#singularity drabble

[moongreenlight]

The US flopped when they dropped the third amendment and also call of duty modern warfare tbh.

What do you mean military men* (*pixels) can’t be ordered by law to quarter with me in my one bedroom apartment? What do you mean there’s never going to be an opportunity for me to live out my “only one bed” trope dreams?

[prettyiwa]

26 April 2014 | 19:10

(previous) | (next)

A/N: Reader is, at the very least, two inches shorter than Hajime

“Hajime?” you ask as soon as he enters your apartment. The aroma of your favorite taqueria fills the small space while you rummage through the kitchenette. “You wanna tell me why Oikawa texted me to, and I quote, ‘Get our man in check?’”

Iwaizumi laughs, knowing exactly what sparked this reaction in Oikawa.

“I didn’t realize that when I agreed to date you that you were already in a relationship,” you tease as you finish setting the table.

“Shut up,” he replies with a chuckle, making his way through the apartment as though it's his.

“Make me.”

Your smile turns mischievous as he approaches you like a predator hunting its prey. Standing before you, the difference in height is exaggerated as you tilt your head up, maintaining eye contact.

His hand comes to cup your jaw before he leans in, kiss leaving you breathless, grasping at his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

You pull back slightly, adoration visible in your eyes. “So? Are you going to tell me what you did to warrant an angry text from Oikawa?”

“OH! Yeah, you’ll never guess who I ran into today!”

“You… ran into someone? From Miyagi?!” you ask incredulously.

“Not just someone. Ushiwaka.” He laughs at your startled expression, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Yeah! His dad is Utsui Takashi. We actually talked after I got the chance to meet him. Before we parted, I took a picture with him and sent it to Oikawa to rub it in.”

“Well… shit.” You glance around the apartment as his words sink in, only for your eyes to settle on the food that’s still waiting. “Oh. Why don’t you go get comfortable and tell me about your day after we eat? I can’t wait to hear all about your day!”

Warmth spreads throughout him at your words, at the domesticity of it all, at the thought that he could do this with you for the rest of his life, at the knowledge that it’s something he wants.

over the course of 24 hours masterlist | haikyuu!! masterlist

[littlestsnicket]

maybe the radovid&phillipa fic should be about planning the coronation? like something needs to be happening in the background to explore the character dynamics and i don’t think i want this to be a long thing. even with that limited scope it could still potentially be long, but it could start with vizimir’s funeral and radovid just very suddenly stands up to dijkstra and is like ‘no i am the king of redania and you will involve me in the planning of my coronation’. and then the whole thing can be the fallout from that.

dijkstra’s displeasure and concern that vizimir was easier to manipulate (or at least he thought he was). he played all his cards with radovid who is like ‘what are you going to do have me assasinated?’ with his patented pouty face.

and philippa’s pleasure that radovid is so much more interesting and fun to play with because he can be reasoned with and wants philippa’s approval for some reason neither of them really understand.

and radovid’s desperate desire to do anything to distract himself from his complicated feelings about jaskier. because he realized he’s been depressed all of his life and saw how it could be for a moment and needs so badly for things to not be like they were.

yeah, this is something. not a whole fic yet, but something.

[mwolf0epsilon]

I should like, find a list of prompts and start trying to get back into writing again. I keep hitting slumps unexpectedly and my brain is itching for some writing time...

[encrypted-cryptid]

balter with Evan?

balter - to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment

the pit isn't usually his scene. evan prefers to stay toward the back, where he can feel the thump of the bass and enjoy the music without the stink of a sweaty crowd and push of hot bodies. tonight feels different though. he doesn't care to think about it too much, just pushes his way forward until he's on the public-made edge of it. through the strobes and smoke it's nothing more than a churning mass, writhing barely in time to the music pumping through the speakers. the singer screams one final, lingering note and the crowd goes wild in the ensuing silence. from what evan can see, he looks bored, posture loose and uncaring but the energy on stage is undeniable. he commands the room with ease alongside his three bandmates. a steady drumbeat picks up, the crowd surges as one to the start of a new song and evan dives in. this one is faster, more aggressive. it's harder to keep a consistent rhythm with it so evan gives up by the first chorus, letting the current of those around him push him along. it's not pretty - he gets plenty of elbows to the ribs and chest but hands keep him up and steady and he does the same for those who look like they're getting caught in the riptide of it all - but it's fucking fun. he finds himself grinning wildly, stomping around and screaming what lyrics he's been able to pick up. when the guitarist runs across stage to push up and off of one stage wall into a goddamn backflip - whilst still playing - evan's ears start ringing from how loud it gets. he thinks about the phone number in his back pocket and yells louder still. the lights come up suddenly. it's jarring. the crowd exclaims angrily, pushing and shoving as the fucking cops push their way through the door; no explanation given, just indistinct shouts and gestures toward the stage. the band starts packing up with practiced haste. evan stares, frozen, and inexplicably finds a cold blue eye staring at him. the guitarist on stage looks directly at him over the chaos. they wink, raise their guitar over their head, grin wild and near feral. evan watches in slow motion the way it shatters into shards and splinters when they swing it down, strings flying off into sharp curls. "SCATTER!"

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

💛 all golden like honey 💛

casdonna ficlet - 927 words - rating: G - fluff - read on ao3

Cas feels the movement of breath which is Donna’s laugh against him and tilts his head slightly to face more towards her. She turns to press a kiss, kisses, to his hairline. Her lips are soft. They always are. She uses chapstick - honey flavored, because Cas makes it. She always tastes of honey, now, Donna does.

Cas and Donna bake honey cake together in the kitchen, inspired by @faithdeans <3

When it all falls away, Donna is quite quiet, really, but not silent.

She has this almost constant little monologue, coming out under her breath in half hidden minnesotan mumbles. To an angel like Cas, her murmurings sound like the wings of a fly in his ear, just a slight warm hum. But if Donna is a fly then her wings are rainbow and shimmering and Castiel wants to watch where she flies forever, listening to her humming all along.

“And then a little sugar for the sweetness, but not as much as usual because the honey will sweeten this baby right up too, and as much as Cas has a sweet tooth I still like a little substance. Just a pinch of ginger now, then,” and she continues on, just to herself more than anyone else.

In the kitchen of Donna’s cabin on the edge of Nebraska it comes out the loudest, the old comfort of the place bringing the words from her like silks out her soft flannel sleeves. That’s where she is now, Cas treading in from the garden and the beehives they added half a year ago.

It’s a light kitchen, and the sunlight spins Donna’s hair even more golden as it streams in through the window. Her shadow dances across the back wall, echoing her movements, if not her sounds.

Cas hadn’t heard her rambles until a month in. It was just a whispering, not even a mumble at first, the ghosts of her thoughts falling out and skimming her lips. When he’d asked, she had shied away, suddenly uncomfortable. She’d called it a bad habit, but Cas had soon told her otherwise. Had soon told her that he always wants to hear what she has to say, however mundane it is.

It took a few months of promises and confessions and kisses at the nape of her neck where she said she'd never been kissed before, but they’re here now. He can listen to her witter away happily, and he could listen to her for hours.

Not wanting to disturb her talk, he places the jar of fresh honey on the side and winds his arms around her stomach from behind in lieu of hello, nestling his chin into her shoulder. He feels her cheeks rise with a smile beside him.

“Hi,” she whispers quietly. “You okay?”

He nods into her neck, a smile creeping up across his own lips. “Yes, I am. I brought you honey.”

He half unwraps an arm from around her and points towards the jar, the gesture becoming more vague as he misses the warmth of her side and hurries to hug her middle again.

She leans back into him, placing her full weight onto him because she knows he can hold it.

Although she raises a hand away from the bowl and ingredients spread out upon the countertop, as if to reach up to him, she lets it fall away again too quickly.

“I want to run a hand through your hair but they're all dirty,” she grins softly, facing her wide, sugar speckled palms up to face him.

“That's okay,” Cas smiles. “I would simply be happy with a kiss.”

He feels the movement of breath which is Donna’s laugh against him and tilts his head slightly to face more towards her. She turns to press a kiss, kisses, to his hairline.

Her lips are soft. They always are. She uses chapstick - honey flavored, because Cas makes it. She always tastes of honey, now, Donna does.

Cas thinks it's appropriate that the same woman who brings sunshine wherever she goes tastes of the nectar she helps create. Where would the bees be without flowers, without light?

Sometimes he feels like the bees, forever entwined with the sun.

Where would he be without her?

The traces of Donna’s chapstick linger on Cas’s forehead still, he can feel them sticking slightly amid his hair. He doesn't mind; any trace of Donna is a good one.

She turns further into him just as he twists to meet her properly, and their lips meet. His are soft too, now, with Donna often running her chapstick over his as well.

And they're kissing and sunlight is streaming in through the kitchen window by the sink. It turns the wood countertops gold. Wrapped up against her, his lips against hers, Cas can't quite tell if the gold is from the light of the dawn or the sunset.

Kissing Donna always feels like the sun coming up, like it felt the first time he felt its warmth on his skin and he called this body his own. Kissing Donna always feels like the sun is sinking low, like the bliss in his belly which hums deeper and deeper with contentment.

It’s golden, all golden like honey, regardless. Donna sighs against him and he knows she feels the same. When she smiles into his mouth it's real and true, no trace of pretense.

There are hints of sugar left on Cas’s face as Donna lowers her hand, though, grains sticking to the dips by his lips from where her thumb was stroking his cheek.

“You brought me honey,” Donna says, taking the fresh jar on the countertop into her hands. “Just the thing I needed.”

Cas smiles, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I do have a sugar tooth.”

They bake the cake and eat it on the porch, watching the sun set, or rise. In the end, it doesn't matter. Cas just remembers Donna was there, and the sun was too. 

[caemthe]

Traveling without purpose.º

My name is Euryale. I am a Goddess. It'll be one short life, but do your best to entertain me.

EURYALE, the Far-Roamer, that’s the name of the first heroic spirit that answers the call of the last Master of Humanity. A weak, sly, cowardly and whimsical goddess that is basically free thanks to her independent action skill as an Archer. She’s the type that thinks that, if you stay quiet, nobody will get mad at you. It’s not cheating if you don’t get caught, though she does feel regret on occasion. As an Archer, she doesn’t really know why she was picked to aid humanity as, despite her immortality and ‘perfection’, she’s an extremely weak existence. She only became a little bit sturdier as a servant after being borrowed cupid’s arrows.  

So, to any, it was easy to become worried and think that there was a mistake during the summoning process as the first servant to aid Chaldea was such a small and whimsical divine spirit. But not him, he could immediately tell that there was no better match for someone like him. Juanjo is louder and has an honest disposition. He appears to be brave whenever the circumstances are precarious but in truth he still can’t grasp the full picture. Due to his cosmovision, he thinks ‘As long as there is a path ahead, I can move forward’ which may sound poetic in paper but when applied to practice, it’s pretty reckless and careless. Still, because he’s the way he is, he’s someone that follows his heart and lives life without regrets.

If asked how he manages to work as a team with the Archer, he would say that it’s because they complement each other perfectly and that Euryale is far more reliable and earnest than she lets the majority see. What few know is that the two individuals are very similar as well. They’re both far-roamers struck by melancholy, wanderers that, purposely or accidentally, have traveled long distances. But, no matter how far they go, they’ll often be thinking of (the people they call) home.

The Master and Servant (or as Euryale prefers: The Goddess and her loyal follower) make quite the lively and easygoing duo. Their interactions and shenanigans lift people’s mood and makes others think: ‘Well, look at them! Things couldn’t be worse right now but neither of them look one bit troubled. Considering these are the two stuck around the longest... I’m sure everything will be fine.” Like sea breeze on a summer night, the goddess and her loyal follower both carry an air of melancholy and enigma. No one can really tell what they’re thinking but you can tell they’re free spirits that are either looking beyond the horizon or so lost in the moment to see the upcoming storm.

My name is Euryale. I am the Second Sister of the Gorgons. It'll be one short life, but do your best to entertain me.

After all heroic spirits are sent back to the Throne of Heroes, the downfall of Chaldea and the start of the Lostbelts, it’s no surprise that the first servant he summons again is Euryale, the Far-Roamer. But maybe it was due to the changes in the summoning mechanism, the current state of the world or even his more troubled mental and emotional state, who knows, but he summons Euryale as a Berserker, the second sister of the Gorgons. Despite her servant class change and change from goddess to monster, Euryale retains very little of her memories of Chaldea and her Master, but they’re very vague and almost abstract. But she can tell that the insolent and puny human that summoned her feels like home.

Not as fierce and bloodthirsty as Stheno, not as witty and intelligent as Medusa, Euryale was the Far-leaper of deafening cries. A strong, brutal, and terror-inducing gorgon. She was also the most ‘human’ of the three monsters. She still a divine and immortal being that despises humans but can show compassion if she develops a bond with someone. She isn’t the opposite of her Archer self as she still retains her slyness, ‘cowardly’ and whimsical nature, but she’s vastly different as well. Berserker doesn’t care if others get mad and simply speaks her mind. She always addresses the elephant in the room and does what is necessary to move forward (doesn’t matter if she has to deliver terrible news or crush someone’s skull to do so). 

Juanjo is far more reserved and has plenty of doubts during the lostbelts as there’s no ‘path’ anymore since his connection to nature and the cosmos has lessened significantly in the bleached earth. To that, Euryale says that if her master can’t move forward because there’s no path ahead, then she will simply have to carve one for him. So this more bellicose and pushy version of Euryale is the perfect match for Juanjo again and this is how he learns that there really is someone looking out for him (but if it’s Euryale, the holy grail or a greater force, he has no idea). If someone asks Juanjo how manages to work as a team with the Berserker, Euryale will come out of his shadow and say that it can’t be helped since her Master is hopeless so she needs to step up, but that he has a few good things going for him and he’s more brave and reliable than he lets the majority see.

Battling and more on Berserker Euryale

What makes Juanjo and Euryale a good team on the battlefield? Euryale, regardless of class, is a strong offensive heroic spirit (and particularly lethal when facing male enemies) that can’t be affected by mental attacks as she’s either a goddess or a monster. She doesn’t give the enemy much of a chance to attack before incapacitating or killing them. Juanjo makes good support to nurture and boost one’s strengths and keep one’s weaknesses out of the enemy’s sight (which is really convenient for Euryale due to how much of a messy fighter she is). They’re a surprisingly efficient and terrifying duo when it comes to raw offensive power.

And what do they fail at? They’re both carefree individuals that aren’t known for their smarts. They fail terribly at sneak attacks due to how noisy and unrefined they are and rely a lot on their instincts (Juanjo on the filaments that connect everything in the cosmos and Euryale on her instincts as an apex predator) instead of logic or wit. In other words, neither of them is good at planning nor knowledgeable at war. So they unintentionally make a really messy and somewhat careless duo on the battlefield. It’s worrisome but they have also managed to get this far so that’s a bit of a relief!

The Gorgons: Winged female monsters with hair made of snakes, large fangs like tusks, lolling tongues, golden claws, a deathly visage and bodies covered in scales. Depending on what side of them you draw blood, their blood can be the deathliest poison that can kill all living creatures or a potent medicine, the cure to all sickness. Finally, unlike Medusa, Stheno and Euryale were immortal beings, which means that the gorgon Euryale can keep fighting even if her head is cut or her body is destroyed. A long as her ‘essence’ is around, she’ll fight and produce her deathly screams. Berserker will continue fighting until her spirit core becomes unstable enough that it’ll be forcibly sent back to the throne of heroes. In other words, even as a servant, Euryale can’t ‘die’, but she can be temporarily put out of commission.

Skills & NP comparison: Archer - Berserker

Bloodsucker (np gauge)— Hard knuckles (increase own crits and gain crit stars)

Sirens song (charm)) — Gorgons scream (inflict terror to all enemies)

Whim of a goddess (arts) — Far leaping (quick)

Goddess gaze  (single target)— Death bellows (affects all mortals that hear her cries)

[sipsteainanxiety]

went to update my masterlist and,,, it rly is just bkg bkg bkg bkg midoriya bkg bkg bkg LMFAOOO

[hirvenxsoturi]

“Hey Thorn! Catch!”

He almost doesn’t manage to do so, reaching out just in time to catch the smooth brown...whatever it was. “Gabe!”

“What? I warned you!”

Rolling his eyes, he turned it over in his hand, shifting his rifle so that it was sitting butt first in the sand, careful to keep the barrel pointed elsewhere. It wasn’t very large, and almost looked like someone took an almond and some sort of fruit and blended them together. “What is this?”

“Its a plant.”

“Well I can see that, but that doesn’t tell me what it is.”

“Its a type of fruit, they’re all over the area. Just try it! They’re good.”

He looked a little bit skeptical at the officer, but after testing the weight of it a little bit in his hand he finally popped it into his mouth. Sure enough, it was good, really good.It was like cinnamon and caramel but in fruit form, something he hadn’t considered could even be something that worked well together but did.

“Fuck that is good.”

“Told you that it was~”

“Says the guy who’s known for hazing his new squadmates!”

“You sassing me, soldier?”

“Sir no sir. Just speaking the truth~”

He rolled his eyes, and Bev couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re good with a gun, Thorn. Besides, you already went through your hazing.”

“And? That’s never stopped you before.”

“Well you’re just so easy to get a rise out of, I can’t waste an opportunity.”

Reaching down, he managed to find a small rock in the sand and chucked it at the Major, landing right on his body armor by his heart. “Jackass.”

“Killjoy.”

The two, however, leave the area laughing, jabbing at each other in the sides as they move on to the rendezvous point to meet up with the rest of their squad, the sun casting long shadows behind them onto the surface of the sand.

[motherednature]

        GRAVEL CRUNCHES LOUDLY beneath the ball of her foot as she plants it firmly on the earth, a slate outcropping at the edge of a forest. her gait is light and spry, such a contrary bearing to her seemingly normal posture -- straight-backed, rigid, elegant in a statuesque way, yet painful. but without the prying eyes of strangers, seraphina is as fluid as water. she casts her arms slowly outward as though beginning a dance, and lets her fingers arch as the earth’s true heartbeat weaves through each and every muscle fiber.

          the loose gravel around her begins to tremble, and for a moment it seems the woman is standing front and center for a coming avalanche until her hands slowly begin to close. those pieces of rock suspend themselves in this bent gravity, and they stay there twitching in midair for one long moment before seraphina snatches her hands into sudden fists. and with this same sharp movement, a literal earth-shattering crack punches through the air, and it’s a force so deep that it practically takes the air from her lungs.

           the only reason her grin doesn’t seem to reach her eyes is because they are wide with exhilaration. proverbial paintbrushes in hand, her entire body lurches with the force of her casting, and what had once been a prairie stretching out before her now upends itself with what can only be described as a mountain range being birthed into form.

          perhaps if she were shaping some complex wooded canopy, her body would rise from the ground. but mountains are the spine of the earth. her feet remain firmly planted on this outcropping, her spirit tethered to the bedrock that is the earth’s foundation for all things beautiful. the stone beneath her is grey. but add some iron...and these mountains will be red. each sunrise and each sunset set the sky ablaze with their richness, and as her vision comes to rocky form, she laughs, wondering what people will call this range...!

           she continues her broad brushstrokes of earth and soil, indulging in her freedom that is no longer new but no less valued -- in fact, it is the very reason she keeps herself away from what could be her peers, for she cannot abide any threat to this freedom, not when her body still bears the marks of prison. let them think her a recluse. a mad scientist. a monster. all the better to keep what’s left of her true spirit intact. her body moves in slow, graceful curves and in sharp, jagged angles both, to weave water into existence, to carve secret grottos, to draw trees into the sky, to build homes for new creatures to take root!

          tears gather freely within her iridescent gaze, and thus rain begins to drape its cool grey cloak across the landscape, christening it into being. and with each heaving of her chest, gale force winds push through the cracks of newly broken rock, creating a howling scream that might as well be coming from the woman herself. it is in this new weather pattern, this new ecosystem, that seraphina falls to her knees. trembling not with weakness, but with euphoria, she digs her fingers into fresh soil.

             the artist beholds her canvas. the mother beholds her creation. and she sighs.

[townofcadence]

"....Jace?" Saffron's fingers knotted, as he looked him up and down when he came in. "You look-- you look really tired-- are those bandages?"

Jace looked like he was walking on sunshine. "What-- oh yeah! I'm fine. Just fell through a flight of stairs or two--"

"What?"

"and I didn't get much sleep at the hospital--"

"What?"

"Nooo shhhh Saffron it's fine it's okay don't worry I'm good! I actually-- Saffron you're not gonna believe this but-- but I went out with Francois and Celeste and--- and we found proof. Proof of a ghost! It was real and--- I mean I couldn't touch it but Celeste did and she helped it cross over and there was a rune on the ground and--"

"J-Jace." Saffron wavered, touching his arm. "I--- I think you might need to breathe."

Jace paused. "...Right! We were hired to check out this historical building that was like--- it had a few stories? Kind of a manor or something I think? There was weird stuff that happened on the full moon. And we--- well we didn't see her exactly, not all of us-- but I did! It was a woman and she was on fire and it was--- so so cool!" He opened his bag, pulling out a camera. "I took video! I'll show you the clip, it's really amazing, real proof!"

Saffron felt his nerves continue to jumble and twist. "I uh--- is that how you got hurt...?"

"What--oh no." One finger busied itself with finding the proper clip, while the other offered a nonchalant wave. "I tried to go upstairs and the boards were rotting. But that's kind of a usual thing, nothing but a few bruises from that."

"Then.....then why were you at the hospital?"

"I found this rune thing on the ground." Jace hummed, sounding like he just won the lottery. "We think it was what bound the lady there! It was carved into the ground, and kinda gave culty vibes honestly. But it was really cool, you'll see it in the video. But yeah, I kiiiinda maybe touched it and passed out? But I'm fine though! No harm done."

Saffron felt the blood draining from his face. "That--- that sounds like a lot of harm...."

"Pshhh, nah. I mean the doctor said I was good to go! It just hurt a bunch but it was like--- really fast, so I got better! The most harm it did was too my wallet paying for the visit. But!! Ghosts!!! Saffron this is huge!!"

He swore he had to be sweating, his back felt like it was sticking right to his shirt in his coveralls. "R--right. Ghosts.....um. But you really should be careful Jace...."

"I know, I know--ah! here it is." He hummed, holding the camera up for Saffron to see. He pressed the play button--

The camera buzzed, and then shut off, the screen blacking out.

"What? Noooo no no." Jace pulled it back, brows creasing in concern and messing with the power button. "Please buddy, turn back on, don't do this to me, I just got you fixed last week, pleaseee." He continued to mash different buttons now, as if that would bring it back from the dead. "I mean-- I can show you later I have all the files on my computer but-- actually I could go get it now It's in my bag!! Hang on!!" He bounded for the door.

Saffron stood there with an expression somewhere between pain, aging a decade, and constipation. "Oh Jace......" His friend was really going to get himself killed at this rate, if he wasn't careful. And now he'd found a ghost.....? That meant things would only continue to get more....worrisome.

He didn't know if his heart could take it.

[cybertomii]

i see the light at the end of the road guys i think my writing slump is over

[smoreal]

Dude I’ve started like four diff wip’s and I have abandoned each one bc I cannot commit to an idea at all apparently

[fstbmp-a]

y’all really liked that one post about the Black Knight thing, huh?

[clairdelunelove]

around the clock

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (working drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, handyman!ghost

synopsis: ghost finds comfort in always being busy, whether that'd be completing household maintenance or chores but what does he do when there's nothing else to fix? well, it's simple, he goes over to your place–

a.n. hi lovelies! life's been picking up BUT it's finally spooky season! 🕷 pls take handyman!ghost to compensate for the fact that I dropped off the face of the earth for a bit <3

-

-

-

ghost would definitely have the characteristics of being a handyman– specifically, yours.

-

paid leave was a valuable but rare benefit that many military personnel took advantage of. traveling, relaxing, or staying with family were typically on the itinerary for most. to catch up on lost time. to ground and comfort them with the humanity that they might’ve forgotten about while on the battlefield. a solace for their minds, souls, and hearts to rest. service members could request leave at any time, fortunately, but ghost never had a reason to. he found comfort in being constantly busy. proved to be less on the mind. an escape from the pain that frequents him whenever he opens his eyes and follows him into his sleepless nights. he recalls price mentioning his unhealthy coping mechanism– the word ‘escapism’ leaving his lips in a sympathetic grimace. a sensitive emotion that reached the captain’s eyes and caused ghost to uncomfortably shuffle on his feet. he wouldn’t label it as ‘escapism,’ per se, just favors his hectic life. so when he chooses is forced to take his paid leave, ghost keeps himself active; repairing his plumbing system, fixing broken light fixtures, or testing any of his home appliances to ensure they’re working properly. he’s continually restless. likes strenuous and taxing work. makes it easier to fall asleep at the end of the day. and, by the off chance there’s absolutely nothing left to maintain in his compact flat (because a couple bare rooms, small porch, and no backyard is hardly a feat to clean), he’ll sit on his threadbare couch. might tap his fingers against his thigh while the living room clock obnoxiously ticks. the silence is deafening, ironically. his heavy-set eyes float to glance at the time and upon noticing this is the predicament he’ll be in for a couple more weeks, he abruptly gets up, pockets his keys, and makes his way to you.  

ghost who stiffly stands at your front door when you answer the familiar knock. frankly, you’ve noticed the way he knocks on your door is strikingly different than how he does on missions. a strong rap but not powerful enough to scare you. it’s a sign that’s irrevocably him. served as an indication of his presence. it was up to you whether you wished to entertain his trivial inquiries. you peep your head out first, not quite believing the sight before you, and he raises a brow at your widened eyes. “simon?” you ask incredulously. his plain balaclava shifts when he catches how you intuitively open the door wider for him. to make room for him in your home. “remembered you asked about patchin’ and paintin’ your walls,” he explains like it’s ordinary to recall a conversation from weeks ago. astonishingly, he was right. you had, offhandedly, mentioned that you nailed picture frames to the wall which created noticeable holes that you didn’t know how to fix. you reminisce at how he held back an amused scoff when you emphasized that it was an honest mistake on your part. didn’t entirely think it likely that he’d personally fix it. “oh,” you glance at the rather large toolbox in his hand as your voice trails off, “like, you want to fix it right now?” he offers a singular nod as a response.  

ghost who’s a second away from packing up his home repair tools/gadgets and heading back home when you glance behind you to stare at your place in contemplation. your lower lip caught in-between your teeth. he hesitates. isn’t accustomed to the sensation even when he has a weapon in his grasp. his mind whirs. the green-eyed monster of jealousy bleeding its way into his heart. “unless,” he dreads the words before they leave his lips, “you have a bloke to help ya with it?” his words are stiff. ghost shifts to lean against your doorframe in an attempt to ease off the bitterness in his voice. drawn to the movement, you can’t help but become aware of how he fills the entire entryway with his physique. your cheeks burn. a quick shake of your head followed by a resounding, “no, I don’t and I haven’t called a handyman either.” and it’s the perfect remedy to quell his discontent. his rigid posture loosens with the answer. while you step to the side to welcome him in, you hurriedly clarify with an awkward laugh, “had to think for a bit because I didn’t want you to see how much of a slob I am,” and hope that the joke lands. the universally polite comment to excuse the untidiness. ghost isn’t focused on the clutter, however. he’s basking in the fact that you’re not seeing anyone. offhandedly throws in a murmur of, “not a problem, sweetheart,” when he eases by you. and the way it borders raspy satisfaction reduces you to a puddle. 

ghost who allows his gaze to wander to your decorated walls and dainty furniture while you explain where the tactless gaps in the walls were at. picture frames encasing friends and family were thoughtfully tacked onto the walls. trinkets lined the shelves to serve as memoirs. he stops himself from reaching up and picking one up for closer inspection. wouldn’t be fair if he did. truth be told, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d put up a photograph in his own flat. his loved ones and comrades stayed etched in his mind. recurrent and persistent. your place, on the other hand, seems well-inhabited, lived-in, and loved. he could almost spot the glow that you managed to sprinkle everywhere you went regardless of the situation. a feature that endlessly puzzled him. the addictive familiarity that accompanied you and made every place feel like home. ghost likes it. it’s comfy and cozy– you. and his mind slips into the possibility of adding a few pieces of him in your home. his work boots at the front door. his toothbrush residing beside yours in the bathroom. his shirt in your closet. “need any tools to help fix the damage I made?” your witticism forces him out of his train of thought. halts the delusion from straying too far. he’s quick to recover, however, and murmurs, “got everythin’ I need here,” while his eyes are solely fixed on you. a declaration that’s spoken as profound as a pass of thunder. and you wait with bated breath, mind whirring to reciprocate the sentiment but ghost is already trekking past you. he gets to work almost immediately by using a putty knife and a joint compound to patch up the holes in the walls. but goodness– his eyes. the raw dedication that manifests and bleeds out when he glances over to you. his words are a certainty that he grasps onto. 

ghost who, unsurprisingly, fixes the blunders in the walls with ease. it’s a minor task that’s covered with a gentle hand and some paint. nothing that he can’t fix. but truthfully, the afternoon passes far quicker than usual. with fleeting smiles and stolen glances whenever his focus shifted to you. it was spotting your figure, halfway hidden behind the kitchen entryway, from the corner of his eyes. it was finding you tampering with his tools whenever his back was turned and hearing your soft laughter when he halfheartedly chided your roaming hands. a serenity disguised as a luxury that ghost could never afford. “want to hear a construction joke?” your voice fills the house; he prefers it that way. yet, your inquiry falls flat because he’s short-circuiting. with a hand on his shoulder, you lean forward to inspect the spot that he’s working on. forces the two of you closer. your breath is a hot puff against the shell of his ear and he visibly pauses. you’re warm. he turns his head sideways, purposefully staring ahead, and decides to indulge you, “sure.” “hm,” you hum and the pleasant noise goes straight through him, “I’m still working on it.” and when you’re rewarded with an amused huff from his lips due to the punchline, a grin stretches across your face. it’s a meager detail that he imagines as he trudged back (with heavy feet) to his bare flat later that evening. yet, it’s the only solace that allows him to sleep a little easier that night.  

ghost who questions his rationale when he’s hauling his lawnmower and other tools onto the back of his pickup truck just for you. well, he supposes you never did ask him to mow your lawn but your front yard is in need of his care. his personal touch. afterall there were various benefits of keeping a lawn clean and tidy. encourages new grass growth and deters pests– or so he justifies. surely it’s not due to the appreciative smile you throw him when you tug your curtains back to find him trimming the edge of the grass. he hears the click of the window opening before your voice calls out to him, “you didn’t need to, si!” but ghost has never given half an effort to seek your favor. lives his life in extremes. so he spares you a glance while genuine words leak from his mouth that he attempts to mask in his surly voice, “jus’ wanted to.” and hastily wretches the starter cord on the lawnmower so it roars to life. pretends not to catch onto your longing stares when the sun’s rays are scorching and he’s compelled to shed a couple layers off. sure, you had tasks at hand rather than blatantly gawking but it could wait. and he didn’t particularly mind the attention. especially when you’re seated by the window so prettily with your face perched atop your hand. admiration pooling in your wide eyes. you watch with bated breath as he one-handedly tugs off his bulky sweater to reveal a fitted black shirt and dirty jeans. a combination that has you visibly gulping as he continues pushing the machine across the lawn. he’s a tantalizing brew of brawn and power. a darkness that you wish to traverse upon. satiates you with a knowing look when he stretches and the fabric of his shirt is pulled taunt across his broad chest. and he huffs in delight when you hurriedly reach out to yank the curtains closed. 

ghost who picks you flowers (weeds) but doesn’t know the difference. he ends up discovering a clump of golden dandelions growing near the edge of your fence and decided to pluck them. pinches the stems in between his fingers until it breaks. ends up harvesting a handful of them. the question is: what does he do with them? he saunters over to your front door, raps his knuckles against it, and patiently waits for you to answer. of course. then, he hands the dandelions to you, unblinking but brimming with good intentions. because he’s not aware that dandelions are the most notorious weeds that many desire to get rid of. just acknowledges that they’re pretty and you’re pretty– so it only makes sense. another gift for you. anything for you. he watches as you absentmindedly twirl the stems in your grasp, speechless. and, without warning, he’s flushed for a reason far beyond just the weather. a terrible queasiness that was unlike any he’s experienced. his mannerisms are fidgety, mind itching to leave, and save him the humiliation of offering you weeds. but then your lips break into a wide smile. a dazzling one. knocks the breath out of his lungs. you’re uttering repeated ‘thank you’s’ though, clearly too distracted to notice his predicament, before scurrying into your kitchen. he’s left stunned while you call out, “how did you know I have a pretty vase to match with these?” 

ghost who’s knocking at your door in the early mornings, greets you with a gruff, “mornin’,” and slinks past you into your home. doesn’t even pause despite the fact that it’s barely the crack of dawn and the sky is still hazy from the remnants of last night. the birds are barely tweeting out to each other, still testing to find a harmony to start the day. you’re as bright as the sun, however, when he offers a glance to you. an expression of stupor and excitement conveyed on your face due to his arrival. he’s stopped by a couple times now yet the warm buzz never dims: if anything, it flourishes like the row of flowers he planted on your front porch. vibrant and all-consuming. “still finding stuff to fix, si?” you joke while tilting your head. you stop him by the kitchen counter just as he’s about to state that everything looks maintained for now. “‘course,” he rumbles as his gaze sweeps to you, “soon you won’t need me though.” his statement is heavier than he expected and he opens his mouth to thwart the abrupt negativity but you beat him to it. the words tumble from your lips, “pretty sure I can always find something here that needs to be fixed.” your voice is soft as you add, “just as long as you want to stay.” he watches as your eyes flicker to the floor but it’s too late. ghost has already seen the tenderness that belongs wholly to him. your vulnerability that he wishes to cradle in his grasp. his hands clasp and unclasp by his sides before he finally mentions, “your fence needs fixin’ today. don’t want the strays comin’ in and fuckin tramplin’ on everything.” 

ghost who’s true to his word and tirelessly works to replace your fence posts even in the scorching heat. scratches the back of his neck while muttering something about how they’re rotted on the bottom. and it’s almost hypnotizing to observe how he works. methodically checking each panel’s angle to see how severe it is. he detaches the surrounding pickets and stringers from each post in order to pull the wooden planks out. it’s demanding manual labor, more exhausting than his previous projects, which is why he requests your help. “just need ya to hold these up for me and I’ll straighten out the rest. can you do that for me, pup?” he explains as he hands you a singular fence post. and you try– you really do since he asked so nicely– but the wood is coarse against your fingertips and the sweltering sun hits the nape of your neck too harshly. you huff, voice bordering a whine, “I can’t do this anymore, si.” and ghost, the saint he secretly is, just raises his head to peer up at you. he’s currently on his knees, denim jeans caked in dirt, and dripping with enough sweat that the edges of balaclava curl at the edges to expose slivers of pale skin. “be good for me, will ya?” an inquiry that sounds more like a command due to his thick accent. his dark eyes search for yours, squinting in the sun’s rays, before he goes back to digging around the base of the fence post. however, when even the rare sight of his bare skin does little to serve as a reward against the extreme heat, you’re pouting again, “can’t we do this another day–” “oi,” he interrupts you when his large hand blindly reaches back to clamp over your knee. his thumb moves to caress the inner portion of your knee and you can vaguely discern how each of his fingers press against your skin. featherlight touches that sear your skin. his gaze snaps to yours, a dark brow arching at your unwillingness to move. the next demand leaves his lips in a low, tempting voice, “behave.” 

ghost who’s a sucker for your large, beseeching eyes and only shakes his head when you prance back into your house. you’re humming a light tune when you skip up the steps, away from the harsh weather, and leaving him to continue angling fence posts alone. it’d be a crime for him to deny your wish. and it’s not like he bends to your every whim. sometimes. he huffs, half in amusement and half in disbelief, before hauling another slab of wood. it’s not like the task was terribly difficult. he’s proficient– a machine that rather enjoys ruthless duties. just assumes that teamwork would lessen the strenuous work. and having your company was always pleasant. he’s in the act of lifting another fence post when he spots you bounding towards him, a glass cup in your hands, and a radiant grin on your face. his heart flips. pounds against his chest like a sledgehammer beating against fragile wood. “made some lemonade,” you offer and raise the glass to him, “for the hard worker.” notices the hesitant tremble in your fingers and your sudden shyness compels him to inwardly crumble. like you weren’t already the cause of his peace. there’s a swirly straw and a decorative umbrella in the drink which catches his attention. calloused fingers skimming the edge of the vibrant garnish, he’s silent. has never gotten this treatment from another person. it's foreign to him but not unwanted. his eyes are unblinking, caught in a trance, before he’s murmuring honest appreciation for your generosity.

ghost who prods, a bit of humor in his voice, as he sips at the beverage, “a bit sweet, yeah?” coerces himself to ease the smirk that threatens to overtake his face when he recognizes how your eyes widen in alarm. recognizes the panic that spreads within you when you quickly suggest, “is it? let me try.” and he’s more than happy to comply. wordlessly edges the straw between your glossy lips so you can take a sip. half-lidded eyes trained on how your lips curl around the straw, an action that serves as his newest vice. one that he’s certain will take ages to treat. constant time that’d be spent with you. always you. “you’re right. it’s kinda too sweet,” you naively remark, flicking your eyes up at him. you’re so sweet to him– soft voice and all. he’s not looking at you, however. no, ghost lifts the straw to take another sip and as he pulls away, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. to chase after the taste of you. memorizing it. saccharine and gloss. a primal act that has you aching for more. “m’fault then,” his amused voice was snuffed by his blank expression as he gently gripped your jaw. you watch as he slowly blinks, blond lashes sweeping against his cheek, and lowly hums, “forgot I like sweet things.”  

[dustofthedailylife]

"Hey, did you know...?"

Alhaitham x gn! Reader tags // brainrot, drabble, crack, fluff AN // inspired by a convo I had with my bf... I hate him /aff /silly

Alhaitham is the type of boyfriend to always infodump on you whenever something crosses his mind. He loves doing it! And he also loves your reactions to those random bits of trivia.

However - he is also the type of guy whose kind of humor is occasionally telling you fake "facts" that he made up on the spot with a straight face to see your reaction.

You were standing in the kitchen, preparing dinner with Alhaitham when he suddenly perked his head up and looked in your direction. You were plucking a couple of leaves off your herbs before throwing them into the pot that bubbled on the stove. "Did you know," Alhaitham begins in a matter-of-factly voice. "Oregano was once included in the periodic table of elements?" You pause for a moment, looking back at Alhaitham who had already gone back to dicing the bell peppers. "Wait... really?" You curiously lift an eyebrow. It was frankly hard to imagine a singular plant would be- "No." "Oh." He smirked smugly, walked over to the stove with the cutting board, and threw the diced vegetables into the cooking pot. "But... what's actually true is that coffee shortens your lifespan." That would be quite crazy if that was true... However now that you are thinking about it, maybe the caffeine was the reason for it? After all it can cause a racing heart if you consume too much of it. "Actually?" You asked, now hesitant. "No." "Hey! Don't mess with me!" You whined, poking his sides playfully. He turned around, catching your hands in his calloused ones before placing a kiss on your knuckles, that same smirk and the glint in his eyes still on full display. "But there is one thing in this world that can actually never be false." "Oh what now?!" You rolled your eyes and giggled. "I love you." Smooth. 'You're such an idiot' Was the last thing he heard before the kitchen towel was softly thrown in his face.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.