#lazy (thirsty) doodling >>>>

[leaving-grapefruitss]

i should be drawing my mc introduction but i got distracted and drew beel’s back

[forever-and-whats-left]

A really REALLY lazy Erik doodle. Im gonna finish my Christine design hopefully soon! Sorry I forgot his mask drape-thingy, I was LAZY.

Btw guys, I see your reposts, don’t get too thirsty/j

[tortillasconsal]

Splendorman doodles

The pink color is so pretty here omg

I want to keep drawing him and the fam to get more used to their proportions and their individual features. But especially Splendor since I'm still focused on him and trying to explore his character and design a little bit.

Also a sneek peak on his black hands because I forgot to give him gloves and was too lazy to fix it when I started coloring.

Trender might be the next member I'll make a post about since he is a fashion-focused character and I love fashion and clothing so much, but he might be tricky because the character the fandom has made seems to have a very boring hipster & business casual style and I have a bone to pick with those. But it works for him so I'll have to suck it up and see what I can do while make him a little bit unsettling since he's still a blood-thirsty eldrich entity in my vision

[obsessedaizawa]

◤ albert wesker; 3AM thoughts pt. 1? ◥

✠ ━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ✦ This man would throw me against the wall without a second thought. I could just breathe in the same direction as him and I would IMMEDIATELY be snapped in half like a stick. Anddd yet I still want him- To be honest we ALL want this infected, delusional, sick fuck of a MAN. God he makes me go crazy. In a good way though I can promise you that. ✦ I wonder how he would feel about the thirsty editors that makes edits of him? (Myself included in that~) I mean he is literally all over my feed on TikTok. AND I still get recommended super old AMVS of him on YouTube. The veteran editors did it first TBH. (I started editing AMVS on YouTube back in 2016?) Though those edits on TikTok are so fucking hot I swear to GOD! Props to all of you that can do those~ ✦ Does he have other outfits that he doesn’t show us? Like besides the ones in the games? Do the developers just doodle outfits for him that WILL never get into the game? DO they ship him with anyone? I gotta know! ✦ Why did they kill him off? Like for real. You ain’t gonna beat Whiskey~ No matter how hard you try. TBH the only reason his bitch ass was killed in the first place was because of the sake of “HEROISM.” You can’t convince me otherwise. ✦ I wonder what kind of partner Wesker would even like? Obviously smart. If your a dumbass then bye :D TBH I would say a driven person. Goal driven? I doubt he would want someone that is lazy with no motive. Especially since he is a workaholic anyways~ I don’t think he would like a clingy person whatsoever. Like he has shit to do, he doesn’t need your needy ass. Maybe because he is busy all the time he would feel lonely sometimes and crave a partner. Someone who believes in his ideals? IDK- ✦ I feel like he is a person who likes strong beverages like whiskey and rum. Likes wine too I believe. I feel like he isn’t a sweets person but will partake in lemon cake? That shit is good so I don’t blame him if he does. Lastly I feel like his music choice is either classical or a mix of early 2000s rock. ✠  ━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ✠

- yours truly

- obsessedaizawa

[renmarrr]

Speaking of edgepuff I’m thirsty for… I too started re-read “We don’t deserve a happy ending” (highly recommended), but before that drew some doodles from memory (and I’m not good at English to understand fic text fluently and too lazy to translate every unclear part). The laziness continues in sketches, avoiding detailing those royal clothes, but sketching this was enjoyable uwu

[ironclawallosaur]

I'm not even sure my word on this is worth two cents but:

I feel the big issue with "AI art" isn't the stolen artwork per se—yes, it's annoying, but there's functionally no difference between this

and this

This, too, is stolen art, used by the internet for humor. (the original appears to be by artist Joaes Kleine) It took the original artist 15 hours of work, and the memester probably about 15 second.

And, y'know. If we banned Object Labeling memes, the internet would be a poorer place. Deepfaking US presidents riding a giant rollercoaster, using AI to generate sexy victorian catgirls, and making relatable memes (who hasn't gotten up in the middle of the night Big Thirsty?) is all fun and games.

(what I wish is that we had a way to credit the artist easily without wrecking the joke that people could also notice, I'd use it all the time)

(maybe put the link in the alt-text?)

The problem is that I'm seeing more and more signs of "AI art" being the next autotranslate.

where it gets out into the professional world and turns everything to shit.

This is a social ill, yes—instead of a skilled translator getting paid to translate what I presume to be a hair salon, no one has gotten paid except maybe a few cents spread around in click revenue. But... I feel that's not the heart of the matter. Sometimes jobs—like lamplighters or buggy drivers—dry up, but translation is nowhere near replacement

There's something fundamentally wrong about using a blind, stupid machine to crunch all the work for you and then not even bother to go double-check it. Anyone who's explored a foreign language website with these services knows how stupid and frustrating autotranslations can be. It's fine for a private citizen (who will notice most of the blatant errors), or for people showing the translation of foreign-language memes, but companies use them because they're cheap or free, and don't even bother to slide them to a friend who speaks a little English to say "hey, does this say something about hair".

It's something that degrades everyone's experience, it makes the world stupider. And it's just... lazy, and cheap. You can blame capitalism but the same sorts of cheap shortcuts turn up in socialism (see: Chernobyl) so I don't think the attitude is strictly linked to economic system. I don't know what to do to solve it—and I know people have disapproved of me trying to do things the good and thorough way instead of the quick, cheap, and lazy way.

So, use AI art for funneh memes, as a jumping-off point for art, or to make something pretty. Try to source the material ethically if you can. Professionally, maybe early-stages concept art? Concept artists do important work, but it beats a crude cocktail-napkin doodle for commissions and whatnot. But the idea of people using AI art for making video backgrounds in paid products makes me sick, and it will have consequences.

Anyway, I'll leave off with a meme that's basically both:

[chaoticknightt]

Hai, a little doodle of my 3rd shovel knight oc (in total there are four)

He is a conductor of an orchestra but at the same time he is a good witch

(too lazy to make a more decent sketch)

he is not under the control of the enchantress, but he is thirsty for power and his motives are a little sillier, It's a little inspired by Claude Frollo 🐟🤌

[superlemonsweet]

I Played Myself

Past Me: I don’t think I have a type.

Me to Past Me: BITCH YES YOU DO.

[daikushiji]

hi! i like your "i'm gonna marry this man" with oikawa, suna, and iwaizumi ❤️ can i request the same for tsukishima, osamu, and kita?? 😳👉🏻👈🏻

“I’m gonna marry this man” (pt. 2)

pairings: tsukishima x reader, osamu x reader, kita x reader

a/n: hellooo bby and thank you!!! i hope you gonna like this one too <33

[part 1 and part 3 here!!]

Tsukishima Kei

we all have to thank noya for this one

he was wandering around the school thinking about some new ideas for a tiktok

when he saw you two acting all lovey dovey by the vending machines

you once told tsukki your favourite snack and now he always buys it for you before leaving to go to practice

honestly he knows all your favourite things like the back of his hand

will he ever admit that he’s actually so whipped for you? ofc no

but still there he is offering you the drink that you like so much before you could even say that you’re thirsty

as you drink it, a silent giggle escapes his mouth

with a starstruck look on his face, he reaches out a hand to tuck in a strand of hair behind your ear

and when you look up, his gaze is already on your figure, eyes softening when they meet yours

seeing you smile at him, he feels his heart pounding like never before

and he wants to tell you about it, but he remains silent, just wondering how lucky he was to have met you

needless to say you’re pretty surprised to see the video noya posted where he calls you two a married couple

thinking that it's better to not tell anything to tsukki, you just brush it off

but the first thing you see at school the next morning is your boyfriend charging towards noya 

”what are you doing?”

”i’m gonna delete that dumb video”

”why? you don’t want the world to know how much you love me?”

your teasing tone has him turning his head to the other side to finally face you

amused by his flustered expression, you pull his glasses down

and kiss the indent marked between his eyes, just to see his cheeks getting even more red

Miya Osamu

he videocalls you all the time, especially just to annoy you with the dumbest questions ever

(he’s so glad you can’t hit him through the screen)

”samu?”

”is cereal a soup?”

”bye”

and right after you hang up, he sends you a full paragraph explaining what he thinks

osamu loves to cook or clean on facetime with you because it feels really domestic

he will randomly start drawing doodles around you and then take pictures to set them as his wallpaper 

you often catch him staring at you, but he always plays it off saying he was frozen because your wifi sucks

you make him feel so at ease that the two of you can even just do your own things in silence while on facetime 

and it’s never awkward because you both love being in the company of one another

but his favourite type of calls are when you two fall asleep together

he usually calls while you’re getting ready for bed to chat

and then spending the rest of the night either having deep conversations or taking random screenshots of the other doing weird crap 

no wonder you have so many photos of him sleeping saved on your camera roll

he looks just so adorable with his mouth slightly open and his head sinking in the pillow

so you post some of those saying that the biggest flex of your future husband is being a pretty sleeper

as you two are chilling on the couch, osamu gets a text from his twin

”eew so this is what i look like when i sleep?”

he doesn’t even pay attention to the tiktok, his eyes are fixed on one particular word in the caption

”husband?”

dying of embarrassment, you try to escape his embrace

but he stops you pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth

with his hair brushing your face, you feel him smiling into the kiss

then two arms wrap tightly around you, as he buries his face into your shoulder

”can’t wait for you calling me that”

Kita Shinsuke

he always has his hand on or near you

walking you home, he holds your hand the entire way

when the school halls get crowded, his hand rests on the small of your back to guide you

going out to eat, he wants to sit beside you and not in front of you because he needs to lace your pinkies together under the table

when you two are studying together, he will touch you with either his elbow or his knee the entire time

and then randomly take your hand in his to press them up to his warm cheek 

he’s almost always tracing his fingers across your arm or down your back

and most of the time he’s not even aware that he does it because the feeling of your skin under his fingertips just feel so natural to him

you love to record these lovely moments between you two and sometimes you even post them on tiktok

“i guess that now you’re their boyfriend as well”

pressed into his chest, you’re reading to him some funny comments that your followers left under the videos with him

he chuckles softly, as he keeps smoothing your hair back to press his lips to your temple

then cupping your jaw, he gently tilts your head towards him

“sorry but i’ve already decided to spend the rest of my life only with you”

you nuzzle into his hand, leaving a quick kiss on his palm

“do you think we will get married one day?”

dragging some lazy pecks down to your ear, he engulfs you into a desperate hug

“well i’m gonna ask you for sure, i just hope you’ll say yes”

[esaari]

So uuuuuhh slightly thirsty ASK sorry-aah but, erm. Who's that handsome devil in your icon 👀👀👀

that's a Gabe doodle from last year,, i was too lazy to draw in his lightning marks that time and there's a bit more below the cut,, but for tumblr reasons i can't post that ♥

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (1/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Tyalor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,236

Summary: Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day's work on the Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar. 

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

“The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”

— Virginia Woolf, The Waves

—

I.

See, here’s the thing: she didn’t look like a Jedi. In fact she didn’t look much like anything. Any other time, and Jamie would have spared her a brief albeit appreciative glance before moving on. Today however, Jamie did what could only be described as a double take. 

The bar was crowded, and the night was young, and Jamie still had dirt under her fingernails from a day’s hard work beneath the Telosian sun. An Ithorian had just jostled Jamie’s elbow as he pushed by on his way to the bar, ignoring her tired grumble of, “Watch it, hammerhead,” when she’d spilled a bit of the local ale she had been nursing. She was wiping her wrist dry on her drab Corps-issued boilersuit, when she caught sight of her by the bar. 

Or rather. Saw it. A lightsabre. Clear as day. Clipped to this woman’s belt, poorly concealed beneath a cloak clasped together at one shoulder. Jamie nearly spilled her ale again. And that was when she really gave this woman a closer look.

Blonde. Pretty. Maybe a little too pretty. Definitely not Jedi material, however. For starters, her clothes were all wrong. She looked like she’d just stepped off a cruiser from the Core Worlds in those nanosilks. She moved as though too aware of the weapon she bore, her hand drifting to her waist every now and then before gripping her fingers in a fist and trying — and failing — to look nonchalant. And to polish it all off, she kept glancing around as though afraid that every tavern patron was about to grab her by the arm and haul her from the building. 

A nervous tourist, perhaps. Someone unused to travel. Or maybe a mule. Someone unlucky enough to owe a debt to Czerka. 

Jamie’s scant money was on the latter. Which of course begged the question: a mule smuggling what? 

Over the top of the bar, the holo feed flickered with the latest news from across the galaxy. Yet another infringement on the Treaty of Coruscant as Imperial Sith forces seized a planet along the border of the Outer Rim. From her vantage point in the far corner of the tavern, Jamie pretended to watch the feed idly as she sipped at her ale and studied the woman askance. Across the way, the woman was crowded away from the bar and closer towards Jamie’s corner table as thirsty patrons with credits clamoured for a drink, while the bartender — a Kel Dorian with a rusting breather mask that had seen better days — struggled to meet demands. 

Two more people entered the crowded tavern and began shouldering their way towards the bar. Jamie’s hand froze in its journey lifting the glass to her lips. Slowly, she set the drink down and leaned back in her seat, lowering her hand in a nonchalant manner to rest against her thigh. The small mining laser strapped to her leg wasn’t useful for much outside of cutting bits of wire or rope. It would even go through narrow branches in a pinch, if Jamie were too lazy to go trudging off for a proper thermal saw. But it would certainly give somebody a nasty burn if applied with a generous disregard for the health and safety manual. 

Not that starting a fight with two Czerka pillocks was her idea of a relaxing evening after work. Especially not with her history with the Hutt Cartel. The last thing she needed was yet another galaxy-spanning underworld corporation painting a target on her back. 

Pillock One was hassling other patrons, lifting hoods to get a better look at faces and pushing his own ugly mug close enough that said patrons leaned away. Meanwhile, Pillock Two was holding a chip in his outstretched palm, which projected a tiny holo displaying what appeared to be a very large amount of credits as a reward for any who cooperated with their search for a newcomer on the planet. The mini-holo flickered with the Czerka logo and a sign-off from the Official Head Pillock himself: Peter Fucking Quint. 

This day could not get any worse.

Jamie slouched down a few more inches in her seat. Definitely Not A Jedi Mystery Woman near the bar had only just taken notice of their newly arrived friends, and tugged up the hood of her cloak with a panicked expression. Jamie refrained from rolling her eyes, but only just. By the time the Czerka reached the woman, Jamie was well and truly ready for the worst. 

“You there.” Pillock One grabbed a hold of the woman’s shoulder and spun her round. “Not hiding, are you?” 

He reached up to push the hood of her cloak back, but she jerked away. Her expression was firm, but Jamie was close enough to see the tremble of her fingers. “I’m just passing through.”

“Not much of a tourist joint, Telos IV,” Pillock Two said. His voice was muffled behind the bulky helmet he wore, emblazoned with a chipped Czerka logo on one side. 

The woman lifted her chin slightly, pulling her cloak more firmly around herself. “The gardens here are famous across the galaxy.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to get your hands dirty,” Pillock One sneered. 

“Or maybe she does,” Pillock Two said, and he put the chip away, the mini holo vanishing as he did so. The woman shrank away from them, her back pushing against the edge of the bar. 

All right, so the mule theory was out with the bathwater and the last of Jamie's sanity, it would seem.

Don’t get involved, Jamie, she told herself firmly. She grit her teeth and tightened her grip on the mining laser.

The bartender leaned forward and said, “If you don’t mind, you’re scaring the customers.”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll hook up your mask to an oxygen tank,” Pillock Two snapped. 

The bartender immediately shuffled back, and the other patrons that had previously been crowding the bar followed suit, creating a vacuum of space around Jamie’s little corner of the tavern. Which, of course, meant that Pillock One looked in her direction, as she was now the only person who hadn’t moved away.

Fuck. 

“She’s with me.”

All three of them froze at the sound of Jamie’s voice. Pillock Two turned to regard her as well, and over his shoulder Jamie could just make out the woman cautiously leaning around him to get a look at who had spoken. 

So much for not getting involved.

“She was getting us some drinks,” Jamie continued. She managed to catch the other woman’s attention and exchanged a significant look.

The woman nodded. “Yeah. I was just - uh -” 

She gestured towards the bartender, who by now was no doubt pressing an emergency transmitter for the authorities located beneath the bar. Jamie would know. She’d had to press it herself once or twice when things got too rowdy around these parts. Not that it happened often. Just often enough. 

Pillock Two pointed to Jamie’s glass. “Looks like you’re still making your way through that one.”

“What can I say?” Jamie gave a shrug and remained seated. “I’m thirsty.” 

Pillock One sauntered over to her table. Jamie glared up at him from her seat, maintaining eye contact even as he reached out and tipped her glass over so that ale foamed and spilled all across the table. 

“Go ahead and drink, then,” he said.

“She’s been on Telos with me for a week already,” Jamie countered, ignoring the slow drip of ale onto her work boots. “Whoever you’re looking for came here — when? On yesterday’s shuttle from Praadost?” 

Pillock One grit his jaw so tight Jamie could see the muscles bunch up there. 

She bared her teeth at him in a smile. “Thought as much. Now, fuck off and let honest people drink in peace. Yeah?” 

For a long tense moment it seemed that would be the start of a very long evening, in which Jamie ended up back in her flat upstairs nursing a bag of ice against her face if she were lucky. Then, Pillock Two thwacked his companion on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“The bounty’s getting away, while we sit here wasting our time,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

Pillock One stayed where he was, glowering at Jamie until Pillock Two made his way back towards the exit. Only then did he follow suit, but not without taking inventory of her appearance. And of course Jamie had to go and wear her Corps-issued boilersuit to the pub, with the AgriCorps logo stamped all over it. Absolutely phenomenal choice there. 

When they’d finally left, Jamie heaved a great sigh and let her head fall back against the chair for a second. Then she rose to her feet and crossed over to the bar. The woman eyed her warily, then seemed confused when Jamie ignored her utterly in favour of leaning against the bar and speaking to the bartender, “Ho’kyn, you got a towel?”

The bartender gave her a relieved nod in thanks, and immediately poured her two fresh ales. He slid them across the bar along with a stained dish towel. Jamie took them, pushed one into the woman’s hands, took the other for herself, and sank back down into her usual corner table seat with a drawn out groan. She used the towel to mop up the remnants of her previous drink before chucking it back towards the direction of the bar. The woman had to dodge out of the way to avoid being hit square in the face.

“You going to sit or not?” Jamie asked, and she kicked the leg of the other chair as an invitation. 

Nonplussed, the woman just stood there, clutching the full glass of ale between her hands as though it were a lifeline. Then she perched herself at the very edge of the seat, so that she seemed fit to flee at the drop of a hat. 

“Thank you,” she said eventually.

Jamie hummed around a sip of her ale, then lowered her glass. “Might want to hide that a bit better next time.”

“Hide what?”

Jamie gave her a significant look, then let her gaze wander down to the woman’s waist, where the glint of metal was clearly visible through a gap in her cloak. Face flushing, the woman jerked the cloak more tightly around her midriff and sent Jamie a glare that lacked any real edge. Before she could hide the lightsabre, Jamie could clearly see this close the faint glow of kyber through the hilt’s decorative casing, blue as the woman’s eyes. 

Or - well. Blue as one of the woman’s eyes. The other was a strange sort of brown, like the gleam of light through amber. 

Must’ve been some kind of cosmetic augment. Except there were no microfibral lines or data ports to suggest further connections that would make such augmentations useful in any capacity. 

“So,” Jamie said, leaning her elbows on the table and cradling the glass of ale between her palms. “What does Czerka want with a pretty thing like you from the Core Worlds?”

The woman shot her a bemused scowl. “I don’t know. I don’t even know who those people were.”

“Well, you’re awfully convincing. I’ll give you that.”

Jamie’s comment was summarily ignored, and the woman asked, “How do you know I’m from the Core Worlds?”

“You’ve got a Core accent thicker than a Senator’s.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open to protest, then shut again without saying anything. Instead she took a sip of the ale, holding the glass precariously from the top rim. Jamie watched this with some amusement, half expecting the glass to be dropped along the way. By some miracle it wasn’t. 

“Let me rephrase the question,” Jamie said. “Why do you have a bounty on your head?”

Her shoulders bunched up around her ears, and the woman cast a furtive look around to see if anyone had overheard their conversation. The other patrons had, indeed, moved back into their space now that Czerka was out of the building, but nobody was paying attention. That was why Jamie liked this corner. Nice and private. 

When the answer wasn’t forthcoming, Jamie slouched back in her seat. “All right. A guessing game, then. Does it have something to do with that stolen lightsabre on your hip?” 

“I could’ve bought it,” the woman countered.

Jamie gave her a slow grin. “You really couldn’t have.”

“And why not?” 

“Because the people who trade in lightsabres aren’t the kind of people you walk away from.” 

“Are you,” the woman asked warily, “a Jedi?”

Jamie gave a derisive snort. “Not even close. Trained in the temple, sure, but I was a shit padawan. Can’t lift a pebble with the Force. Got tossed out of Tython as a failure early on, and they passed me around various Service Corps branches until I ended up here to work on the Restoration Project.” 

“Oh. Right,” she said in a tone that meant she didn’t actually understand the situation at all. 

Jamie tapped her chest where the AgriCorps symbol sewn onto the corner of her boilersuit. “I’m a glorified gardener.”

The woman gestured towards a nearby window, through which the leafy horizon of Telos IV was darkening in the encroaching dusk. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job,” she said with a weak smile. 

“Oh, sure,” said Jamie dryly. “Only took us three hundred bloody years. And I still find shell fragments from the orbital barrage some days. Fucking Sith.” 

With a shake of her head, Jamie took a sip of her ale. Across the table, the woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

“But you know,” the woman asked after a lapse in the conversation, “how to use one?” 

“What? A lightsabre?” 

The woman nodded.

“Well, I can hold one without chopping my own fingers off, which is more than most people can say. Never got past Shii-Cho before they yanked the practise blade from my hands and told me I was out.” Jamie made a jerking motion with her thumb over her shoulder as if throwing something away. 

“I never knew what happened to people if they never made it to being a full Jedi.”

“Yes, what glorious lives we lead,” Jamie drawled, and she lifted her ale in a mock salute before draining it and setting the glass back on the table. “Listen, I suggest you lie low for a few days. Sneak back aboard a transport, and then move on before Czerka realise you’ve gone. Just -” Jamie offered a wry smile and said, “- head back to the Core.”

The woman was gazing down into her half-drunk glass of ale. “I can’t. The Core Worlds are — I can’t.” 

“It’s either that, or -” 

And Jamie didn’t finish what she was saying. Instead, she pointed towards the holo feed over the bar, where the news was replaying the spread of red across the galactic map, like a virus creeping ever outward from the Sith homeworld of Korriban. The woman glanced up towards the holo feed and flinched as if she’d been struck across the cheek. 

“Cold War won’t last forever. And when it breaks, this is the last place you want to be.”

The woman frowned at Jamie. “And what about you?”

“I don’t get much of a choice,” Jamie said with a bitter chuckle. “The Council of Reassignment sends me where they send me.” 

“That sounds terrible,” the woman replied softly. 

A few more patrons trickled in through the front door on the far end of the long room. Jamie spared them a quick glance before dismissing them. Just the authorities answering Ho’kyn’s call about the Czerka assholes, no doubt. A handful of officers in tired uniforms and tired expressions behind their opaque half-face shields. They approached the bar and exchanged a few words with Ho’kyn, who gestured back the way they’d come.

“It is what it is,” Jamie replied, training her eye after the officers, who had begun talking to a few patrons and scribbling down notes on the pop-up screens from their forearms. “Difficult to make a living as a Force sensitive outside of the Council’s jurisdiction. And they look after me in their own way. It’s not -”

Jamie trailed off and cocked her head to one side. The holo feed over the bar now bore a description of her newfound acquaintance in the scroll text along the bottom of the usual news. There was no picture attached, but it was clear who the authorities were talking about. Jamie read the scroll text in a bored kind of bemusement. 

Until it got to the part about being wanted for murder, that was. 

Jamie’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. Sitting up straight, she glanced over at the woman, who had tracked where she was looking and whose face had gone white as a sheet. Another glance over her shoulder towards the group of officers slowly making their way from table to table. They weren’t as efficient as Pillock One and Pillock Two, but they would get here eventually.  

With a surreptitious jerk of her head towards the holo feed, Jamie asked quietly, “That right?” 

Eyes wide and hands shaking around her glass of ale, the woman stared at Jamie. Her voice wobbled when she spoke, coming out broken and erratic, “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to - He just - He attacked me out of nowhere. I swear it wasn’t -”

“Fucking hell,” Jamie muttered under her breath. She dragged a hand down her face and shook her head. Then she sighed. “Who are you?” 

“Dani,” was the immediate answer. 

“Dani,” Jamie repeated in a dull tone. “What the fuck have you gotten me into?” 

Worrying at her lower lip with her teeth, Dani said, “Not to seem ungrateful, or anything, but I don’t exactly remember asking for your help.”

Jamie mulled that over for a second, before conceding with a nod of her head. “Fair,” she said. Then she abruptly rose to her feet. “Right. I’m off, then. Good luck.”

“Hang on -! No, wait -!”

When Jamie did not, in fact, ‘hang on’ but instead turned to leave, she felt Dani grab her by the wrist, and she went stock-still.

It was like an electric shock. The wave of it traveled up her arm and hummed between her teeth loud as a thunderclap. It was like standing atop a great mountain, and the wind tearing at her clothes and hair. It was like waking up six feet beneath the ground, gasping for breath and breathing in dust until she drowned in it. It settled over her like a pall, a mist, a cool kiss at the back of her neck that roved down her spine and coiled in her gut. It was like a set of floodgates being unleashed, like being dragged along the current to some great unknown destination, vast and sweeping as the stars. 

“I’m sorry. Please,” Dani whispered, gazing up at her with wide eyes, her voice like a riptide. “Help me.”

And Jamie gaped down at her. Like an absolute moron. 

Not a Jedi. Not at all. Not a Sith, either. At least, not like any Sith Jamie had seen in the holo feeds. All black robes and black masks and red gold eyes that seemed to pierce the veil between them, as though reaching through space and time to claw back the very essence of whoever dared perceive them. And Jamie might not have been the strongest Force sensitive on the books — not by a long shot — but she was Force sensitive. She knew what the Force felt like, and that was —

“Shit,” Jamie hissed. Taking a moment to compose herself and draw in a deep breath, she grabbed hold of Dani’s hand in return and tugged her upright. “Come with me. Pull your hood back up. Keep quiet. Do what I say. And don’t make me regret this.”

Scrambling to do as she was told, Dani pulled her hood up and trailed in Jamie’s wake. Jamie squeezed them around the back of the bar, bending her knees just slightly so that they were a little less conspicuous. Ho’kyn shot them a puzzled look as they passed. 

“I wasn’t here,” Jamie muttered to him.

The sharply pointed feelers on his face clicked. “Back door’s locked. You know the combination.”

“Cheers, mate.”

It was a quick duck and weave through the cramped kitchens and storage rooms, a race past the walk-in freezer, and then Jamie was punching in the combination code to open the rear door. The two of them spilled out into the back alley. Piles of trash had been stored awaiting disposal in the recycling unit that came every three days. Clouds of steam puffed from the vents in the walls, creating white trails that rose into the night sky. 

Dani squeezed her hand tight. Jamie squeezed it back, but then Dani gave her hand a tug and pointed towards the main street down the way. Flashing lights and parked vehicles. More authorities congregated on the front step of Ho’kyn’s tavern. When the heavy metal rear door to the tavern slammed shut, one of the officers shone a torch down the alleyway towards the noise. 

Acting quickly, Jamie pushed Dani up against a nearby wall by the door.

“What are you -?” Dani gasped.

“Just -” Jamie stepped in close, close enough to block Dani from view, “- trust me. Keep your head down. Pretend like we’re -”

The circle of light hit them. Jamie could feel Dani wince, could feel Dani duck her head and bury her face in Jamie’s shoulder, gripping the fabric of Jamie’s boilersuit along her back as though she were a human shield. They were barely touching, but still Jamie felt the heat of Dani’s skin beneath layers of pastel nanosilk, the sweep of her panicked breaths against Jamie’s collarbone. A few stray strands of blonde hair tickled her nose, and Jamie had to fight the urge to scratch at her face. 

To say nothing of the cold length of a lightsabre pressing against her inner thigh. And not in a good way. In a ‘This Will Burn A Hole Through My Leg If I Move’ way. 

After what felt like a whole planetary cycle, the light moved along, the officer clearly disinterested in a couple groping one another behind a seedy bar. Jamie waited a few rapid heartbeats longer before pulling back. Dani peeled her hands away from Jamie’s back, looking small. In the dark, her mismatched eyes seemed to gleam owlishly. Especially the pale brown one. Almost golden. Like something that belonged to a nocturnal animal. 

“This way,” Jamie murmured.

When she began guiding them further into the shadow of the alley, Dani asked haltingly, “Why -? I mean - where are we -?” 

Jamie reached the expected set of metal grated stairs leading up to the second floor above the bar. “My flat.” 

Dani followed without further question, nervous and silent, all but hugging Jamie’s back when Jamie fumbled the passcode to unlock the door at the top of the stairs. They stumbled inside and Jamie only breathed easier when she’d shut the door behind them, locked them, then hit the control panel to lower the alusteel shutters over the windows. 

The apartment was small and dark and not at all quiet. By now Jamie was used to the noise of the nearby streets and the tavern beneath her feet. Her neighbours weren’t exactly gems, either. Another slap of the control panel, and she turned on a few lights and the news holo feed along the wall screen to generate some more noise so that it would be more difficult for them to be overheard by anyone snooping. 

Jamie turned around to find Dani standing stiffly in the middle of the living room. Which was also a kitchenette. And the entryway. And technically the guest bedroom. There was no wall separating it from the actual main bedroom. Beyond that was a door leading to a bathroom, and another door leading to a very cramped closet, which bore nothing but spare sets of Corps-issued boilersuits in various states of shabby, and a few personal outfits that weren’t much better off. 

“Your place is - uh -” Dani started to say, gesturing weakly around her. 

“Pure shite,” Jamie finished for her. “Thanks. I know.” 

“That’s not what I was going to say.” 

“No? And were you ever going to get around to telling me about the whole murder thing?”

“Yeah, actually, I was waiting until after we’d finished our drinks. I thought it would be a good segue into a friendship,” Dani retorted in a tone so sarcastic that Jamie had to quell an answering smile. 

“All right,” Jamie stepped forward, motioning towards the couch for Dani to take a seat and make herself comfortable. “Why don’t you start from the beginning.” 

Dani did not take the invitation; she remained standing, thumbs tucked into her fists, shoulders tense, jaw tense, gaze downcast. 

“Do you want another drink?” Jamie offered quietly.

Dani shook her head. “No. Thank you.” She flexed her hands and said in a dull voice that lacked its previous fire, “I was recently employed by Lord Wingrave of House Thul. He - uh - he needed a governess to teach his young niece and nephew at his family estate, and my background is in education. So, I thought it was a - it was supposed to be a good opportunity for me.”

“Until it wasn’t,” Jamie said.

Dani nodded. “Yeah.” She sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand before continuing.  “It turned out he has unsavoury friends and -” she wrinkled her nose, “- debts.”

“What kind of friends?” Jamie asked.

Dani didn’t answer, but her eyes darted just for a moment towards the holo feed, where a fleet of Imperial II-class Star Destroyers were raining down hell on fleeing Republic ships. 

Well, shit. 

“Poor choice of friends,” Jamie muttered under her breath.

Dani hummed a note in agreement. 

“Then what happened? Did you hear something you weren’t supposed to? Find something, maybe?”

Dani’s head jerked up to look at Jamie in surprise and — for some reason — suspicion. “I did,” she said slowly. “I found a - a box.”

Rolling up her sleeves for no other reason than to give her hands something to do, Jamie asked, “What kind of box?”  

“Why does everyone keep going on about that box?” Dani asked, her expression suddenly going steely in a way that did not seem to become her. “What is so important about a glowing little box?”

“It glows? Listen, I’m not - Woah! Hey! Be careful where you point that thing!”

The lightsabre had appeared in Dani’s hand in a movement too fast for the eye to track, as if it had always been there, as if it belonged there. The blade was still sheathed, but gone was the awkward hesitance with which she had worn it before. She levelled the unlit hilt towards Jamie with a tilt of her wrist, and her face was hard yet frightened. 

“Who are you? Why do you want to know about this box?” Dani asked, and her voice was surprisingly even for all the tremble in her clenched fist. “Answer me.” 

Jamie had her hands held before her, as though that would somehow help deflect a fucking lightsabre. She tried to drift sideways to get out of the way, but Dani trained the hilt on her as though it were the muzzle of a blaster rifle. 

“The name’s Jamie, but I’d prefer it if you bought me dinner before pointing any weapons at me,” Jamie said blandly. She immediately regretted the quip, when Dani’s hand tightened around the hilt of the sabre and her thumb drifted over the activation button. 

“Okay! Okay!” Jamie scrambled back a few steps, nearly tripping over the edge of the couch, but Dani followed closely after her. “It just seems to be a bit weird, is all. Glowing boxes and corrupt Lords. Y’know. Unless Wingrave was in the habit of collecting items of luminous quality. I don’t fucking know. I’m just trying to get a picture of what happened, so that I can -” Jamie gave a wave of one hand towards Dani, “- help you. Remember? Remember that part? Me helping you?”

If the furrow in Dani’s brow was any indication, she was not convinced by this argument. 

Jamie motioned to the lightsabre. “Also, you’re holding that the wrong way ‘round.”

With a blink of confusion, Dani glanced down at the lightsabre in her grasp, tilting it to one side for a better look. The moment she did so, Jamie leapt forward, grabbed the hilt of the sabre, and tried to wrench it free. A scuffle broke out, and it was not the most dignified scuffle Jamie had ever taken part in. There was a lot of swearing — admittedly, mostly from herself — and a lot of yanking at the lightsabre hilt in futile desperation like a game of tug of war. Except instead of a rope, they were tugging at a weapon that might accidentally extend a nigh unstoppable plasma blade with one wrong movement. 

Eventually, Jamie managed to hook a foot behind Dani’s ankles, causing her to fall to the ground with a graceless yelp. Unfortunately, Dani did not let go of the sabre as expected, and Jamie was dragged down with her. Jamie grunted in pain when a sharp elbow connected with her ribs. With one final yank, she managed to wrest the lightsabre free.

Dani panted beneath her, flushed and half pinned to the floor between Jamie’s knees. Her hair was splayed loosely across the carpet, and she glowered up at Jamie with equal parts impotent fury and fear. 

“Right,” Jamie said breathlessly, ribs still aching. “Now that that’s all sorted, can you please tell me about this glowing box? And spare no detail.”

In answer, Dani’s jaw took a stubborn set. Sighing, Jamie pushed herself upright, then offered Dani a hand. Dani stared at her for a moment before allowing herself to be hauled to her feet, where she brushed down the back of her nanosilks. 

“When was the last time you cleaned your floor?”

“Can’t remember,” Jamie answered honestly.

Dani wrinkled her nose and began to card fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. When Jamie held out the lightsabre, palm up, in a silent offering, Dani went very still. Hesitantly, she reached out to take it, but Jamie pulled her hand back slightly before she could do so.

“Be careful,” Jamie warned. “This thing isn’t a toy. You’re more likely to chop off your own leg by accident than you are to actually injure someone else. And don’t point it at me again! Or we’re going to have words. Got it?”

Jamie waited for her to nod, then held the lightsabre out again. Dani took it, and her shoulders relaxed incrementally once she had it back in her grasp. 

“Now,” Jamie said. “Weird glowy box?”

Dani sighed and ran the same hand through her hair that held the lightsabre. Jamie had to suppress a wince. After everything she’d said about being careful, too. Bloody idiot. 

“I don’t know what it was,” Dani admitted. “I overheard a transmission. Something about putting the box where the children could get it. So, naturally, I investigated. I found it on a shelf in their playroom. I picked it up, and -”

She trailed off with a helpless little gesture.

“And?” Jamie pressed.

“And I don’t know,” said Dani, clearly frustrated. She paused to hook the lightsabre back onto her belt, but it took her a few tries to make it work. She almost dropped the weapon in the process, and Jamie took a step back just in case the bloody thing went unsheathing itself into the floor. “I woke up and I didn’t know where I was, or how much time had passed, or -”

“Which is when you looked down and found a dead man at your feet.”

“What?” Dani frowned at her. “No. That was later.” 

“Right. My bad,” Jamie said dryly. “Describe the box to me.” 

“It was about this big.” Dani held up her hands to indicate an object that could comfortably be held in one hand. “Sharp edges. Some kind of black gold metal, but nothing like I’d ever seen before. It looked hollow, but it was heavy. Like the light inside of it had weight.” 

“Was there writing on it? Marks of any kind?”

“Yeah, but nothing I could read.” 

“Would you recognise them if you saw them again?”

Dani shrugged. “Sure. I guess.” 

“Do you have this box with you now?”

At that, Dani’s shoulders went all tense again and she pursed her lips, her expression growing guarded. 

“Forget I asked,” Jamie said with a dismissive wave. With a sigh, she leaned down and began unlacing her work boots. She chucked them into a corner and then flopped onto the couch, placing her feet up on the cushions. “All right. Last question for the night. Did you know that you’re Force sensitive?”

Dani stared at her as though Jamie had sprouted an extra limb. And then she laughed. It was, in all honesty, a very nice laugh. Nothing at all like the nervous smile from the bar. Her smile now had lines at the corners, and she shook her head. 

“No,” said Dani, still laughing. “No, I’m not.”

Jamie hoisted up an eyebrow but said nothing.

“I’m not,” Dani repeated more firmly this time, her smile fading. “There’s nothing - I’m not special. I’m a governess. I’m from a small town on Alderaan in the middle of nowhere. I teach kids about galactic history and how to share toys.” 

Jamie pointed to herself. “And I’m a Rim Rat, but that didn’t stop the Jedi from hauling me off to the Temple for training until they realised I was a waste of time.” 

“I’m not -!” Dani’s voice had started to climb, and she quickly lowered it to a hush. “I’m not - like that. My family is normal. I’m normal. We don’t have any kind of history or - or anything.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what? What are you talking about?”

Sitting up abruptly, Jamie leaned forward on the couch. “When you touched me earlier. In the bar. You grabbed my hand, and I felt — That was it. That was the Force. You were like a - a circuit. Like an exposed wire. You didn’t feel it?” 

Dani was staring at her now and there was no laughter. Only a dim and dawning horror.

“No,” Dani croaked. “I didn’t feel anything.”

Jamie huffed out a short and mordant laugh. Then she said, “Liar.” 

“I’m not -” Dani inhaled sharply and sat down on the edge of the couch furthest from Jamie. She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

Jamie shook her head and gave an incredulous chuckle. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Here’s the plan: I have no idea what’s going on -”

“Great start,” Dani muttered under her breath.

“- but I know some people who might,” Jamie continued. 

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?” 

“Catch?” 

“I’ve just spent the last two weeks being chased across half the galaxy by criminals and authorities alike. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little skeptical of your sudden eagerness to help. So,” Dani leaned forward and fixed Jamie with a pinning stare, made all the more unsettling by her mismatched eyes. “What’s the catch?” 

“The catch,” Jamie said, lying back against the couch cushions, “is that my friends are a pair of Jedi on Tython. And the Council doesn’t really think of discretionary funds as a necessity, so I don’t have enough money to get us both there.”

Dani’s face went a little pale. “Can’t they -” she swallowed before continuing, “Can’t they meet us somewhere else? Somewhere halfway, maybe?”

Slinging an arm behind her head, Jamie asked, “Why? What’s wrong with Tython? I mean — apart from the obvious of it being one of the most boring rocks in the known galaxy.”

“Nothing,” said Dani, very unconvincingly. “It’s just - That’s a long way to go. And I’m not exactly swimming in credits either.” 

Jamie studied the way Dani tried to hide the wringing of her hands beneath her cloak, the way Dani noticed what she herself was doing and hid her hands behind her back even as she gave Jamie her best imploring look. Which, granted, was very effective. She certainly had some eyes. 

Gentling her tone Jamie said, “Hannah and Owen are good people. Better friends than I probably deserve. The most they could be accused of is spending too much time with their noses buried in the library or in a kitchen recipe.”

“It’s not - I don’t doubt that. It’s just -” Dani breathed in deeply and then continued in a rush, “I don’t think people will like me going to the central planet of the Jedi Order.” 

“Why would they even care?”

“Because,” Dani said slowly, not meeting Jamie’s gaze. She wrung her hands together in her lap, staring down at her own fingers. “The man I killed was a Jedi.” 

Well, then. 

Things just got complicated.

--

“Perhaps you were expecting some surprise, for me to reveal a secret that had eluded you, something that would change your perspective of events, shatter you to your core. There is no great revelation, no great secret. There is only you.”

— Darth Traya, The Sith Lords

[myearts-uwu]

I am thirsty for a certain possessed corpse daddy.

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

At first I wanted to sketch him for a few minutes but it eventually ended up like this. Originally, I wanted to add in my OC Myra (because I ship her with him)  in some bonus doodles but uhh... I kinda got too lazy about it? 

He was supposed to look like he’s being lustful towards someone but he just looks like he wants to murder us lmao!

Here are the pictures without the shadow and dark background.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in my study space, writing another chapter of my OC x Ana fanfiction.

[ragdolltrolls]

We all got that one muse that shocks us the moment someone thirsty for them.. . . . . . .

Like listen, he's definitely an attractive design but like

I think it's the fact that he's not outwardly very sexual at all that gets me when people thirsted

But I might as well add the one doodle for a spicy ask he got 👇

It's v lazy, I know

[victorusolano]

FYD Series

It was one evening of summer. Anyone's skin can be steamed when exposed to the open air of the night. There, perched like a bird on his writing desk, contemplating seriously in a small dimly lit room was - Xenon. His family was all disturbed by the climate condition, so they went out of town to some nearby beach resorts. Xenon on his volition stayed alone, in which he likely enjoyed making love with the old typewriter resting in a great silence. He thought that this is what he needs to write a story tonight and the deadline of his paper is tomorrow before the sunset.

Two weeks ago, the writing task was assigned to him, by the chief editor of the literary magazine he is working with; and till this night it had remained untouched, and unmarked, though the time left was enough to say generously to finish one short story. However, catching up the race between him, and the ongoing moments is now useless. Words and meanings ran away and went to a place nowhere to be found. I should eat a dictionary, He murmured to himself. He took a glance at the old wall clock and looked away at the open window, stared blankly across the survey of height and to the dark space outside.

When he reconciled his thoughts; he gave a sweeping look at the old pictures of the family photos and old framed certificates of academic achievements of writing contests. He nailed his attention to a class picture of his college.

It was before the day of graduation; like a dreamy shot, his recollections swirled in a throwback changing a milieu; a trance to a memory. He can even smell the old odor of the room where he was in the picture: the blackboard with the doodle half-erased drawings of impish boyhood, girls prepping up in a rush as the bell rang when the class was announced dismissed. “Wait for me at the powder room, just need to fix this” the president of the class pointed at the board trying so hard to erase the drawings. “Come on here now Xenon!” The tall pale boy invited him to take his place for picture taking along the corridor. The boys, in a disorganized choreography, set themselves like a tableau; rowdy as they were. They were teasing, joking, thumping in harsh horseplay. “It's the last day!” Declared joyfully of one of the boys.

His consciousness lurched back into reality like a warp of time; he put his palm on his face. Now, he began carelessly to at least write something. The editor will kill him flat tomorrow; I need to finish at least one tonight.

He took a glance at the old wall clock which struck exactly twelve-thirty midnight. He returned to his writing desk, wiped out apple cores and peels, and decided to transcribe anything that comes first into his mind, a short story must be short and should have a story, he said to himself. But what story should I write? desperate he was, hope suddenly became absent; tomorrow I'm dead! Misfortune has taken its form now: all he accomplished about writing have flown away, he began to think that all structures of narratives are bogus, workshops and seminars he attended are all hoaxes. No formula could teach someone how to write. He then remembered a book called Under The…  What? It’s something ahm… He tried it with difficulty to remember. Suddenly, he remembered Tree - then he told himself, all writing may be divided into two groups, good writing, and bad writing; good books come out of good writing while bad writing produces failures, again and again, he scanned the line like an X-ray of that passage from a book which was a foreword by RK. A failure He exclaimed silently; not even of Montes’ Of Fish… and etcetera, What would I be writing about dogs or flies? Then he recalled Peter's Touch Move. I am no longer a kid! That conviction made him more worried there, he is now sure that a block along the streamlines of thoughts is hampering him to be productive and creative. No is now a strong resistance, to be Noel’s Games is something, and to finish a writing task today is a different thing. He remembered it all well; call me Tina or Fanny – No one calls me! He snorted.

It was almost three in the morning and no matter how hard he tried to have an idea and flood an ink in the paper, it just equated to frustration. A scrap of papers had been spilling off the bin and onto the floor, so he decided to take a walk outside for a while and jog. The objective of his motivation was like a plan, he thought that maybe he needed to activate an endorphin from his brain, in a matter of two minutes he got changed his clothes, he wore that unlaundered navy blue jersey shorts, he wore the other day; he paired it with a billowy old white cotton shirt, and put on his ash-colored rubber shoes which was a birthday gift, and went to the plaza.

He went on jogging around the track field. Quickly, it made him asphyxiated on the sixth round, but he decided to run two more and two rounds of walk to complete the set; good enough for an hour jog today he thought. Thirsty as he was, he wanted to look for water, so he went to an all-day convenience store to quench his dried throat. “Good morning!” a sweet greeting of the store staff, he smiled back and padded to the panel doors of chillers; grabbed a bottle of water, he opened it right away and in a spur-of-the-moment, he drank it all without thinking that he hadn't paid it yet; he remembered, so he went to the counter, and scanned the bottle, he grabbed some chips, and instant coffee, pay the total, and left.

At the park, He again tried to process what was going on with him. The situation of being a writer seemed to change from what he has believed for the past years; beginning from his aspiration to be a writer someday which now has been achieved. Now is a challenge against himself, am I just being lazy? He rebuked the thought hastily, laziness is a big word, he would like to think that he is more of a selective participant rather than being the word lazy… these thoughts wire loomed in his mind. He walked toward a wooden bench at the park but at that moment, an answer did not come; he decided to sit for a moment while looking at the cadastral and being engulfed by the tranquility. When suddenly an old man spoke, “What are you looking at?” the old man asked, breaking the silence. Astounded Xenon was; as he did not realize the presence of the old man sitting next to him at all before. Xenon tried to find a complete grasp of how it could happen?

“Nothing sir” he answered back at an instant without an inch of hesitation.

“Thinking?”

“No, sir”

“What exactly do you have in your mind and how would you like to describe it, before you sit here beside me?” The old man asked. “Well I am thinking of so many things, I am thinking of my article, a short story of some sort, it’s my deadline today, and I need to submit it this afternoon” Xenon responded as if caught in a corner with the question.

“Excuse me, sir - you've been here all the while?”

“Yes”

“I… did not see you’re here, I am sure of that!”

“Well I am exactly”

“Exactly? like how? I’m sorry sir!”

The old man gave him an artificial laugh before he uttered another word. “There so many things we trouble so much in this life – we don’t see now details of why we’re here or how did we get there, time runs too fast, we don’t see that - I like this place,” An eminent pause before Xenon was able to respond, “I'm sorry for the intrusion, sir!” What he wanted to mean in that is like a stop.

“Are you alone or waiting for someone? I'll just then look at another bench around.”

“No,” the old man said.

Without a second the old man said, “You can sit here, I don't own it anyway - I am the same, like you…” he turned a look to Xenon “I as well wanted to take a walk and free the mind of so many things.”  

Xenon did not believe the words, like the same he tried to process the thought, it cannot be possible for two people to do something the same or thinking completely parallel at the same point of time at exactitude, and meet. He’d like to dismiss the idea with a general conviction. “Yes, I am thinking if this is appropriate to have your autograph?” The old man said, Xenon wondered very oddly. The old man was very well informed, he thought as if he was under surveillance. “Hold on a second, sir - How did you know that...? I am… ahm” He can’t find the words again. “Writer?” The old man responded so very quickly to help him grasp the words. “Yes! You've already told me, I think no less than a minute before the whole sentence that I have calculated.” - “What?” He was surprised by the old man’s precision of thoughts. “You see now my friend, It seems that you're not paying much attention to the details, you’ve just told me that; this day is your deadline of a narrative to some sort that you needed to submit later this afternoon.” He repeated it like a backmasked vinyl recording to him.

He did not answer back and noticed something which he cannot sham his feeling. he thought it was talking to some kind of a prophet; an oracle, the old man gave him a creep but it was never of fear he felt that time, when the old man said, you're not paying much attention to the details: and it provided him a connection, an impulse releasing the secret of his lingering dilemma. It seemed that the old man had known him before and was reading his mind in silence. And before he could say another word, the old man got on to his feet and walked slowly in the distance. “Where are you going, sir? I thought you wanted my autograph?” He replied instantly. “I was about to do that” he slipped his hand on the pocket of his shirt and brought out a pen. The man moved close to him and said, “maybe after you finish the story you are about to submit today – I want surprises, I love that. It sounded more of a challenge to him. “I'll just wait for it once it’s out,” the old man continued, “I'm expecting that one will be good too, like the others.” Xenon felt being seized. Then in no time delay, he asked, “Sir, may I know your name please” The old man looked away and replied with a serious note. “I never had one.”

“I grew up in a home,” the old man continued, Xenon did not understand what he meant by the word home.

“I never knew who my parents are”

“You mean you're an orphan, sir?”

He sounded that question as an inquiry, not a statement or a report; he could not completely believe when the old man said, never had one. He assumed, while the slightest of what he can accept, that someone in his infancy had given him any name at least any among the common names, like Peter or Jeff.  

“Yes, may I?” The old man was demonstrating to take a seat, he snatched the opportunity, and released a deep sigh before Xenon could make his reply.

“Yes! Surely, sir”

“I would like to tell you a story – may I?” Without averseness he agreed — this is what precisely he doesn’t have at this very moment — He felt a pity to himself that the old man at least has something to tell a story. He thought resentfully. “Now, what is your nearest happy memory? – something that may be a remarkable one?” The old man asked. “Well, I can still remember my days when I was in college, you know a scholar of some sort, a nerdy bookworm student and sometimes nasty. I enjoyed the friends and their all varieties of personal attitude, the mentorship and all; that experience gave me a feeling of a second home too,” he ended his recollection with a ruminating smile.

The old man started after his last word and said, “home Oh yes! I grew up in a home too, you know. But it was different, — there are all sorts of people from all diversities you know? minor age killers, thieves, abandoned children, and those who escape from their hostile relatives and parents — there is one thing that is common among all of us resident mates. We are all looking for someone who could give us genuine love; so to every opportunity of adoption; though we don’t want to go away from home, we grab it in hope for a foster parent. On the contrary, after a week or so; most of us go back and never want to go out. The result rather turned worse, trust became more absent.”

“That must be interesting – go on please” Xenon eagerly butt in. “We didn’t have a good foundation of education there.” Xenon in his skeptics let the old man claim his privilege of a good start of his story, “though a mother staff is there to attend the everyday needs of the operation of a foster home, there is always a lacking that only a real parent could provide the never-ending emptiness lingers every day. When you were being born and grew up in a home you’ll never find a name in your birth identity, the space in the paper reads either baby boy or baby girl, or at least a consolation part is you have your last name written on your birth certificate, then at your legal age, you will then be advised and go on a series of counseling to condition your mind that you are now ready to be set free and join the outside world. On the other meaning, you will now look for your own. All years of staying there, all favors of your daily needs are all in the form of a plea and request, it’s like a nauseated chick being asked to walk or run.” Xenon, unconsciously now conceded and pondering deep to the part brimming inside him, the visual in his mind provided a still picture that speaks a thousand and more ideas to write.

He felt like hanging on a cliff and wanting more. “Go on, please!” He said. “Very well,” the old man continued. “Overwhelmed you are now huh? - There was an incident that night when everybody was all sleeping in our respective quarters; the boy’s place was on the east of a pavilion near the high walls while the girls’ was just near the lobby entrance. I never got an interest of why is that because I never asked, I am always like that timid among other orphans, I was very young then, not even that I know what an introvert means but I enjoyed my solitude; they often think that I am weird, but I have my way of covering, a defense mechanism, mostly I pretend; which always sets me in a situation turned more difficult at the end. It was an unforgettable experience that everybody there will never forget. A fire, a huge one that killed one group of orphans in quarter D at the corner pavilion, maybe fifteen or twenty souls in there burnt alive.” Xenon’s shoulders twitched at the mention of being burnt alive! But he remained silent, leaving the old man to continue.

“How did it all happen, sir?” he went on curiously. “I expected that would be your most obvious next question” As the old man continued - “The mother staff on duty that night left the door locked and she brought the keys with her and stride past for a moment to meet someone outside, but she never calculated it right that a kettle in the kitchen was also left on a stove, she enjoyed the romantic rendezvous with the guy she has been seeing for the past weeks, the next series of event happened so fast as the fire spread all the rest of the quarters, I happened to escape quickly and help the young ones to get out, well I would like to say thank you for my insomniac.” The old man paused there for a while. “Investigations went on afterward but of course, the subject of the incident died just like that; an isolated one. But the tremor lives like a resurrection and even to this moment whenever I recall the experience I can still feel the trauma.”

His feelings were automatically snatched. “Pitiful souls,” Xenon added, “true, indeed!” The old man replied. “Well just like other closed call stories, the ending was still unknown and then life just went on, I finally said goodbye to the orphanage and faced a life of my own.” The old man got up on his feet and walked away slowly. “Where are you going, sir?” xenon asked. “Home,” the word gave him a sensation like a blank white paper inked with lots of things and images of a scene scribbled in no exact direction; he imagined an abstract picture that was difficult to understand from that story.

Unexpectedly, it gave him a feeling of freedom. A unit of work that he is required to finish a story from that conversation. And the task is waiting for him now at home. “Sir, could I just at least have your name?” The sun had shone its glimpse in the sky. The illumination gave a picture of cucoloris lighting patterns of shadows of the old man’s face, like a mirror from afar. “Could you please tell me your name?” Xenon asked garishly. The old man stopped, and said, “You should fix the ending.” He tried to catch the sounds from afar. “Will you?” The picture of him was already filtered out of the blinding lights.

THE END

This is a work of FICTION. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. 

Copyright Statement This work is the intellectual property of the author. Permission is granted for this material to be shared for non-commercial, educational purposes, provided that this copyright statement appears on the reproduced material. To disseminate otherwise or to republish requires written from the author.

[lordofthenerds97]

Blueberry Pancakes

Requested By: @mattysheelies    Lazy Sunday morning after a party, laying in bed with Steve, I feel like I need this, please! 🤧❤️ Rating: T+ Warnings: Fluff Pairing: Steve x Reader Masterlist

You rolled onto your stomach with a contented sigh before snuggling deeper into your pillow. The h/c strands of your hair framed your face in the morning sunlight that was streaming through the window. Your fingers skimmed the surface of something hard yet soft and you felt a smile take over your features. His deep chuckle sounded in his chest, making the muscles under your touch contract.

"Morning sunshine," he said, adjusting himself to drape an arm across your bare back.

You hummed in response, shifting closer to him. "Morning," you grumbled.

"Coffee?"

You cracked an e/c eye open, looking at him through the hood of lashes that obscured the color. "Yes."

Steve grinned at you and adjusted himself again, this time only for a moment as he reached over to grab a mug from the bedside table. As the steaming cup was handed to you, you wiggled yourself into a sitting position. The sheet was wrapped around your chest as you took the mug, your eyes closing again as the sweet yet bitter aroma hit your nostrils.

"Thanks," you said after a sip.

He smiled, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "How're you feeling this morning?"

You stifled a yawn a shrugged, getting comfortable once again. Your headaches hadn't been getting much better, but Steve always managed to find a way to get your mind off the pain. "Okay," you said. "What time are your parents supposed to be home?"

He rolled his eyes in response. "No idea. My mom left a message last night saying they would be gone another several days. Knowing them, that could mean a week to a month."

Your lips tilted into a frown as you looked him.

"But you know what that means?"

Before you could respond, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your neck. "I get to do this," He trailed another kiss across your throat, "And this," Your eyes closed again as he made his way back up to your jaw. "And this."

You lost yourself in the feeling of his lips as he kissed you, slow and sweet. You smiled into the kiss, managing to precariously balance the mug of still hot coffee on the mattress between your legs. "Watch yourself, Harrington," you teased, pulling back to give him a sly smile. "I've got all day and an endless supply of coffee."

Steve chuckled, his hand threading through the hair at the base of your neck. He pecked your lips again. "That a promise or a threat?"

"Mm, both." You pulled away, the heat from the cup almost burning your legs. You found a spot for it on the table beside you and turned your attention back to Steve. Sad to say, he was already on the edge of the bed, pulling on his sweats. You grinned at the sight of his back, still red from the marks of your nails the night before. Though he couldn't say a lot because he left plenty of his own marks on you.

"Like what you see?"

You scoffed. "Please. I've seen it all before, Steve."

He laughed and tossed you one of his shirts. You huffed and pulled it on over your head, leaning down to look for your discarded clothes. Your fingers clasped around a pair of shorts and you wiggled your way into then, glaring down at the wood floor. There was no way you were going to step foot on the cold surface this early in the morning. Seeing your dilemma, Steve raised an eyebrow.

"What did the floor ever do to you?" he asked.

You turned your glare on him. "Steals the heat."

He shook his head. "You're such a whiner." But regardless of what he said, he scooped you up and you let out a quick yelp before settling yourself in his arms.

"My knight in dirty sweats," you giggled, grinning as you kissed him.

Steve rolled his eyes as you ruffled his hair. "Yeah, yeah." When he got downstairs, he dutifully set you on one of the kitchen barstools. "You hungry?"

"Always."

"I said hungry, not thirsty."

You raised an eyebrow. "Can't I be both?"

He handed you another cup of coffee and went to the fridge. A smile lit up his face when his eyes settled on the fresh fruit.

"What're you doing?" you asked, your voice laced with suspicion.

"Making breakfast. What's it look like?"

"Like you're standing around shirtless in the kitchen."

Steve snorted. "You love it and you know it."

You sipped your coffee with a grin, not saying anything else as he went about whatever it was he was doing. While he started cooking, you managed to find a stray notebook and start doodling. You were halfway done with a portrait of him when he set a plate down in front of you.

"Blueberry pancakes?" you asked in surprise, pausing in your drawing to gaze at him. They were perfect circles and browned perfectly. "Are you god?"

He smirked triumphantly. "Who do you love?"

You grinned, grabbing his hand to pull him into a kiss. "I love you."

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[smallandsundry]

i had some holiday drawings but i can’t remember what i saved them as and i’m too lazy to go through my drive so have some post workout kara doodles and a thirsty lena