#tpomshipweek2025

[nightydraws]

So here we go~

My first artwork for this year's shipweek :b

Do I like it? Partly

Am I done with it? Yes =3=

Funny thing, it's a redraw of my piece from 2020 (made for a precursor of this challenge, xdd)

[tpom-ship-angst-week]

Here's prompt list for tpom shipweek :3

This year made non-digitaly bc it was easier

It'll run from 8th July to 14th

Rules (they haven't changed since last year):

feel free with choosing the ship, however don't include stuff like p*do, inc*st, etc;

any type of fan-content is welcome (artworks, fanfictions, edits, amvs, etc.)

you don't have to make something for every day + don't feel obligated to make them on time (I'm quite sure I won't make it on time either :b)

if you'd want to post your work, do it with #tpomshipweek or #tpomshipweek2025

You can mix prompts if u like (even between challenges :b)

Fave fun :3

[pure-penguin-gold]

Don’t Bring a Kiss to a Gunfight (1k words)

Tpom ship week day 5: cowboy au

Oh, Cowboy Ranger Skipper and Outlaw Marlene (from traitor Marlene au), we’re really in it now…

She was sitting there all quiet like at the bar. Head tipped low, so her brown bangs fell over her eyes. She nurses a drink as she wrote on a mangled piece of paper. She sighed to herself, words fumbling with her charcoal. But, she knew it wouldn’t be long until she had a story in her hands.

The door swung open, the bell ringing. Heavy footsteps, boots clicking the ground. She barely looks at him through her peripheral vision; taking in how he swings his leg over the barstool in one fell swoop. His dark hair was hidden under his black cowboy hat. He smells like smoke and dirt.

He calls over to the barkeep, confident: “Whiskey.”

She knows he doesn’t drink. They’re both silent as he glances around the bar. A few men are betting over cards a few tables away. There’s a couple speaking to the innkeeper about accommodations. In the back corner, away from prying eyes, two women talk low. The whiskey arrives, and he slides it over her way. A few drops stain her pages. She doesn’t mind.

“So, what did you call me in for?” He asks, all too casually, as he leans over the bar.

She sets her charcoal down in favor of a new drink. She takes a slow sip, allowing him to count the seconds. She thinks carefully through her script: one that doesn’t belong to her. “Just had a few questions for you, Sir.”

“Skip the ‘sir,’ you and I both know we’re past that.” He replies like a sharp-shooter, and she isn’t surprised.

She gives him a small smile, “Alright…”

She starts him off with easy questions: stuff he knows that she knows. Patrons of the bar change: the couple goes upstairs, the women leave, a new group of gamblers enter, and the bar earns another patron. They don’t pay them any mind as she scribbles the ranger’s answers.

“What was your latest capture?”

“The Notorious Puffin, but between you and me, he’s become a bit of a joke.” He grins through the scruff on his face, “Hans has nothing on me these days.”

“I remember once he had a few things up his sleeve.”

“What can I say: the old dog ran out of new tricks.”

She laughs at him. “Can’t argue with that…”

He watches her, head propped on his hand. For a second, her hair is down and messy; she’s wearing his hat. For a second, he believes it’s just like old times, but a seasoned ranger knows better than that. Wounds don’t heal that quick, and his will always cut deeper than rivers. His gut twists at the thought. This isn’t real. He glances down at the old wooden table, eyes flickering up to her every now and then. With hesitance, he opens his mouth before she can say another word.

“My turn.” She freezes; looks at him carefully. There's darkness in his eyes. Maybe hope mixed in the blue grief. He sighs with discontent. “What are you doing, Marlene?”

She improvises. Battering her eyes and shrugging like she’d used to do. Was that always an act too? Who was she really? “I just wanted to check in… It’s been a while.”

“Don’t play dumb with me. It’s been months since you left, and you expect me to believe you’re back to reporting? Did you really think I’d believe this? I can’t imagine this being anything but a cover for Blowhole.”

She’s deadly quiet. The bar is so loud. He stares at her with a sudden fear. Something’s tearing him up inside: a broken heart begging for it not to be true. It’s clawing and crying, but his face is stoneset as she doesn’t break eye contact. Her easiest tell. He sighs again, this time in disappointment. Disappointed in himself. For believing it could be different. She was never real. Maybe he really was as dumb as she thought.

“Why don’t we make this easy for the both of us, and you turn yourself in.”

He stares at her deeply, piercing blue eyes. He’s broken the spell. Their standstill has ended, and just when she was having fun. Her eyes dart around him, watching his hand reach for his holster under the table.

She grins, locking eyes, “You’re cute, you know that?”

In a blink, she pushes herself off her chair and flees through the doors. Skipper’s yelling at her to stop. She’s panting from the thrill, finding the stable. The horses buck and neigh at her sudden appearance. Quickly, she climbs onto her horse, pistol in hand. In the corner of her eye, she spots him slam the door open. He’s out of breath, clearly scrambling to make sense of the situation.

They lock eyes again; Marlene smirks; she takes off. It doesn’t take Skipper a second to climb onto his horse and dash off after her. The chase begins. She grins. Lamb to the slaughter.

But, there’s something in his smile and stride that’s all too familiar. Late nights on horseback. Chasing each other until daylight breaks the sky. When she used to smile. Not out of personal pride, but for someone else. For loving someone… She shakes her head. It was all pretend. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. It shouldn’t even be a memory anymore.

The same game; different rules. A part of her doesn’t want it to end, but it already passed. They’re no longer young. She’s not who he thought she was. Maybe in another life she could’ve been. Maybe she could’ve been that carefree reporter where her only hardship was choosing an outfit. Maybe she would’ve been happy with the lie.

But, the sun has set. They’re running through the fields again. His face is furrowed as he fires at her. He misses, maybe on purpose. She loses her reminiscing as the bullet flies past.

The stars are dim tonight. The sun has laid its head down. This time, the moon will take its place forever.

[pure-penguin-gold]

3 April 2008 (3k words)

tpom ship week 2025 day 1: cuddles/touch/forehead

ITS FINALLY HERE!!!! *throws a skilene fic at you* (it’s the ao3 link)

“Skipper’s Log. 3 June 12. 200 hours.”

Skipper began softly into the large recording device he laid on the floor of the Penguin HQ. Files laid in neat, little stacks with it-- sprawled out like a playing deck of cards. The base is quiet, save for the gentle ticking of their wall clock. In the middle of it all, Skipper paced around the device, and he watched the red light carefully as he spoke— as if it could turn off any moment. His voice remained self-assured, almost suave, in his usual cadence. Only, there’s a rougher manner, quicker and shorthanded, in his words as he relays information to the recorder. Skipper was engrossed in his report: he stared at the ground he walked on in deep thought as the words poured out of his mouth.

He was so engrossed, he failed to watch his rearview as the hatch slipped open. Not long, the fishbowl cover was pushed back into place as the intruder clung to the walls of the dark HQ. Only the blue light of the TV and the deep red of the recorder provided light, giving the intruder freedom to roam. Skipper paid no attention.

“The boys are still out on their mission. The big one. Er, second big one. They left around a whole 24 hours since yesterday, and I don’t expect them to return until tonight. I bet 1700 hours, sharp— unless Rico's explosives get out of hand. Then I give them until midnight.”

The intruder snuck behind the table, listening carefully. She smiled, eyelids drooping at every word. Her tail rocked against the concrete floors of the base as she buried her head in her hands. Skipper’s report droned on in her ears and an easy smile relaxed more in the corners of her mouth. Through her falling eyelids, she watched in amusement as Skipper paced the room. So that’s what he looks like when he’s recording. She forces a giggle down her throat as a wave of relaxing thoughts fuzz through her fur and down her spine.

Skipper, for all of his perceptiveness, still hasn’t caught on to the scheme as he continues. Concern invades his face for his brothers, and he glances at that glowing red button with a sigh.

“I’m trying my best to keep this log short. Professional. It’s been a long time since I sent them on a mission like this and without me… To be honest, I no longer know how to make these without my feelings bleeding into them. Fishcakes… Here I go again. We… We’ve grown up together; you’d think I’d know how to put our brotherhood aside for professional means, but the lines have faded a long time ago-- And, you know what, I’m starting to blame Marlene for this.”

The intruder perked up at the sudden mention as her tail stopped moving. She leaned closer in wonder, but sleep still continued to take her vision.

“She’s the one who suggested these are my journals— diaries! Ugh, just ridiculous… But, good— she’s correct, in a way. I hope she never finds this now. Can’t have her thinking I like that ridiculous idea of hers; it’ll ruin all of our potential banter. I don’t think I could live without that.”

Her eyes roll, but a large smirk takes her face. Slowly, her eyes shut again as he continues his speech. Words of Marlene’s strength, and optimism, and down-right stubbornness filled her ears with a gentle slumber. She could barely hear the small whisper of adoration in his tone through her sleepy state.

He chuckles to himself before catching himself off guard from his doting— and complaining. “Note for Skipper: reminder to scrap the last five minutes and put in file ’three-dash-four-dash-o-eight.’ Can’t have anyone hear me going soft mid-report. Endnote.

“Continuing on, the boys should be back as scheduled. Today, I have made plans in case they fail to return on time. If anyone finds this, it means I am long gone swimming in the ocean that is New York’s fish markets to rescue my brothers in a heroic act of leadership. Please, give my regards to Marlene the Otter, and, heck, the lemurs while you’re at it. This is Skipper at 3– Hoover Dam!“

A rumble erupts through habitat; although, it does not shake the ground. Skipper hushes himself while holding his flippers up close to his face. Through the darkness, he makes out the dining table with a large breathing lump on top. Carefully, he trots around the intruder to find her feet. A smirk takes his face as he fights the urge to shout “Aha!” before he gives her a sweeping kick. In one fell swoop, the intruder tumbled onto her back— knocking the wind out of her chest and the sleep from her eyes.

She coughs violently for air before shouting at Skipper. “Ow! Skipper, what gives?”

A look of astonishment takes the penguin’s face at her voice. Naturally relaxing at his realization, he lowers his flippers, and he stares at her inquisitively. “Marlene?”

In the dark, the shadow of the intruder crosses her arms. “Yes? Who else has the guts to sneak in here so late?”

Skipper chuckles, lowering a friendly flipper to her, “I don’t know, Marlene, there are quite a few animals that have you beat.”

She grins in the dark, “Yeah, well… Touché.”

“Alright, Marlene, just how long have you been behind me?”

“Long enough to fall asleep. Will they really be back tonight?”

Skipper gives her a pained look— realizing she’s been here the entire night. Not wanting to face humiliation, he ignored his own questions in favor of answering hers as he searched for the lights. “Please, ye of little faith in my men. If all goes to plan, we should have nothing to worry about, Marlene!”

In the dark, Skipper spots the red flashing light of his recorder, and he groans inwardly while Marlene answers him. Her arms are crossed again in defiance as the lights flicker on.

“I have plenty of faith, Skipper. I always have… I just can’t help but worry.”

“You and me both, Sister.” He replies before pulling towards the recorder. ”Note: scratch the last five minutes… again. Endnote. Skipper’s Log. 300 hours. Things have picked up back at HQ. A vicious spy has infiltrated the base; I was able to apprehend her in one fatal swoop, and am currently keeping her prisoner until she admits what she’s after. Will keep updated.”

He turns to her with a cheeky smirk while clicking the recorder off. Marlene’s face is crossed. One of her eyebrows is raised as if asking “Really?”

Skipper can’t help but reply with his own devilish grin that said: “Oh, yes.”

She sighs, shaking her head, in defeat. “Fine, I had a feeling you were recording tonight, and I just wanted to listen.”

He gives her a curious look before slowly asking, “Wwwwwwwwhy?”

He catches the glimpse of anxiety in her face as Marlene rolls her eyes with all the nonchalance in the world. “No reason.”

Oh, she was going to make this difficult.

He gives her a brief furrow of his bone brow as he thinks about his answer. It’s quiet, and Marlene is glancing around the room trying to disguise the awkwardness she feels as Skipper stares her down.

A beat goes by in pure silence before Skipper, bluntly, asks her: “Would you like some fish coffee?”

“At 3am?”

“No, you’re right, but it’s the best I can offer to make.”

Marlene smiles, giving him a mirthful tone, “Are you inviting me in?”

“That remains to be seen; do you want to stay?”

Marlene looks at him as if he just painted the stars even as she ignores him brushing off her question. Skipper can feel his gut growl, and he begs Marlene can’t hear it.

“Coffee sounds great.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

“Skipper’s log: it’s nearly 400 hours, and the prisoner is shaping up to be more cooperative than expected.” Skipper says into the recording.

Marlene sits beside him, resting her back on his pillow that he generously dragged to the floor. A lukewarm cup of (decaf) coffee with a long fish-bone rests in her paws, growing cold from the hours of chatting. She rolls her eyes playfully before taking a large, hearty sip.

“There is just one thing that she has been evading, but I’ll have her spill it out faster than a whale that swallowed a lost fish.”

She gives him the most baffled look in the world to which he silently laughs and mouths: “Nemo.”

He continues his charade as Marlene’s eyes droop. She places the cup down before curling herself up in her arms with a pleasant sigh. Her eyes go lidded with sleep, and Skipper is surprised when her head slips off her pillow, and she falls to the concrete with a thunk.

He clicks the recorder off, mid-sentence, and waddles over to her. “You alright there?”

Marlene just hisses in pain, rubbing her head. “Nope, nope, nope.”

Quickly, Skipper dashes to the fridge, getting her an ice pack, before kneeling down to her to assist. She mumbles a small thanks.

“That’s the second time you fell asleep, Marlene! Are you sure you don’t want me to escort you home?”

“I’m good, Skipper. I'd rather you have some company.”

“I know, but the second time? It’s almost like—“ Skipper pauses, a thought hitting him right on the head. He nearly laughs at himself for not realizing it sooner. A calm feeling takes his gut as he looks at her with smiling eyes and a curious glint. “Marlene?”

She looks up at him with a frown from her injury.

“Are you falling asleep to my voice?” Skipper bites his tongue, holding back laughter, at her comically large eyes.

“What?” She chuckles awkwardly. “That’s ridiculous!”

An easy smile takes his face while his voice drops back to his low, suave demeanor, “There’s no shame in it, Marlene. I know plenty who swoon over my voice.”

She laughs and pushes him away with a whine, “Quit it, Skipper!”

“Not until you admit it… Dollface.”

Marlene nearly jumps out of her skin at the term of endearment. In result, Skipper backs away to give her space, and he hopes he didn’t take it too far. But, a smile takes Marlene’s face.

“Tell me about file ’three-dash-four-dash-o-eight.’”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me about ’three-dash-four-dash-o-eight,’ and I’ll tell you the truth.”

Skipper narrows his eyes. “You sure you’re not a spy in disguise? You seem too professional about this negotiation.”

“I’m just an otter from the Monterey Bay Aquarium with street smarts, Skipper.” Marlene rolls her eyes.

“Touché.” Skipper replies before sighing. “It’s classified.”

“Then my lips are sealed.”

“Oh, come on, Marlene, liking my voice isn’t that bad of a secret!”

“Then your file isn’t as bad either!”

Skipper groans, plopping himself next to her with a grumble. “Fine, ’three-dash-four-dash-o-eight’ is my file on you.”

“Oh, that isn’t so bad. As long as there’s no dirt on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it— can’t say I even remember having any file like that. But, you would have plenty of dirt on me.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs with a laugh, “I seriously doubt that.”

But, a grave look takes Skipper’s face right before he looks away to the ground. “No, no. I’m sure.”

“Could I hear it? I’m sure I’d love whatever you said; I presume it’s only good.”

“Classified, Dollface.”

Marlene’s face flares up. “Fine. And, yes, I do like your voice. I… I took one of your tapes, and I used it to fall asleep.”

Skipper grins, “Really?”

Marlene pushes him a little, “Like I said: ‘quit it.’ It’s embarrassing enough having to admit it.”

“I knew one of them was missing… Which one did you take?”

“‘three-dash-twenty-eight-dash-o-nine.’” She mumbles.

Memories of sewers fill his head. “Holy mackerel! That far back?”

Marlene nods while a look of embarrassment paints her face.

Skipper looks at her softly, “Well… If you like, you can still listen to me tonight. I’ll actually let you sleep this time.”

“Aw, Skipper.” Marlene smiles, although embarrassment is still present in her hazel eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

Skipper’s feathers ruffle, and he continues to stare at her with the softness in his gaze. “Any time.”

He stands up before pulling the pillow that fell into his flippers to fluff up. After being satisfied with the texture, he sets it back on the floor beside the tape recorder. He grabs spare blankets and carefully places them on the ground in a meticulous fashion.

“Sleeping Beauty,” He motions to her with a bow, “Your bed awaits, and your spinning wheel is ready.”

Marlene giggles, rubbing her eyes, as she walks over and lays on the floor with a satisfied puff of air leaving her muzzle. Skipper grins at his ego boost while he allows her to get comfortable.

“Cozy, Princess?”

Marlene just grumbles appreciatively through closed eyes. “Very.”

“Good.” Skipper replies before taking his place beside her. He pulls the blanket up over her shoulders before clicking the tape on.

“Skipper’s Log. It’s been 30 minutes since my last update. And, I’m happy to report she has finally cracked… However, she’s a very intelligent and master spy, for she got me to admit a secret of my own. Fortunately, I don’t believe she would have an opportunity to use it for evil.”

Skipper smiles as Marlene shakes her head— her little way of telling him she wouldn’t. She nuzzles herself further in her blankets as he continues. Skipper focuses on his voice: keeping it as relaxed and smooth as ever. He isn’t surprised when Marlene tuckers out only fifthteen minutes later. She snores, albeit loudly, but Skipper just smiles as he whispers into the tape.

“Goodnight, Marlene.” Before the red light turns off with a gentle click.

Skipper takes a moment to watch her closely for any disturbance, but her face is relaxed and she’s disturbing the peace like a chainsaw. But, it’s a disturbance that fails to bother Skipper. He stares at her for a moment, taking in the normalcy of it all, before lighting pecking her forehead with the tip of his beak and nuzzling it affectionately on her head. Slowly, he shifts towards the empty side of his pillow before laying his head down as sleep takes over.

Skipper ended up being wrong. Two hours later, the hatch opened and three penguins slid and climbed down into the HQ.

Kowalski was surprised to find the lights still on, but the room was quiet. He hums inquisitively before turning to his brothers. “Curious, I don’t believe Skipper’s home.”

Private blinks at him in surprise, holding the kipper in his flippers tightly, “What? I’d hardly believe—“ A loud bellow comes from the back of the habitat and jolts the young bird out of his feathers. “Crikey! What was that?”

Rico laughs, knowing exactly who that sound belongs to. “Mar’ene!”

Kowalski dashes to the source of the sound, finding Skipper and Marlene curled up and sharing his pillow. His leader’s flippers rest near her paws.

Kowalski awes at the sight, glancing at his brothers. “We’ll have to wait until morning to show Skipper what we learned.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

A few nights had passed since Marlene’s guilty pleasure was made known to Skipper. For the most part, they slept in their respective habitats, for Skipper had nothing much to report in his logs.

At least… That’s what he would tell her when she asked.

Marlene made do with the old tape she had— feeling comfortable with his recorded voice in her ears. It was comforting like he was right there, just like on June 3rd.

She continued to sleep like a log until knocking on her grate woke her up. Turning over, she watches as Skipper emerges from the sewers through tired eyes.

“Skipper?”

He shuffles to her bed, and his voice is urgent, “Sorry to wake you, Marlene, I need that tape back.”

She gives him a strange look, now waking up, “What for?”

“Trust me.”

And, she knows him all too well to refuse. She rises, finding the tape that had turned off mid-sleep, and passes it to him. He gives her a little thank you, itching to return to the sewer pathways.

But, Marlene remains curious as she pulls his free flipper back to face her. She smirks at him and bats her lashes in an attempt to win his secrets over. “You can’t tell me anything?”

Marlene’s surprised as he flinches with a strange look… as if he’s trying to hide something through his furrowed brow bone. He quickly shakes it off.

“It’s classified, Dollface.” Skipper gives her an easy, knowing smile before resting a flipper on her shoulder. “But, you’ll find out soon enough.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and attempts to deduce his meaning, but sleep calls to her, and Skipper knows one cannot refuse the mistress of the night. Marlene can’t help but roll her eyes while he leads her back to her bed. She curls herself into her blanket and listens to Skipper shuffling around. It puts her at ease before she feels a gentle nuzzle on her cheek. And a gentle whisper: “You didn’t see anything.” A big grin takes over her face as she nuzzles back before she falls to bed.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

“… This ends Skipper’s Log on 3 June 12… Skipper’s Log. 13 June 12. 130 hours. I can’t sleep-“

The sun barely comes over the entrance to her cave as she stirs to the voice. Familiar, warm, serious… In her tired state, Marlene allows herself to listen, trying to understand as the fog leaves her brain.

“She’s been on my mind for days now. I still don’t understand why things have been changing. We’ve been friends for years, yet I still can’t get this feeling out of my gut. Since I started this log, since we met, there was always something about her. I never thought it would take a turn like this. Feelings like this never really happened to me this way. I’ve always been a rollercoaster: quick, fast, and once the rush is over, I move on. But, this is different, and I don’t want it to end. Heh, I suppose Marlene has found more ways to change me for the better.”

The otter perks up immediately, and looks around to find a tape beside her head. She scrambles over to the old recorder, finding a small piece of duct tape with the title ‘3-4-08.’ Her eyes widen as her mouth opens in shock. He eyes glance down to the speaker where Skipper’s voice continues to speak.

“This will be my last entry into this log. I’ve been thinking for a long while now, and it’s time for it to be put to rest. Maybe, have a use other than just for myself. Marlene, I want this to be for you. I never imagined this, and I hate to admit it, but these entries were always meant for you to hear. They have been for years now: all of my thoughts, feelings, emotions; I want you to have them. I’m terrified that I don’t know what you’ll do with them. But, I trust you just as you trust me with your secret. Listen to this as much as you want, Dollface. I hope it always puts you at ease every time. End of Skipper’s Log ‘’three-dash-four-dash-o-eight’ on 13 June 12.”

Marlene cannot help herself as a large smile appears on her face. As the tape clicks off, she gives it a massive hug before darting off to the penguin habitat before opening time.

[pure-penguin-gold]

New Plan Without a Plan (1k words)

tpom ship week 2025 day 2: painting

ao3 link be upon ye, enjoy the skilene

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” 

Skipper says while slowly setting down his paintbrush in a mug full of dark water. There’s paint all over his feathers, and the damp towel Marlene gave him was doing nothing to help. He looks across the table to find Marlene staring down at her canvas. She’s hunched over the stone table, knees bent against her torso, neck and shoulders strained. Her brows are deeply furrowed in concentration as she squints over and over again. It’s a pose he’d never imagined to be flattering, but she still looks endearing all the same. 

She barely looks up at her paintbrush and gently swipes along her painting. “Everyone is cut out for art, Skipper.” The same line she’s repeated for hours, yet he still doesn’t understand the logic. The penguin just grants her an eye roll while his feathers ruffle in embarrassed irritation. 

“Oh, really? You sure you want to look at this masterpiece?” He asks rhetorically. 

But, she looks up at him for the first time in hours with those big, skeptical hazel eyes. They stare at him with serious intent that commands him to show her. With one flipper, Skipper lifts up his canvas, expecting to hear laughter from his date. But, nothing comes from her as she analyzes the piece. Only a hum or two as she crossed her arms-- paintbrush still in her paw. 

She gives him a nod; one Skipper does not understand. At this, she gives him a smile. “It’s good, Skipper! You just need to stop blending so much, and use more paint- you can tell you’re pressing down too hard to get the paint on the canvas.” 

Without another word, she returns her attention to her canvas. Skipper just gives her a bewildered look as he glances from her back to his painting to her again. 

“Marlene.” He asks her seriously. She gives him a raised eyebrow. “Are we looking at the same painting?” 

“Last time I checked, yes. Skipper, you’re taking this too seriously. You’re doing just fine! The point of art is to enjoy the process: improvise and improve. The result doesn’t need to be good.” 

“And, I am, Marlene, really.” He gives her a little smile. “I just… I’m getting caught up in the details.” 

Marlene’s expression softens with understanding as she sets her supplies down. Wordlessly, she hops off her seat to make her way to Skipper. Gently, she takes the painting from Skipper, never removing her eyes from his, and sets it down on the table as well. Not giving it another thought, Skipper pulls her arms to him as Marlene pulls him into a hug. 

“What artist doesn’t, Skipper?” He doesn’t reply, appreciating the moment of intimacy. Marlene pets his feathers. “I’m just happy you’re doing this with me. I don’t need it to be perfect.” 

“A mission has to be perfect! Lives are at stake.” 

With that, Marlene pulls away to stare at him in shock. “Ok, wow, you are taking this too seriously. Look, Skipper, you don’t have to do the ‘penguin-commando-thing’ here. It’s just a date! This isn’t life or death.” 

“Understood. But, Marlene, know that you’ll always be my mission. Every day, keeping you safe and happy, is my mission for life. It's a switch I just can’t turn off.” He says softly, taking her paws into his flippers. She freezes, looking down at him with care as he confesses. “I know I’m not the most… conventional partner.” 

“Well, you’re not a conventional penguin.” Marlene laughs. “Our friendship was never conventional in the first place.” 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Marlene.” 

She smiles. “Me either.” 

The room goes silent as they stare into each other’s eyes. The last spoken words float around the air and in their heads. Skipper’s still petting her paw, and Marlene’s smile continues to soften. Skipper’s gut flinches immediately at the sight. Quickly, he pats her hand, pushing her away to break his trance. At his sudden retreat, Marlene takes a confused step back. 

Skipper chuckles awkwardly, grabbing his paintbrush again. “Well! That’s enough sappiness for me. Let’s get back to the task at hand.” 

Before diving into his work again; this time, scooping more paint onto his brush previously. Marlene shakes his head at him, rolling her eyes at his haste-- knowing him well enough to understand his aversion-- as she makes her way back to her seat. She glances up at him to take in his features: the shine in his feathers, his forever creased brow bone, the dark blue in his narrowed eyes. 

Doubt from his sudden explosion would have sunken in by now, but Marlene isn’t a conventional otter-- as much as she’d like to tell herself she is. She fought a space squid; sang under a giant, floating mp3 player’s spell; had a feral side physically split from her… Yeah, normal passed away years ago. She laughs in her head. Unconventional began with Skipper. She knows him like the back of her paw. And, he’s painting with her. One step. He admitted something to her. He’s working on expressing himself for her. One step. He took a step back, and Marlene knows well how to tango. It was difficult at times, but it made life fun… 

In one of her glances, Skipper looks up back at her-- flashing a smile. Marlene quickly darts her head back, and Skipper grins to himself as he sets his paint down. He props his head on his flipper, enjoying Marlene’s shyness. She slowly looks up to see him staring still before quickly darting back into her work. Skipper lets out a loud chuckle at the exchange while Marlene narrows her eyes in playful frustration: loving her was easy, but dating… 

That was a medium Skipper never understood-- just like art. Yet, seeing her smile… They could make this work together. He could think like a painter: slowly, building layers, mixing to see what works and what doesn’t. Skipper’s best plans were always improvised, after all.