaster's neck and shoulder.

"I... I think you're quite beautiful as well, Prismo. I'd be... willing to explore whatever plans you might come up with."

Prismo gave him a peck on the cheek, a maybe slightly smug grin on his face.

"I think that can be arranged."

And he closed the door of the Time Room.

[serpentface]

Can we see more about pyliod....he's so silly. ♥️ kissing him on the head.

I'm obsessed with how khait mimic real world bulls but also goats in their behaviors. are there any other behaviors/traits they mimic from IRL animals?

Which leads me to the question: what separates livestock from pets?

Esp for brakul, I'm assuming the animals he lived around when he was younger were livestock and meant for eating - but what if you had a favorite? Was it different for janeys? Hibrides?

Also leads me to another question: fish keeping - is it a hobby? Are fish just seen as food or can they be considered decorative?

(please forgive any spelling errors it's 1 in the morning for meeee)

Don't know if you saw this post but this gives a good rundown of khait behavior. They're based on wildebeests and most of the descriptions of their social behavior are accurate to them, other aspects of their behavior is pulled mostly from other bovids (other antelopes mostly. l swear I saw urine self-anointing+wallowing by topi or hartebeest or smth in a documentary once, but in terms of bovids that might just be a goat thing. Cervids also do that). Not much of their behavior is actually based on cattle, besides using cattle as a model to inform the concept of a hypothetical domesticated antelope. There's also some horse influence, though in that case it's pretty much exclusively to inform the concept of a non-horse domestic ungulate used Primarily for riding, and their interactions with humans.

The like, general definition of distinction between livestock/pets would be a venn diagram between 'livestock' 'working animals' and 'pets', with livestock being animals raised for production (meat, wool, fur, leather, eggs, milk, etc), working animals being used for physical labor or otherwise performing utilitarian 'jobs' (plow animals, riding animals, ratters, herders, guardians, etc), and pure pets having no directly 'productive' role and exist for companionship, ornamentation, etc (though the definition of a pet can be pretty nebulous, especially if you're framing it around emotional attachment instead of the lack of a productive angle). These categories can heavily overlap.

This is just a generalized answer (not even in-universe). How a culture defines these concepts separately (if it does at all) is going to vary extensively.

Brakul grew up surrounded by livestock/working animals and virtually no animals kept EXCLUSIVELY for companionship. The core subsistence method is a mix of settled agriculture (producing primarily grain) and seasonal pastoralism of cattle and horses (producing primarily dairy and wool), occasionally supplemented by hunting and fishing of wild game. The diet revolved around dairy and grain with meat being eaten irregularly, especially for people who aren't rich (which in this particular context is primarily measured in the quality and quantity of livestock- someone wealthy in cattle can afford to slaughter more frequently). Slaughtering a cow is a special occasion. Brakul's clan was on the lower end of the livestock wealth scale, so he ate meat infrequently and almost never his Own livestock (mostly eating hunted/fished game, meat given as gifts or in trade, meat provided by the ruling clan by social obligation).

(This is also broadly true of animal husbandry in Real Life across history prior to industrialized farming- most livestock is more valuable alive as a continuously replenishing resource (milk, wool, eggs, pulling plows, etc) and thus would be slaughtered for personal use infrequently. In class stratified societies, the majority of animals raised for meat would often feed upper classes rather than the people actively involved in rearing them. Some pastoralist societies will rarely or virtually never slaughter their animals for meat, as they are wholly relied on for products they produce while alive.)

So Brakul existed in a context where it was very possible to get attached to livestock and working animals. A lot of basic survival revolved around the dairy and wool the livestock provide, there are high emotional stakes in their survival and well-being, so personal attachment to these animals (even those likely destined for slaughter) can come naturally and be beneficial. The concept that's more alien to him is pure companion animals that don't really do anything directly productive. House dogs kind of freak him out because they're SO different from the dogs he was used to (extremely independent livestock guardians that don't really bond with people, and herding dogs that bond readily with their owners but are notably intelligent and self-sufficient). Encountering dogs that are utterly dependent on their owners and desperate for human attention was like 'what the fuck is wrong with that thing? sad'.

Pretty much the exact reverse situation for the characters from noble families. They would rarely be in close contact with livestock or subsistence level working animals (if anything, they/their families own land and livestock that is entirely raised by peasant workers), and instead would have most contact with pets/ornamental animals/leisure type working animals (hunting dogs, sport khait), and animals used in transportation (cart khait and oxen). They have VERY clear, clean-cut delineations between 'pet' and 'food' (though still not as much as is common in industrialized societies where most people are completely and utterly disconnected from the sources of their food. They're still Connected to the process, seeing animals being slaughtered is a part of daily life). They also would have eaten meat on a much more regular basis, while having little to no personal involvement in its production.

Wardi culture as a whole is not big on companion dogs (there are a few companion dog 'breeds' within the region, but most are hunting or herding dogs). Polecats are by far the most common companion animal in this cultural sphere (they technically fill working functions as ratters, but are mostly kept as housepets). Other animals kept purely as pets are mainly ornamental fowl and ducks. There's also a kind of pygmy horse breed that is kept as a companion animal (reminder that horses in this setting share the size range of goats).

Faiza, Couya, Janeys and Hibrides all grew up with pet polecats and hunting dogs, and sport khait owned by their families. Hibrides had pygmy horses as a kid. In the present day, Janeys' household has two hunting dogs that he doesn't like all that much, he also got two polecats for his children (one of which died tragically after being thrown from a window by his eldest), and has 14 total khait (12 of which are Brakul's) (technically owns another herd and a herd of cattle, but has nothing to do with them. It's an investment). Faiza likes dogs quite a bit and owns three bred hunting dogs and one feral dog she took off the street, also two khait (she owns land and the animals are kept there).

Re: fishkeeping. There's going to be plenty of variation in a global context, but broadly speaking keeping fish as a hobby/for display/other non-meat purposes is going to be on the rarer side in this setting. This is a limited practice in Imperial Wardin (you'll get the occasional wealthy home keeping fish in a courtyard pool but there's no traditions built around it). In terms of nearby civilizations, it's a much more significant practice in Bur, where water gardens with ornamental plants and fish are integrated into temples, city layouts, and wealthy homes.