#if you do an art. at some point you gotta be more conscious about your choices of colour palette | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eternalhealingau · 6 months

Text

Eternal Healing…

an oc x canon (w/ sfw mpreg) ship au (Introductory Chapter)

This is gonna be what sets up the rest of the AU. Please read it if you wanna get the idea of what's to come in the future...... highly highly recommend and I could not say it enough. (THIS IS MY OWN ART BTW: DO NOT STEAL//ASK FOR PERMISSION//DO NOT USE FOR AI PURPOSES FTLOG)

Begins below the cut....

It wasn't truly known to the multiverse but there was one bubble that seemingly came from nowhere. It had a chaotic signature. But no golb energy. Free from the chaos that came before it and yet totally filled with it. A sign that this universe didn't seem to go by the standards of that which the others had maintained by some weird "out-of-mortal-reach" standpoint.

Prismo turned to it from surfing around. His eye sparkling as he notices it's uniqueness from every other universe he's tapped into...... Yet it has peaked some interest. He looks deeper into it. Mythological kinds resembling the greeks...modernized? There were literal gods roaming the earth? How can that be? He searches deeper into this universe. Seeing a captivating story unfold. He knows the stories of the old from the creation myth to the herculean and odyssey. But one had stuck out from the rest. The Moiraios Pateras. The fated father. From skimming through the universe's timeline a silhouette appears on the screen. Tall, muscular, pierced, tatted and rather low-key in their demeanor. A pink aura surrounded them. Suggesting feminine qualities. But by their wrists, pure golden rings. They seemingly smoked a cigarette as one of their signature pieces of who they are. What made them, themself in their image of godhood. Without notice, he gets a call from Fiona. His attention being interrupted as he hears a frantic and albeit a little anxiety ridden tone. "Prismo! You gotta help us! Simon's been silent for the past few months. I've tried calling him, texting him, everything! But when I went over to his place, he barged the house and how he's gone fucking coo coo!! HE'S BEEN TRYING TO SUMMON BETTY AGAIN!" More frantic noises came from the other line. Old man whining, a gruff sounding Cake trying to keep him still and Fiona seemingly grunting from exertion in an effort to pin him down, keeping him from going completely haywire. Fuck it's a relapse. Therapy didn't do the trick for his ability to move on, did it? His expression drops without a second thought and quite worried for them, Prismo summons them.

All of them looked like they'd belong in a bowl of ramen they were so intertwined. Simon's head only appearing out from beyond two legs as he was squeezed tight from Cake's body. Squirming to be let go so he could 'finish what he started'. And if his wet cat appearance didn't already shock you enough, he looked even more rugged. His eye bags far more definite, white eyes still crazed out of their mind, spit almost running from the mouth, hair matted and frizzled, even his outfit was either halfway worn or was nearly completely off. Leaving him nearly naked. Jeez Simon you sure relapsed into your own self-made insanity there. Finally when he was able to be let loose, he scattered to the screen and slammed his back against it. Hyperventilating. Not even thinking about where he was. The duo meanwhile, felt almost sick to their stomach seeing him nearly more close in line to the refrigerator version of himself. Just more alive and....writhing with an overactive conscious. Cake looked back up to her blonde companion and bit her lip. Asking a question that seemed a little too harsh but had a point to be driven across. "Do you think he might have a mild case of rabies, girl?" Fiona shook her head as she looked at him. Her own emotions and conscious fighting for supremacy as much as Cake's was. The hairs and fur on both of their bodies standing up finally taking his insane form in for a look once again.

The old grunt seemingly calmed down a little bit before realizing where he was and nearly crying. Sulking in his depression once more. He was so close, nearly there....but it was just no use. He tried so hard for his love. But fate still has its ways of teaching him. Even if he wanted to checkmate fate any way he could. Even by trying to summon her one final time. But looking around, trying to make his thoughts clear even if his emotions didn't want him too, he notices a deeply concerned Prismo with a pensive look to him. "You just couldn't handle the wait.... could you?" He spoke. The old man simply looked to his side. Not wanting any confrontation at the moment. But, time pushed on. And with time, came more conservations and desperate hopes to get him to talk. "Simon, you know that what you did wasn't gonna work out, right?" Still with the silence. His heart ached with each little word spoken before him. He couldn't bear to keep a front, but if he wanted to return to what he was doing earlier, then he had to stick it out. But doing that he made himself look like a toddler in denial. Still......, with one more question. "Betty won't return again, man. You remember?"

"...I clearly do. And I have no regrets to everything I've done thus far." He bit his lip as he growled at him with tears. "Can't you just let an old man live to see his wife in some other way--" Simon gets cut short by Prismo interrupting him. "Ah ah ah.. Nope. Not having this conversation. She's gone dude. Her next life is a comet now that she's been..... given a chance by some other entity."

Simon put his head in his knees, not wanting to face Prismo or his neighboring companions for all he cared. Again, the conversation needed momentum and the multiverse watcher wasn't gonna let up. Nor was he gonna shy away from the truth as Fiona and Cake watched in heartbroken blunder. "Can't you see the reality to this situation that you've made...?" A long silence befell everyone in the room. The big screen fizzled out to the universe still being watched. Now just focusing on the present moment that was going on there. No one batted their gaze. Just focusing on Simon. Prismo sighed. "You relapsed dude....."

From that point on, Simon finally bursted into tears and flopped onto the ground. Prompting Cake to shapeshift into a big bean bag for him to rest upon lazily. Fiona was right over to lend him a hand to hold and a person to be comforted by. "Let it out dude....it's okay." His cries turned ugly as he continued forth trying his damnest to recount his memories of Betty while being faced with his crippling reality check. He finally was able to let the mental and emotional wound be opened once more. Cleaned by tears that were dying to come out. It was freeing but the effects were soul crushing.

....

they nearly stayed like that for fifteen minutes.... just comforting an old man who was close to them by their friendship. Prismo in the meantime was configuring how to fix this situation. Coming up dry every time he thought of something? Erasing golb statues? Simon would be the only one to know of such an object. Displacing memories? He'd be back to his insane half. Destroying the crown? Nigh. Wouldn't work as something was gonna be out there to trap it or harness it for other purposes anyways.

Still, Simon would have a minuscule chance of finding it and Prismo was not willing to run that risk in the moment. But his eye keeps darting towards the screen. Seeing the universe that he skimmed to. Could there be a way to send him there so he could be pushed to move forward? Move forward and be done sulking entirely? Because if this forces a habit onto him then his mind would change finally. But he'd still be the only one to know about the Golb nonsense he put himself through.....tough choices man..... tough choices.

Alas, after minutes of hearing Simon trying to come back to a more calm state, Prismo just decides to roll with this risky idea. "I may or may not have a plan. That doesn't involve the golb or Betty. Simon." He batted an eye towards the cowering and sulking individual. Now wiping his snot with Fiona's shirt. Gross. The dark brunette to ravenette looked back up. Tears still in his eyes but a more ready and accepting energy seemed to come to mind. It's like this was the 'it' moment that Simon was wishing would come sooner. Like death or something similar. He nods.

"What if I send you into this world...?"

The team immediately looks back up at the screen and notices the scenery. It started out looking much to the chagrin of the Alamo. But instead of its walls being an aged stone, they looked freshly painted to an old former glory not seen since the 1700s during Spanish Colonialism. But instead of hispanic culture, it looked a little greek. You had your spanish influence from the riverwalks, but there was a bonus added on flair of grecian flavor. The river's banks had fairies of multiple pastel hues ranging from a what's seemingly common pink, to a rare case of a pure ashy grey. They hid into some of the trees to keep their distance from humans below. But when they were in the water, it seemingly looked like they bathed at night. Amidst the moonlight.

Simon feels something billow in his lower stomach as he watched. It was suuuupper faint. But it felt like nothing but a small nervous tickle. He pushed it aside as the scenery continued to be shown.

Another shift in the screen and it showcased a piece of more rural texas lit up by a pink colored festival. Dancing and parading in the area, with tailgating and campsites established. Very Woodstock reminiscent but also more closely in tune with a big get together of locals that came for the party. What was in mind, was again, more pink colored motifs. More moon imagery and what was more strange is that the men themselves in some cases.... looked as if they 'carried' children too. Was there some sort of magic enabling cross-biological pregnancies? It piqued his interest but racked his levels nervousness.

Once more, another shift. This time it was in the summertime months. It looked hot and it decided to feature a pool party happening at some mansion in the middle of the city on a ranch. The greek flags were held high, the texan one flew same height and no sight of an american one. Very prideful people it seemed. From the noise, it felt like a family get-together. The people there were more mature in their looks. Taller than an average mortal. By several feet at most. It brought Simon's emotions back down to a level of ease as he saw how comfortable they all were together.

One of the members wielded thunder as well as a very jovial and horny personality, one of them wielded water with a trident ordained with a cool demeanor, another one naturally liked to practice boxing on one of the trees in the backyard. A few of the women in this huge family get together seemed busty and pale in complexion. They all had either white to grey hair, soft features and a soft demeanor. Sensitive and doting. Delighting in the pool, they seemed to be resting on someone's shoulders. Their hands swirled around this one's shoulders. They looked tatted, couldn't give less of a shit, looked like they had hoes and yet had no sexual drive to carry on. Smoking a cigarette they let these women of sorts hug them. Not hindering in enjoying some sweet affection. But they all conversed like they were family. Questions like, 'so did you find him yet?' 'is there anyone in particular?' 'when will the new age begin? I-err... we! can't be waiting like this~!' Their eyes were grey, with dark brown hair. They even had pierced lips, a septum nosering, eyebrow and ear studs. This person sounded nothing like a man but leaned close to that margin. "I have no clue, just enjoy the time we got for right now y'all. It may feel like hell but we'll be outta here at some point." They cackled.

Simon's heart started to beat a tiny little bit more. Like he's taken interest already. But, he's barely met this woman...man....person.... Ohhh Prismo. What have you done to bless this man?

Before he could turn back to Prismo, he gave it some thought on whether to go there or not. But, even if he remembers Betty in this moment in time, with how risk taking she was, it's about time he took one such chance of his own. Besides he never truly knows what it's like until he leaves his home and explores. You never make history by sitting around. You never create nostalgia by moping. As he continues to ponder though, he considers another thought. Will Fiona and everyone he's ever known be there? It looked unlikely and with some wild thought, he even dived deeper into the 'what if's of combining universes. He gulped as his decisions were clearly starting to become more finite in their ways. There was only one way of things going if he really wanted to go there.

"Prismo....if there's any way you can make sure that Fiona, Cake, Marcy, Bonnie, Marshall and everyone else, as well as the residents in Ooo itself also end up there...." He finally stands tall, hands to his sides as he's positioned to look like an avatar off of a video game screen. "Then I'd be happy to go." Fiona and Cake stand flabbergasted at each other, now standing tall themselves. Giving themselves a chance to look back at the screen as one white star fills the TV screen on a black void. A silence befell them as life begins to alter in their minds. Wondering what they would be able to find there and what kinds of crazy scenarios they'd be able to handle given such extreme weather conditions and unique magic/power dispositions.

The scene slowed....

Prismo's fingers were about to snap.

The duo looks to each other, beginning to go about their mantra. "You know what time it is?"

Simon's eyes closed slowly as the moment drew near.

Fiona and Cake finished their mantra, responding to each other with a fist bump. The iconic energy was back baby! "Adventure time!!"

[SNAP]

......

Cicadas sung their sweet melody with the crickets in a nature based choir.... all in the last few minutes of twilight. The hunk seemingly rushing over to these bodies that laid asleep near the backyards trees. A deeply southern tone with both concern and worry, masqueraded with a tough resilience comes forth.

"Oh Saturn.....~"

#simon petrikov #fionna and cake #mpreg #greek myth retellings #oc x canon #worlds collide #i hope you like it #cw mpreg #tw mpreg #tw depressing stuff #tw panic attack

10 notes · View notes

trinkerichi · 1 year

Text

TEKVENTURES! I wanna ramble about Tekventures.

if you remember them you qualify for a veterans discount

So they were Sgt.Frog ocs that my best friend SARAZA and I made on flipnote for edgy amvs and comics. I wanna say I wassss 13? give or take. But these little guys were my EVERYTHING. We thought of a billion stories about them. Then I got sick of drawing frogs eventually and wanted to make them more of an original thing. Our first sketches were of anthro goats, but over time with my style changes, an the fact that I hate spending more than 2 seconds drawing anything, they no longer resemble any specific animal and turned into fuzzy nondescript species of alien thing. ANYWAY I wanted to make them into a "real comic series" when i was 17. That's when I started the chapters that are still up on tumblr n webtoons! and a few other sites probably that I forgot about.

I've been harsh on it in the past but honestly I still love it to bits. What's there is a solid little comic and i still think it's adorable!

The only thing is, that's judging it based on what's there. It's a basis for a cute episodic thing with low stakes! Like the early mlp fim episodes or the new care bears cartoon. But that's NOT what it was planned for in the long term. Oh no, I was so ambitious. I had at LEAST 50 episodes planned which would weave together into this massive arc that would introduce other space teams, wayward space travelers with secret pasts connecting to the main cast, sad backstories for everyone, ALL of the family members of the main cast, a villian team with like... 'anti-versions' of the main cast, and a dramatically foreshadowed final confrontation with robot clones that want to destroy their planet. OH AND ROBIN too! Besides all that, they ALSO have multiple side story episodes about crashing to earth and befriending a human girl named Robin who has to keep them secret.

That might have been um. a lot.

But when you start writing a story with your best friend when you're 13 you most likely have NO CONCEPT of "too much". Who am I kidding I STILL have trouble pacing myself. But when you come up with a story it's hard not to think it's just GOLD! And that you've gotta keep it no matter what! Because that stuff is fun!

I went full force into the comic in my senior year of highschool and eventually I finished the first chapter! It took me a year. And then I looked at my plans for the other 49 episodes and thought "maybe I need to rework some things.."

I rebooted the comic once, tried making smaller stories, all that, but I wasn't quite feeling the same drive anymore. I realized I was comparing my work to high budget tv shows with like. a full team of writers and artists. and studio funding. and greenlit seasons and all that. And it was making me feel TERRIBLE about my art!

So I quit comics! I started hating comics! I hated how long they took and how restricted I felt (with my own expectations) and I lost my confidence in finishing projects because I was so sad about giving up on my big magnum opus. and I just kinda gave up and started only doing fandom art for a couple years. I did a jyushimatsu ask blog and kept it up for ages! And then a new season of Osomatsu came out and I realized when comparing it that I was basically writing an oc at this point. And that I CAN commit to long term projects if i dont get self conscious about it!

I still didnt wanna jump into comics again. But I thought of some new characters that I was becoming attached to. the very very beginnings of what could turn into a new idea.

I thought "well i still love cartoons about space! even if im not making tekventures anymore maybe i could do another space story. a really tiny one."

so i started making an rpgmaker game! and it started taking forever. so in the meantime i made a really rough doodle comic about how the characters first met. as a little side story thing.

and THAT was the key. I had to stop thinking about it like i was making a big cool tv show and starting my career and all that. its just a fun thing, off the cuff, not overthinking it, just for fun and personal expression.

so im still going with it! and its GREAT! Rocket chip has 12 planned chapters, and I'll be halfway done by the end of the year.

But BOY did it take me forever to learn that.

#trinket rambles

27 notes · View notes

quickspinner · 2 years

Text

Guard My Heart - Ch 3 Your Heart is Glowing

With the end of Indelible in sight (if not exactly *near*) I've been putting more thought to this one. Thanks to @fan-written for sewing insight when I needed it and to @mintaka14 for beta reading for me so this chapter could still be mostly a surprise for @livrever, who's my usual beta. Surprise! (ish) 😁

Just a reminder, this fic was planned before Season 4 was released, so pretend everything past Season 3 doesn't exist, because I'm totally ignoring it for the purposes of this fic.

Gotta admit I'm eyeing that chapter count like hmmmmmm so fair warning, we may be looking at more in the 7-10 range (please please let it be under 10).

Also for those who have never worked in retail, POS in this context means "point of sale" not...that other thing. 😁

Marinette did not look like death, she decided as she examined herself in her own three-way mirror. Her suit was perfectly tailored, black with pink accents to coordinate with, but also contrast, the shop’s color scheme. She’d opted for slacks instead of a skirt so that she could crouch down and pin hems if needed, but they were perfectly fitted while still allowing her the range of motion she needed to work. The jacket was a flattering cut on her, the ruffles of her white blouse peeked out of the sleeves and collar, and her hair was done up in a chignon with some artful tendrils curling down around her neck. Her makeup was subtle but perfectly applied. Kaalki had painted her nails with a pretty base color of pink, and Wayzz had carefully, meticulously added tiny Chinese characters for luck and harmony in black, one on each pinky finger.

“You look perfect, Marinette,” Tikki assured her, peeping out from her pocket.

“I’m so nervous,” Marinette sighed, stepping carefully down from the platform and into the customized, well-padded low heels she had chosen for today. She’d worked hard to make sure they were comfortable, knowing how much she’d be on her feet today.

“It’s going to be okay,” Pollen assured her from the other pocket. “You’ve worked so hard!”

“And your parents have been promoting the shop for weeks,” Tikki added.

“The management company did a great job with the advertising too,” Marinette agreed, walking to her front door, which was no longer covered in paper. She peeked out at the grandstand set up in the square beyond Luka’s shop. “They hired a band and everything. Luka knows them and he said they’re really good ‘for a pop cover band.’”

“Speaking of Luka,” Tikki giggled, poking Marinette’s side and pointing through the window. “He’s coming this way.”

“He—oh!” Marinette grabbed the door handle and pushed it open, stepping aside as she did so. She had no idea how he’d been intending to get the door open himself, since he had a to-go cup of coffee from one of the other shops in the row in each hand.

“Good morning, Luka,” Marinette giggled as he came inside. He was dressed much the same as he did every day, except that his hair was pulled back in a short ponytail and maybe even gelled to keep the sides smooth, and his clothes, while casual, were less faded and ragged than his usual choices. He came in with a self-conscious smile.

“I figured we could both use a pick me up,” he said as he stepped aside so that she could let the door fall closed. “I don’t know about you but I’m nervous as—” He paused when he turned toward her, jaw dropping. “Wow,” he muttered. “You look amazing.”

Marinette smiled at him, doing a little turn to show off her outfit. “Thank you. No better way to feel confident than to look your best, right?”

Luka held out the cup of coffee in his hand. “I’m almost afraid to give you this now. Everything in here looks so fancy and pristine.”

Marinette took the coffee, giggling. “Catch me at the end of the day, barefoot with my hair flying everywhere and wrinkles in my suit.”

His gaze zeroed in on her then, direct and intense, and Marinette’s pulse sped up. “I absolutely will,” he grinned, and with a clear effort, looked away. “I definitely want to hear how the first day went and I’ll probably be glad to have someone to freak out to.”

“As if you ever freak out,” Marinette scoffed, and Luka snorted softly.

“You’d be surprised,” he said, shoulders slumping just slightly. “It may not look like most people’s freakout, but I definitely have them. Maybe I should have followed your example and dressed up, because I feel like I swallowed fifty akumas and they’re all crashing into each other in my stomach.” He sighed. “It’s like getting ready to go onstage with Jagged, only worse, because I’ve never done this before.”

Marinette giggled at the mental image. “You look great, Luka, you’re just fine for the atmosphere you’re trying to create. Or rather, that you create without trying.” She tilted her head slightly as she regarded him more critically. “Although...come with me.”

She took his coffee from him and walked to the back of the shop, glancing back to make sure Luka was following her. She set both coffee cups on the counter before she pointed to the pedestal. “Up.”

“Okay,” Luka drawled, cocking an eyebrow before he took the step up. “Wow, this is humbling,” Luka muttered, staring at his full length, three-way reflection.

“Hush,” Marinette said, pulling open a drawer under the counter to pluck out some supplies. “Take off the hoodie for a minute.”

He did, dropping it off to one side, and then folded his arms over his chest, clearly feeling a little exposed. He eyed Marinette a little dubiously as she approached him with pins attached to a magnet on her wrist.

“Relax,” Marinette murmured as she tugged his arms down so the shirt would hang properly. “There’s nobody here but me, and I’m just going to make a couple of adjustments. You’ll be shocked what a little tailoring can do even for the simplest garments. I’m going to be touching you a lot, so tell me if you start feeling uncomfortable, okay?”

“Sure,” he breathed, hands flexing at his sides. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing. Just stand there and think calm thoughts.” Marinette stepped up on the pedestal behind him. “If I just take in the sides and a little bit in the shoulders…” She moved around beside him, gathering the extra fabric and folding it at an angle with quick, practiced movements. She pinned one side, and then did the other, eyeing the tears in his shirt to make sure she wasn’t pulling them out of shape before she put in the pins. “How’s that? Still comfortable? Take a deep breath.” He did, and Marinette watched in the mirror the way his chest pressed against the shirt. Feeling a blush rise to her face, she unpinned and loosened the fold slightly on both sides, and had him do it again. “Okay, that looks good. This is totally the wrong way to go about this by the way, don’t tell anyone I did it. Normally I would be doing a bunch of measuring first, but we’re pressed for time, so this is going to be quick and dirty.”

Luka coughed, the tips of his ears turning red. “Quick and dirty can be fun,” he laughed into his hand, and Marinette slapped his back and pulled his arm back to his side.

“Pervert,” she muttered.

“You’re the one with your hands all over me,” he shot back, and Marinette turned red to her hairline. She was actually trying very hard not to think about the body underneath the shirt she was touching. Because she was a professional.

She sure as hell wasn’t going to let him tease her without getting him back, though. She cleared her throat and then put her hands on his shoulders, putting her chin just over his shoulder so she could look at him directly in the mirror.

“Take it off, Luka,” she told him, and Luka choked.

“Unfair,” he muttered, reaching for his collar.

“You started it. Watch the pins,” she warned him, reaching to hold the hem out away from him. Carefully they got the shirt off of him, and Marinette realized abruptly that she had not prepared for the three shirtless Lukas facing her in the mirror. “I’ll be right back,” she said quickly, and took the shirt and her suddenly flaming face to the back room, flipping it inside out as she went.

Checking the time, she worked quickly, laying the shirt out to mark her line.

“What are you going to do?” Luka asked behind her, and Marinette jumped.

“Luka!” she gasped, putting a hand on her heart. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not yet,” he grinned with a wink, folding his arms over his bare chest, and she squeaked indignantly.

“Luka,” she whined, throwing a scrap piece of fabric at him that didn’t get very far.

“Sorry,” Luka said, his shoulders curling slightly just like Juleka’s did. “Just nerves coming out, I guess. Anyway, I felt kind of weird standing there like this with all the windows, so…”

“Oh. Right. I should have thought of that and closed the curtain, I’m sorry.” Stupid. Ugh. Left him standing in the shop half-naked—okay stop thinking. “Do you care if I cut this?” she asked, turning to her serger.

“Anything you need to do, as long as I’m dressed when I walk out of here. I’d hate to start rumors.” Luka chuckled.

“I don’t remember you being such a flirt,” Marinette sighed, lining her marks up carefully and checking the machine settings. “Plug that iron in for me?” she nodded over at the iron already set up across the room.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I swear I’m not, I’m just—” He sighed, and reached back to tug on his ponytail. “Sorry.” He went to do as she asked, and Marinette took a breath and focused on what she was doing. She finished the quick seams, setting aside the excess fabric that the serger had cut. Then she took a breath and got up, facing Luka.

“No, I’m sorry,” she told him, pausing to look up and meet his eyes. “I just kind of waylaid you and dragged you into this and I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“No, it’s not that, I—” Luka sighed, as she turned back to the machine. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help. I really do.”

“It’s only a little thing, I know.” Marinette hunched her shoulders slightly. “But, well. It’ll help, I promise. Most people don’t realize what a difference a little tailoring can make, even on a simple t-shirt, and it’s so easy to do, and...well, like I said. If you’re comfortable and confident in how you look, you’ll feel better able to face whatever comes. It’s a basic tenet of my business and I really believe in it.” She gave him a smile over her shoulder as she took the shirt to the ironing board. “Trust me.”

He smiled back, trailing after her. “I do.” Then he chuckled as he watched her. “That shirt’s probably never been ironed since I bought it.”

“I kinda figured,” Marinette laughed, “but the seams won’t look right until they’re pressed.” Finished, she held the shirt at arm's length and looked it over carefully before nodding and turning to present it to Luka.

He pulled it back over his head, and Marinette helped him tug it down and settle it. Probably unnecessarily, but she was nervous now, and she couldn’t help fussing over him just a little. When it was on, she ran her hands across his shoulders and down his sides with a satisfied smile before tugging the hem one more time.

“Not bad for a rush job,” she smiled. “Come and see.” She dragged him back out to the mirror again. “I didn’t change much, just gave it more of a fitted shape for you. Not too tight, I don’t want to take away that relaxed air that you have—”

“I have an air?” Luka asked, expression amused as he stepped up on the platform.

“Yes,” Marinette told him insistently, reaching out to tug the hem of his shirt and smooth out the wrinkles. She put her hands on his hips and faced him to the mirror with a smile of pure pride.

“Wow,” Luka said, blinking at his reflection and turning a little. “That...does actually make a difference.”

Marinette giggled. “Consider it thanks for the coffee.”

“Aw man, the coffee,” Luka said, turning and hopping down to check the cups on the counter. “Still hot,” he smiled, and took a sip of his. “Good thing you work so fast.”

Marinette grinned, and picked up his hoodie from the edge of the pedestal before walking over to hand it to him and take back her own coffee. Rather than put it on, Luka looped the hoodie over his arm.

“I better get back over there and get down to business,” Luka sighed, and smiled at Marinette. “You do look amazing, and you’re absolutely going to kill it today.”

“So will you,” Marinette said, smiling back at him. “We’re going to make this work, Luka. Both of us.”

“Right,” Luka chuckled. “So—here’s to today, and I’ll see you at closing time.” He held out his coffee and Marinette clinked hers against it.

“Thanks for the coffee, Luka,” she said, and then impulsively, she rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Good luck today.”

He moved before she pulled back and kissed her cheek as well. “You too.”

She got a lungful of his scent, morning fresh with cologne and aftershave, and coffee carried on his breath, and felt the warm brush of his face along hers, and if she hadn’t been holding the coffee, she might have done something stupid, like grabbing onto him to keep him close. As it was, he seemed to linger there by her cheek for a moment as he said, “Thanks for the pep talk. And the wardrobe upgrade.” Then he turned away from her and covered the distance to the door in long strides, gone so fast that she didn’t have to worry about schooling her expression or covering her reaction.

Marinette went back to the counter on shaking knees and set her coffee down before she dropped it. She leaned against the counter and tried to breathe. She was beginning to realize on a new level just how dangerous it was to have Luka next door. There had always been a certain amount of magnetism between them, but Luka had never affected her like that before...but then she was a grown woman now, and he was very much a grown man, and she really, really needed to be more careful, before she did anything stupid that might ruin their friendship for good. And that would definitely be awkward, considering they were neighbors and both too invested in their new shops to move now.

She couldn’t give him what he deserved, anyway. Better to keep her head in the game and try not to let Luka get too far under her skin. So she was attracted to her friend. No big deal. It didn’t have to be anything.

Marinette took a couple of deep breaths, and picked up her tablet, pulling up her schedule and to-do list. Work. She just needed to work. This was her big day and she was not going to lose her professionalism over a man, no matter how attractive he was. It wasn’t long until opening time now, and she intended to be ready.

“You’re going to do great, Marinette.” Pollen’s little voice made Marinette jump, and she looked down to see the kwami peeping out of her pocket. She smiled and nodded.

“First things first,” Marinette declared, swiping over her to-do list with more force than necessary. “Let’s get started.”

Everything else quickly fell away as she let herself get swept up in the whirlwind of prepping her shop. She made notes as she went through what she hoped would become her morning routine. It would probably take a few weeks to tweak the process until it was absolutely perfect. Marinette had done her best to be prepared the night before, so there wasn’t nearly as much to actually do as there was to check, double check, and fiddle with. The lights on her window displays went out unexpectedly and she spent an anxious half-hour searching for the problem. She breathed a sigh of relief when she got it working again, and then had to go fix her hair and run a lint roller over her suit to remove the evidence of her efforts.

Finally, it was time.

“Well,” Marinette said, tucking a hand in her pocket to run a finger over Tikki’s head. “Here goes nothing.” She walked to her door, opened it, and kicked down the doorstop to hold it open. “We are officially open for business,” she breathed, flashing a welcoming smile to a couple of the people already strolling down the street. She glanced towards Luka’s shop door and saw him fixing his own doorstop. He took a deep breath, and then glanced up and met her gaze. Luka gave her a grin and a wink before disappearing back into his shop, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his jeans. He really is nervous , she thought as she stepped back into her own space. She fidgeted one more time with one of the dresses on display in the window, making sure the hem was perfect, but mostly just trying to look like she wasn’t about to pounce on the first person who walked into her shop.

The first hour or two were a little awkward, and Marinette found herself wishing she had Luka’s gift for reading people. Was she being too attentive? Making anyone uncomfortable? She was well aware that she could be a bit much, and she was almost more terrified of overwhelming a prospective customer than neglecting them.

It got easier, though, as the morning went on, and the sidewalk outside began to fill up with people. Enough people were drifting in and out of the shop that Marinette couldn’t spend too much time with any one person if they didn’t actively want her help, and she began to settle into a more comfortable, professional rhythm.

Much like in the bakery, people tended to come in waves, and during one of the lull periods, a smiling blond appeared in Marinette’s doorway with a silver tray in her hands and an apron over her front. Marinette greeted her reflexively, though she obviously wasn’t a customer.

“Hello,” said the cheerful girl, carrying her tray towards the counter. “I’m Cherry, I own the cafe across the street. I just came to offer you a sandwich and maybe drop off a few of our cards if you’d be willing to put them out.”

“Oh,” Marinette blinked, and then smiled back. “Of course! I’m Marinette.”

“I know,” Cherry grinned, holding up her tray for Marinette to select a sandwich. There were several individually wrapped and labeled with the main ingredient. There was also a stack of business cards piled on one side of the tray, and Marinette took a small pile from the top along with her sandwich. “Luka told me I should come talk to you about designing t-shirts for the cafe.”

“O-oh, he did?” Of course he did, she thought as she arranged Cherry’s cards next to the register.

“He’s so cute,” Cherry sighed, swooning against the counter. “I chatted him up a bit when he came in to get coffee this morning. Doesn’t say much, but he seems like a real sweetheart.”

“He is,” Marinette agreed, hoping she wasn’t blushing as she picked a sandwich and set it behind the lip of the counter. “We’ve been friends for a long time, actually. So, you’re interested in a t-shirt design? It would probably be best if we set up an appointment so we don’t have to rush.”

“Yes,” Cherry said, looking around the shop, and she looked suddenly uneasy. “Though, I’m not sure this is quite the vibe we’re looking for…”

“That’s okay,” Marinette said cheerfully, pulling up her calendar on her tablet. “I can work with a lot of different styles. Why don’t we set up a consultation, and—” She picked up one of her monogrammed business cards and offered it to Cherry. “There’s a link here to my digital portfolio. Take a look at it before our appointment, and if you still feel we wouldn’t be a good fit, you can cancel the consultation, no hard feelings.”

“That sounds great,” Cherry nodded, relaxing a little. Marinette wasn’t especially worried. She had curated her shop carefully but t-shirt and logo design had been her bread and butter for years, helping to keep her afloat so that she could work on her more complex design work. Marinette filled out a customer profile for Cherry on the new system with her contact info.

“That should do it,” Marinette nodded, holding out her hand for Cherry to shake. “I’ll also stop by the shop sometime soon so I can get a feel for the kind of thing you might be looking for.” Marinette glanced at the wrapped sandwiches again and made a mental note to bring over a business card for the bakery as well. “Thank you so much for the food, I hadn’t even thought of eating.

“My pleasure,” Cherry hiked her tray up onto her hip and shook Marinette’s hand. “We’re all going to be seeing each other a lot around here, so we might as well get friendly with our neighbors, right?” She winked and nodded her head at the wall that adjoined Luka’s shop. “Especially the cute ones.” She giggled, took her tray in both hands again, and went out of Marinette’s door, turning in the direction of Luka’s.

She seems friendly, Marinette thought drily, and turned on the best smile she could manage for the next group that came in the door.

As it got closer to lunch time, the shop began to empty out. Marinette found a few moments to eat her sandwich in the back room. It was decent, she grudgingly admitted, but she was still going to pass on her parents’ info. Good bread made everything better, after all.

The shop was still empty when she stepped back out, and Marinette walked to the door to look around. The band was getting set up, and they’d probably start playing soon. There was a long line out of the cafe and several people were sitting at the little tables in the square. Maybe now would be a safe time to take a few minutes and check out the other business owners on the block. They were all in the same boat, more or less, and there might be opportunities for cross promotion that would benefit everyone.

She put up a sign on the shop to let customers know when she would return and set out to meet her neighbors. It was an eclectic set of little shops. There was a vintage book shop run by a spritely elderly lady with spikey, bright purple hair and a broad smile, and a pet boutique run by a shy young man who blushed and stammered when he greeted her. Two cheerful middle-aged men were in charge of an art collective selling painting, pottery, and other goods from local artists. Marinette spent more time there than she should have, there were so many interesting things to see! She reminded herself that she needed to be frugal for now but resolved to come by and pick up some special items for her apartment when she had money to spend on such things.

Marinette had to head back after that, unconsciously bouncing a little to the beat of the band playing in the square, but her step quickened as she realized someone was waiting outside of her door. “Hello, I’m so sorry,” she gushed as she walked up, and the tall girl in front of her turned and smiled. “Oh, it’s Marcie, right? Luka’s friend.”

Marcie ducked her head a little bit and grinned shyly. “Yeah. Luka said I should come check your stuff out. I’m not, um. I have trouble finding clothes sometimes? He said you could help.”

Tall, broad-shouldered, and buff, Marcie definitely wasn’t the target audience for standard fashion. Marinette, though, was excited at the prospect. “I can certainly do that,” she said crisply, unlocking the door.

As she was opening the door and kicking the doorstop into place, she heard a familiar name boomed through the grandstand mic. Startled, she looked over to see Luka climbing the stairs of the grandstand with a lopsided grin as the band’s lead singer/guitarist waved him on.

“Oh, he’s going to play?” Marcie said, having turned at the same time Marinette did. “Awesome.”

The man with the mic handed over his guitar to Luka and grabbed him by the shoulders, moving him over and positioning him in front of another mic despite Luka’s laughing protests. “All right folks, here’s your own Luka Couffaine, owner of the Second Chance antique store there on the corner. Thanks for humoring me, Luka. Love playing with this guy, seriously.”

Marinette covered a giggle with her hand. Luka looked so much more himself with the guitar slung across his shoulders, his hands confident and precise as he strummed the pick down the strings in a graceful motion. Marinette sighed unconsciously, watching the curve of his arm and the motion of his muscles. He put the pick in his teeth for a moment and paused to adjust the guitar strap and a tuning peg. He took the pick out of his mouth and licked his lips, his eyes flicking up to scan over the small crowd. He gave a quick smirk and then looked up at the rest of the band, waiting for the count.

Marinette's smile grew as she watched him play, feeling a surge of nostalgia and at the same time, a strange sense of disconnection between the boy she remembered and the man on stage. Her eyes widened slightly when he stepped up to the mic and began to sing a harmony with the vocalist. She’d never heard him sing before.

There was a cough by her elbow and Marinette jumped slightly. Marcie smiled down at her knowingly, and Marinette blushed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him play,” Marinette muttered, reaching up to smooth her hair.

“You two used to be a thing, right?” Marcie asked, and Marinette spluttered.

“No! No. I mean. There was a thing, but. We weren’t a thing. Things just, um. Never worked out that way.”

“Oh, I see,” Marcie said, nudging Marinette with her elbow. “A missed chance.”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Marinette sighed, shoulders slumping. “I hurt Luka very badly back then, I know I did, and...I don’t want to risk that again. This isn’t a good time for either of us, we both have so many things to focus on, and I...I’m not good at relationships. I don’t want to do that to Luka again.”

“Oh.” Marcie put her hand on Marinette’s arm. “I’m sorry. I won’t tease you about it, I promise.”

Marinette blinked, and then smiled up at her. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Marcie grinned, and for a while they stood watching Luka play and sing along with the band.

“He looks happy,” Marinette said, without realizing she’d spoken aloud.

“He really does,” Marcie agreed. “I’m glad. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him really happy. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I think touring with Jagged really shook him up and did a number on his confidence. I hope this new start will be good for him, and give him a chance to figure out what he really wants, you know?”

Marinette nodded, sighing softly. “It can be hard, figuring out our dreams don’t really match up to reality.”

The song ended and the crowd gathered around the square cheered. Luka waved his appreciation, and then laughed when the audience groaned as he took the guitar and handed it back to the lead singer. Luka just shook his head as his friend tried to persuade him to stay on stage, slapped the other man on the back, and descended the bandstand stairs. Marinette blinked as she recognized Cherry at the bottom, holding out a bottle of water to him. He grinned and accepted it, nodding at whatever she was saying before throwing his head back to drink.

“It’s a journey,” Marcie sighed, and Marinette had to think to remember what they were talking about. “You’ve gotta find a way to live that’s true to you and still lets you get by in the world.”

Cherry cocked a hip and tilted her head as Luka’s focus returned to her. Marinette rolled her eyes and tore her gaze away, facing Marcie so she didn’t have to see any more. “But here, we’re supposed to be talking about you,” she said, feeling a pang of guilt at being so distracted. “Please, come in, I’m sure I have some things that can work for you.”

Marcie was a fun and challenging client and exactly what Marinette needed to pull her back to reality. Her muscular build reminded Marinette of her old acquaintance Ondine, and Marinette had learned a lot from working with Ondine while she and Kim were dating. Marcie was a bit shy and self-conscious, not confident in her own taste, and it felt good to help her.

Money was an issue, of course. Marinette hated that Marcie and so many others had to spend so much money on clothes just because she fell outside of the traditional mold. Marinette did her best to keep her prices down, but there was only so much she could do without sacrificing quality or undervaluing her own time. Marcie couldn’t exactly afford to fill her closet with bespoke clothing, and buying off the rack wasn’t such a great experience for her either. Marinette put her mind to work, trying to figure out the best way for Marcie to get the most out of her money, and relished the challenge.

Because she couldn’t help herself, Marinette cut Marcie a deal on tailoring, rationalizing that Marcie would pretty much always need tailoring on her clothes and therefore it was actually good business to offer her a discount up front if it meant securing a long-term customer. Marcie left smiling, with one new outfit hanging in Marinette’s back room marked for tailoring, and an appointment for a consultation on altering some of Marcie’s current outfits.

Customers had started to pick up again for the afternoon, and Marinette was kept hopping until well after dark. When she finally closed the door at the end of the day, she had to laugh at the image in her mirror. She wasn’t barefoot yet, but her hair was falling down, her suit was wrinkled, and she looked just as tired as she had predicted. Even so, it had been a good, satisfying day, and Marinette was grinning as she closed out her POS system and did a little dance behind the counter. She went through her closing checklist, and dragged herself upstairs. She was starving , and though she was tired, she was still jazzed, and she had a sudden craving for something indulgent. Pancakes and bacon, she thought, as she kicked off her shoes at her door. The kwamis swarmed around her with congratulations and questions, and she laughed as she tossed her suit jacket over the back of her couch and went to get started on dinner.

She was frying the second pan of bacon when a sharp knock on the door made her jump. She glanced around as the kwamis quickly zipped into hiding, and then went to the door. She had to stand on her toes to look out the peephole, but once she saw the familiar figure outside she dropped back to her sock feet and undid the lock.

“Luka,” Marinette said as she opened the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine, I just…” Luka seemed to hesitate, and then let out a gusty sigh and grinned at her. “I’ll be honest, whatever you’re cooking smells amazing and I’m starving. I came to beg.”

Marinette blinked at him, and then burst out laughing, stepping back to open the door. Luka slouched inside with his hands in his pockets, a self-deprecating smile on his face.

“I’ll tell you what,” Marinette said, closing the door behind him. “I’ll feed you, and then you play for me. Deal?”

“Deal,” Luka chuckled. “I would have done that for free though.”

Marinette looked over her shoulder and winked at him as she went back to the kitchen. “I would have fed you for free too. I don’t have a table, so belly up to the bar. I’m almost done.” She waved him toward the stools and went back to the kitchen. She saw Daizzi poking his head out of a cabinet to give her a mournful look and mouthed sorry at him. It was a little disturbing to her how much Daizzi loved bacon, but pigs were pigs.

She flipped the last of the pancakes and tipped the pan of bacon onto the plate, and then turned back to ask Luka a question that she immediately forgot as soon as she met his eyes. He blinked quickly and straightened a little.

“So how was your first day?” he asked before she could say anything. He looked down and traced the pattern of the corian with his index finger.

“What? Oh, busier than I expected,” she said, turning back to the stove with some confusion. “The promotion and the band and all the grand opening festivities really drew a crowd. Time will tell if any of the contacts I made are worth anything for the future, but it felt good to start with a bang. Yours?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Same,” he said, leaning his chin on his fist. “I was really freaked out at first about actually trying to sell stuff, but in the end it was really just a lot of talking to people, listening to their stories, and pointing them in the right direction now and then. I don’t love the bargaining but the rest of it went okay. Lots of tourists, so the small things moved pretty well. Everybody loved the turtle, by the way.” He grinned, and Marinette giggled. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

The kitchen was so narrow that Marinette doubted she could have shared space with even her mother without several full-body collisions, let alone someone of Luka’s height and armspan, but she tried not to smile as she declined. “I’m almost done anyway,” she said, and then frowned. “Maybe I should have made some eggs. Do you want eggs?”

“Don’t do anything extra for me,” Luka protested, and Marinette rolled her eyes, stepping to the fridge.

“Thanks for the coffee this morning,” Marinette said, as she opened the carton of eggs, trying to decide how many to make. “It was really sweet of you to think of me.”

“Well, you’ve always been my lucky charm,” Luka chuckled. “My life was brightest when you were in it. I’m happy to get you coffee if it means you’ll stick around.”

Marinette jolted, fumbling the egg carton. She managed to keep it from tipping and quickly set it on the counter. Taking a deep breath, she braced her hands on either side of it, closing stinging eyes.

Big hands closed on her shoulders in a tight squeeze, and then reached forward to wrap around her, pulling her back against Luka’s warm body. Marinette’s hand curled around his forearm on instinct and she hung her head.

“No,” he said quickly, voice low and urgent. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, Marinette, I swear. I’m sorry, I was thoughtless.”

Marinette opened her mouth and drew breath to tell him it was okay, but the breath hitched in her throat and escaped again as a sob. Luka reached around her to turn off the stove. His hands moved back to her shoulders, coaxing her to turn, and then guided her head to his shoulder as he swayed with her gently, making soothing noises.

Marinette pressed her face into his shoulder and gripped the back of his shirt, trying to keep back the tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Luka sighed. “I’m still shit when it comes to saying what I mean. I just...I’m happy you’re in my life again, Marinette, and I hope you’re going to be here for a long time, but—but if you’re not...you need to be you, Marinette, and live your life the best you can. I’d never want to hold you back or, or stop you from doing that, I just…I’m so sorry for making you cry.” He pressed his face to her hair. “I swear I didn’t mean it like that. I swear I didn’t.”

Marinette took a shuddering breath against him. “Shut up,” she mumbled. “And go get your guitar.” She straightened up, and pushed him gently away. “I’ll be done cooking when you get back.”

He was still and silent for a long moment, as if he hadn’t understood her, but then he pulled back, hands finding her shoulders again to squeeze firmly. “I’ll be right back,” he told her, bending down slightly to look in her face, and then he practically ran out of the apartment.

Marinette turned back to the counter and buried her face in her hands for a moment. A fuzzy body collided with her fingers and she shifted to hold it against her cheek as Roarr nuzzled her. She heard the stove click back on, and knew Tikki and Daizzi were continuing her breakfast-for-dinner prep.

“Can I bite him?” Roarr growled, rubbing her face all over Marinette’s.

“It’s not his fault,” Marinette whispered. “He didn’t mean to. He doesn’t know, how could he?”

“Don’t care,” Roarr grumbled, and Marinette had to smile..

“I did leave him, emotionally, even if he’s the one who left physically. I was checked out before he left and he knows it. Of course he knows it. He just doesn’t know why, because—” She sighed, tired of the worn path in her mind. He didn’t know, because she couldn’t tell him, because—

Barkk landed on her shoulder with a little whimper and licked her cheek. “Don’t be sad, Marinette,” he said, and she reached up to scratch behind his ears as well. Marinette heard a few tentative notes from Luka’s guitar next door, tuning. She felt a twinge of guilt for breaking down on him like that.

“I’m all right,” she promised them, drying her eyes on her sleeves. “Okay, go hide before he comes back.” She gave both kwamis a little kiss and a pat before they sailed off, and gave a grateful smile to Tikki and Daizzi as she took back the pans. They each hugged her cheek, and went off to hide, just as Luka knocked and opened the door. He leaned in, eyebrows slightly raised.

“Are you sure you want me around?” he asked softly. “I can order in, or just take the food and go, if you’d rather—”

“No, no, please come in,” Marinette said, setting plates piled with pancakes on the breakfast bar. “I’ve made way too much to eat by myself, anyway.”

“It’s like you knew I was coming,” he joked as he set his guitar by the sofa and slid, tentatively, onto the barstool, like he was still afraid she might kick him out. Marinette laughed weakly and put the plate of bacon between their two plates. She couldn’t very well tell him she was cooking for herself plus a horde of tiny gods, but the look on his face probably would have been priceless.

She handed Luka the silverware and got out butter, syrup, and two glasses of milk before finally coming around the bar to sit down next to him.

“I’m really sorry I got so upset,” Marinette began, feeling she owed him an explanation. “It just...feels like I’m always leaving people. I get so busy and I overcommit and then people are upset, and I guess...I guess somewhere along the line it was easier to just...stop trying. I can’t expect other people to do all the work, you know? It’s better just to let them go. Maybe someday when—” when I don’t have to be Ladybug anymore “—when things are different, then I can have those kinds of friendships again. It just feels kind of impossible right now.”

“It’s not impossible,” Luka said gently, reaching over to lay a hand on her wrist. “Not at all.”

The look Marinette gave him must have been skeptical, because he smiled and withdrew his hand. “So my mom basically kicked me out of the house when Juleka turned eighteen and started modeling seriously,” he said, moving some bacon slices onto his plate as Marinette blinked at his abrupt change of topic. “It was pretty obvious that between university classes and her career, Jules wasn’t going to be back permanently any time soon, and Mom was just...ready to do her own thing again. I mean, she’s always done her own thing to an extent, but there were sacrifices she made to provide a minimal level of stability for me and Jules, and now she doesn’t need to anymore. So she told me I needed to find a place of my own, and almost before I knew it, I was couch surfing with friends and Juleka, and all our stuff was in storage. She traded the Liberty in on something a little more seaworthy. Now she’s living her best pirate life on the Liberty II and…” He gestured vaguely towards his apartment.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Marinette frowned, leaning her chin on one hand as she pushed her food around on her plate with the other.

Luka didn’t answer right away, tucking into his dinner before he answered. “It bothered me a little bit, that she didn’t give me much warning, but her leaving didn’t bother me.” He smiled gently at Marinette. “No matter where she goes, she’s still my mom, and she still loves me, and I still love her. Just because she’s not here right now, and we don’t talk every day, or even every week, doesn’t change that we love each other. Same with Jules. She’s got her own life now, and sometimes we go weeks without seeing each other. When we do, though, it’s no big deal. She’s still my sister. It’s like we were never apart.”

Marinette couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and looked down, only to look up again when Luka put his hand on her back.

“I know it sounds different, because we’re family,” Luka said, “but it’s not. There’s friendships that are like that, where you do your own thing until your lives intersect again, and then it’s like you were never apart. And then your roads part and you wave goodbye until the next time. Forget all this recordkeeping bullshit about who texted who last and how long it’s been and whether you remembered to send them a facebook message on their birthday, or how many invitations for drinks they’ve passed up and bailed on. There’s all kinds of friendship out there, Marinette. You’re not doomed to be alone and isolated forever, just because you’re talented and driven and career-oriented, and you know where you want to be in life.”

Almost. Almost, he understood, except he couldn’t, because she couldn’t tell him the real truth. She couldn’t tell him how it wore on her to lie to everyone in her life, or the way those lies created distance simply by virtue of existing—distance the other person could always sense but couldn’t understand. Just like now, in this conversation. She was holding back, and he knew it, and he didn’t get why. Right now, he thought it was a trust issue, that if they ever grew close enough, she would eventually open up and tell him what was really the matter, and that distance would be gone.

Except that would never happen, and he would get tired of waiting, and hurt that she still didn’t trust him, and he would eventually recede even further, and fade into yet another background character in her life, a polite acquaintance with a silent grudge she could never assuage.

It was nice that he was trying, though. She gave him a weak smile, and nodded, though she could feel her lower lip trembling.

Luka’s smile was sad, and he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek before he went back to his food. Eventually, Marinette’s hunger got the better of her melancholy mood, and she was able to enjoy the fluffy pancakes and the bacon she had been able to make just the way she liked it. Luka made a contented noise. “This is the thing I miss the most from the States,” he said, waving his fork at his plate. “I don’t know how they can eat this much heavy stuff for breakfast but for dinner?” He made a little moan and Marinette giggled. That gave her an opening to ask about his travels, and they made quiet, comfortable small talk until they were finished eating.

Luka gently insisted on helping her clean up, humming quietly as he stood beside her, drying the dishes that she handed him.

“All right,” she said, taking the dishtowel from him. “I’ve done my part. Time for you to pay up, sir.”

Luka chuckled. “Sure. Do you want to go change or anything?” He indicated the suit she was still wearing. “Not that you don’t look good, but—”

Marinette snorted and laughed, looking down at herself. “No, you’re right, I could definitely be more comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

She ended up just changing into her pajamas, a set that had a shirt that buttoned over the camisole so she didn’t feel too exposed, and by the time she came back out of her room, Luka was settled on the couch, fingers moving in slow, thoughtful motions over his guitar, just random chords as far as she could tell. His eyes were half closed, but as soon as she sat down on the other end of the couch and pulled her feet up under herself, he shifted into a gentle tune. Marinette folded her arms on the couch arm and rested her head on them, watching Luka play since he didn’t seem to be looking at her.

“Anything you want to hear?” he asked softly.

“Whatever you feel like playing,” she replied, and he nodded.

The music seemed to just wander for a moment, and then picked up into something she recognized. Luka didn’t sing, which she kind of regretted, having heard him earlier in the day. She’d like to hear him sing on his own, someday.

Snatches of the words played in her mind as she closed her eyes and listened.

…Just keep breathin and breathin’and breathin and breathin

… You remind me of a time when things weren’t so complicated…All I need is to see your face…

…Just keep breathin and breathin and breathin and breathin

“Marinette?”

“Hmm?” She opened her eyes and blinked at Luka. He smiled at her.

“Maybe I should go. You look so tired.”

I am so tired.

“One more?” she asked, and he chuckled.

“Sure,” he said, still smiling, and turned back to his guitar.

Again the melody wandered for a moment, and then he settled into something soft that she didn’t recognize.

She opened her eyes for a moment when he began to sing, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“Fare thee well, my own true love,” he sang, “Farewell for a while…I’m going away…but I’ll be by…though I go ten thousand miles…”

She let her eyes fall closed again…and when they opened, it was to the beep of her alarm, and the snores of the kwamis burrowed in the bed all around her. Marinette fumbled for the button on her alarm, and managed to turn it off. She lay blinking for a moment, trying to think. She vaguely remembered Luka’s soft voice, and his arm around her, supporting her as she zombie-walked to bed.

Marinette supposed she ought to be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Anything, or nothing, Luka had promised her long ago, and despite the way things had fallen apart between them, he’d offered her nothing but friendship and affection since they both moved in. No judgment, no hurt, no resentment. It couldn’t last, but it was nice while she had it. She closed her eyes and tried not to remember that eventually she would have to push him away.

“Marinette?” a squeaky voice asked, and she opened her eyes again to find Daizzi floating in front of her nose. “Is there any bacon left?” he wanted to know.

Songs:

Breathin by Ariana Grande, specifically this cover by Eddie van der Meer

10,000 Miles by Mary Chapin-Carpenter

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #guard my heart #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #pro lukamari

22 notes · View notes

gaymerasmus · 1 year

Note

OMG UR REQS R OPEN!

Can I request a tf2 matchup pls?

I apologise in advance, this is a long one.

Physical appearance:

- I’m not tall [*cough*like5’1*cough*] | I’m a bloody stick, some average meat but I’m still a lanky lil shit.

- Short undercut brunette hair with [somewhat emo] right-sweeping bangs, they naturally sweep left but look fluffier when swept right.

- I am in fact, whiter than sour-cream with very-very light freckles on my face, you gotta be CLOSE to see them.

- I have weird, blue-ish/green-ish/grey eyes. I swear I’ll never know their real colour because they pull a one-two-switcheroo depending on lighting.

- I wear big, thick-lensed, thin black-frame glasses and due to my rapidly declining eyesight I am practically blind without them.

- My right eyebrow has a slit cause I got bored, but I like it and it’s staying (and a piercing bc I can)

- I have size 10[?] gauges [/stretchers, whatever you call the things that stretch your earring holes], I plan to go bigger.

- I tend to wear a lot of black clothing and I have a very punk/alt/emo/grunge style. That, or I’ll look like a dad in cargo shorts and an over shirt thats given up.

About me:

- Trans guy | He/Him pronouns | Preferred name is Corvinn | Gay

- Aussie, very prominent accent, have been mistaken for a Brit because of ‘how I speak’ [I cuss more than a sailor]?

- Diagnosed with A.D.H.D., anxiety, depression and high functioning A.S.D. [that’s the main shit, the combination also causes insomnia lol] | Excess stimulation causes overloads and makes me temporarily non-verbal | My brain gets overly bored if there’s a lack of stimulation | I don‘t know SL because I started having non-verbal episodes in 8th grade. I’ll communicate using my phones notes app, tts or a very confusing game of charades | Stims include; flappy hands when emotionally overwhelmed, rapid leg bouncing when I’m anxious/focusing/listening to music, playing with my/the ear lobes of a person I trust for comfort | I twitch on occasion, I don’t think it’s serious; just painful-ish head/neck/shoulder jerks and non-painful leg/arm jerks accompanied by a grunt/verbal tic [I mainly squeak]/strained face | I have a bad habit of apologising/excusing myself after I twitch | Mental health is poor but I’m trying to get better and I think I’m heading in the right direction.

- Extremely self-conscious of my voice [think it’s too high] and height:(

- Self-taught aspiring artist of 8/9 years now | I do both digital and physical art | Tend to be more digital | When I do physical art it’s mostly sketching and watercolours | Plan to become a body artist in future.

- I’m easily excitable, but I’m told it’s annoying so I try not to but then that kind of leads to me not showing any outward emotion which also upsets people.

- I can sew and I own a sewing machine | Fun fact, I wanted to be a cosplayer when I was younger. Settling for a show-off in my textiles class [friend of mine’s a model/influencer and I’m gonna turn them into dress-up doll lmao].

- I was raised on shit like Korn, SlipKnot and LimpBizkit- I gotta fight to stay awake when metal is playing in the car.

- Favourite colour is all of them.

- I wanna get more piercings; left lower-lip, septum, and venoms.

- My Dad doesn’t think I can sing but a bunch of people have said otherwise. I’m currently at the point where I have no stage but I must sing.

Interests:

- I’m interested in textile practices.

- The Walten Files

- Marble Hornets

- Creepypasta

- Slasher films

- Hazbin Hotel/Heluva Boss

- DSMP

- Horror and paranormal shit

- ARG’s [I suck, but I enjoy watching others]

- FNAF [here since 2016, will cause physical altercations if opposed]

- All of animation YouTube

- Video essays on weird and obscure shit.

- Beloved YouTube blorbos include; CJ the X, Grayson projects, HarleyTBS, Izzzyzzz, Quinton Reviews, Chad Chad, LS Mark, Danny Gonzalez, Drew Goodeen, Mama Max, Nexpo, Manlybadasshero, Markiplier, Jacksepticeye, Neytirix, Noah Finnce, The Click, Sagan Hawkes, Pagan Valley, Wendigoon, Strange æons, Super Eyepatch Wolf, TFIL, Game Theory, TomSka, Pyrocynical, and many more.

- True crime

- Current main hyperfixation; MCR.

- I love animals. I used to have a pure black cat, he ded now tho:(

- Video games.

Dislikes:

- Seafood

- Rumours

- Twitter drama [unless someone like TRO is feeding it to me in form of a video essay], if I have to hear about one more person being cancelled by a random group of 13 year old white girls over literally nothing I am going to flip my shit😀

- Country/opera/classical music [to be fair, I’ll listen to classical but it just sends me to sleep, it’s too slow for me, sorry]

- Trolls [I’m fine when it’s harmless and all in good fun but when it gets toxic is where I draw the line]

- And a lot of fandoms I refuse to name because they are really toxic and will stop at nothing to find me🚪🏃‍♂️💨🧍‍♂️

Sorry this is so long, hope it’s okay. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, no pressure! Anyway, it’s super la- early. I’m going to bed. Have a nice [insert time here]. Also, thanks and remember to take care of yourself!

Hullo hullo welcome and thank you!! You are paired with...

Demoman!!

Honestly this one was a really close call, but when I really thought about it I couldn't get Mr. Explodey Man out of my head. He sees you as super passionate and well rounded, both qualities he can appreciate! This man comes from a very straightforward and strict upbringing, so having your radiant personality and look nearby is honestly pretty refreshing for him.

I can see your dynamic including a lot of hurt/comfort influences, as well as some partners in crime and like a little friends to lovers vibe. He's very much an optimist and loves keeping your spirits up! He understands a lot of what you're going through (*coughs*t4t*coughs*) so expect a lot of advice and validating comments. Definitely tries to get you into some mischievous activities when bored, trouble is this guy's middle name (it's actually Finnegan). That's not to say he doesn't mind lounging about the house, learning about one of your interests through videos you watch or just listening to you ramble. He might fall asleep on you if you're not careful tho.

Demoman is also a very adaptable man. He's been around and seen a lot in his time, so he comes perfectly prepared for nearly everything you may need from him. It does surprise him at first when exposed to your stims and tics, but only for a moment! He finds stims that show your trust endearing, and certainly doesn't mind getting anything you need if you're having a bad day. He definitely seems like the type to catch on to what the different stims mean pretty quick. If he notices you're getting anxious he may subtly rest a hand on your leg, or lead you away from an area until you're no longer overstimulated. Once he learns about your non-verbal bouts he always keeps a pen and notepad nearby. Just very subtle and gentle things that shows he cares because he really really does.

He also adores your music taste!! Very chaotic instrumentals and throaty singing gets him all kinds of hyped. He tries to pass that hype on to you and it works about 99% of the time. When you're both bouncing with energy he'll gladly take you out somewhere to burn energy (and cause trouble). The best thing about Tavish is that this man can make anything fun. Simple things like taking out the trash, running errands, even going on a quiet walk end up becoming your most cherished memories with him. He always hums a tune from songs you like when he picks up on you smiling more.

Expect to meet his mother!! I have a feeling he plays it a bit old school when it comes to relationships, so he'd absolutely insist upon you meeting her. He also just really loves his mom. When you're both ready he invites you to his (fucking huge) house for tea. He's very confident you'll hit it off right away! It starts slow, but once you mention your experience with textiles she beams. Having experience herself; she happily shows you some pieces she's made for her family and for her. She asks that you update her with anything you make in the future, so I think you can safely say she likes you. It makes demoman very happy to see you getting along.

To summarize; he absolutely adores your presence in his life. He'll try his absolute best to make you happy, and loves laughing with you about anything and everything. I hope you liked it!!

#tf2 matchup #tf2 headcanons #thank you for the ask!#demoman tf2 #tf2

7 notes · View notes

siberat · 2 years

Note

top ten characters for fat stuff!

ohhhhh this is a good one! Most are prolly going to be transformers tho

top ten- 1 being the best:

Ratchet. OMG he is just soooo fun to beef up. Like, deep down, he don't care that he's a chonk, but he does worry if other mechs will think of him less. AND worries about getting too big to do his job: that could never happen. He needs to work- but loves to pamper himself with over indulging in tasty food.

Drift. Fat stuff with him consists of those thighs getting chonky, and his butt and belly.... its nice imagining him chonking out to just freakin' relax- stop worrying about impression others and just be happy with yourself. I picture him secretly enjoying stuffing himself, but very VERY self conscious about it.

Rodimus. For him- its just kinda funny imagining someone who is probably super-duper in the mindset of 'I gotta be the hotest mech alive' and 'slim is in' crap. He'd be the one to deny he put on weight when he is sporting a starter belly, and even sucks it in when needs to. Big time closet eater, and probably cries over seeing his belly.

Megas XRL- not a transformer, but a robot. online buddy got me into this. And I/we like to imagine him being sentient. HEs not a super common char- but he just seems to always get himself a very VERY swollen gut from cracking open gas trucks and chugging. Big time. To the point he falls over and has trouble getting back up. And when I say big belly, it pretty much turns into the stereotypical 'circle' bely because of the sudden and massive weight gain. BUt its just his belly that chubs up...

Red Alert. I never done any fat art of him or chubfics: but it is one I see not being super heavy, but thic. Like, he got some thic thighs, round belly and a meaty bedonkidonk to go with it- from sitting down monitoring security systems all day... and snacking. Plus, I imagine he idly rubs at his chub throughout the day... ( and inferno enjoys catching him in this act...o.0)

Ghost Rider. yay a 'human' made it on the list! And with all those souls he eats- it goes right to his gut! The next morning, its not just his head that feels as if its on fire- but his massive belly too! JUst imagine a skeleton with a flaming head riding a motorcycle towards you... with a fat ol belly- and he is hungry!

Breakdown: this is another one a buddy got me into, but it makes sense. He just really seems to have the frame to be a biggin and the personally to suit it as well. Poster child for big is beautiful. Never does a half ass job at eating: its all or nothing. And he loves to throw his weight around

Senator Proteus: this was a recent addition. I just learned of this char- and of course, I thought of ideas on him getting chubbed up. He is an a$$hole senator and greedy, cares only for himself... you know, classic politician. Rumor of an energon shortage? Deny it of course ( while stuffing yourself silly to ensure he gets more than his fill) I have a story planned for this guy- just have to wait for other stories to be finished. But this glutton is fun to play with. HE claimes his fat gut is proof enough that he is right ( no energon shortage) and senator shockwave/anyone else claiming there is a shortage is wrong. In your face! ( unless its food, then it will be in Proteus' face, because he eating it)

Wing. His is kinda a double edge sword tho ( OMG LAME PUN) He is just uber-adorable, and it would be so cute to see him sporting some extra baggage. I woudn't imagine him getting really chubby tho, because it would get in the way of his swordy-stuff. And I am sure with his 'rightous' believes, overindulgence would be a sin. But I could see him going on short lived stuffing sprees. Getting himself a firm starter belly, then having to go through a period of fasting to loose the weight.... if he really overdid it for a few days, he'd get some cute love handles and a nice spare tire. But following that would be a period of exercising and fasting. For religious reasons of course ... 0.o

last but not least...i'm kinda digging here...in my mind I have oc's that get chubbed up, but i never drew them or written them. SO i dunno if they'd count. I read a tarn fic where tarn chonked up a bit, and I really liked that concept. I kinda like Tarn getting fat for a few reasons: BE it he is being cocky thinking he is all high and mighty and eats fine delicacies to the extreme, or he stuffs himself in attempts to console his poor, tormneted soul, But also, how much more menacing would being hunted down by a fat tarn be? On one hand- i'm sure you could easily out run him. On the other hand- dear lord, if he caught you.... i'd bank on squashing would be in the cards. Can you imagine being choked out by Tarn's thighs? ( OMFG sign me up)

this was a fun one! thanx anon!

#siberat answers #chubformers

8 notes · View notes

r0b0-writes · 2 years

Note

If you're still doing these...N for Sweet and Cap'n?

N: The color green

Of course, of course! I was hoping someone would request this one!

Sweet twiddled with the pliers in his hand. Though his eyes were looking directly at the tool, his mind was far beyond the shop. They were thinking of what to do today. Castle Town was still new to the trio and while they had explored a bit already, it wasn't nearly as expansive as their previous home. He did miss those green lines that stretched across the sky. But that was a green he could live without. There was... certain greens he simply couldn't go without seeing.

Particularly #5BC762. He had it memorized.

A hand slapped his back, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Whatcha thinkin' about~ ?" K_K beamed from above. Cap'n strolled in behind him, hands stashed away in his pockets. "Daydreamin' at your station again?" He teased.

Sweet rolled his eyes, "no," they lied. "Then what were you doing?" Cap'n leaned in. "None of your business, that's what," Sweet pushed his face away, though it was with barely any strength.

K_K hummed, "well, I was hoping we could jam out a little, ya know~ ?" It rocked on its heels. "New place, new audience! Gotta get some new beats out into the public~ !"

"Good idea, K_K," Cap'n snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that's a good point," Sweet added.

"Great~ ! You two can clean up in here and I'll get the studio set up~ !" He left the two in the shop, staring after him as the door swung closed.

Cleaning didn't take long. Despite Cap'n's mandatory 'five-minute breaks' he would take after cleaning one spot, the two worked well together.

Cap'n sat up on one of the workbenches, leaning back on his arms as he looked around the room. There wasn't much more to clean, at least in his opinion. His eyes scanned the other two workbenches, each indicating their owner with a line of corresponding tape wrapped around the corners to remove the sharp edges. They were rebels who practiced workshop safety! The most rebellious type of behavior.

His eyes landed on K_K's workbench and he slid off his own to begin cleaning the counter off. K_K's table had little to no rhythm to where tools went. Most of the time K_K shared tools with the others. Screws and bolts littered the tabletop, a pile of metal shavings built up in a corner. As he pushed the shavings into a trashcan and placed the screws and bolts in proper containers, he uncovered something.

Underneath all those shavings and other items, was a drawing. It had a few oil stains on the corners, but it still looked good.

"Hey, Sweet, come look," he called the other over. "Whatcha find? Oh," Sweet blinked at the picture.

K_K wasn't any kind of master of the arts, but its drawing skills were nothing to laugh at either. Not to them at least. The lines weren't entirely straight or well rounded, the color bled through the lines, and the proportions weren't perfect. But to them, it was a masterpiece. The picture was two images from what they assumed was K_K's view at his workbench. An image of Sweet on one side and Cap'n on the other, each when they had been so focused on a project, they couldn't have realized they'd been studied. Filling in the spaces were little notes.

An arrow was drawn to Sweet's cap, which was backward, "cute!" was written beside. On Cap'n's side it had an arrow pointing to his tongue sticking out as he worked, "LOL! <3!"

Cap'n looked at the drawing, staring at the areas of himself that he was normally self-conscious about, but to K_K seemed like nothing at all. There were splashes of greens, yellows, and blues, in each image. Green was the least color used, while yellow and blue overtook the page. And such a pretty green, too. Cap'n ran a hand over it.

What a silly, wonderful color. A color that he thought deserved more space on the page.

"Hey, Cap?" "Hmm?" "What's your favorite color?"

There was a pause in the room, "green," they said together.

#scc ambiguous #sweet cap'n cakes #deltarune #oh to be associated with a color and make your bandmates happy when they see the color #sweet deltarune #k k deltarune #[r0b0.rqst]#cap'n deltarune

6 notes · View notes

shiclded · 2 years

Photo

❝ i gotta stop feeling invisible and start feeling invincible. ❞

( THE WARMTH OF A SWEATER STRAIGHT FROM THE DRYER, A PILE OF CRUMPLED, UNFINISHED SKETCHES, AND INFECTIOUS LAUGHTER )▸ welcome to latverion, MILES MORALES ( SPIDER-MAN ). it’s time to be gracious, for in this vast multiverse, you have been saved by emperor doom. according to records you are 21 and use HE / HIS pronouns. emperor doom expects you’ll enjoy your career as AN ARCHITECTURE STUDENT, or else. excellent. we look forward to your contribution.

ABOUT BASICS .

FULL NAME:

Miles Gonzalo Morales .

ALIAS:

Spider-Man .

AGE:

21 .

AFFILIANS:

Avengers / Ultimates / Spider-Verse .

GENDER & PRONOUNS:

Cis-male & he/his .

FACE CLAIM:

Jharrel Jerome .

IN-DEPTH ANALYSIS .

POINT OF ORIGIN:

Mostly taking from Ultimates/New Ultimates/Cataclysm. Some of the newer comics as well will be incorporated but as I read them, haha. Spider-Verse for a lot of his personality/likes (which is why I combined art and engineering and got... architecture major).

ABILITIES/SKILLS:

What can’t this super spider do? All the usual powers, of course: proportionate strength, speed, stamina, durability, and reflexes of a spider. Miles also has his venom strike as well as the power to turn invisible, although he can’t hold the invisibility for long amounts of time.

HAVE THEY BROUGHT ANY FAMILY/PETS WITH THEM:

No pets. Miles likes them, but knows he would never be able to take care of one. Also, cats hate him for some reason.

HEADCANONS:

Miles has so many sketchbooks that at some point he didn’t know what to do with them. He managed to find an apartment with a broom closet, which is just full of boxes which are in turn full of his sketches, polaroids of his graffiti over the years, and more recently drawings of buildings he’d like to see line the skyline of Manhattan.

He loves a dance party, but has no rhythm. Like none. It drives him crazy, and makes him self-conscious on a floor.

He’s terrified of clowns. Terrified. Like, don’t put one near him, or he will accidentally hit it with his venom and then feel really bad about it afterwards.

His favorite food is his mom’s pasteles, and sometimes, when he’s feeling extra sad, he’ll pull out the recipe and try and make it himself. It’s not the same, of course, but sometimes he’ll get just the right combination, and it’ll make him feel like she’s here.

Some would call Miles obsessed with sneakers despite never actually owning a cool pair. He follows all the blogs, famous instagrammers, you name it. He never had a pair, though, until after a very special mission where his Jessica Drew gifted him with a pair of Air Jordan I. He cried. It was a beautiful moment (unless you ask Jessica... in which case...)

Despite his crippling anxiety, Miles is actually a really smooth talker. He’s good at getting himself in and out of situations, and good at making people like him. He’d like to think that’s because he’s a good person, but he often worries that he’s not being genuine. Truthfully, Miles is so good that he often doesn’t see his own kindness.

If he’s sad, you can probably find him playing Contra, Jet Set Radio, or Super Mario Bros.

QUESTIONNAIRE .

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT EMPEROR DOOM?

Hate is not a strong enough word to sum up how Miles feels about Doom. Hate is too weak; too mild. He has never disliked someone as much as he does the Emperor, but that doesn’t mean he’s told anyone that. His friends, yes, but anyone else? Well, Miles is using his innocent look to his advantage. He’s just a regular guy... or a Spider-Man ready to take down Doom.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT THE BATTLES? ARE THEY TRYING TO AVOID THEM? OR ARE THEY EAGER TO JUMP IN?

Miles will fight, but only if it means he’ll help someone else. He’s not particularly a person who’s wanting to jump into battle unless there’s a reason. And, still, he sometimes remembers what happened to his mom and, well, it will make him sit out. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to help, but the battles seem like the wrong way to exert his energy.

WHY HAS YOUR CHARACTER ACCEPTED THEIR JOB POSITION? WILL THEY USE IT TO GET CLOSER TO DOOM? OR WILL THEY USE IT TO EXPLOIT HIM? OR DO THEY SIMPLY LIKE THEIR JOB?

Miles actually really loves his major, and would’ve picked something similar back in old Manhattan. Of course, he’ll use it to his advantage best he can. No one’s looking at a random Architecture major, anyways. To them, he’s a nobody, and he can use that to sneak around under Doom’s nose. Still, he takes his classes half-seriously, and a part of him hopes that he can keep using the skills he learns once they’re able to go back to their old lives.

#latverion:intro #. ( introductions ) .#. miles morales ( i gotta stop feeling invisible and start feeling invincible ) .

5 notes · View notes

lesser-mook · 3 months

Video

youtube

Anime & Art #11: The creator’s tastes shouldn’t ruin your fondness of a ...

They're outraged for the wrong reasons. Content in general is a proxy for one's experiences, and issues if the creator lacks either restraint or feels it's necessary to convey a certain thematic tone, sometimes that makes good stories, depends on execution. Ego vs necessity.

So even if the subtext is lost on us, the context and overtone is still there. On principle, I can get why some would be creeped out & unplug, IF that's their reason.

That's where Adulting or principle (keyword: principle) kicks in, some people don't want to support or consume that content on principle when it comes from a scumbag, some people have conviction, some people don't and just consume product. And some people pretend to be principled because it's a good "take", as ppl call having a stance nowadays. The reason I say "outraged for the wrong reasons", is some are not pissed because they genuinely feel compromised by reading some slimeball's softcore projection, because if they did they wouldn't have watched yet another loli-simulator in the first place, because really, where do these stories even go. #1 #2 The reason they're cramping now is (obviously) because they read the room they're standing in, so if the author they projected onto is a loli-con scumbag, that means "I'M A LOLI-CON SCUMBAG?!!" This is what some of em feel & think. The reason for that, is they project onto the artist because they want to by proxy claim- possession of the content and para-socially latch onto WHAT they think the artist is in plain sight, and they adopt the persona in a figurative sense, idealized effigy.

*This is ultimately why fandoms are so passionate, and resemble cults. Projection.*

The cult members do one of three things, they project onto the art, artist, or both. If the author passes your criteria of acceptable, you conflate the two as the same.Pursue them para-socially as a means to connect further with the artwork, Horikoshi's fanbase does a similar thing, or any popular creator frfr.

(for example. Fetish artist continues to be a scumbag & draw garbage = their cult members continue to support. / If the Fetish artist got their fucking life together, and drew other stuff besides the same shit, cleaned up their conduct, evolved as a human being. The cult members will dissipate, rebel and go elsewhere. Because their idol taking accountability and self-improving makes them feel self-conscious, lacking, self-aware & they don't want to be.)

This is the opposite, author is corrupt, so people feel compromised. Regardless of the work.

Fandoms feel possessive of what they flock around precisely because they project onto to the craft, and creator. Yes, separate art and artist, to a degree, but there's a reason why both words share the same key word or meaning: (Art/ARTist--Creation/CREATor) . They're not as separate as you'd think, no more than a cup of water to the stream or cloud it came from, because the story you're digesting is a piece of someone's mind. See if the artist is clean & the story is decent, then the art and artist are one,, people subconsciously naturally link the two by positive association. (Example: Stan Lee and Spider-Man) But you see, if they're slimey? THEN separate the two! A lot of people fall into this fallacy, not accusing anyone here, but ppl gotta be consistent about this and not just say that when it's convenient. However, again, depending on what it is, sometimes even projecting one's issues can work in a story, depends on execution. (Example: the TRUE context behind Giygas and Shigesato Itoi's childhood trauma)

Now, If the show itself is romanticizing little girls and the point isn't a direction along the lines of Kid Cosmic, Kids next door, or Telgemeier's The Baby Sitter's club, where it's handled with care but instead to idealize, and polish the fact that they're cute girls as a novelty? obvious as to what you're dealing with.

Like Snob said, doesn't mean they're all pedo's, some people just make that shit cause that's the industry, industry geared toward pedo-coded pandering but the workers aren't all pedo's, just drones chasing the bag.

*Point being: This is a situation (again) where the audience is tone-deaf on purpose, pretend surprised because they'll get likes for being outraged over something everybody knows already.*

#youtube #anime industry #fandoms #projection #twitter being twitter #thatanimeesnob #twitter #hypocrites

0 notes

dzpenumbra · 1 year

Text

3/13/23

I made up for 4+ hours of conflict yesterday with 6+ hours of streaming today.

I can't even explain how... delusional it feels... to stream a story game that is intentionally being streamed as essentially a set of dynamic prompts for me to tell a story... to no listeners... The traits, characters, setting, plot tools, all that... they're all delivered by the game. Select choices and making all the pieces fit together? That's up to me. And it's very difficult to... bring your 100% when you're telling a story to a handful of bots. When no one shows up. For hours.

I switched over to art after about 3 hours. I opened Krita and just started drawing this organic abstract stuff I've been doing lately. The work I did on the prayer beads, and the Be Here Now sign. Kinda like an organic membrane with voids or like... cell pockets. It's a type of design I've been doing for like 20 years. I did that and listened to the entirety of Periphery's new album. It's fucking good, really weird, really out there, really pushing their limits. Super different from anything I've heard from them. Very impressed.

So I did a live album review - to no one. At some point someone came by and said "long time no see"... and then nothing else. I engaged with them immediately... crickets. I looked at their profile, they followed me when I drew the owl (my profile picture) back in 2021, but I guess never came back since. And just went silent or left. People are so odd. Then someone new came in, and... same story. Just said hello, and I tried to strike up a conversation... crickets. It's so frustrating.

Honestly, it feels really sad. It feels like I'm just pretending to have friends, which really doesn't make the idea of actually making friends more real. It makes it feel farther away. I just... I fucking suck at this.

Daylight savings really fucked me up. I didn't get up and moving until like 4. That shit is so fucked up. Because I didn't get to sleep until like... 7! I'm genuinely surprised I'm getting this journaling done at such an early hour.

So... I missed the mixer at the board game shop. Never showed up, it got late too quick. I got yoga done. I skated up to the gas station up by the highway and got some food and snacks. The woman who worked there was laughing about some guy who came in twice saying that he got his turban stuck in the tire air pump thing, like it got sucked in or something... and she was just scoffing at him and laughing him off. And... I just kinda laughed at the absurdity of it, because I had this Looney Tunes cartoon of it happening in my head and it was pretty slapstick funny. But... inside... I was like... that's a religious garment, that's like... he's gotta feel really panicked that he doesn't have it. That's a big deal to some people, like real big. Like "lost a wedding ring" big. And they didn't even try to take him seriously and help him, they just laughed him off and told him to leave, they just said "it doesn't work like that, it blows air, I don't know what happened to your turban but our machine didn't suck it in" or something. And... yeah, in hindsight... poor guy, you know? I wish I had been a bit more present, I could've probably offered to help him.

I seriously... I hate how scared of people I am here. Just... in general, I guess. Like... crossing paths with a homeless person who was just yelling out loud in the street the other day. It's hard to really... empathize with that. It confuses me. It's alien. I'm super self conscious, it's like... the complete opposite, just like... ultimate not giving a fuck. Hard to put myself in those shoes. And that kinda freaks me out, I guess. Encountering people from different cultures at the gas station, it made me feel bad. Like... it made me feel like a bad person. Because I just... didn't know what to expect, really. Like... I didn't know what they were thinking, because I didn't know how I appear in their eyes. If that makes sense, I'm finding this hard to articulate clearly. Like... 3/4 of the people I run into I'm scared are going to try to steal my skateboard. Which is fucking stupid, because it's like 35 lbs and the controller for it is strapped firmly to my wrist and I'm going at least 8mph at the time... But my anxiety just tells me I'm gonna get a knife or a gun pulled on me and they're taking the board, my earbuds and my phone. And I just... I guess it's because I'm alone.

It's weird. It's most people. I just... assume I'm pissing them off, they're going to yell at me, they're going to call the cops on me, they think I'm stalking them, they think I'm creepy, they think I'm dangerous, they think I'm annoying or making a lot of noise (the board can be a bit loud on brick, but it's a really fun texture to ride on), they think I'm a hipster dad trying to reconnect with a lost youth (not far off, minus the dad part...). I have no idea what others see when they look at me. And I clearly assume the worst.

And over the past few years, I've heard some nasty things. Nasty things that people think of me. And... I'm afraid a lot of that might've gotten beaten into my head?

I'm having trouble wording this right, I think. I don't trust the people around me... because I don't know what they think of me, I don't know how they perceive me. Because I very rarely get social feedback, and the overwhelming majority of it is either avoidance or conflict. So it sorta stands to reason that the most likely perception of me is... negative. Or suspicious. Which means people will be guarded around me. Which means... I'm not safe.

God... what a mess. What a mess my brain has devolved into. Looking at this, no shit I don't go out in public. And all I've been begging for, for years now... is someone to just wingman. So it's safe for me to meet new people and branch out. Ugh.

How many times do I need to have this panic attack, good lord, I'm such a broken record on this! Every anxiety response I have - "I went to the store and I ran into people that must have been suspicious of me because I'm a white dude with a shaved head in his mid-30's wearing black" - and it always catastrophizes and then resolves at the same damn lament... "if only I had a friend. Someone to have my back."

I hate living like this.

Last time I'm hitting this point, I promise. Just... picture this. Instead of me going skating alone with earbuds in trying to ignore the thoughts of people staring at me and judging... or the cops pulling up and ticketing me for riding on the sidewalk or some dumb shit... Instead, me meeting up with a friend to go cruise and explore with. Exploring my new city, with another person, so it's... you know... fucking safer. So if I crash, I'm not fucking stranded alone. So if I get mugged, I at least have someone to help me out after the fact. Someone who knows where I am and can get help. Someone to just... keep me company, and tell me I'm doing a great job, and laugh at my jokes and shit.

Oh, and since we're basically sending wishes to the gods here, might as well ask for my flexibility back in my hips, and whatever weird shit is going on with my neck, if we could get that straightened out, that'd be dank. Thanks Lumbyx, God of Spines, love your work. Praise be.

Welp. That was like... my whole day. Didn't even shower. Just wake up. Grababrush putonalittlemakeup. Yoga. Skate to the shop, hit the riverside and see geese (which was cool) and head home. Watch youtube and eat and... stall. Then stream for 6+ hours.

And here I am.

I'm upset because... it didn't feel like an accomplishment. It was, there were several large accomplishments today. But they didn't feel like accomplishments. I have that feeling where I'm going "man, I want a cigarette" and I just came back inside from smoking a cigarette. Like a hunger. Dissatisfied. Discontent. Uneasy. Wanting. Longing. Craving. It really is like a hunger. I mean that. Like I could easily see others (myself even) trying to sate this hunger with... food, or water, or alcohol, or nicotine, or benzos, or pain pills, or weed, or sex, or like... anything, really. It's a very generic hunger. A very general, deep hunger. So vague and general that I really can't define what it is or where it is.

This, in the past, was why I made those Rimworld-style "Needs meters". Right now: Food - 7/10? Rest - 2/10 Recreation - 9/10 Beauty (of immediate environment) - 5/10 Comfort - 5/10 Outdoors - 7/10

(7+2+9+5+5+7)/6 = 35/6 = 5.8/10 total Mood

So... why am I in such a shitty mood then? Why am I so upset? 5.8 is really not that bad! What's the hunger about? Welp, in Rimworld, that would be one of the Mood modifiers. Not a biophysical thing... like base human needs, the stuff above. It's more of a... thought kinda thing. Psychological effects.

Which is what has brought me to this revision lately where like... I feel like Rimworld should have a need bar for Social. Because it really does feel like a basic survival need. And shit gets really fucky in your life if social just... disappears, or is all bad.

This is where I randomly and suddenly end the journal entry because I'm tired and I notice it's getting a bit late. I wish I had something useful to do with this Rimworld RPG self-help method. It really fucking upsets me that like... I presented this specifically to 3 professional licensed psychologists, one the head of a psychology department at a college, and all of them nodded and smiled and rolled their eyes and tuned out like I was a 5 year old telling them how I was going to be an astronaut someday. Because I found this game mechanic that, in staggering detail, not only maps out both the human psyche and Mazlow's hierarchy of needs, but creates a simulation of that system in a simulated environment. You can see it functioning in real-time. You can alter it. You can see the effects it has on mood and health and relationships and shit, you can see where mental breaks hit and what causes them. It's like... the foundation of the entire game. It's like... it's fucking psychology and self care in a nutshell. It's like a roadmap for self-therapy. And I made a 45 minute video breaking this down in painstaking detail for these people and they didn't even fucking watch it. YOU CAN MAKE YOURSELF IN RIMWORLD, IN PREPARE CAREFULLY. I fucking did it myself to show them! Not even kidding, I made myself in Rimworld, my house, my cat, my dog, and screenshotted the needs tab with the bars and the thoughts list and everything. And I gave them the screenshot to show them, on fucking paper, precisely every goddamn moving piece of what was going wrong in my life. And they did that whole move that shitty parents do when they go "oh wow, that's a wonderful dog you've drawn, let's put it on the fridge a little later" and then the slip it into the trash.

I swear to god, this system helped me immeasurably in being able to get out of my head and actually identify my problems specifically. Like... look what I did here! Up above. Like, my problem is clearly not a base human need. I'm tired, but the rest is doing surprisingly well. It's a craving for social contact, or a craving for... emotional comfort? I'm sure if I tallied out my big mood modifiers, it'd paint a much more detailed picture. But identifying that this hunger is not a biological component is a really important factor for me, because it really feels like a biological factor... and that can be enough for someone to start binge eating or drinking or smoking or whatever, just to make that mysterious hunger go away.

I would love, more than anything, to share this tool with others. This could like... really help people. This could be the kind of tool that people in my generation that just... struggle to connect with therapy... they can do as homework. In an approachable context. Imagine this as an app. And you plug in your stats, and your modifiers. And if you hover over negative modifiers, it can give you suggestions of common remedies to help ease them and boost mood. Shit like that. I mean... come on... Just as a day-to-day self-care kind of thing.

Maybe someone will listen to me someday and see the value of stuff like this. This idea has lasted over 4 years now and I still hold the value of it, its value to me has increased. All because some phenomenally talented indie game developers wanted to make a game that simulates the function of human mood/psychology/biology in a survival scenario. What fool would not use such an advanced and well-crafted tool?

Okay. This is where I end the journal entry. But reset the vibes first.

The highlight of the day was... seeing the geese by the river. There was a guy filming them, no idea what for but it made me so happy to see it! And the river was beautiful, my first time down by the riverside at that part of the river, above the waterfall. And the light was beautiful, and the ancient brick mill buildings at the side of the river just looked really striking. I took a picture, even. That's a memory that will stick with me. I love nature. :)

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

0 notes

servin-up-surveys · 2 years

Text

survey #003

(from the 27th)

Who knows you better than anyone else? My mom. Would you ever want to go to Brazil? Yeah, sure. How did your parents meet each other? They were coworkers. What profession do you think is the most under-appreciated? Teachers. To a depressing degree. Are there any medical conditions that run in your family? Oh Jesus, a lot, including diabetes, high blood pressure + high cholesterol, cancer, pretty sure depression, and uhhh I know there's more, but I'm blanking rn. In your opinion, what is the most toxic personality trait? Gaslighting, probably. Manipulative behavior as a whole. What band has the best guitar solos? I gotta hand it to my babes Metallica. Where is your favorite place to take a nap? My bed. Who is the biggest jerk you’ve ever met? Colleen. I still have trouble putting together how the hell I called her my best friend when she was just mean, to everyone. Have you ever swerved off the road to avoid hitting an animal? I have never been in that situation and I pray to GOD I never am. I would have an absolute and total breakdown if I hit an animal. What’s a tradition you hope never dies out? Um idk, I gotta admit I don't care about tradition much. Have you ever grown your own herbs? No. Do you read the nutrition labels on the packaged food you buy? Usually not, admittedly. What were some of your favorite classes you took in high school? My absolute favorites were Art and German, but Mythology was also very fun. Have you ever gone through a bad breakup? lmao take a seat, my friend Do you believe in Jesus? I'm pretty sure it's a documented fact he existed, but I don't believe in his miracles. Has anyone ever used a cheesy pickup line on you? Maybe at some point. Are you hard of hearing? I hear volume fine, but I do have some sort of auditory processing issue where I have trouble understanding what people are saying a lot because their words just sound like a jumble of letters. Would you ever want a statue made of you? omg no, one of this body is enough. When did you last go for a run? Dear lord, I don't go on runs. The last time I ran was in fuckin high school gym lmao How many bones have you broken in your life? One in my wrist. Where are you currently? I'm at the desk in the spare room. Do you have any cats? I have one spoiled brat, lol. What’s your favorite love song? I've had a soft spot for "When It's Love" by Van Halen since HS; I even wanted it to be my first dance song for maaany years. Still might be. Have you ever had vertigo? Yes, I actually had a decently long streak of experiencing it regularly to where I had medicine to take for it. Has your house ever been robbed? No, but a gang did try to break into my childhood home when Ashley and her friend were home alone, and god only knows what they might have done. That memory just chills me to the goddamn core, knowing my big sister could have died that day. I'm pretty sure that was the straw that broke the camel's back and led to us moving. Have you done a breathing exercise recently? Uhhhh I think I may have done heavy breathing recently to calm down over something? idr What food/drink did you last waste? Awhile back, Ma and Nicole made a chicken dinner that I just did not like. Felt bad throwing it away. If you have a partner, do you have a song? I have no idea if he considers us having one, but "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" by The Ink Spots can make me tear up because he sang it to me once when we were cuddling in bed and it come on his music player lasdkjfk;alwj;wej;qiwjefroiwqer Have you ever dug a hole? What for? Yes, as well as tunnel systems bc I liked to pretend to be a meerkat lmaooo I was a weird kid Have you ever fainted? What from? Yeah; I've told the story enough, so I'll just share the doctor's theory: dehydration and being in a shower that was too hot (and thus humid) when I was barely conscious. Do you know a Chelsea? I in fact do, she's Colleen's younger sister. Got along with her a thousand times more than Colleen. I should catch up with her. She's a mom now. :') Are you currently barefoot? Yeah, we don't wear shoes in the house. Do you think you look better with long hair or short? Oh, ABSOLUTELY short. You couldn't pay me to go back to long hair. He likes my hair now, but Girt would actually love to see me with really long hair again and I was just like NOPE SORRY SIR What have you found to be the best remedy for nausea? Take medicine. I do NOT handle nausea well, so I go for that quick. Do you prefer black tea, green tea, or herbal tea? I hate tea. Have you ever been to one of your teacher’s houses? A few, yes. I know there's my 2nd/5th (I had the same instructor) grade teacher, as well as my 4th, for reasons I can't entirely remember. Then there's Miss Tobey, my high school physical science teacher, who is now literally our landlord, lmao. She's pretty much family. Have you ever been on a missions trip? No, because I'd much rather not spread the glorious word of a deity who either doesn't hear or doesn't care. Does your mom sew? She knows how to. What is your favorite type of tree? I love wisterias and weeping willows. Giant sequoia trees are also just absolutely breathtaking; I'd love to see one irl. OH, one more: rainbow eucalyptus. What an aesthetic. What are three of your favorite country songs? "When the Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw, "Travelin' Soldier" by The (Dixie) Chicks, and uhhh "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts, maybe. Maybe something by Carrie Underwood's up there. I don't exactly remember a lot of country songs. Have you ever drawn a picture of a skull? Yeah. Have you ever found a mouse in your house? Yeah, we had 'em sometimes when we lived in the woods. What is your favorite zoo animal? Meerkats, of course. I also think seeing the polar bears is extremely cool (when kept in adequate conditions, of course), just because it's such an environmental contrast. And they're SO BIG. How many times have you been stung by a bee in your life? Once, at least I'm quite sure I was stung. Me nor Mom could find the stinger in my pants leg, so perhaps it was just some random pain that happened while a bee was nearby, idk. Do you like ducks? Yeah man, little waddle bois Are you afraid of snakes? Not at all. I have a pet snake, want more, and want to eventually be able to herp primarily for snakes, haha. Are you afraid of spiders? I'm more uncomfortable around them than snakes, but I'm not horribly scared of them; they startle me more than anything. Like, if I suddenly noticed a massive spider on me, I'd certainly spaz out. If I am aware of one's presence, though, I actually enjoy seeing the lil guys. Tarantulas, however, I just flat-out adore. Big hairy negative one brain cell babies. Would you rather own a poodle or a chihuahua? We actually have a chihuahua, even though it wasn't a breed Mom nor I particularly wanted. It was a rescue sort of thing, and don't get me wrong, we all adore her. If I had to choose between the two though, I would definitely favor a standard poodle, they're pretty. Who is your favorite superhero? I don't have strong feelings on superheroes, but I've always liked Spider-Man in the movies I have by chance seen. Deadpool too, but he's an anti-hero. Are you flexible? Those days are LOOOOONG over, my friend. Can you throw a football? I've never been able to correctly. What were three of your favorite things to do during recess when you were a kid? Go on the swings, dig tunnel systems in the sandbox with friends, and play 4-Square on the basketball court. Have you ever ridden a horse? Only ever at fairs or similar events. Looking back I feel so bad for those horses. Did the home you grew up in have a doorbell? Wow, I actually don't remember. I don't believe it did. Does your current home have a doorbell? Yes. Have you ever driven a race car? No, not interested. What was the last artsy thing you did? A few days agao I started drawing, but i didn't get far due to my tremors being so goddamn insufferable. Everything was just messy. Have you ever taken piano lessons? No. Name someone you know who can play the saxophone. I don't think I do know anyone. Have you ever been in a band? I was in the middle + high school band. Have you ever bowled a strike? Yes. Oh my god, story time: the first time Girt and I tried dating, our first date was the bowling alley. I prepare for absolute decimation by saying I am going to suck. First roll, fucking strike. I think Girt just about walked away. I was absolutely cackling alsdijfaliwe it is to this day one of the funniest things that's ever happened to me. I sucked the entire rest of the day btw, lmaoooo. What is your current favorite video game? It doesn't mattere what day it is, my two faves will always and forever be Silent Hill 2 and Shadow of the Colossus. What are three baby names your friends have used that you like? There's Peresphone, Scarlett, and Jaspen. This isn't an easy question for me to answer 'cuz most of my (old) friends used ridiculously southern names that make me want to gag. Are you allergic to peanuts? No. Are you superstitious? No. Do you own a Magic 8-Ball? I used to growing up. What color is your Christmas tree? I want to say it's a dark shade of green. I am dying for a black one with faux frost and snow when I have my own place. Do you ever listen to CDs anymore? No. What are three medications that you take every day? Three out of too many consist of Lithium, Clomipramine, and Bupropion. Have you had COVID? I have not. Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? No. Where was the last place you flew on a plane? Back home from Illinois. Cupcakes or donuts? Both are bangin', but god do I love donuts. Have you ever gone sledding in the snow? I have! I think in Ohio when I was very young, we went to some BIG ol' hills to slide down, and also at an old house where there was a slope by the winding road, we (me, sisters, and neighbors) played around there. I can't even remember what we used. Have you ever ridden in a taxi? No. Have you ever seen a leech in person? Omg yes and I hate them. Parasitic creatures as a whole just creep me the fuck out. What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in the past year? Probably that sometimes the little drops of good feelings you get out of something that is primarily hurtful ain't worth it. AKA, sometimes you have to let toxic people go, no matter how much you love them, if you want to care for yourself. Do you own any tiny versions of larger things? Maybe? What are two things you’d tell your child self that you wish you would’ve known then? 1.) Don't turn to religion/God for answers, and 2.) keep fucking pushing and keep faith in herself and her own strength, because look at us, we got through it all. Did you used to play hopscotch? Yes. What’s the first letter of your best friends name? Technically "D." Do you have anything monogrammed? I do know I have a traveling bag with my name on it from my childhood; my sisters had one, too. I also have some jewelry with "B"s on it, I know, and I think that's it? Monogrammed stuff isn't something I seek out or even like much. Did you sleep well last night? Once I was able to fall asleep, yes. I hadn't even wanted to go to bed, but to be healthy I forced myself. Took a while to knock out, but I got there. When is the last time you checked your mail? I'm gonna check it now, actually. So I was trying to change my primary blog on Tumblr right, and I think I fell for a scam code and accidentally terminated my account lmao and they better give it back lsdjkfal;wekjal;kewjr Do you have strong opinions about religion? Oh, I sure fucking do. Are there any popular dance moves you are good at? No, I don't dance. Have you ever seen a flash mob in person? No. Have you ever struggled with acne? As a teenager, yes. I distinctly remember noticing it was majorly chilling out when I was in the shower in NY at my uncle's place using my Biore scrub. I was like... 19, I want to say. Did you enjoy High School Musical when it was a thing? I wasn't crazy about it, but it was fine. It was my lil sis who was obsessed and is the only real reason I'd even seen it. Do you know anyone who has a crush on you? I wouldn't call it just a "crush." Do you have any outdoor allergies? Yep, pollen. Have you ever joined a moshpit? Omg no, I am absolutely not into the idea of those. You're literally just hurting each other?????? like why???? What cover do you think is better than the original song? The first that comes to mind is Disturbed's version of "The Sound of Silence," originally by Simon & Garfunkel. Would you ever like to learn belly dancing? NO. Even if I had a nice stomach, still no. I'd be too self-conscious. What’s one of your favorite memories related to an animal? Oh god, there are simply so many. I'll tell the story of Ike, though, because he truly made me feel special. At the Sylvan Heights Bird Sanctuary, the male Abyssinian ground hornbill - Ike - bonded with me. He came right over to the fence and let me pet him, just chilling there for what was a really long time. One of the employees said she'd never seen him do this before. It was honestly so magical, and if I remember accurately, he wasn't too happy when I had to pull myself away from him, haha. I will always cherish the pictures and video I got of him and his mate Rosie. I still wonder a lot if he's still alive. Do you suffer from any mental illnesses? A lot, although with an entirely new doctoral team examining my mental health, some diagnoses are being reconsidered. The lead doc has said it's just very unlikely I actually have as many conditions as I've been diagnosed with and that they may just be overlapping symptoms, which is very true. Have you ever had to have a tooth cut out? Nope.

#survey #surveys

0 notes

certifiedskywalker · 3 years

Text

Breathing Room - Bucky Barnes

Thanks to Sharon’s new profession, you have a chance to catch your breath in Madripoor. Though, Bucky never fails at stealing it away.

WARNINGS: drinking (?) and tensiooooonnn

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone like how he looks at you. Except for Steve.”

“It’s not like that,” you persisted as you shook your head.

Ready to prove your counterpoint, you traced the path of Sharon’s pointed gaze. It landed on Bucky who, amidst the party of stiff art connoisseurs and writhing criminals, looked strangely at ease. When you let your gaze linger, you saw him shift against the far wall he was leaned on. His eyes found yours in an instant as if he had been glancing in your direction before. As if he already knew where you were stood.

Under the colored lights that seemed to flash in tune with the music, Bucky’s eyes, once bright and blue, were dark as he focused on you. Despite the heat of all those that danced, you found yourself frozen. A chill rolled up your spine and threatened to overtake you, thrust you in the depths of Bucky’s stare. Only the sound of a knowing, humming sigh freed you.

“Uh-huh, sure. It’s not like that,” Sharon echoed sarcastically. You glared at her as she moved out from behind the bar. She passed a glass of dark liquor over to you with a grin. Gently, you nudged the drink back across the counter and shook your head.

“I’m on a mission.”

“So is he,” Sharon quipped as she tipped her head towards Bucky. Steaming embarrassment rose along your skin as you glanced back over towards the super-soldier. He was no longer fixed on you. He instead squinted at Zemo as the Baron broke it down in the most awkward, display of dance you had ever seen.

“Yeah, and I’m not it.”

“You are, you just won’t admit it,” Sharon sipped at her drink before she continued. “The way he watches you...he’s ready to take a bullet for you.”

“He already has,” you sighed, gesturing to your left arm. “Vibranium, remember? He’s covered me more than once.”

“Couldn’t forget it.”

“Also, he stares at everyone.”

Sharon scoffed, a light laugh slipping from her lips. “Sure, but not like that.”

“Do you really think...he’s hard to read. I don’t know if he really means to…”

“You’re right, he might not mean to look at you like you’re his lifeline, but it doesn’t change the fact that he does.” Sharon downed the rest of her drink and rested the empty glass on the counter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on a mission too: to sell some art and information.”

With a wink, she sauntered away, towards a group of individuals clad in formal wear. You watched her go for a moment longer before you shifted your gaze to sneak a glance at Bucky. When you did, you found he was already looking at you, dark eyes fixed on your face. It was tough to tell in the red tones that shone down on him, but you thought you saw Bucky’s mouth quirk the slightest bit upward. Though, you did not stare long enough to see if it morphed into a full-fledged smile.

You were too aware of how your chest tightened to let yourself linger on him. Especially with Sharon’s teasing, her insights, you could not find it in yourself to stare back. Not then, not when there was a chance Bucky felt the same as you had for years, which meant both of you were too stubborn, or too wary, to say anything about it. Even the thought of it knocked the air from your lungs. You eyed the liquor Sharon had poured out for you, considered downing it to distract yourself from the new wave of nerves that washed over you. Before you stretched your fingers out towards the glass, a sudden warmth brushed against your left shoulder.

“You gonna drink that?”

You turned and saw Bucky, his side nearly pressed against yours. The scent of the cologne Sharon had forcibly sprayed on him before the party filled your nose. Fragrant balsam and clove: warm, welcoming, and enough to numb your racing thoughts. When you didn’t respond to his question, Bucky leaned in closer to you with furrowed brows.

“Y/N?” Up close, you noticed just how clear his eyes were, how wholly focused on you he was. Silently you hoped he didn’t detect the shuddering breath you took.

“Yeah,” you said as tipped your head towards the drink, “it’s all yours.”

Bucky nodded at you as he reached for the glass. As he moved, his gaze remained fixed on you and you could not tear your eyes away. The moment the lights flashed an almost natural white, you swore you saw hints of pink on Bucky’s cheeks; but before you could truly tell, the fixtures flickered between blue and red. As Bucky brought the glass to his lips, you forced your eyes to the granite countertop.

To busy your mind, distract yourself from the lure of Bucky’s presence, you traced your fingertips along some of the natural patterns on the stone’s smoothed surface. It was only when you heard the clinking of glass against the countertop over the music that you felt enough courage to face the man stood at your side. Bucky’s eyes were still trained on you when you looked back up at him, full of that same attention Sharon had noted earlier.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” you remarked, “or relaxed.”

“I’m not relaxed,” Bucky said, shouting slightly to be heard over the music. You smiled as he leaned in closer to add, “I don’t think I’ve ever been. Not since….”

“The forties?”

Bucky averted his eyes from you at your teasing question and turned his gaze to the floor. “Well, yeah, honestly.”

The smallness of his voice made your heart ache. Without a moment’s thought, you reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. At your touch, Bucky met your eyes again, and then you saw it. It must have been the glint that Sharon picked up on before. A ferocity, but not one that frightened you. It was a ferocity born of passion, the same, deeply rooted feeling that forced the air from your lungs when you let yourself stare at Bucky for too long.

The passion that you had kept bottled in your chest since you met him, the real Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. It had taken so long for you to truly see him and he was just finally seeing himself. Until the party and Sharon’s observations, you hadn’t realized that maybe he was seeing you too. How long had you been blind to each other, giving each other breathing room when all you wanted was to be close?

“Honestly, I think you look good,” you said, with a confidence that surprised you.

Bucky cocked his head to the side slightly, with the faintest hints of a smile on his lips. “Really? I don’t...it’s been...I haven’t been to a party since the forties. I haven’t danced…”

“You look great, Bucky,” you pressed as you let your hand fall from his shoulder. Bucky blinked at you a few times as if trying to compute your compliments. You gave him a soft smile, an expression that he, shockingly, returned.

“So do you, Y/N.”

The way he said your name sent another chilling shiver down your spine and tightened your chest. Your breath grew ragged and you became suddenly self-conscious about the volume of your breathing. Though, when you noticed how Bucky’s chest rose and fell a bit more rapidly than before, your worries faded. They melted into the music and the smell of his, Sharon’s, cologne until all you felt was warmth and light.

“Do you want to danc-”

Before Bucky could ask his question in full, a drunken party-goer knocked into your back and sent you leaning off your stool. As you tipped forward into him, Bucky opened his arms to catch you. The cool metal of his left arm dug into your waist as your hands braced against his chest. Once you found your footing, you glanced up at Bucky.

“Are you alright?” His eyes scanned over your face as he asked. Yet, all you really heard was Sharon’s voice: he’s ready to take a bullet for you. Ready to fight for you too.

“I’m fine.”

Despite your assertion, Bucky looked past you and towards the person that had nearly knocked you over. For a moment, you saw the man that Zemo had ordered around in the Power Broker’s bar. He wasn’t your Bucky. The passion had turned to anger in his eyes. Quickly, you trailed your hands up from his chest to cup the sides of his face.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” you forced Bucky’s face to turn until his eyes found yours. “I’m fine. Are you fine?”

Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he just stared down at you, his eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips and back again. Gently, you rubbed the pads of your thumbs along the peaks of his cheekbones. At the contact, eyes glinted and you knew he was the Bucky you loved again. The scruff that lined his jaw and grew up the sides of his face prickled and tickled the skin of your palm as he drew in closer.

Suddenly, there was no more breathing room; but you were so wonderfully okay with that. Each breath you each took mingled between you until there was no space at all. Bucky’s lips brushed softly against yours, a tentative ask for permission before you closed the gap. He tasted like whiskey as you kissed and, when his arms tightened around your waist, you felt that you might drown in him.

You were prepared to do just that when you heard someone loudly clear their throat. With a small gasp for air, you and Bucky parted and turned your attention away from the other. Sam, clad in Sharon’s spare turtle neck, stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a knowing grin on his lips. Your hands slipped from Bucky’s face and the super soldier’s arms went a little more slack around your waist.

“So, if you two are done, Sharon found Nagel.”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, “we’ll...follow you.”

Sam glanced at you then Bucky and back again. “You really gotta work on your timing. We’re on a mission, guys. Seriously.”

Before you or Bucky could comment, Sam started off towards Zemo and Sharon. You glanced up at Bucky who seemingly sensed your eyes and looked back at you.

“He’s not wrong.”

“Don’t tell him that.”

598 notes · View notes

starlessea · 3 years

Text

Eye For Detail (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Sequel to Sketchbook Confessions

Summary: You try to sketch Daryl in return. Except, you draw his smile a little crooked, and the eyes are wonky... And Daryl completely loves it.

Words: 2490

Warnings: Language.

The courtyard was still and quiet, free from the dinner-time rowdiness going on behind prison walls. Well, it was almost quiet; Daryl's scribbling over paper sounded out faintly beside you, as you watched him work. At first, he'd been opposed to the idea of company, but after a while it has become almost like a weekly tradition - in which you'd both bask in the comfortable silence together. You'd even started to bring your own notepad, in your attempts to learn how to sketch from the man.

At first, your drawings were anything but good. Sometimes, even you couldn't tell whether you'd drawn a landscape or a strange, abstract fruit bowl. Yet, Daryl was a good teacher. Where he lacked patience normally, it seemed like he had ample to spare with you. He'd shown you how to use the different charcoals, and had even come back with more art supplies after his latest run.

It was coming up to dusk, and the sky was a brilliant mix of blue and grey hues. There were clouds gathering overhead, too, and you wondered whether there was a storm brewing behind them. Your notepad remained closed over your lap, since you still hadn't gathered the confidence to open it yet. Daryl hadn't noticed, however - too absorbed in his own work to pick up on the way you tentatively thumbed over the spine of your book.

"I tried to draw a person the other day," you finally admitted, "I don't know how you do it."

Daryl stopped what he was doing, rubbing circular motions over the paper to try and blend out his charcoal lines. He looked over at you, and you laughed gently at the black fingerprints littering his cheeks.

"Who was it?" he mumbled, eyeing you as you gathered your sleeve over your hand.

You shuffled over to the man slightly, and used the material to wipe away the charcoal stains over his skin, feeling him squirm slightly beneath your touch as you did so.

"It was you," you told him, and finally he kept still.

His stare bore into you, and suddenly it felt as though you'd been set on fire. You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, and edged away from Daryl as soon as you'd finished cleaning him up.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of an excuse you knew he wouldn't believe. You sighed, knowing it was no use.

"Well, it was a poor attempt at Daryl," you confessed, glancing down at your sketchbook sheepishly. "Maybe a Darren at best."

You'd expected him to laugh at your joke, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed intrigued. He closed his own notepad, and you worried about whether the charcoal would smudge.

"Show me." Daryl said softly, his eyes flickering over to your lap.

You bit your lip, wiping off the cover of your sketchbook before opening it.

"Don't laugh," you warned him, shaking your head slightly.

You didn't think that he would, but you suddenly felt self-conscious. You'd drawn the portrait in your cell a few nights ago when you couldn't sleep - with the page illuminated by soft lamp-light. You remembered the feeling of the linen sheets beneath you as you sprawled out over your mattress, trying your best to shade the stubborn parts. You had tried - really you had. Except, you'd discovered that art came more naturally to some than others.

"Your eyes are crooked, and I drew your nose too big." you grimaced, settling your gaze over the portrait as you inspected its faults. "I'm sorry."

In natural lighting, it looked a lot worse than you had remembered. You tried to snap the book closed, but Daryl's palm prevented you from doing so. He was silent, and you watched his eyes slowly trail over the paper, taking in all of the details.

"Fine, you can laugh," you exclaimed, overwhelmed by his lack of response. "Okay, just say something-"

"Can I keep this?" Daryl interrupted, glancing up to meet your eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It took a few seconds to comprehend his words, before you finally shook your head a little too quickly.

"No!" you cried, trying to snatch the book from his grasp. "I can draw you a better one."

Daryl didn't give up his grip, and only shook his head back at you in return.

"Nah, I wan' this one."

Any argument you had bubbling up was quickly quelled when you caught sight of his expression. He seemed deadly serious, and you felt your own fingers loosen over the sketchpad as a result. The man slipped it away from you, and brought the book onto his own lap, continuing to look over it.

"But it's bad," you retorted, weakly.

You knew you had lost at this point. You had learned your stubbornness from Daryl himself, after all. The man never was one to know when to back down.

The courtyard seemed a lot darker than it had only a few minutes ago. The clouds had gathered to be more dense and thick, and blocked out the remaining light left over from the setting sun. It would be hard to keep drawing like this, you thought - yet, Daryl seemed more preoccupied now.

"E'eryone gotta start somewhere" he told you, "an' I don' want ya to throw it out."

You watched as he trailed his charcoal-stained, calloused fingers along the page - careful not to leave any marks over the pristine, white paper. Even your sketchbooks looked worlds apart from one another. Yours was neat, each drawing labelled, and your lines clean; Daryl's was a collection of blackened fingerprints alongside scrawled handwriting, and the occasional crumpled page.

"Shoulda seen my first drawings," Daryl went on, looking out towards the field, and at the forest behind it. "Merle found one when I was a kid an' told me it was a shit donkey."

You cocked your head to the side, listening to him.

"Was meant to be superman," he explained, with an expression far too serious for his words.

You snorted, and the man whipped his head over to scowl at you.

"I'm sorry-" you choked out, not missing the way his lips quivered as they fought back a smile of his own. "I must have swallowed a bug."

Not long after that, the feeling in your gut turned out to be right. The storm clouds had finished gathering, and soon the first droplet of rain landed over your paper - smudging the line you'd just drawn. You glanced over at Daryl, but before he'd even had time to reply, the downpour started. It went from a single raindrop to a raging storm in a matter of seconds, leaving you both scrambling to collect the strewn sheets of paper and charcoal pieces trembling over the ground. With your supplies bundled up in your arms, the two of you ran towards the cellblock - yelling through the sounds of the rain along the way.

Once you had reached Daryl's cell, you were soaked through. The man had dragged you there since it was closer, but it hardly made a difference. Your shirt was stuck to your skin, and you were left clutching soggy handfuls of paper - bleeding ink over Daryl's stone floor. He helped you set down the supplies onto his desk, gathering up whatever was salvageable, and throwing the rest away. Luckily, most of the pastels and charcoals had been kept safe, but a lot of loose sheets had been sacrificed to the greater good in the process.

You laughed, taking in the sight of the man. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, and you watched as stray droplets ran over his cheeks. He quickly glanced around the room and retrieved one of his shirts, before offering it to you. You took it from him and smiled, waiting for Daryl to turn his back on you before starting to change.

"Looks like the weather had other plans," you noted, pulling the dry shirt over your head. "At least it washed away that god awful drawing I did of you."

You untucked your hair from the collar, and smoothed out the material over your body. Behind you, you heard the sound of a zip, and peered over your shoulder to see Daryl taking off his own leather jacket. As he did so, you noticed that he'd been concealing something beneath it, and squinted to try and make out what it was.

"Looks jus' fine to me," the man mumbled, holding up the dry piece of paper for you to see.

You scoffed; he'd stuffed your drawing there to keep it safe. You couldn't prevent the smile spreading over your face as you looked at him in disbelief. He gave you a teasing smirk back, before setting the picture carefully onto his desk with the others.

"Y'know," Daryl said quietly, "s'a lot easier to draw from real life."

You glanced over at your drawing, knowing what he was getting at. You were acutely aware of its flaws, but you just didn't have the experience to know how to fix them yet.

"I know what you look like," you quipped back.

It was the truth. Perhaps you even knew a little too well.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before walking over to where you were standing.

You could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't entirely believe you. One of the first things he'd taught you was that there could never truly be a good enough replacement for the real thing. Though, you had to disagree. You felt like you knew exactly how Daryl Dixon looked - you just couldn't translate it to paper.

The man stopped directly in front of you, so close that you could see his chest rising and falling. He lifted one hand slowly, tentatively even, so that you didn't get scared by his actions. Then, he hovered his palm gently over your eyelids, flicking them shut so that your world went dark.

"What colour are m'eyes?" he asked.

His hand was cold over your face, from where the rain had soaked his skin. You knew that he was trying to teach you a lesson, but you thought that perhaps you'd use the opportunity to teach him one back.

"Blue," you answered, without hesitation.

You desperately wanted to see the man's expression, but all you could do was imagine it.

"An' what-" Daryl continued, but you cut him off.

"A greyish blue," you went on, not entirely satisfied with your answer. "Like the colour of the sky before a storm."

Daryl removed his hand from over your eyes, but you kept them shut. Your fingertips brushed over the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, and you felt like you could picture the way it looked in your mind just from the texture of the material.

"Your hair is brown. The same shade as that desk near your bed," you told him, pointing in the direction you remembered it to be. "And it falls just above your neck, and is slightly curly at the ends." You laughed, considering your next words. "Especially just after you wash it."

Daryl remained silent, and you tried to picture the type of look he had in his eyes. You thought that perhaps you should stop, that you'd made your point clear - but you were in too deep to turn back now.

"And you have two moles," you said quietly - and wondered whether he had heard your voice tremble, too.

You reached out your hand slowly, trying to find the other man. Your palm made contact with his chest, and you let your fingertips trail up until you reached his neck, and then his face.

"One by your nose," you told him, resting your palm over his cheek, "and the other near your lip."

You tried to find it, but your thumb accidentally brushed over his lip, instead. Your heart jumped in your chest, and your eyes flickered open unintentionally.

"I'm sorry-" you blurted out, but the words tapered off as you noticed Daryl's stare.

The man stood perfectly still in front of you, letting your hand rest over his cold, damp skin. You quickly pulled away, glancing off to the side nervously. Though, the both of you knew that you'd gone too far to make any poor excuses now. You'd passed a boundary, but you couldn't say that you wanted to take a step back, either.

"Tha's one eye for detail ya got," Daryl said, after a few seconds had gone by.

You shook your head. "Only when it comes to you," you admitted.

Daryl looked off to the side, and then back, but you continued before he had the chance to interrupt.

"I know I'm not the best artist, but I wanted to show you how you look through my eyes, too."

Daryl raised his hand again, but this time it wasn't to block out your sight. Instead, he just rested his palm softly over your cheek - and despite how cold it was, you leant into his touch.

"Ya jus' did," he said, and gave you a small smile.

You could still hear the storm outside, as the occasional breeze whistled its way past the cracks of the cell block, or made the tree branches batter up against the windows. Sometimes, the draft even made those loose sheets flutter over the desk, in a kind of muffled, paper applause.

"Maybe I should just swap out pencils for words," you told the man. "They seem to do the job better."

He nodded in agreement, letting his hand drop back down to his side.

"Hey, Daryl?" you asked, but you already had his full attention.

"Mhm."

You decided to put your words into practice straight away, so that you wouldn't forget exactly how you felt in this moment.

"You mean a lot to me," you admitted, "in a way I don't think I'd ever be able to describe."

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, and you wished to have the talent to capture that expression with pencil and charcoal one day.

"But I still wanted to try," you finished, and waited for his response.

Except, Daryl wasn't a man of words - and he reminded you of that as he reached for his sketchbook. His fingers were still damp, and you watched as they left watery prints over the pages as he flicked through them. He finally stopped once he reached the last one, showing you his latest sketch.

It was stained with raindrops that hadn't dried yet, from where the storm had first broken out and Daryl hadn't reacted quick enough. Yet, even though it was a little smudged and wrinkled, you could still make out that it was you - from where you had been sitting right next to him in that courtyard.

The man set the book down so that the page remained open on his desk, and picked up the other loose-sheet drawing that you'd done of him - and placed them together.

"Me too," Daryl said.

And that was all you needed to hear.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Also, here is my buy me a coffee! If you enjoy my writing, tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

A/N AHH. I just loved this 2 part story.

Tag List:

@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @speakinglikeconstellations @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli @julesmalek @fuseburner @riverscyberwife @browneyes528 @julesclues @diaryofkali @solinarimoon @ssonia13 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jocyc1997 @bvbwestfall @graniairish @bitchynicole @whitexwingedxdoves @potatochic2003 @suranne-doesstuff @witch-of-letters @sweatywildpanda @daryldixonstorm @btsiguess-kpop @dead-leviathan @reichelhache @thatmemechick @lokiswhqre @marylimlp @jodiereedus22 @shittyoudidntneedtoknow @fantaziescapade @abbyz28

326 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 3 years

Text

Ah, I do see your points, anon. I'm not going to post all your asks publicly because if you really feel that unsafe, it's probably best not to have a bigass chunk of your text for people to analyze and try to guess your identity from. I think one of the best points you made is about how close to home it hits when the non-fave is not only your fave but is similar to you in some way like demographic. You're not wrong for having those emotions. I do wonder if they make it hard to see how some other people feel similarly embattled on other axes.

TBH, I think one of the big problems here is that the large aggregate patterns you're talking about are racist, but most individual fics and fans are not really the problem. It's hard to know how to talk about this or who to tell to "fix" it when we're looking at free, hobbyist art.

A lot of people's tastes are certainly formed by shitty society, but once they're formed, they don't change fast if at all. Asking someone to rewrite their libido is a big ask, yet tumblr does it all the time as though it's as simple as snapping your fingers.

This leaves me with the sense that a lot of tumblr is... like... the political lesbians of porn fic or something: desire is not real, only choosing based on logic and politics. Or maybe people are so asexual that they just don't understand the lizard brain's "YES!" at some porn things and complete indifference to others?

I don't think it's great if great swaths of people feel like bottom!Nicky is super hot and top!Nicky fundamentally isn't, but I also don't think they can necessarily just turn it off like flipping a switch.

(If someone reading this doesn't like their current tastes and wants to attempt to alter them, I do think it's possible. What you should do is line up a large slate of media that prominently features characters of the ethnicity or whatever that you don't find hot/interesting. These should be leads whose emotional development drives the plot and is supposed to be central to the audience's enjoyment of the media. Watch/read/etc. this media all the time. All. The. Time. Try out many pieces because you won't like every character or every show, and we're looking for genuine enjoyment, not the fandom equivalent of a pity fuck. Spend enough time on this, and your unconscious sense of who's hot and interesting will eventually shift somewhat. This is a project you should expect to take a few years.)

But I digress.

The one tweet thing is a very toxic pattern. If TOG fandom is doing that, guys, please try to be more conscious of holding the actors of color to a higher standard (or the women or whomever). I know this often comes from a place of paying more attention to our own and wanting to set a good standard, but the effect is that minorities can't fuck up ever while white dudes get infinite passes.

Okay, on to the fic thing... Gotta say, my instant reaction to that description is "Ooh!"--as it would be for the same scenario with the characters reversed. (Ships who start out trying to kill each other are my favorite! x1000 if they're resurrecting style immortals and they literally do.) I can see how it would feel like slamming into a brick wall if you aren't kinky in just the right way and you didn't know it was coming though.

Part of why I react so strongly to a lot of discourse that runs along these lines is that I am a naturally extremely kinky person. It's not so much about what I do (which as a deeply lazy person in a long distance relationship is essentially nothing), but it's absolutely how I'm wired.

And I can tell you that my quotidian experience in fandom is sharing something I don't even realize is a big deal only to have someone I like, respect, and trust react in horror and tell me that it's triggering and awful and should not be allowed in fandom spaces because it makes "people" unsafe. It's such an instant, kneejerk reaction they don't even realize I was sharing it because it spoke to the very core of me. Lesson learned, friend. Lesson learned.

That sounds a bit off topic, I know, but bear with me: The point of that anecdote is that it's pretty common for me to get people trying to raise my awareness of things I have already thought deeply about while denying my essential humanity and not even realizing. As a kinky person who likes to make my fave the top (and generally a conflicted sadist), this constant request to explain and justify is exhausting.

I doubt most of the top!Joe fans have this precise problem simply because people who make their fave the top are much less common in fandom than people who make their fave the bottom, but I see a similar pattern with fans who are just fundamentally wired for rape fantasies (one of the most common fantasies that exists) vs. fans who just don't get rape fantasies at all. Or substitute your BDSM/kinky/messed up fantasy trope of choice. Covertly radical feminist attitudes towards kink and power are on the rise in fandom, and as a naturally kinky person, boy do I notice it!

I know that it feels like crucial activism to share these insights about why the ratio of top!Joe is hurtful, and the pain you feel is real. But it's also the case that it's a big ask to want people to listen. (Not me. Obviously, I routinely choose to engage with discourse. I mean overall.) The reason for that is that you're only seeing a fraction of what they do or who they are, and you don't know how many previous people they've listened to how many previous times. It's a very different situation from someone whose job is making some major TV series or movie or something. That person does, in my opinion, owe you some amount of listening.

Now, I'm not saying no top Joe fan was ever a jerk. I'll bet they were. There's a tendency to be rude and to publicly air your schadenfreude when you feel like everyone has been yelling at you. What I am saying is that a lot of the problem here boils down to conflicting needs, and that means there isn't a good solution. It's a situation where people are genuinely hurt, but I don't necessarily agree that other people have harmed them.

I like that you did an actual count of the explicit fics, btw. It's good to look at the real numbers. I see too little of that in these situations. My off the cuff reaction is that 2/3 to 1/3 is not a bad ratio at all compared to many fandoms, but yeah, it definitely shows a strong trend, and that can be painful. (I have a fandom where I think there's maybe like 1 bottom so-and-so fic in the entire zine era fandom. One. It's pretty extreme.)

I guess my thinking here overall is: What is the practical solution? What are we hoping to gain? What is reasonable to ask of people?

And it can't be "Well, if they would just listen..." That's just a sneaky way of saying "If you haven't done it my way, it's because you haven't listened to me yet."

So the question I would ask of people is this:

What does a non-racist fic where Joe tops look like?

What does a non-racist sex pollen, dubcon, or even noncon fic where Joe tops look like?

And if you say the latter is impossible... well... sadists exist everywhere in the world. So do doms. So do people who prefer to top in a purely physical sense. People with rape fantasies where they're the rapist exist (people who are not actually rapists, I mean). None of this is restricted to any one group. We can't categorically say fic like that about Joe is coming from a place of racism without denying the fundamental humanity of kinky MENA people who'd want to make Joe like themselves or like their ideal partner. (Yes, I agree this won't be the majority of fic writers writing top!Joe, but this is a place to start for figuring out what the better version would look like.)

IDK, maybe you're that kinkster yourself, but your asks gave me the vibe that you don't really get the drive towards those darker kinds of fics and what might be motivating it besides stereotypes and shittiness.

If we can answer these kinds of questions, we can better critique the way people write what they write without telling them all of their taste is bad and they should just stop writing. Even if we think the latter is true, it isn't going to get us anywhere. Figuring out how to make Joe more multidimensional in the fic they already want to write or finding very specific wording that should be avoided might actually work.

Beyond that, the actions I think are productive would be running prompt fests, exchanges, or other events for bottom!Joe or for top!Joe where he's the main character and the fics are required to be from his POV. Themed collections and recs lists are great. (I've seen a bit of this going around in TOG fandom in the past, and that's an excellent approach! Keep it up!) Positive actions tend to work better here. Make more of what you want. Promote what you want to see.

I don't mean this in some fluffy magical thinking way: you aren't going to change that ratio radically just by the power of positivity. But I've seen this kind of thing play out in many, many fandoms, and going after the people who write what you don't like, even in a well-intentioned effort to educate and even in a polite, kind way doesn't do much. A few people feel guilty. A few feel defensive. A lot ignore you. The overall fic doesn't change. It's not a good use of your limited time and energy.

I'm off to look up that fic to see what I think of it in practice, but I'm going to post this before tumblr manages to eat it.

70 notes · View notes

displacedentities · 3 years

Text

Night Out

My quickfic for @doodledrawsthings Coffee Shop AU! In truth I had this in the books for months and just never got around to finish it ;u; Unfortunately only the muse can decide when it’s time to slap me with enough serotonin to work on this, so I rode the high from recent art and wrapped it up! It’s not as clean as I wanted, but you know what, have it anyway.

-Myst -----

Finally. Another shift in the books.

With a heavy sigh, Luka stretches his back as the clock chimes up on the wall over the glass doors. Deft fingers untie the back before he slips the fabric apron over his head. A light snap of magnets punctuates the white noise of steaming coffee machines, and Luka stuffs his nametag into his pants pocket.

Luka was embarrassed to think about how much of a struggle it was to steady on for the entirety of the workday. Stress ate at him all the time, over so many things. Harriet was priority number one - did he remember to prep her meals for the day? Was she still ok, back in the apartment? Was Professor Popcorn in need of more repairs? Luka would happily handle such a task, of course, but...

He wasn't guaranteed to have thumbs when the evening finally came. There was his time limit to think about.

"Hey Luka?"

Damn, but being cursed was such a pain. Chopping vegetables was a particular bane of his existence. How could he trust himself with a knife like that? Ugh. He hated to make Harriet do it - no child should be wielding a knife before the age of 13, for any reason. He'd just have to MacGyver a solution or something.

"Luka..."

And on top of that, he had the upcoming bills to fret over. Rent was due in a few days, and he'd made a decent amount in tips, but they could not afford to have their upstairs neighbor burst a pipe again. He and Harriet had spent the entire afternoon toweling up their poor carpets to avoid getting mildew. Or worse, bugs. Luka was a fan of bugs, but not in his carpets, or sneaking into the mattress where they could bite his daughter.

"HEY!"

This time, the voice manages to pierce the haze of worry writhing in Luka's brain. Jolting to attention, the auburn-haired adult turns around, blinking owlishly at his colleague, Clover.

The braided redhead is giving him a wan smile, her brows furrowed in worry as she sets down a large bag of coffee beans under the counter.

"You spaced out again, buddy. Did you hear a word I said?" the barista asks, folding her arms over her stained apron.

"Uhh... you said my name," Luka replied, feeling a bit awkward as he chuckles once. "Sorry, I probably missed anything you might have asked me."

"I was asking if you ever go out."

"Ah- what?"

That was unexpected. Go out?

"You know-" Clover holds up her hands to gesture to the world in general, and beyond the coffee shop doors "-out! Like, with friends or anybody?"

Ah.

Luka laughs once, rubbing a hand on one side of his face.

"You mean since I moved into town? Nah, not really. Me and my daughter have only been here a few months - can't say we made many friends just yet."

Nor was that a risk they could take. Who knows how long they could stay here, before he was inevitably found out? One could argue it was a risk just- doing what he was doing now. Trying to hold a job, staying in an apartment; a semi-permanent living situation. They'd been on the road so long, old habits were quite hard to break. And if he was entirely honest with himself, Luka didn't know yet if he felt safe, even six months past the first day he arrived in the rural town of Subcon.

Clover's frown deepens, her arms dropping back to her sides. Her dropped guard betrays her worry, before she tries to play it off with another lighthearted smile and upbeat words.

"Oh come on, it can't have been that long since you've just done something fun for the sake of it. When was the last time you went out with friends and enjoyed yourself?" she asks.

"Why is this important?" Luka asks, his own guard slowly rising. He didn't quite see where she was going with this, but he wasn't sure he'd like it.

Oops- maybe not the most polite way to phrase that, as he sees an awkward flinch on Clover's face. Quick, recover! Luka chuckles once, also trying to lighten the mood.

"You and MJ never really asked me that kind of stuff before. I thought I was hired to serve coffee, not tea."

"We serve both, ya doofus," Clover smirks, rubbing one of her well-muscled arms with the other in a self-conscious gesture. "You should know that, since you've been working here almost four months now. And uh- well, MJ just kind of noticed you always seem very tired whenever you leave work."

Luka smiles back, but it's forced. Careful. Don't give any hints that it's anything serious. Don't be suspicious.

"Oh, that? I uh- I'm not used to the retail scene. I'll probably adapt to it soon."

Clover doesn't seem convinced. Still, her expression is sympathetic, rather than judgmental or suspicious. She leans her back on the counter, looking over Luka's exhausted demeanor and baggy eyes with a skeptical smile.

"I'm sure you will." She rests her hands on the counter. "In the meantime, you should go out for bowling with me and MJ! We were planning this outing for about a week, and maybe you'd wanna come with?"

Luka stops mid-folding of his apron. He turns toward Clover with surprise.

"Bowling? As in- knocking over pins in an alley, bowling?"

Clover rolls her eyes, amused. "No, as in rolling cereal bowls. Yes, that kind of bowling, Luka. It'll be fun! Eat some cheap pizza, knock over pins, watch the uncanny valley animations on the TV screen, the whole shebang. You up for joining us?"

"I uh- I didn't know there was a bowling alley here?" Luka says, his voice pitching up as he gives a sheepish laugh. "I- I don't know..."

Shit.

He could already feel the first touches of his curse starting to well up. A quick glance to his hands- okay, no purple yet. But it was coming.

Luka tucks his hands behind his back just in case.

"I'm not sure, I have Harriet to worry about..." he fumbles, rushing to think of excuses. It hurts his heart a little when he sees the disappointed expression Clover wears.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone gentle. "It'll only be a for a couple of hours - I could ask Cookie next door if she'd be willing to handle your daughter for the night. She's a fantastic sitter, and your daughter would have Mu to play with."

Luka opened his mouth, preparing to turn it down- then closed it again, brows furrowed as he chews over the thought.

Only a few hours... hm. His curse's current time limit was somewhere a little short of eight hours, he was sure. As long as he didn't have to pick up a shift at work, he would have most of his day free to spend out of the motel. An outing to a bowling alley couldn't possibly last eight hours, though he'd... never actually gone bowling before.

"I.... don't know... I've never been bowling, I'll just hold you back-"

"Nonsense," Clover says, waving off his excuse immediately. "MJ and I aren't professionals or anything, Luka - it's just for fun! You've never been?? That means you've gotta try it, at least once. Please?"

...mmh. Luka would be lying if he said he wasn't very tempted. But he had so much to worry about! His daughter, his curse... keeping his job, being able to support the two of them. Not to mention, getting used to his slow camaraderie with Clover and MJ. That sort of outing would throw their friendship into first gear.

"It's ok," Clover interrupts his thoughts, standing back up straight as she grabs a rag and finishes wiping down the counter. "You don't have to come, we just thought... you know, it might be fun. You look like you need some serious time to unwind, dude. All we ever see of you is showing up to work, dealing with customers, then you leave. And hey, if you change your mind, the offer's still open."

Luka curls his fingers, foot tapping the floor in small fidget.

"Well, I'm gonna start closing up the back," Clover says, tossing the rag into a laundry bin next to the employee break room. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Wait!"

Clover stops, turning around with the laundry basket.

"What day were you planning to do it?"

What am I thinking?? I can't go on an outing with them!

Unaware of Luka's silent stresses, Clover beams, her smile lighting up once again.

"Saturday! Would that work for you?"

"Mnhg- maybe?" Luka concedes, forcing his own sheepish smile despite his brain screaming No nO this is a bad idea! His mouth continues to run away from him. "Saturday is my errand day - me and Harriet go out for groceries in the morning, and eat out at whatever lunch restaurant she picks. I wouldn't be open until the evening, and Sunday's game day for me and my daughter."

Bad idea, what are you doing?!

"That's perfect!" Clover says, delighted and still not privy to Luka's inner struggle. "If we close the shop at five, we can drive to the bowling alley around 5:30, play a game or two and eat. Should go until about... eight-ish? How's that sound?"

Say no, say NO!

"Sure, sounds fun."

AGH!

"Great!" Clover says, a skip in her step as she lopes off to the back room with the laundry basket. "I'll text MJ to let him know - he's already gone back to his apartment."

"Yeah, I'll uh- I'll text him too," Luka chuckles, scratching behind his head with one hand- and immediately putting a stop to that action, as he feels the points of sharp claws dig at his scalp. Both arms are dropped and tucked behind his back, a big smile on his face. "Gotta give him the full details and everything, haha..."

"No problem- see you!" Clover bids Luka goodbye, waving one hand as she cheerily hauls the laundry bin off into the back.

"Bye!" Luka says, his voice cracking from nerves.

Oh thank god she's gone.

Luka pulls his hands back out into view, and sees the telltale purple staining begin to creep up his flesh. Peck. It was already starting- Clover left just in time. He could already feel the sharp ends of his canines starting to poke into his bottom lip. He didn't have much left of the day in human form- he had to get home right now.

Snatching up his belongings from his locker, stuffing his work apron inside, Luka loops his bag over his shoulder and leaps over the service counter. He missed the rack of sugar packets this time, thankfully, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor as he bolts out the door. The bell rings as the glass entryway opens and shuts, signaling his departure. Car keys are whipped out of his bag, a slowly deforming finger just managing to push the button to unlock the vehicle as he clambers inside. Just five minutes- he could make five minutes.

The engine of the car roars to life, and Luka zips off out of the employee parking space, trying his best to ignore it as his fingers swell and fuse together, and his eyes reflect golden light in the rear view mirror.

------

MJ's car putters up to outside the bowling alley, fixing his blue-dyed hair with a sigh. Clover, in the passenger seat, drums her hand on the door handle with excitement.

"This is gonna be so much fun," she says, turning to look over her shoulder at the stiff and uncomfortable Luka in the backseat. "I'm so glad you decided to come, Luka- we'll show you the ropes of bowling!"

"Great," the young man says, putting up another shaky smile as his fingers tense around his kneecaps. "Can't wait!"

"That's the spirit," MJ speaks up, giving Luka a quick smile of his own before twisting the key in the ignition. The car's engine dies down, the doors unlocking as MJ shifts the gear into park. "Clover told me you were nervous about hanging out, and that's completely fine by me - if you feel uncomfortable and don't want to stay, just let us know, ok? We'll drive you back to the apartment building, no hesitation."

Luka inhaled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh from the back seat of the car. It felt like his nerves were trying to shake him apart. A glance at his watch-

Was he really going forward with this?

...Yes. He was. As much as Luka worried, Clover had been right. It'd been far too long since he'd taken 'me' time.

Luka puts a hand on the door and pulls the handle, stepping out of the car before he has a chance to psyche himself out.

It's just a couple hours. He still had plenty of time, after his midday outings with Harriet.

Stay calm. You can do this.

The sign above the brick building shines with neon lights, saying 'Pins & Cushions' in bright blue and red. The backdrop is a painting that Luka can swear was painted in the 80s, displaying a bowling ball as it barrels into pins and knocking them askew with a cartoony impact mark.

"Pins & Cushions?" he says aloud, smirking a little bit.

"Kind of silly, right?" MJ speaks up, locking the car behind him with a click. "Sounds more like a sewing parlor than a bowling alley."

"It's because they boasted having cushioned chairs," Clover says, snickering. "You've never been, but most bowling alleys have these awful plastic chairs that hurt to sit on for too long."

"You mean like the chairs in high school?"

Luka's joke earns a quick bark of a laugh from Clover.

"Couched seating areas in a bowling alley was, sadly, a craze that never caught on," MJ says, ascending the concrete steps up to the building. "But this one did, and the place is like forty years old and too stubborn to change, so your butt will thank you later."

When the doors open, Luka is immediately washed with a cocktail of smells he didn't think could- nor should- ever go together. First and foremost is the thick smell of plastic and rubber, followed by the chemical odor of cleaning sprays, and the sizzling smell of burning cheese. Air conditioning blasts them from above as the three young adults enter the bowling alley, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. The sounds hit next - a cacophonous mix of rubber soles squeaking on polished floors, heavy objects falling and rolling, and the clatter of pins falling into the trap at the far end of the establishment.

It was loud, smelled strange, and the carpet looked lifted straight out of an arcade.

Luka was torn between anxiety, and a strange sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a long, long time. This was something new, something unfamiliar- he had hours to enjoy himself, and spend time not worrying about stresses of life. Harriet had a sitter, paid in advance with an alarm for when he would return, and he was out with- friends? Had him accepting this invitation solidified their friendship at this point? ...the thought made a happy butterfly flutter in his stomach.

This would be a great evening, he could feel it.

"Earth to Luka." MJ's amused tone causes Luka to jump. "Something on your mind? You're smiling."

"Oh- uh- nothing," Luka says, scratching behind his head sheepishly. "Just- thanks. For inviting me. I think I really did need this a lot."

"YEAH you do!" Clover thumps him on the back with one hand. "Come on! You have to give your shoes to the clerk so they can give you your bowling shoes."

"Ah, what? I have to take off my shoes on this carpet?" Luka complains, lifting a foot with distaste. "I feel like I'm stepping on twenty-year-old candy."

"It's part of the charm!" Clover sings, already removing one of her sneakers. "It's either this, or slip all over the place on the actual alley floor. You're getting the full bowling experience whether you like it or not, coffee boy."

"Ex-CUSE me!" Luka says with a dramatic gasp, hopping on one foot as he works to remove his own shoes. "I think you will find I'm a coffee man, thank you."

"Coffee twink," Clover counters.

"No, that's MJ."

"HEY! I will call lion's share of the tips for that one," MJ shakes a sneaker at them both in a mock scolding gesture.

"YOU'RE BOTH COFFEE TWINKS," Clover declares to the entire establishment as she fights off her last sneaker, racing for the counter before the others can catch up. "HURRY UP, COFFEE TWINKS, WE NEED TO PICK OUT BOWLING BALLS."

"I have dibs on the galaxy patterned one!" MJ yells after Clover.

Clover gives MJ an evil grin as she takes her bowling shoes and pays the rental fee, tying them before sauntering over to the racks of bowling balls. Her hand hovers over the selection, giving a teasing pause over the bowling ball made with swirled star plastic.

"Don't you dare," MJ hisses from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at Clover as he hands over the money for both his and Luka's rental shoes.

"It's either the tips share, or the bowling ball! You decide!" Clover yells back, drumming her fingers on the coveted starry bowling ball.

"Fiiiiine," MJ says with a dramatic tone, though his smile gives away his mirth. "You know I wasn't going to take the tips anyway, Clo."

"I know~" she says, giggling while she moves on to a different rack of bowling balls. "And you know I wouldn't do that to your poor weak arms, either, Moonie."

Luka finishes tying his rental shoes, thanking MJ before he makes his way down the small stairway to the alleys. It's very bright in this section of the building, with cushioned couches surrounding tables and standing consoles. Metal railings and a chute of some kind were positioned at each alleyway, some with bowling balls sitting idle atop the metal racks.

"So, what now?" Luka asks, the excitement of wading into unknown waters welling in his chest again.

"Pick a bowling ball!" Clover says, gesturing to the racks of heavy plastic spheres. "You'll want a heavy one, but not too heavy for you to lift and throw."

"Go easy on us, Clover." MJ shakes his head as he picks up his favorite starry ball. "Ms. Gun Show and her fourteen-pound bowling ball."

The redhead leans over and scoops up a swirled green bowling ball, hefting it on one arm and pumping it like a weight.

"You might get some guns yourself if you helped me landscape and move sod around my garden, Coffee Twink #1," she says, flexing a bicep.

"I refuse to acknowledge that nickname."

"Sorry, it's our team name now," Clover laughs, "the Coffee Twinks!"

"Hey, I thought our team name was the Comets?!"

"That was before Luka joined the team - now it's a 2-to-1 twink majority, I don't make the rules."

Luka just has his face in his hands, laughing through the whole exchange as he leans on the metal racks.

"You're just as bad as Harriet!" Luka laughs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand. "I don't even know where she learned that word - Cookie's daughter, probably?"

"Definitely," MJ says with a thousand yard stare, earning more laughter from Luka. "Go pick a bowling ball, I'll get the console up and running for our game."

Wiping tears from his eyes, chuckling under his breath, Luka turns to the racks and peruses the selection. The bowling balls come in all colors - most are black or dark brown, but there's a rather delightful mix of brighter hues like pink, blue and yellow. Some are marbled, some have glitter in the plastic, and a few very beat-up bowling balls have graphics of cartoon characters that were popular in the 90s. Well-loved by the children who patronize this establishment, he was sure. Harriet would love the Scooby-Doo ball - oh no wait. The one themed after a Pokeball, for sure was her poison of choice. And clearly the pick of the litter for many other children, as it was covered in scratches and dents from decades of use.

Ah- there was one themed after a jack-o-lantern! How fitting. He loops his fingers into the grip holes of the bowling ball, and heaves it off of the rack- only to almost crush his toes as the weight yanks his arms to the floor.

That was- heavier than expected!

"Oooooh, nice pick," Clover says, spinning her own bowling ball in her hands. "You sure you can carry it, though? That's a 10-pounder."

"I'll be fine-" Luka says, grunting as he lifts it back up with both hands this time. "Just- caught me off guard, is all."

"Alright, game's all set," MJ announces from the console.

Above their heads, a large tube television flashes blue before displaying a score board.

A loud k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk of machinery draws Luka's eye toward the other end of the alley. Metal rigging and machinery descend from the covered roof of the pin trap. Resembling a large soda crate, the rig drops an array of ten white bowling pins, before unclamping and ascending back into the darkness of whatever creation of god resided in that ceiling.

"You're up first, Clo," MJ says, waving a hand to indicate she should move forward.

"Watch and learn," Clover throws Luka a smile, the competitive taunt dampened by her genuinely helpful tone. "You want to throw the ball so it rolls like this-"

Stepping forward onto the squeaky, smooth polished wooden platform, Clover lifts her bowling ball to her chest. With a quick inhale, she lopes forward two steps, swinging her arm back with the bowling ball, before reeling it forward on the last stride and underhand throwing it into the aisle. The heavy green bowling ball lands with a tHDD before skidding its way down the oiled track, rolling in a long, smooth line. The swirled green sphere smacks into the bowling pins with a loud tHWAKK!!, sending all but one of the pins flying into the darkness beyond. The ball disappears into the hole, and Clover puts her hands on her hips with a huff.

"Damn, almost got a strike." Clover snaps her fingers, shrugging. The green bowling ball clatters back up the chute. She grips her fingers into the trio of holes again, and goes for another throw.

The bowling ball rolls down the course, straight as an arrow for the last pin. The pin spins off the wooden platform into the darkness, earning a whoop from Clover.

"Nice, got a spare!" Clover declares, throwing her arms up in triumph. She sashays her way back to the couches. "Who's up next?"

"I'm up," MJ says, standing from the console. Looping his fingers into his own starry bowling ball, MJ rolls his shoulders and steps up onto the oiled wooden planks. "I'm going to get the first strike of the day, just wait."

"Sure you will," Clover snickers as MJ winds up.

When he releases the ball, it rolls at very high speed- before curving halfway down the track, the topspin he put on the ball causing it veer off course and land in the gutter.

Face flushed, MJ coughs into his hand, suddenly very invested in fixing his shirt as Clover grins. The galaxy ball returns to the trough, and MJ pointedly picks it up again, winding up for his second throw. The bowling ball rocks down the course, and knocks over about six pins, leaving a corner of the triangle still standing.

"Woo!" Clover cheers, clapping as MJ returns to the seating. She reaches over and nudges Luka on the shoulder. "You're up, Luke! Show us whatchu got!"

Heart in his throat, Luka stands from his seat and steps up.

The bowling ball grins up at him, daring him to chicken out. It was heavy in his hand. Still, he walked up onto the polished floor, feeling the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as it grips the oiled surface.

Fighting the weight of the heavy bowling ball, Luka takes a step forward, swinging his arm back before bringing it back around like a pendulum. The ball hits the track with a heavy thDD as it’s released, sent rolling off down the track. Around the halfway point, it spins off course and lands in the gutter with a clunk.

“Aww,” Clover says, leaning over the chair cushion. “And you had such good posture, too.”

“It’s ok,” MJ speaks up, seeing Luka’s visible embarrassment. “It’s your first time bowling! Nothing to be ashamed of. You have another shot before we rotate players.”

Disappointed, Luka rubs at his arm. Well, that was a less than encouraging performance. But he noticed the angle of the spin on the ball. Maybe he could fix that.

The ball clatters up the chute back into the return trough. Luka picks it up with a huff of breath, holding it to his chest as he does mental calculations. If he turned his wrist at just the right point...

Stepping forward, Luka swings back and releases the ball, putting a top spin on the ball at the last possible moment-

The jack-o-lantern face rockets down the alley, the path straight until the very last second. It curves to hit the front pin from the side, knocking every single pin into the abyss beyond.

"OHHHHH!" Clover and MJ exclaim, clapping with enthusiasm as Luka looks stunned.

"You got a strike!" Clover says, applauding with a big grin. "You were totally pulling our legs about being a newbie to this, huh??"

"I think I just got lucky," Luka tries to play it off, feeling an uncommon shyness as he smiles.

Clover shakes her head, not having it.

"Luck nothing! That was pure talent, and you got a strike, dude!"

"Technically that was a spare, but still a strike in my book," MJ says as he rotates the turn order on the console, giving Luka a smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh let him have it, Moon Moon," Clover laughs as MJ throws her a pout. "Our new boy's got game!"

Luka hunches his shoulders, an awkward smile curling across his cheeks as he walks back over to the couches. Clover jumps to attention and makes her way to the track, picking up her green bowling ball for another round as he sits down.

This was... much more fun than he had expected it to be. The background noise of the bowling alley was surprisingly pleasant. He found he could get used to the dull odor of plastic and cleaner- and honestly, that hot cheese smell from what must be the pizzeria was tempting his stomach. But best of all was the camaraderie he could feel sparking between him, Clover, and MJ. Were they officially friends now? Or had they been already, and he was just- in denial? If Luka was entirely honest with himself, probably the latter. MJ and Clover had been nothing but kind and understanding, to him. His sporadic hours and excuses had done nothing to faze them with regards to their treatment of him at work. They still offered him drinks and invited him on this outing, offering even to pay for his expenses, didn't they?

"Hey Luka!" A call from MJ breaks him out of the small reverie. "You're up, again."

"And after this round, we can hit the arcade! I bet I can out-dance you on DDR, Coffee Twinks," Clover smirks.

"No betting. I know you can."

Maybe- maybe he had nothing to worry about.

---

The evening is going fantastic.

The first bowling game had been a pretty close match between Luka and Clover. Clover had the arm strength to pull off some mean and fast throws, but Luka had developed a system. Figuring out how to spin the bowling ball just the right amount had made up for his noodle arms and less weighty bowling ball. It wasn't long before he figured out how to roll a pretty straight record of spares and strikes, with the occasional 7-10 split. After bowling around, they went into the arcade section, with an entire paper roll of quarters to blow on games. A vicious Ms. Pacman multiplayer match had led to MJ smoking all three of them, and as predicted, Clover out-danced both of the boys on the DDR and Stepmania machines. Luka had to collapse over a nearby chair with exhaustion after his matches. He'd finished off the arcade run with a very lucky pull from a claw machine, winning a black cat plush with big yellow eyes that he was definitely going to enjoy giving to Harriet.

The three of them sat around their table at the bowling console again, laughing over a hot cheese and pepperoni pizza.

"No way, you didn't!" Luka gasps, wheezing for air.

"I did! I punched his goddamn lights out!" Clover laughs, slapping one knee. "The guy was being a huge creep, so I introduced him to my fist."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble with the cops or something for that." Luka tilts his head, giving her an impressed and worried look.

"Can't get in trouble if nobody reports it," MJ chimes in, smirking past his soda cup. "He complained to me, but I had the security tapes AND plausible deniability because I wasn't on the floor. Corporate took our side on this."

"Nobody from the city wants to drive all the way out to podunk Subcon for a random dudebro's complaint." Clover sits back on her cushioned seat, chomping into her pizza happily. "Mmmmm- delicious melty cheese."

Luka chomps into his own pizza, exhaling and blowing on it as it nearly burns his mouth.

"Easy, tiger!" MJ smirks around his own mouthful of pizza.

"I know, it's just so good," Luka says, laughing into his hand as he sips some of his cola. "But in like- the way you know it's not that great? Does that make sense?"

"Night in the Woods taught me the Pizza Scale, and I stick by that," Clover says, crunching through her crust to grab up another slice, washing down the bread with some soda. When she reaches for another piece of the pie, she pauses, and lets out a huff. "Oh, that sucks. I guess they didn't clean the bowling balls that well this time. Gross."

"Hm?" Luka says through a mouthful of pizza.

"Your fingers are all oil-stained from the finger holes on the bowling ball, Luka. Big Al needs to wash the bowling balls properly."

Confused, the law student shifts his attention down.

The ends of his fingertips are discolored with ebony purple.

Luka can feel as his brain zeroes in on the first sign of his impending transformation, and begins to shift into emergency mode as it relays the steps he must take in order to avoid further exposure. He'd gone over this information with himself many times over the past five years. It was ingrained in his mind, what he had to do, the information practically screaming at him. But he can't hear it. His ears are filled with buzzing as reality breaks into the facade he'd slowly built up over the course of hours.

No-

No no no-

His pizza slice drops to the paper plate as he fumbles with his bag, pulling out the cell phone from the liner pocket. Shaking fingers tap the screen with frantic speed, trying to turn the damn thing on-

9:17?

They'd been here nearly four hours?!

He'd spent the morning out with Harriet, doing their grocery shopping and walking around the town's outdoor mall as much needed father-daughter time. Eight hours of being in disguise had long since passed.

His time limit was up.

This couldn't be happening. Yet the numbers stare back at him from the glare of his cell phone screen. They even have the nerve to tick over to 9:18 right before his eyes.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! It wasn't fair!

"Luka, you ok? You're turning pale..."

Clover's question just barely manages to pierce the haze, causing Luka to jolt in his seat. Posture stiff and breath shallow, he lifts his head to meet Clover's questioning eyes. She's staring at him with building concern, her smile becoming a frown of worry.

The tension is palpable in the air as Luka struggles to find words. Finally, he manages to say something.

"It's- it's a quarter past nine-"

"Oh shoot-" Clover says, sitting up abruptly as she grabs her own phone.

MJ checks his watch, wincing. "Oof. Sorry, Luka. I guess we lost track of time passing. I'll apologize to Cookie for the overtime, we can finish this round and go-"

"Don't feel good- going to the bathroom-" Luka wheezes, scrambling to his feet as he scoops all of his belongings into his bag and races past MJ's seat.

"Luka!" Clover yells after him, her heightened concern audible in her voice. "Ok, we'll- we'll start cleaning up! Let us know if you need-!"

Her words are cut off by the slam of the bathroom door. Luka's bowling shoes slip over the slick tile floor, his hands gripping onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink to steady himself. He brings his shaking hands up to view in the mirror. The blackening purple skin was spreading up his finger joints, reaching his palms.

No- not now! Why now?

Luka clenches his fists and his jaw, focusing every ounce of his will on making the purple go away. He can almost feel a vein pop on his forehead- if he still had veins, anymore- as he strains to make his unwilling body follow his desires. The purple starts to recede at a caterpillar crawl... but it slows. And the harder he tries, the more he can feel his arms struggle to hold their shape - becoming less solid.

"No- no!" he whimpers, clenching his hands into the sink again. The action splatters small droplets of purple sludge against the porcelain, which vanish moments later as the purple staining once more consumes his fingers - and now his palms. "Stop it! Just- let me be human! Please!"

He lifts his head to the mirror. Despair fills his gut as he sees amber eyes staring back at him in the reflection, and the beginnings of an inner glow fighting to come out from the back of his throat.

Luka lets out a wordless sound of sorrow, lifting an arm to pound one fist against the mirror in vain. The reflection is unfazed in its destitution, tears beginning to gather at the edges of its eyes and mouth set into a sob of clenched teeth. The reflection's canine's lengthen several inches as the eyes stare back, accusingly. The purple was starting to spread up its neck, just poking out the collar of the shirt.

"No..."

This wasn't him. But it had been, years ago. This was SUPPOSED to be him.

He curls his fist, watching as the fingers start losing their shape. Fusing together, becoming single digits and his thumbs vanish back into the purple sludge of the limb.

"I was finally-..." Luka whimpers, "...I finally felt human again."

-bang bang bang-

The sound of a fist knocking on the bathroom door causes Luka to yelp and jump back from the mirror.

"Luka? You ok in there?"

It was MJ.

Peck!

Grabbing his bag, Luka books it into the furthest stall of the bathroom. He slams the metal door behind him, fumbling to lock it with his swelling mitten fingers. Alarm shot through his gut as his shirt felt tight around his torso. Already?? This was faster than usual! Had he really pushed it that much?

"Hey man, are you sick? Clover and I are really concerned. Do you need any help in there?"

"NO! NO I'M GOOD!" Luka yells from the bathroom stall, clapping a two-fingered hand over his mouth as he hears the slight reverb echo to his own voice. Dammit! "I'M JUST- I'LL BE FINE!"

He was not fine, he would most certainly not be fine!

"Luka, you sound croaky." It was Clover this time, probably a short distance behind MJ. "Dude, are you sure? MJ, maybe you should go in and check on him-"

"NO!"

No, the reverb was stronger!

"Luka, I'm coming in."

"MJ it's fine!"

Luka could hear the seams of his shirt starting to stretch and strain. The seconds were ticking by as strings started to pop at the neck.

Shit, shit!

Luka turned left and right, the stall cramped and uncomfortable as the ruff of fur around his neck thickens and threatens to burst his shirt open. He needed a way out!

Aha! A small window, to the outside! Wow, that was probably the worst location for a window. And it was so small-

The door creaked as MJ started to turn the handle.

NO TIME!

Luka makes a dive for the window. His fingers catch on the sill, and he hauls his body up onto the tiny ledge, his head pushing up the glass and emerging out into the open air. Squeezing through the narrow space, he struggles to pull his feet through, kicking off the bowling shoes and hearing them clatter to the tiles below.

The door comes unlatched, and MJ enters the bathroom, looking around with a frown.

Luka was gone. And for some reason, his bowling shoes were abandoned on the questionably cleaned bathroom floor.

Just outside the window, tucked next to the wall of the alleyway outside the bowling alley, Luka is panting with adrenaline. He can feel his chest expand further with each breath, the fur mane around his neck already splitting apart his shirt. His fingers had fully lost their human shape by now, coalescing back into the familiar mitts he hated so much. A reminder that, no, he wasn't human. No matter what those people in the bowling alley thought of him, and what he thought of them in return... no matter how much he wanted to be human, again.

"Luka?"

His entire torso now fully drenched in purple, Luka hangs his head, listening as he fights to strip off the shirt suffocating him.

Footsteps, in the bathroom.

"...Luka? What the-... Clover, he's not here?"

"What?? But he- went into the bathroom! He was just-!"

"His shoes are here..."

"His shoes??"

Luka forces himself to stand, wobbling a bit further away from the window as he focuses all of his efforts on keeping his legs. He can't lose his ability to walk, not in the middle of town!

God dammit... god dammit! Why couldn't he just enjoy his night? Now he was wandering alleyways, half transformed, and MJ and Clover were no doubt worried to hell and back. What could he even say? 'Sorry, had to take a break to wolf out in the bathroom'?

-brrring brrring-

The buzz of the phone in his pants pocket- which was getting tight against his waist, he noticed. Luka quickly extracts the phone before it can be damaged by the fabric.

MJ's caller ID stares back at him from the screen.

The decision to trust these two with his information was biting him in his rapidly purpling behind. He'd been so careful not to slip up, and the ONE TIME he makes a mistake... He had another decision to make. He could not respond, and just be a complete asshole, but he could protect his secret a little safer, for just a little bit longer. Or he could pick up, and... he didn't know. Bullshit something? Would they even believe whatever malarkey he could cook up in seven seconds for bailing out of a bowling alley restroom? God, he was terrible at improvised excuses! He was a lawyer, not an actor! But if he answered the phone call, maybe- maybe he could hold on to that feeling again. The warmth of companionship of peers his age, that he hadn't felt since law school. Since... Vanessa. But he couldn't think about her right now. What mattered was his safety- his daughter's safety.

Peck. He didn't even think about that part. Could he really rip Harriet out of a somewhat stable home life, again? She was just starting to get along with Cookie's daughter, and he didn't want to take that precious first friendship from her.

Luka was only pulled out of the downward spiral by the vibration of the phone, which he only now realized had registered a missed call, and was now on the second call. It was still MJ, the picture of him in his Horizon employee cap still smiling from the bright phone screen.

He had to do something. He could feel his legs protest the form they was struggling to hold.

Survival instinct set in. First, he had to get away from the scene.

Stumbling to his malforming feet, Luka jogs away from the alley, ducking away from the Pins & Cushions and avoiding the bright neon sign on the side of the building.

As he walks, a headache hits, and Luka just knows his face was losing more of his familiar features. Didn't need a mirror to know that he was definitely the shade of a bruised plum, and that his eyes were glowing like gold beacons. The sharp teeth at the edges of his mouth were digging into his bottom lip as he dodges and weaves to avoid line of sight from storefront apartment windows.

The woods were so close by, just a few more blocks.

Faster. He had to run faster. But his legs- were fighting him! Already he could feel his steps become lighter, movement more fluid. It was a struggle to keep a walking stride, rather than just- leap into the air. No way was he going to fly a block from pecking main street.

His phone continues to vibrate, threatening the call to drop.

Right when he reaches the sidewalk, Luka pants for breath, collapsing beside the pole for a street lamp while avoiding the amber spotlight. Taking one last rueful look at his phone, he sighs, and presses the answer button with a doughy purple finger.

"Luka?" MJ's voice patches through. The reception isn't great, but it's sufficient. Maybe that was a lucky break, considering what his voice was going to sound like in a second.

"Hey," Luka answers. Yep. He sounded like a toad that swallowed a brass tube. "Sorry- about that."

"Dude, are you ok?? Where did you go?" MJ spoke so quickly it almost interrupted Luka, concern clear and evident in his voice. "You ran or something and- you left your shoes at the counter, and the cat plush for your daughter. Clover got them for you-"

"It's ok," Luka says, wincing. "I can pick them up tomorrow. I- don't feel well, and I have to go get Harriet."

"Luka, we could have driven you home for that," MJ responds, a hint of hurt and confusion. "You know you can tell us if you're uncomfortable, and want to leave, right?"

"No- this- I was having fun," Luka responds, cupping a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the echo. He had to wrap this up. His voice was getting less natural by the second. He really hoped the poor reception would mask it. "Look- I'm sorry MJ. But I really had to go."

"You're not getting kidnapped or something are you?" Clover's distant voice suddenly patches through in the phone. MJ must have his phone on speaker. "Because if you are, I'll hunt them down! Just yell where the car is taking you!"

"I'm not- look, I'm sorry, but I just had to go, ok?" Luka says. "Harriet needs me."

"I thought you were feeling sick?" Clover says, her worried tone now tinted with... suspicion. "You ran to the bathroom, and we were all worried about you, dude." Her voice becomes just a bit distant, as she turns to speak to MJ, but the phone picks it up. “Actually, did we ever hear anything from Cookie...?”

"No- I am-" Luka can feel his lies crumbling, nearly becoming true as he experiences a sensation similar to his stomach heaving from the anxiety. "Thanks for the wonderful evening, I'll pick up my stuff later- bye!"

"Wait-!!"

-click-

MJ's protest is cut off, and Luka set the phone down on the grass, putting his head in the other hand. That was terrible. But he couldn't back out on it now. He would just have to deal with the consequences of that phone call tomorrow.

Not like having shoes or not bothered him, anyway.

Exhausted and resigned, Luka slides away from the lamp post into the chaparral, and begins rapidly pulling his shirt over his head. No way was he going to lose another shirt, not after the last one. This was his last nice shirt, and he intended to keep it as long as possible!

A quiet gasp jolts him out of his frantic folding.

Luka whips around, shirtless, half de-pantsed, and his body a full shade of deep shadow purple. His golden eyes glow in the reflected street light as he freezes on the spot, making eye contact with another human being across the road. It was the stocky mustachioed man from the coffee shop- the regular who came by and sketched quietly in a corner. Pinstriped suit- which seemed to be the only outfit anyone ever saw him wore- an apron, and grey khaki pants. The thick glasses would make it difficult to tell where he was looking, if the man wasn't standing with his square jaw hanging down at his chest, head angled directly toward Luka. Everyone dismissed him as a paranoiac, a hermit who stopped by for his morning caffeine fix and quiet atmosphere to indulge in his imagination. Rumors flew that he used to work for some sort of tabloid magazine, and was fired- or promoted?- for how crazy his stories were.

Whatever the reason, this man was now standing, groceries dropped to the pavement, and staring at Luka. A very half-naked, absolutely not human-looking Luka.

Face suddenly burning hot with embarrassment and fear, Luka grabs his belt loops and bolts into the trees.

The movement causes the man to only gape more, making a wordless noise of astonishment before the forest breaks their line of sight and Luka retreats into the safety of the woods. Luka just barely remembers to grab his shirt and belt from the bushes. Vanishing entirely from sight, stumbling over debris as his transformation takes full hold of his body, Luka wheezes as his heart beats in his chest. After all that, he was seen! Peck! Did he just ruin everything because he wasn’t paying attention? But- but it was just the local hermit, the resident conspiracy nut. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? This wasn’t as catastrophic as being spotted by a teen with a cell phone open. Surely, this was the safest possible person in town to accidentally spot him mid-transformation. Repercussions would be minimal.

Thank god the man didn't have a camera.

#Coffee Shop Au #AHIT #A Hat In Time #doodledrawsthings #Snatcher #Hat Kid #Moonjumper #Clover #noticed a couple mistakes and it's too late to fix em wHOOPS #OH WELL

336 notes · View notes