#and lukas is polish

[batunatu]

so.. MCSM DRAWINGS FROM 2022!!ARGENTINA EDITION,, MONTHS BEFORE THE WORLD CUP bc yeah, when we won, too many things happened to me to celebrate with a drawing huff

PETRA GAUCHA PETRA PAISANA PETRA ARGENTO

guys do u want me to translate this or

ALSO BONUS, THERE'S MORE BUT I'M GOING TO POST MY FAVORITE ONES

WOO DOMINAMOS EL MUNDO, BRITISH HUMANS DNI /j

[wilkoakdraws]

have at ya an unholy pile of wildly chaotic and VERY serious magnus stuff from last 6 months. happy 2024

[yunyin]

When I realized the akumatized Couiffaine family had a theme, I had to draw it!

[seraphimfood]

DRAWING SIFFRIN EVERY DAY UNTIL MY SIFFRIN PLUSH ARRIVES: DAY ONE!!!!!!

[lokomoqo]

II - The High Priests 🌓

UPRIGHT: Intuition, sacred knowledge, divine feminine, the subconscious mind

REVERSED: Secrets, disconnected from intuition, withdrawal and silence

The bastards hehe. This one took the longest (probably cause of Elias…), but now it’s done and I’m very happy with the result :o)

[cheesybunni]

king of the stage, living his endless glory days (lazy luka doodle)

[bom-bombon]

For @liverpool-enjoyer

Link to the fic

OMG FINALLY!!! I FINISHED THIS! ANYWAY THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON FOR THE PAST TWO MONTHS-ISH but i think i had the idea for more like 4 months so like,, i think I'm drawing faster! (lies)

So, like, here's the context bc i love yapping, and y'all should know me by now.

A while back (some of the qblrsmp members may remember this), I was following football (soccer) content again because of the euros and Copa América (and my reactions are always the best, ask Jinx). Since tumbIr had that "based on your likes" feature and gives you posts from random ppl you don't follow, it showed me this post (or at least,, i think it was that one ._.), and I thought it was the funniest thing ever. I read that it was part of a fanfic, and omg, i had to read it.

Anyway, as yall can see, it literally changed my brain chemistry; i had to draw like a poster or smth!! I felt it in my heart. I was gonna simply send an ask but i got caught up in the details of the polaroids that it'd be too much for an ask (also idk if an ask lets me send like 10 images) so here i am, making a post!

The full drawings of the polaroids are below the "keep reading" with context and showing who's who

Anyway, here are the actual drawings that make up the poster!! Some of these are straight up from the chapters, so l'Il go over them first.

Messi as a tree for the school play [Link]

Lewy, Pedri, and Ansu Fati all posing together without Gavi bc they forgot about him in the gift shop lol [Link] (i was actually gonna draw them being at the place but at a certain point my eyes burned 😭)

Trent and Robbo dressed as mustards for a Halloween party with Virgil [Link] (honestly, my fav, it's just so goofy)

Now to the non-chapter drawings...

Sergio and Luka slightly based off of this one selfie that the actual dude posted

Lewy and Marco

Finally, Thomas being gifted the Messiest Bitch Award by his bestie Manu, also based off of that one picture taken of him. (i wanted to include an academic award but for the life of me i forgot every single academic award i got so. this was the next best thing.)

And yes, placing Thomas' photo on Marco was on purpose and it HURTED when i had the idea

And that's it!

Thank you for writing this fic, Max 💙❤️and uhhhhhh.......

Visca el Barça :3

[makopi-chan]

I've painted my nails pink and blue recently. I bet my brain wanted me to do a Luka and Miku reference >:]

[verfound]

FIC: "Mellie's New Friend" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Read on Ao3

Prompt 64: Nail Polish

There wasn’t a lot to like about Gertie, the old woman who lived next door.  Gertie was, politely speaking, kind of a bitch.  She took offense to just about everything about the Couffaine household: the dyed hair of its owners, the loud music that cranked at all hours, the even louder children the owners let run around like little hooligans, the constant stream of strangers (family and friends all, not that she cared) always coming and going, the general Chaos that followed them around like an unlucky shadow.  She was loud and cantankerous herself, always quick to shoot a barb at Marinette or one of the kids when she spotted them outside of the house.

(She never bothered casting barbs towards Luka.  For Luka, she reserved her trademark silent scowl.  He had thought she’d actually growled at him one day, but looking back he was pretty sure that had been Poochie, not her.)

Marinette tried, bless her, to be kind and patient and all those good, wholesome things people like Marinette were with her.  She always did her best to greet the barbs with a smile.  She always reminded the kids that Gertie was alone, and lonely people tended to be…harder than people surrounded by friends and family.  And when that didn’t work, she slapped a tight smile on her face, wished her a good day, and scurried back inside.

None of the kids were old enough to remember her Grandpa Roland – he had passed well before Harmony was born – but she did.  His memory afforded her the grace the others sometimes lacked, when it came to their old neighbor.

It was a good two years of living next to Gertie’s hateful barbs before they realized Gertie had, at some point, apparently…had a heart?

Because there was a child in her backyard.

Melody was the first to notice, and Luka had to admit he had noticed her before he noticed the other kid.  Because she’d been sitting by the fence, acting like she was talking and playing with someone he couldn’t see – and she had long outgrown her last ‘imaginary’ friend.  And while it was possible one of the kwamis was out there with her, he was pretty sure he would have seen them zipping around.

“Mels?” he asked, poking his head out the back door.  “You ok?”

“I’m good, Papa!” she called.  “It’s just Milly!”

Her face scrunched up, and then she rolled her eyes in a perfect imitation of her aunt.

“Sorry.  Mildred,” she said, dragging out the name like it was distasteful.  “I don’t know why you don’t like Milly – it’s so much more fun than Mildred.”

Luka had walked across the garden to her by this point, and amused expression on his face.

“Mildred?” he asked, chuckling.  “And who’s Mildred, songbird?”

“My new friend,” Melody said, grinning at him.  She pointed at the fence.  “She lives over there.”

And that was when Luka actually looked at the old stockade fence, and while he couldn’t actually see through it…there was just enough of a gap beneath it that he could see the bottoms of folded legs and light-up trainers on the other side.

…huh.

There actually was a kid in Gertie’s yard.

He briefly entertained the thought of Gertie being a possible child snatcher and whether or not he needed to call Captain Roger, but that was ridiculous.

There was no way Gertie had the strength or dexterity in her old, arthritic body to kidnap a fully-grown child.  She barely had enough strength to wrangle her dog most days, and Poochie was smaller than even Dewey yet.

“Well, hello, Mil…dred,” he said, remembering the way she had obviously corrected Melody.

“Hi,” a quiet voice answered.  A tiny hand appeared beneath the fence, little fingers wiggling at them in a wave.  His lips quirked up in a smile, and he crouched down as the hand slipped back under a fence.  He glanced at Melody when she giggled, and they shared a grin as he reached his own fingers under the fence and waved.  Before he could say anything, there was a tiny gasp, and then little fingers were wrapping around his own.  “Oh my gosh!  Your nails are so pretty!”

“Not as pretty as Maman’s,” Melody huffed, and Luka stuck his tongue out at her when she pulled a face.  “But they’re nice.  I guess.”

“You’d like them more if I painted them pink, huh?” he teased.  Melody started to grin again, and he stuck his tongue back out.  He turned back to the fence and wiggled his fingers.  “Thank you, Mildred.”

“You paint them?” Mildred asked.  He felt her run a finger along one of his nails, and his smile softened.  “Like…on your own?”

“I do,” he said.  “I’ve been painting them since I was a little over Mellie’s age.”

“That’s so cool,” Mildred breathed.  There was another moment of hesitation, where she just held onto his fingers and tapped against the nails.  And then, after a bit, she asked: “Can…can you paint mine?”

Melody started to squeal, but Luka frowned.

“I…don’t know if your…if Mlle. Gertie would like that, Mildred,” he said.  “I can if you’d like, but maybe we should ask her first?”

“Granny Gertrude will say no,” Mildred sighed.  “I just wanted to be pretty, too…”

And that was, ultimately, what did it.

Because Luka Couffaine was nothing if not a softie, especially for sad little girls.  A bleeding heart, his wife would say.  And even if he couldn’t actually see Mildred through the fence, Melody was giving him the biggest puppy eyes she could manage, and that was enough to break his heart.  So, knowing full well that Granny Gertie was going to give him untold levels of hell for it later, he squeezed Mildred’s fingers before pulling his hand back.  He patted Melody’s knee, smiling sadly at her.

“What color would you like, Mildred?” he asked.  “We have the whole rainbow upstairs.”

“The sparkly pink one!” Melody cried.  “Oooh!  Oh, no!  The sparkly blue!  Or Auntie Jules’s witch one!  Or the stardust one!”

“I…I don’t know,” Mildred’s quiet voice said.  “They all sound nice.”

He chuckled and reached out, ruffling Melody’s hair.  She stuck her tongue out at him, and he tipped his head back towards the house.

“All right, then, Mels,” he said.  “Why don’t you go pick out a few favorites, and we’ll let Mildred see which one she likes best?”

“She’s gonna love the unicorn one Auntie Rose got me!” Melody screamed as she raced inside.  Luka shook his head and chuckled.  He looked back at the fence with a smile.

“So…Mlle. Gertie’s your grandmother?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mildred answered.

“I didn’t know she had any family,” Luka said.

“We live a really long way away,” Mildred said.  “We had to drive for hours before we took a plane.  Mama and Papa are doctors.”

“Really?” Luka asked, surprised.  Gertie had never said anything.

“In Africa,” she said.  “We travel a lot.”

“I travel a lot, too,” Luka said, “but not for half as good a reason.  I’m sure your parents help a lot of people, Mildred.”

“Mellie said you’re Luke Stone,” Mildred said, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.  “You help people, too.  We play your music in the clinic all the time.  It makes everyone happy.”

…well, shit.

“That…thank you, Mildred,” he said, smiling against the burn in his throat.  “I appreciate that.  I still think your parents have the harder job, though.”

“Are you really gonna paint my nails?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.  “Anything for such a sweet fan.”

“Nuh-uh!” Melody’s voice said sharply beside him.  He looked up to see she had returned with an arm full of tiny bottles.  Just like he’d promised, there was every color of the rainbow there – and then some.  “I’m gonna do it!  Papa, Millie’s my new best friend.  You go get your own!”

…he had one, but the asshole wasn’t half as sweet as the little girl on the other side of the fence.  He shook his head, laughing as he shrugged.  What was he gonna do, though?  Melody’s word was almost law.

“Well, if you insist.  Are you ok with that, Mildred?  If Mellie paints your nails?” he asked.

“Sure,” Mildred said.  “I like Mellie.  Her nails are pretty, too.”

Melody grinned as she held up her thumb.  The sparkly pink paint was already chipped and half-off – she’d need a touchup soon.

“Well, ok, then,” he said, clapping his knees before he pushed himself up.  “I’ll leave you two to it.  It was nice meeting you, Mildred.”

“You too, M. Stone,” Mildred said.

“Couffaine,” Melody huffed, rolling her eyes.  “He’s only M. Stone for the cameras.”

“Be nice, Mellie,” he chided, but he was still smiling when she stuck her tongue out at him.  He leaned over to kiss the top of her head, and then he pushed himself up and turned back towards the house.  “Have fun, you two.”

Marinette found him by the backdoor a short while later, nursing a mug of tea as he watched the girls paint each other’s nails through the fence.  She wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his shoulder, humming when he bent to kiss the top of it.

“What is she doing?” she asked, following his gaze to the fence.

“Making a friend,” he said.  He turned to her with a grin.  “Did you know Gertie has a kid?  A grandkid, for that matter?”

Marinette blinked up at him, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

“…holy shit,” she said after a moment.  “Someone actually procreated with that miserable old –”

“Manners,” he chuckled, tilting her chin up to cut her off with a kiss.  “There’s probably a child present.  Somewhere.  We certainly have enough of them.”

“Don’t you start,” she huffed, squeezing him as she laid her head back down.  “I can’t believe she was ever able to connect with someone like that.”

“She might not have always been miserable,” he said with a shrug.  “Anyway, your nonna connected with Roland like that, and we all remember how miserable he was.”

“Shut up,” she giggled, bumping her head against his arm.  “You’re glad they did.  We never would have met if she hadn’t seen something in him.”

“And now Mellie has a new friend because someone saw something in Gertie,” he said.  She stuck her tongue out at him, then rolled her eyes when he kissed it.  He winked at her.  “…even if she is a miserable old bitch.”

She rolled her eyes and bumped her forehead against him.

(She was less amused a few days later, when she was walking the twins home from maternelle and Louis saw Gertie walking up her front steps, stopped to wave, and cried: “Hi, missable old bitch!”)

[fiddles-ifs]

ERINYS: FURY IN THE MACHINE: CAST

Romance options have a ❤︎ by their names

❤︎ LANE BLACK KETTLE | The Off-Gridder [they/them]

Age: 25 Ethnicity: Aamsskáápipikani [Montana Blackfoot] Height: 6'2/187 cm

Born outside of the so-called "last bastions of humanity," Lane has a unique and nuanced perspective on post-apocalyptia. They're in City 17 possibly illegally, definitely as a fugitive, and they're looking for something -- or someone. They'll stop at nothing, but will you help them? Adaptable, impulsive, hot-headed.

Flavor of romance: The Outsider, enemies to lovers, snark as a love language.

❤︎ MATTHEW "MATTIE" SORENSON | The Genius [he/him]

Age: 27 Ethnicity: White [USAmerican] Height: 5'10/177 cm

Having spent his entire life inside City 17, Mattie knows very little about the world outside the Walls. A computer genius and mathematician, Mattie is the world's foremost expert on Giants. Still, he isn't content to rest on his laurels. He wants to fix humanity's mistakes -- and you're going to help him. A case of tethered spinal cord syndrome requires him to use an electric wheelchair. Egotistical, charismatic, jovial.

Flavor of romance: The Insider, competing egos, saving the world (and each other).

LUKA MARIK | The Creator [he/him]

Age: 49 Ethnicity: White [Polish] Height: 5'11/180 cm

The greatest scientist in the world, co-founder of the Rider Initiative, your creator, the Alpha and Omega -- or so he'd have you believe. His complicated feelings for Rider have left him grief-riddled for ten years. Originally, he created the mechs that helped humanity -- now he develops the Rider clones that continue his life's work. Obsessive, melancholic, introverted.

Not a romanceable character.

[swampvoid]

New Donut Hole PV dropped, and it's cool! In terms of artistic direction, there is a story being told in visual clues, and honestly..it looks like an anime opening. I like how "Eastern European" the girls look, and it's certainly interesting how Miku, the poster character for Vocaloid, looks like a comic relief rather than a main character she is often.

[whspermy-name]

last night that VC was lit

[fazcinatingblog]

Remember when Brodie Grundy and Tim Broomhead were broommates

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 3)

You reunite with your crow friend! But it seems to need your help with… a man?

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of blood and death, descriptions of a panic attack, bossman is here yay

“Congratulations! You’ve just won the loyal customer raffle at Linkon Supermarket!”

“But I shop at Bloomshore Mart.”

“Yup, congratulations!”

You furrow your brows, eyeing the paper the delivery driver is enthusiastically waving in your face. Sure enough, it announces the conclusion of the famous supermarket’s year-end raffle, and there it is: your full government name printed neatly under “winner.”

Beyond his shoulder, you notice the other worker unloading boxes from the delivery truck. He’s dressed in the same uniform, with identical dark curls and also sporting a black face mask. He catches your gaze and gives a lazy thumbs-up.

There must be something wrong with your memory, because you could swear you haven’t stepped foot in Linkon Supermarket in years—let alone registered for their raffle. That place isn’t exactly known for catering to the humbler economic classes.

And it’s still 5:30 a.m. Have supermarkets always done graveyard shift deliveries?

“Thanks…” You squint at the driver’s name tag. “…Lukas.”

“No problem!”

Once the two workers finish unloading and stacking boxes of who-knows-what in your living room, they wave cheerfully before speeding off down the street. Half-asleep, you manage only a bemused wave in return.

You think you might’ve been cursed. Or blessed. It’s hard to say. Because ever since your crow friend escaped a week ago, it feels like you’ve already blown through a lifetime’s worth of luck.

In the span of days, you’ve gotten a raise and better employee benefits (odd, considering you’re still just an assistant manager), won lifetime vouchers for three of your favorite food spots, and now, apparently, won a supermarket raffle—complete with at least three months’ worth of groceries.

Rummaging through the boxes, you find they’re stocked with all your usual brands. Snacks, non-perishables, beauty products, household items—everything. Even fresh produce.

For the first time in a while, you won’t have to worry about going hungry.

—

You’re not sure why you’ve come back to the park tonight.

It’s late, and you’ve already visited the crows earlier, spoiling them with extra bags of peanuts thanks to your recent streak of good fortune.

The crows seem to wonder the same thing. While they peck enthusiastically at the peanuts, their beady eyes occasionally flick toward you, as if to silently judge your lack of anything resembling a social life.

Admittedly, you’ve been hoping to see your crow friend again.

You think you’re starting to come to terms with its disappearance. Life goes on, right? It’s just an animal, after all. It probably doesn’t feel the same complex emotions humans do—the kind that have you so affected by its absence after only a few days of sharing a space. (Maybe it was a one-sided friendship all along...) It probably just followed its instincts, leaving to do whatever it is that lone crows do.

Still, a petulant part of you feels bitter. Sure, it left behind a hoard of treasures—trinkets, gems, and gold so polished they must be real (though you’re not ready to think about where it might have stolen them)—but it could’ve at least waited for you to come home before flying off.

In hindsight, maybe it’s a good thing you never had pets. Your apparent abandonment issues would be a nightmare to deal with if they got lost, ran away, or died.

Suddenly, a familiar series of shrill caws pierces the air. Before you can process what’s happening, something crashes into your lap, a blur of loose black feathers hitting your face.

Could it be…?

The unmistakable garnet glint in the midnight-feathered avian’s eyes confirms it. Without hesitation, you scoop the bird into your arms, pulling it tightly to your chest, and press a rough, enthusiastic kiss to its head.

“Where have you been?” you exclaim, laughing as you nuzzle the void-like creature against your cheek, smothering it in an embrace. “I’ve been so worried about you!”

Its muffled caws are drowned out by your babbling. “Oh gosh—your wing! How is it?” you say, quickly pulling back to inspect it.

Its feathers look good—healthy, even. In fact, they almost seem brand new, gleaming like a freshly unboxed gadget. Its once-injured left wing no longer looks broken—or as you’d thought before, no longer resembling a mechanical part with a loose screw.

Before you can start fussing over it again, the bird suddenly wriggles free from your grasp and lands steadily on your lap. It caws again, but something’s different. It’s louder, more piercing—frantic. It paces across your lap, continuing to practically scream at you, as if trying to tell you something.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your heart squeezing at the sight of its feathers puffing up with each stressed caw.

You try to pat its head, hoping to calm it down, but it jumps off your lap and lands on the ground, still cawing. The other crows, clearly spooked by its urgent cries, start to scatter. Bewildered, you bend down, attempting to scoop it into your arms again, but it evades you by hopping a few feet away, still cawing—loudly.

“What is it?” you say, exasperated. I can’t speak crow!

You step closer, bending down once more, but it hops away—again.

You stare up at the heavens. This has to be some cosmic joke. You can’t believe you’re playing this strange version of tag with a bird.

You don’t even realize how far you’ve walked, now a good distance from the bench you were sitting on. You’ve reached the darker area of the park, still desperate to grab the cawing bird and figure out what’s wrong. Then, without warning, your foot catches on a tree root. You stumble, and before you can recover, you hit the cold, wet ground with an unceremonious thud.

“Well, there goes my good luck streak,” you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Good thing nobody’s around to witness your embarrassing lack of coordination.

“Tell me about it.”

The sudden presence of a deep, unfamiliar voice makes you freeze. Heart pounding wildly, you scramble to sit up, eyes darting toward the source.

It wasn’t a tree root you tripped over. It was a leg—a stretched-out leg attached to a man slumped against one of the park’s statues. A huge, beautiful man, with silver hair and a pair of breathtaking garnet eyes, half-lidded and filled with amusement. He’s clutching his abdomen, the fabric there soaked in dark, ominous red.

Blood.

A field of red datura blooms. A starry night sky with the clouds beneath you. Mountains of gold against jagged walls. A burning plaza. A bloodied claymore.

You don’t register the ringing in your ears or the flash of blurry, unfamiliar images racing through your mind. Your gaze remains locked on the man’s injury. Before you know it, you’re shrugging off your puffer jacket and sweater. Now clad in just your turtleneck, you drop to your knees and press your sweater firmly against his wound.

You, waiting for your turn to walk on stage to receive your diploma. A university staff member rushing toward you. You, running out of the graduation venue. Two totaled SUVs. Three dead bodies.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you work methodically. Stop the bleeding. Stop the blood. Apply pressure. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Just keep pressing. Don’t think about how much there is. Don’t panic. You fold the sweater tighter against the wound. Okay, stop the bleeding first. That’s all you know. Just keep the pressure steady. He’s losing too much. Is this enough? Should I tie it off? No, just keep pressing. Keep him alive.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. You have to save them. You have to save him. They can’t leave you. He can’t leave you. Not again.

“Sweetheart.”

The word, softly spoken, snaps you out of your trance. Your eyes lift to meet his, and the world seems to still. You’ve never met this man in your life, but the way he looks at you—it hurts. It feels like an ancient grief has surfaced from the depths of your soul.

You finally notice the state you’re in. You’re shaking. Badly. The cold winter air bites into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. Your palms are scraped from your earlier fall, but you hardly register the sting. The man’s hands—large and warm—enclose your trembling ones, grounding you.

And it’s like you’ve never known peace until this very moment.

note: can u tell the extent of my yearning to be spoiled with groceries LMAO

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[goldfades]

I think it just makes sense for a little blurb about crash out queen going to the lakers game supporting her hubby

I can def see her going super early to watch him warm up (wearing his new jersey obv) and the cameras follow her the whole time, she talks to jj, LeBron, and the rest of the team bc obv they all love her (LeBron brings up her finals logo 3 ofc) and the whole time luka is playing she’s just smiling so hard and being so supportive (but cursing in Slovenian when luka misses a shot hehe)

anyways ilysm my sweetheart superstar

omg this is such a cute way for the debut!!! here ya go, baby, i hope yall enjoy!!

You get to the arena stupidly early.

Like, beat-the-security-checks, lights-aren’t-even-fully-on-yet early.

But there’s no way in hell you’re missing a second of Luka’s Lakers debut—not the warmups, not the pre-game handshakes, not even the way he walks into this new era of his career.

And judging by the cameras that are already tracking your every move, the rest of the world is just as interested.

It’s been like this all day—your arrival getting broadcasted like you’re the one about to drop a 40-point triple-double. Social media’s having a field day with it. Clips of you stepping into Crypto.com Arena in Luka’s brand-new Lakers jersey (custom-fitted, cropped just enough to sit right on your waist) have already gone viral.

“Crash Out Queen in the building.”

“She’s rocking the 77 like she’s about to check in.”

“Nah, she came earlier than the entire Lakers roster, she is SO real for that.”

And honestly?

They’re right.

You step onto the court before most of the team even arrives, your sneakers squeaking against the polished hardwood. The arena is still quiet—just the faint thump of a ball hitting the floor, the occasional echo of voices carrying from the tunnels.

And in the middle of it, getting shots up like he’s the only person in the world, is Luka.

You slow for a second, watching.

He looks good in purple and gold—still unfamiliar, still something you’ll have to get used to, but good. His movements are sharp, effortless, the kind of locked-in you’ve seen a million times before. But there’s something else tonight, something extra in the way he follows through on his shots, in the way his jaw stays tight even when he swishes three after three.

You know that look.

He’s ready—but he’s antsy.

So, naturally, you fix that.

You walk straight onto the court—ignoring the cameras that immediately start flashing, the Lakers staff who pause mid-conversation, the social media team that’s definitely about to clip this—and step right into Luka’s space.

He barely gets the next shot off before you tug at the bottom of his jersey.

“Damn,” you tease, looking up at him. “They actually got you in Lakers colors. Thought you’d combust before putting that on.”

Luka huffs out a laugh, finally breaking focus. His eyes sweep over you, from the cropped version of his jersey to the smug grin you’re throwing at him.

“You really came this early?”

You scoff. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

He smirks, reaching out to hook a finger in your waistband, tugging you just a little closer.

The cameras are eating this up.

Before you can fire back, a familiar voice cuts through.

“Man, she really beat us here?”

You turn just in time to see JJ jogging onto the court, shaking his head in amusement.

You grin. “What can I say? I like to be punctual.”

“Punctual,” JJ repeats, giving Luka a pointed look. “You mean obsessed.”

Luka just shrugs like he doesn’t mind at all, like he’s actually very fine with you showing up before half the damn team.

And speaking of—

“Well, well, well,” a deep voice drawls from the tunnel.

You don’t even have to turn around.

“Here we go,” you mutter under your breath, just as LeBron himself strolls onto the court.

He’s already shaking his head, grinning, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “New York’s finest in the house.”

You cross your arms, smirking. “Gotta check out the new scenery. Make sure my man’s in good hands.”

LeBron laughs. “I know you’re not worried about that.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, he leans in slightly, voice dipping just low enough for the cameras not to catch it.

“So,” he says, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We gonna talk about that finals logo three or what?”

A groan rips out of you before you can stop it. “You too?”

JJ and Luka are already laughing.

LeBron grins. “I mean, I got my fair share of wild shots, but that one?” He shakes his head. “Crazy.”

You point a warning finger at him. “I swear, if you bring that up in a press conference—”

He holds his hands up, all innocence. “Hey, I’m just sayin’. Big time players make big time shots.”

You narrow your eyes. “I will start slandering your free throw percentage.”

LeBron loses it.

JJ has to walk away to keep from doubling over.

And Luka?

Luka’s just watching you—like he’s seeing all of this, the way you move so easily through his world, the way you fit into it like you’ve always been here, the way his teammates are your teammates—and like it’s doing something to him.

Like it’s settling something in him.

Like maybe, just maybe, all of this change doesn’t feel so scary when you’re here.

And yeah, the cameras are catching every second of it.

--

From the moment the game tips off, you are in your element.

Sitting courtside, front and center in your custom Luka Dončić Lakers jersey—the one that’s cropped just right, snug at the waist, with your own number stitched in tiny embroidery on the sleeve—you are a menace.

And not the quiet kind.

Luka’s locked in from the start, but so are you.

Every shot he takes? You’re on your feet before the ball even swishes through the net. Every time he gets downhill, carving through defenders like they’re nothing, you’re clapping, nodding, talking your talk because of course he’s doing this—of course he’s out here dominating in his Lakers debut like he was built for this.

And when he hits his first step-back three in that gold and purple uniform?

Oh, it’s over.

You’re out of your seat, yelling “That’s my man!” so damn loud that even the bench turns to look at you. The cameras catch everything—you pointing at Luka like you just hit the shot, like you knew it was cash the second he released it.

JJ is dying on the bench.

LeBron, walking back up the court, is shaking his head and laughing because he knew exactly what kind of energy you were bringing tonight.

And Luka?

Luka hears all of it.

His grin is instant, dimples deep, and he can’t help himself—he looks right at you as he backpedals on defense, giving you that smug, knowing look.

Like he loves this.

Like he loves you.

The whole game, you’re in it.

Every whistle, every foul—especially when Luka gets knocked around a little too hard—you’re making your feelings very clear.

At one point, he takes some contact on a drive, hits the floor hard, and you’re already up before the whistle even blows.

“Where’s the call?!” You throw your hands up, eyes locked on the ref like you might actually fight him.

And listen—some people might call it over the top, but you don’t care.

Not when Luka’s out there, playing his ass off.

Not when this is his first game in a new jersey, in a city that’s expecting everything from him.

And when the game gets tight in the fourth quarter, when every possession starts mattering a little more, you’re right there, standing, clapping, yelling encouragement between plays, telling Luka to take over—and he does.

Of course he does.

He lives for this.

And when that final buzzer sounds?

The Lakers win.

Luka’s brilliant—because of course he is.

And you?

You’re beaming.

You’re still clapping when Luka makes his way over, chest heaving from the last few minutes of high-intensity play, sweat dripping, eyes locked on you like you’re the only person in the arena.

Before you can say anything, he reaches out, grabs your face—big hands cradling your jaw—and kisses you, hard.

The crowd goes nuts.

The cameras catch every second.

And you?

You just smile against his lips, because yeah, this is the perfect way to end his first night in LA.

--

Hand-in-hand, you and Luka make your way through the tunnels, still riding that post-win high.

Everywhere you go, people are dapping him up, clapping him on the back, congratulating him. The energy is electric, and you can feel it in him—the way his fingers squeeze yours a little tighter, the way his whole body is buzzing with adrenaline.

He looks so damn good like this—sweaty, still in his game gear, the jersey a little untucked, his chain glinting under the bright hallway lights.

“You killed it tonight,” you say, bumping into his side as you walk.

He smirks, glancing down at you. “You think?”

You scoff. “Please. Like I wasn’t screaming about it all game.”

Luka grins, shaking his head. “You were crazy.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it.

As you step outside, the LA night air hits you, warm and thick with energy, fans still gathered outside, cameras flashing.

Luka tugs you in, arm wrapping around your shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before muttering, just for you—

“Best part of tonight was having you there.”

And damn, if that doesn’t make your whole heart melt.

You get to the arena stupidly early.

[shakethediseeas]

ALIEN STAGE CHARACTERS WITH AN ALIEN READER

alien stage x reader

maybe ill make more (ivan, hyuna and sua)

CHAFACTERS: TILL, LUKA, MIZI

On your 15th birthday your parents decided to give you a planet as a gift, they took over and made a stage to keep you entertained! its so fun! its humans trying to survive by performing music you've never heard of before.

One day, you decide to visit the garden to take one for yourself and when you saw that figure running by, you knew you want that one.

heads turned at the sound of children going 'woah' as you twirl and walk past them, looking at them as if they were animals in a zoo. two aliens behind you as you keep searching and start getting frustrated-- no one was appealing for you.

just when you were about to turn and head home to complain you finally spot one. they were running after someone with flowers in their hand, and more kids chasing after them.

they stopped when the kid bumped into you, and it went silent. They fell to the floor as you brushed your outfit clean of their filth before pointing down at them.

"i want this one."

to take them of the joy and friends they had in here didnt really matter to you. to you its like picking an animal from a shelter, bringing them to a better home where the only one they would rely on would be you.

that smile you saw before you picked them no longer existed. They were quiet and nervous of getting any negative reaction out of you which only made you mad but you had to be patient with them in order for them to be happy!

'first few months'

how come these humans dont come with a manual because this human was shattering things in rage when they thought you werent home and they hide in a corner so they dont get caught.

You heard of their behavior problems before picking them up, but you didn't care as long as you got to see that smile they had—but since they weren't smiling, you'd have to fix that.

you took Till to visit the garden for a bit, even though your guards were against the idea but who were they to tell you what to do?

He was so happy—the happiest he's ever been since you took him away. When you came to pick him up, he shyly asked if he could ever visit again, to which you nodded.

'you werent THAT bad' is what he thought after you gifted him a custom guitar. you noticed he played with an imaginary one so you decided to build trust and gift him a fancy new electric guitar!

and you still took him constantly to see his friends even though he heard you being scolded for it, that fake argument made him feel more appreciated.

'a few years later'

he jumps to sit down on your bed before demanding to visit a friend who was with their owner, you half listen, too busy painting your nails and kicking your feet in concentration.

mid rant you push the nail polish to his face and say "paint my nails first then ill think about it"

and he does so with a red face.

'first few monthd'

you were pretty sure you were speaking their language so why the hell was this human just staring off into space while drool escaping its mouth. you recoil in disgust and start regretting your decision a bit.

it took you a lot of patience and time to figure out what he likes, you ended up spending a lot of coin on the human for him to at least look at you with stupid big eyes.

you had to spoon feed luka unless you wanted him to starve to death, he couldnt sleep or change properly without you there glaring at him before reluctantly helping him.

you suppose it was okay, if he relied on you too much that would mean he couldn't really leave you, you were in charge.

'.....' though you wished he was a bit more vocal, you thought about it for a long time, if he didnt have the brain capacity to say a nice thank you maybe he could sing for you.

so he did. you bought him whatever you deemed necessary, and he sometimes mentioned another small thing and u gave it to him.

'a few years later'

you dont know why he wanted to sing for anyone else other than you but you allowed it. ever since you took him to see the stage in the VIP section he finally voiced out 'i want to do this' well not really but his face said it.

you get back home, a bit tired and hes tailing behind you as always. you land on the bed exhausted before flicking your hand in the air to signal him 'sing me a song'

after hes done he asks if you requested anything else, noting how tired you looked. but you just shook your head and tell him do whatever you want.

what you didnt expect him to hug you from behind. you couldnt see his face but youd assume its that blank face as always. only he knew that you were wrong.

it was face of pure adoration, a face that said 'you will never leave me' and he held tighter before saying to himself 'im in charge'

oh how you jumped around excitedly at this well behaved human! so sweet, like a cherry, they tried to have a conversation with you by asking "do you like making flower crowns?"

of course you havent who those this human think you are? but instead of saying something like that you shake your head and deny, before asking if they would teach you.

you make flower crowns with Mizi. you demanded to your guards any flowers she would ask for and bring batches of them to her before saying 'where do we start?'

shes happy at first but then you notice that she starts looking a bit sad, you ask her whats wrong and she looks at you with big eyes and says "when will i see my friends again?"

oh well with that sweet face how could you not take her to see her friends every day. and with a big smile she cheers and every day she makes new flower crowns or crafts for them.

'a few years later'

you start thinking 'maybe i spoiled her too much. maybe listening to her every request was a bad idea' as you cross your arms, on your custom designed chair in the center of the audience, the VIP section.

you stare as shes almost shot down by soldiers. you stare as shes taken away from you. you stare at the 'MISSING' message with her face plastered on it.

of course, you knew where she was. you had a tracker on all your pets. but for some reason, you let her run around. it wont be long until she realizes she wont have anyone left anymore.

it wont be long till she realizes she has no one else but you.