xxepherr

[xxepherr]

ma’am i was at an italian restaurant

[xxepherr]

“the police only aim at the ground!!!” okay explain why a 6’4 hasan piker almost copped a rubber bullet to the head then?????

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ GLIMPSE OF US

summary — in which your boyfriends struggle to get along, but this time it’s frank who gets worried when matt isn’t home on time.

pairings — matt murdock x reader, frank castle x reader, a liiiiittle fratt x reader

pronouns — none, but i’ve envisioned it as fem!reader

word count — 2335

note — i fear i have only been thinking about matt (and subsequently frank) for the past few days now i need to get back into watching daredevil

YOUR BOYFRIENDS CLASHED CONSTANTLY. in fact, you could hardly think of more than one thing that they could both agree on.

frank liked the air conditioner on, matt didn’t. matt liked sleeping on the side of the bed closest to the wall, so did frank. matt hated the tang of cigarette smoke on his tongue every time he breathed in, frank was a smoker. the list went on and on and on and would never be completed; there was always something new for them to argue over.

you were the only thing they agreed on.

it was a strange dynamic. apparently you had a thing for vigilantes on different sides of the vigilante spectrum — matt, who you had been dating for years prior to learning that he was the devil of hell’s kitchen, and now frank, who you helped after finding him battered and bloody outside of your apartment one night. the only reason he was in such a state was because of your boyfriend ( you hadn’t found that out until matt came clean about being daredevil ), but at the time you had been unaware and helped the stranger up into your apartment to clean him up. matt had not been pleased, and the truth had come out not long later. the timeline blurred somewhere around there because now, fast forward eight months, frank castle had somehow become your other boyfriend. 

their fights these days felt more childish as time passed. what had originally been rooted in the need to be angry at each other had expelled ever so slightly — some days you thought you were going genuinely insane when you caught actions and expressions that were almost unreadable, but they weren’t of hatred. something else, just as passionately expressive, but not anger.

“sweetheart!” frank’s voice was gruff, a raspy edge to his words. your head perked up at the sound of his voice. he’d been quiet for the past few hours, enjoying the peace in the apartment matt and you shared while the lawyer wasn’t home, curled up on the armchair in the study with the current classic novel that piqued his interest. last you checked he had been halfway through moby dick, but you were sure he had finished it by now. 

“mhm,” you hummed, your eyes flickering up at the sound of his footsteps drawing closer. you set down the knife, the tomato diced into perfect cubes on the wooden chopping board. he turned the corner into the kitchen, the picture of dorian gray tucked under his arm as he leaned against the wall. his eyes were carefully calculative, watching as your own shifted to look at the digital clock across the room for the ninth time in five minutes.

frank closed the gap, setting his book down on the counter in the process, not stopping until your back was to his chest and his arms were around your waist. “mhm, bruschetta?” he asked, the syllables rolling perfectly off his tongue in a way that made you melt. 

you shrugged, a smile trying to curl your lips upwards at the feeling of his lips against your neck. “dinner was gonna be bland without it.” dinner tonight was leftovers from the past few nights, and because frank had plans to at least stay for dinner, it was a good time to eat them now. you had an inkling that your boyfriend didn’t look after himself properly when he was back at his own place, ghosts of the past haunting his every movement, so at least here you knew he wouldn’t go hungry.

he was silent for a moment, fingers tapping against your hip. “you heard from red?”

there was something else in his voice — worry? you didn’t dare voice it to him in fear it would undo all the progress that they had somehow made towards one another. instead, you shook your head. his arms tightened. “i keep looking at the clock . . . was just hoping he’s late.”

it was wishful thinking at best. you worried every single time matt put on the daredevil mask, same went for when frank left with a handgun tucked in his waistband, but it always worsened when they promised to be home at a certain time and the minutes ticked by past it. 

frank pulled you closer into him, creating more of a gap between you and the drawers under the counter you were preparing food on so that he could open the top drawer. without a word, he reached blindly for the pistol stashed next to the sorted cutlery, his hand meeting it straight away with practised ease. you weren’t surprised in the slightest anymore — there were weapons stored in pretty much every cabinet and cupboard in the place ‘just in case of emergency’. it didn’t faze you anymore when you accidentally picked one up when reaching for something else. 

you glanced down at his hands. frank’s chin on your shoulder, you watched as he loaded a handful of bullets that were in the compartment next to where the spoons were kept into an empty magazine, fingers quick and nimble, a skill not many had. “what are you gonna do, frank?” you asked softly, leaning forward to reach deeper into the drawer.

“find him,” he shoved the freshly-loaded magazine into his pocket before grunting when he caught sight of a glimmer of silver in your hands, reflecting sharply off the light directly above. “you’re not comin’, angel.”

your collection of throwing knives were cool in your palm, the shapes cut out of them scratching your skin with familiarity. they were heart shaped, an old project you worked on quite some time ago when you’d picked back up the old hobby you had as a kid. the hobby that won you tournaments was now a self-defense strategy that your boyfriends hated you having to use purely because they wanted to be your first line of protection . . . but if matt was in trouble, then frank being the only back up was not ideal.

you turned, slipping the knives into the pocket of your pants. “frank . . .” you trailed off, cupping his jaw with your hands. his eyes closed briefly at your touch, an instinctual reaction that pulled him under every time. this was a new advancement because usually it was you calling frank to tell him that matt wasn’t back and he begrudgingly got his jacket and at least three guns to go find him. this was him this time making that call. “i love you,” your voice was gentle yet sharp-edged, “and i trust you, but i’m coming with you. that’s final.”

he puffed air into his cheeks in frustration — not at you, at matt for putting him in this situation — before sighing. “fine,” he gave in, realising that he wasn’t going to win earlier than he normally did. “but you stay behind me.”

that was good enough. you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before turning back to the tomatoes you had just diced, picking up the chopping board and sliding it onto a shelf in the fridge. 

the night air was cooler as the months plummeted into winter. your jacket was a shield, and thankfully the knives you’d stashed in the sheaths on each wrist had warmed up because the steel was ice cold originally. 

“i bet he’s on a roof,” you didn’t look up as you walked, staring down at your phone as you pressed on matt’s contact once again. you couldn’t walk and look at your phone if your life depended on it, but frank’s hand was on your lower back like a makeshift walking guide.

“or in a ditch,” frank scoffed, and you whacked his chest with the back of your hand. “what? i’m just saying. find me someone else as dumb as he is, who the fuck throws themself into a fight with guns when they’re outnumbered?”

you paused, stopping so quick that frank almost tripped into you. all you did was glare at him, and he held his hands up in surrender. “okay, maybe i do that.”

“thank you,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. the phone rang out once again. “i’m gonna kill him,” you could feel your voice shake before you could hear it. “what if he’s dead, frank? what then?”

it was an overreaction to some degree, but frank wasn’t going to judge. anything was possible, and with how many times matt had almost died at this point, nothing was off the table.

“then we kill him again,” frank took your phone, opening a separate app to text him from your phone. whatever he did worked, because suddenly your phone was ringing in his hand. he answered it without hesitation, putting it on speaker. “where the fuck are you?”

“uh . . .” matt thought, and you could hear him wince through the phone, his breathing laboured. “just you, yeah?” he asked, coughing painfully, “don’t want them to see me like this.”

there was a pause. you looked at frank and held your finger over your mouth as if to shush him, shaking your head. for all you knew, matt probably thought frank had your phone because he was hopeless when it came to using his own. frank nodded slowly in response. “yeah, red, just me. where’re you?”

“i’m . . . wait . . .” he swore in the form of a hiss, voice far away for a moment. you could hear aggressive tapping, which meant that he was blindly searching for the locator app on his phone. he had minimal apps and you had put one important app per page on his home screen so it was easier to navigate. from there he just had to guess and follow what text-to-speech was saying. “can you see me now?”

a notification popped up on your phone screen from the find my app. it said a simple ‘matthew <3 has resumed sharing his location’, and you leaned over frank’s arm to tap it. his location pinged two blocks away down an alleyway. frank shook his head with a sigh. “be there in a sec,” he rolled his eyes, hanging up the phone and handing it back to you. “least he ain’t on a roof.”

“he probably fell off the damn thing,” you said bitterly. it wasn’t that you were necessarily upset, it was just pure worry. you always were worried, even when he left the house on a normal day to go to work. you worried more about him than frank because frank wouldn’t hesitate to shoot his way out and take down whoever with him. matt wasn’t like that. and he hated involving you in all of this because he knew your worry only worsened every time. 

“c’mon,” he brushed his fingers against yours as a gentle show of support. “before he manages to make it worse.”

YOU watched matt’s head fall before you were even close enough to see him a lot clearer. betrayal. he had no doubt heard two sets of familiar heartbeats instead of the one belonging to only frank. 

propped up next to a dumpster, you picked up your walk into a run upon seeing him. he had a hand pressed into his side, his mask cracked and bloody. frank was right behind you.

“jesus, matt,” you knelt by his side, the concrete freezing cold under your denim-covered knees. 

matt looked up at you briefly before turning his head to look at frank. “i told you—“

“shut up,” frank didn’t hesitate, crouching down beside you. he ripped matt’s broken mask from his face and passed it to you. matt’s face looked as you expected it to look: blood had dried from where it was once dripping from his nose, cuts were still bleeding across his face, and his right eye was already showing up a bruise. you weren’t looking forward to seeing how much damage was under the suit if that was just the mask.

matt’s head tilted slightly, listening. “you brought your knives.” he chuckled breathily, wincing immediately after. sharing a look with frank, you didn’t need words to decipher that he at least didn’t have a concussion if he had been able to tell you were with frank so far away and that he could hear your knives inside your sleeves when you couldn’t. that was a good sign. “frank’s a bad influence.”

“in my defense," frank huffed, “i told ‘em not to.” his eyes searched matt for any obvious injuries. “anything broken?”

matt was silent for a moment, listening. “shoulder,” he mumbled, “dislocated, i think.”

“mhm . . . ‘kay,” frank then glanced at you, “look away, sweetheart.” you didn’t need to be told twice. matt barely had a second to register before frank’s large hands were shoving his shoulder back into place. matt’s shout was muffled by frank quickly shoving his hand over his mouth. “anythin’ else?”

matt clenched his jaw. he couldn’t voice his annoyance while in so much pain, so he just shook his head. “great,” frank, ever sarcastic, lifted matt up and threw him over his shoulder. you winced on behalf of a groaning matt, glaring at frank.

“frank,” you deadpanned, “i don’t need him any more broken, thanks.”

frank shrugged, and matt once again groaned at the movement against his ribs. “he’s fine. aren’t ya, red?”

“just . . . great . . .” matt reached out to you, and you found his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. “sorry for worrying you.” 

you shook your head, words dying on your tongue. you didn’t tell him it was frank who had voiced his concern first, not wanting to disrupt this sudden developmental shift. instead, you squeezed his hand once more. “i’m always worried,” you said honestly, “but keep your location on from now on, just in case. please?”

matt blinked twice, a way for you to understand that he was agreeing with you without nodding. “i promise.”

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ ROOFTOPS AFTER DARK

summary — in which a new vigilante has popped up in hell's kitchen, and he keeps taking up space on your rooftop. already annoyed that he's making your life difficult, you're ready to tear him a new one.

pairings — matt murdock x invisible!reader

pronouns — none

word count — 1306

note — invisible!reader is so special to me i have so many small ideas half-written.

IT WAS YOUR ROOFTOP. there was no reason to be so civil and let the strange man in a black mask take up mantle on it . . . but you were curious. 

reports had been popping up for weeks now. they were calling the masked man the devil of hell’s kitchen and naturally you were curious. even more so curious when he got to places before you did, leaving behind a pile of groaning, unconscious men that should’ve been yours to take down.

it wasn’t just a jealousy thing. sure, you had been doing this way longer and brought little attention to it because you kept yourself invisible for most of the time. some of which you even staged as accidents. sometimes scaffolding just . . . fell . . . and happened to land a few bad guys in hospital. but here was this guy, the proclaimed devil, and he was making your job harder. he was leaving trails that left you having to hide away for a while, watching from a distance while he did the most insane martial arts you had ever seen in between getting his ass kicked.

knowing nothing about him, you remained invisible, stretching the ability to its absolute limit to cover your breathing and heartbeat also. there was something about him and his mannerisms that made you wary — the way he would tilt his head when he heard something was strange. then again, considering the god-awful mask that covered most of his face, you just assumed it had something to do with being a knock-off superhero with a shitty design. 

each footstep was silent. crossing the rooftop without a sound, you didn’t stop until you were hardly a metre away, watching, calculating. he was doing that head tilt thing again, each siren in the distance catching his attention, but the way he paused in the silence as if he could hear something that wasn’t there was intriguing. it was like that every time, and when you followed, it always led you into watching him take on the demons lurking around the dark alleys. 

he was well-built in a way you hadn’t managed to notice before. the skin-tight, black long-sleeved shirt hugged every muscle from his shoulders down to the point where he may as well have been wearing no shirt at all. there was no way it possibly protected him from anything, very much unlike the black tactical gear you sported that was thick enough to form lightweight armour. it was almost like he was asking for a beating.

without much of a thought, you broke concentration on your heartbeat, not that that had ever been a problem before. people couldn’t just hear heartbeats.

with the fist that was suddenly flying towards your face, apparently the devil could.

you reacted on pure instinct, ducking immediately and layering a shield back over your heartbeat to mask it once more. for good measure, you jumped high enough to twist your legs around his neck, maneuvering until you used as much force as you could to drop both of you to the ground, pinning him effectively. he felt stronger as he struggled, but he didn’t let up so easily. 

“woah,” you gasped in the cold night’s air, replenishing the lack of oxygen in your lungs. “look!” you felt that familiar shudder spring down your spine as you turned yourself visible again. “i’m . . . i didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” you couldn’t help but trail off, trying to decipher how he even knew you were there when there was no way he could see you and your breathing was masked. all you did was drop the cover on your heartbeat . . .

his head tilted again, lips forming a thin line as his hands found your arm. you watched, unsure, not exactly wanting to loosen your grip on pinning him just yet. “who are you?”

“no one, really,” you answered with a shrug. he wasn’t struggling anymore, and letting go of him was probably the nicest way you could go about this situation right now. you released his limbs, watching as he quickly got to his feet and put distance between you. “who are you?”

“no one,” he answered, lips curling in a silent taunt. 

“you know this is my roof, right?” you drawled, not bothering to stand up and instead getting comfortable on the cold roof floor by crossing your legs. “like, it’s been my roof for well over a year now, man.”

the devil’s head tilted again in the same direction as your movements. it was as if he were tracking them with every sense he had. “you’re never here when i am.”

“i’m always here.”

something seemed to change in him, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place, the flick of a switch sparking a light through the darkness. “always here, huh . . .” he trailed off, “you’re the ghost they speak of, aren’t you?” you watched as he crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging against his shirt. you noticed that he didn’t look in your direction when he spoke, facing just off to the left of you as if you weren’t there at all.

the only thing ever printed in newspapers about you was as indirect as conspiracy could get. every bad person something terrible had happened to had been at the cause of an accident that couldn’t be proven to be at the fault of another person. there were few theories that some sort of ghost was lurking around hell’s kitchen, doing the dirty work and covering it up, and though they were right because it was you, they would never learn of that. it was more so something to place the blame on because it was so absurd. the devil’s handiwork painted sharply across the front pages, your little ghost clean-up act was barely even thought of anymore. it was more of a joke than anything, and you had heard people at your day job laughing at the absurdity of it all. all they would ever know was that various strings of bad luck struck down bad people.

“mhm,” you hummed, not affirmatively nor in denial, but just a gentle acknowledgement that you were listening. “you make an awful mess around here, don’t you think? you’re gonna create some enemies by ending up on the front page of the new york bulletin every week.”

“i get shit done,” his voice was a lot more gruff than it had been seconds ago. “i get information before the ambulance gets to them — before the cops.” it was a dig that you didn’t take too kindly. you weren’t interested in information from any of the people you took down, you just wanted to see justice be served because the cops were nothing but useless and you were sick and tired of watching yet another family be let down. 

“find your own roof,” was all you could say, covering up both your breathing and your heartbeat once more. the devil reacted by pursing his lips, looking from left to right as if you had disappeared. “wait . . .” you mumbled, and his head swiveled back to where you were, like he had finally pinpointed your location. the location you hadn’t moved from since you took him down mere minutes ago. “ . . . you can’t see me.”

he made no move in denying it. instead of saying anything, he turned his back to you and jumped over the edge of the building. by the time you stood up and rushed over to the edge, nothing but dimly lit side-streets stared back. still, in the depths of the night, you shouted, “find your own fucking roof!” and hoped he heard it from wherever he had disappeared to.

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ IRIS, bucky barnes

prologue.

summary — in which lilja falls from asgard and meets a strange man on the run.

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THEN.

"KNOW YOUR PLACE, LILJA."

his voice was everything hers wasn't. gruff, strong, and raspy with a permanent rage. erik leifson was barely younger than his older sister lilja, a mere ten months separating the two, but he always held the authority closer to his heart. though they were physically the midgardian age of seventeen and eighteen year olds, it had not taken erik long to grow the same resentment his parents had for his sister.

in a high class asgardian family, she was the weak link. she was not gifted like her brother, or like thor and loki were ( which her parents constantly reminded her when they wishfully dreamed of having them as their instead of her ). the firstborn daughter of leif being so unbelievably weak was laughable — and many on asgard let her know it. gods, thor had outright told her she would never be able to join his crew before she even had the chance to ask. not that she had any interest in joining his arrogant circle of friends, but still. it was hurtful all the same.

"i know my place," lilja dared to respond, her back straightening as she refrained from biting her tongue as she usually did. "and it is right here, erik. do not tell me i do not belong here when you have not even dressed for the occasion."

as the future god of weaponry, a branch off their father's title, erik took to the part well. he dressed in asgardian combat gear, leather protection donning his body from the chest down. it was however incredibly out of place when they were at the prequel to the ceremony that cured them from the devastating early onset impacts of mortality.

the golden apples were not the cure to the concept of mortality as a whole. instead, they slowed down the natural ageing process and enhanced abilities that one already had. in rare cases such as lilja's, she would be ascended to godhood. loki was also to endure the same fate, the two the only eighteen year old asgardians born from gods to currently take the next step.

in comparison to her brother, her dress was a gorgeous aquamarine. emerald vines stitched up the sleeves and across her chest to match the golden jewellery that circled her arms like vines of ivy. atop her head sat the one prized possession she had from her family — a silver circlet that wrapped delicately in a series of swirls around her skull, the diamond centrepiece no longer cool in the middle of her forehead while raindrop-shaped gems hung from thin chain surrounding it. it was ethereal, pattering like real rain across her skin as she moved; she felt like someone else.

"i do not care for this occasion," erik's chin was held high, looking down his nose at his shorter sister. "i refuse to stay to watch you embarrass yourself in front of everyone. i shall stay home instead."

hurt did not even register anymore. lilja was so numb to it all now that she just blinked blankly and moved on past it. she looked like the goddess she was meant to be, the one she would become, and she felt like royalty for the first time ever. she would not let her family take that away from her, no matter how useless they saw her. "fine," she shrugged, trying to step around him.

erik's hand caught her shoulder, grounding her to the spot with more strength than she could ever imagine possessing. "i did mean your metaphorical place," he drawled. a continuation of what he started on running into her. "you know you will never belong with us up here. what good does fooling around with plants do for us, anyway?"

it was rhetorical, she knew that. and she also knew that threatening her brother was not smart, but what else did she have to lose? "so you don't suffocate," her smile was sweet, the honeyed taste of ambrosia on the tongue as she stepped away from him.

he wouldn't dare to shove her around so in public, and certainly on the day of her ascension, so she had nothing to worry about right now. all the consequences would be later tonight. time was bliss until then.

LILJA sat impatiently a few rows from the front awaiting her turn to bite the apple. it felt like she was in line for a public execution in the grand hall that had been built around the prestigious golden apple tree. there were only a few people left before her, their names falling before hers in the alphabet, though the apple would grant them nothing more than extended life. envy coursed through her veins, turning them to poison ivy under her skin. how come they were all allowed to live a normal life on asgard? why was she burdened to ascend to become even more of a laughing stock?

a girl lilja hardly knew returned to her seat, her lips glistening with gold from the juice of the ripe apple. "lilja leifsdottir," idun, the goddess of youth, called out, her cyan eyes scanning the freshly-turned eighteen year olds sat in rows before her.

all eyes fell on her as she stood, turquoise dress flowing smoothly behind her as she kept her balance on the way up to the pedestal. idun stood in front of the ancient tree, a basket of golden apples hanging off her arm.

"lilja leifsdottir," the goddess repeated, louder this time as she addressed the girl opposite her. "do you accept the lasting youthfulness of the golden apple, and promise not to fall to greed, pride or envy at the hands of such a gift?"

"i accept," lilja's voice was soft, a daisy blowing in the gentle breeze. "i promise."

idun retrieved a new apple from her basket, placing it in the young girl's hands. "and do you promise to uphold the duty to your title," idun closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning lilja's domain in her mind, "as the goddess of flowers." she did her best to ignore whoever giggled in the crowd gathered. "the one who will keep the beauty of our land for many centuries to come."

the apple shook in her hands as lilja brought it to her lips. "i promise." she bit into the apple.

SHE DIDN'T FEEL DIFFERENT. one look in the mirror just around the corner and she could see that her eyes were brighter and her hair was shinier, holding a curl better than before. she looked a little more mature in the face but that was it.

"there is no reason," lilja muttered to herself for the thousandth time, skirts bunched into her hands as she made her way through to the garden. "there is no reason." there is no reason to return home. she looked the same, she felt the same, and she had a stupid title that brought nothing to her family but shame.

there is no reason to return home.

not to erik's aggressive teasing. not to her father's look of disappointment. not to her mother refusing to look her in the eye.

there is no reason to return home.

a bed of carnations grew under lilja's feet the moment she stepped onto the grass. they wrapped around her feet like a hug, the gentle embrace so homely that she collapsed to the ground on top of them, uncaring for the pristine dress she had come to love. her mother would kill her if she knew.

"take me away from here," she mumbled into the empty garden, staring up at the bright blue sky above. the carnation stems were wrapping around her arms now, not that she noticed, and they grew and grew until they tangled around every limb and appendage they could reach. "so far away that no one will ever be able to find me. so far that they will never know where to look."

lilja closed her eyes like she always did when the same thoughts ricocheted off the walls of her brain in blinding numbness. only this time, instead of opening her eyes to face reality once again, she was being pulled into the depths off the earth until she blinked her eyes open to the feeling of nothing but wind.

she was falling, tumbling through the air until loud noises overlapped each other — sounds that were not native to asgard. midgard, she recalled the place being called, the centre of the nine realms. lilja hit the ground with so much force that a crater opened up in the middle of countryside nowhere, her vision fuzzing and fading until her eyes fell shut and her body went limp.

NOW.

THE MARKETPLACE WAS BUSIER today than it was the previous sunday. lilja, who only ever set up a stall when she wasn't working and had to make some extra money, had more customers today than she had seen in quite some time.

time passed differently in midgard, or earth, as she had come to call it; her new home for quite the number of years now. she kept moving and was glad that her job as a botanist allowed her the privilege to do so without much of a hassle, but she kept as far from america as she possibly could. lilja had watched the news — how thor and loki had been plastered across the news worldwide a multitude of times because they were otherwordly beings that had caused chaos and destruction in new york city . . . and thor had ended up joining the avengers.

the avengers. the thought of them made her fists clench around the delicate bouquet she was wrapping a pink bow around. thor opened his big, stupid mouth and blabbed that she had been missing and that there was no trace of her in other realms, and that earth had been the only one he hadn't had the chance to search yet. she knew; they stupidly had a variety of houseplants scattered around the avengers compound. hiding from the avengers like a fugitive because she refused to be taken back to asgard was the only thing keeping her on her toes now, forcing her to move from place to place. it was why she left naples six months ago to instead call bucharest home.

she would not be taken prisoner if she had any say in it, and she certainly would not be forced back to a place she was unloved. she upheld her duties as a goddess from earth, there was no reason for her to go back.

"thank you, have a lovely day," lilja's voice was just loud enough to be heard over the bustling citizens passing through the markets, her romanian easily fluent now. another bouquet of flowers sold, the money being placed into a box beside her bag. the array of bouquets she had up for sale were every colour of the rainbow, many flowers that did not naturally grow in the area, but passersby didn't know that, nor did they care enough to. they were pretty and they brightened someone's day, and that was all she could ask for.

her potted plants were not as popular, but she had a reputation for being a great seller when the people who did buy them came back and told her that they grew better than store-bought plants. perhaps it was a little magic, but lilja always told them that they were grown with love rather than to just be monetary value. she was not lying, she poured her heart and soul into every aspect of nature she touched, but it definitely also had to do with the fact that she had a little touch of power that they were blissfully unaware of.

as it neared midday, her stall became less busy as people migrated to the food stalls. the smell of sarmale and jumari overwhelmed her senses, the two dishes so popular that lilja had to go and get some early in the morning to avoid the queues.

falling back into the little chair she always brought with her to sit in when she only had the odd customer, she kicked her leg over the other to cross them and flipped open a novel she had gotten cheap from a second-hand store. it was in bulgarian so that she could become fluent in their cyrillic alphabet, considering it to be her next move when things started to feel too familiar in romania.

she got three pages in when someone started to linger out the front of her stall. he was too far to be buying, but he wasn't far enough to not be interested. dressed extremely casual in a flannel and a baseball cap, he looked more like he was hiding than shopping. lilja's interest piqued.

slowly, she set her book down and stood up from her chair. "hello," she greeted him, not having to raise her voice so much since it was quiet up this end of the market.

the man, who had been cautiously moving his eyes around the market, was careful in his gaze as it turned on her. she couldn't work out why he looked genuinely surprised that she was even talking to him. her eyebrows furrowed together with every careful step he took closer to her stall. "hello," he mirrored her greeting, his accent more defined. he sounded like a local.

"i noticed you looked interested . . ." which she was starting to feel stupid for saying. she could hardly see his face, his features covered by the brim of the hat and his lowered chin. "if not, that's totally okay."

"you're not from here," the man deduced, picking up on how the way she pronounced certain sounds. she was passably fluent, but he had been trained in observation. it was as easy as breathing. "where are you from?"

he watched the flash of momentary panic in her eyes. the switch to english was so smooth she almost forgot to cover her tracks. her voice was strange — accented in asgardian, it was not similar to any other accent close enough for her to be able to pass as a different ethnicity. it was too formal for australian but not formal enough to be from certain areas of england. it usually did not matter with strangers, but he was very attentive. something too loud made him twitch and something too quiet made him tense.

"oh, you know," she waved her hand, biting the inside of her cheek. "i travel so much it is hard to pinpoint an exact place anymore." lilja's tone was joking, trying to make things a little more fluid to avoid the real answer. you couldn't just spring 'oh you know, the very top of the nine realms. place called asgard, heard of it?' because then she sounded insane. it was better to just avoid the subject as a whole."

"mhm, i get that," he nodded, and he raised his head a little. his eyes flickered sideways and she couldn't help but follow his line of sight. staring rather obviously in their direction was a singular woman, her phone up to her ear. looking back at the man before her, she noticed him concentrating on seemingly nothing, staring at one of her plants with more intensity than she herself had ever looked at them. "shit," he muttered, and she caught it.

"are you okay?" lilja's voice was so soft it was like waves of calm were crashing over him, dragging him under and breaking his concentration. it was strange.

"i need to go," he said quickly, shaking his had and taking a few steps back from her stall. he'd dropped his guard for far too long and a civilian had recognised him. shit.

"oh, okay," he tried not to detect the sudden drop in her voice, her eyes downcast to the table. he noticed the petals of the sunflower bouquet were suddenly drooping. she blinked and looked up but the man was already gone.

LILJA had been tending to her bonsai tree when she heard the loud sound of boots on metal from up above. the tree was a long-time project, one that she had grown incredibly attached to over the course of how long she had been on earth. all it had taken was one trip to asia and she had left with a baby tree and a new hobby. she was well aware that she took greater care of that tree than she did herself but that was besides the point.

it was the first time she had ever heard anyone above her on the roof. her apartment was on the top-most floor and so she had a ladder that connected to it fairly easily if she climbed out the window in her lounge room. the roof. she kept a decent variety of plants up there because some required constant sun to grow, and so hearing someone actually be on the roof while also being that loud was concerning.

setting down the training wire she was yet to use on the tree, lilja slowly inched towards the window, listening to the footsteps thunder overhead. just as she reached the window, a loud gasp tore from her throat when a hooded man suddenly landed on the metal scaffolding with a clang. his eyes turned to the open window at the sound, not expecting her eyes to shift in recognition and reach out towards him. he didn't think twice but accepting her hand and helping himself through the window and out of sight.

"shh," the man lilja recognised from the markets earlier held his finger to his lips, ducking out of sight from the window and pulling her with him.

oh shit, she thought, am i harboring a fugitive? she was still yet to figure out how exactly laws worked on earth, even after all this time, but she had done a pretty good job and avoiding law enforcement at all costs. looking at the man she recognised earlier now, with his face half-covered by a black mask and the same baseball cap, she had a feeling her clean record was about to come to a swift end.

she wasn't sure how much time passed, but once the man looked content enough to stand up, lilja figured it was safe to talk. "are you one of those . . . bad guys?" she worded it curiously, thinking back to how she had watched those strange tv show things on tv where that was what characters called criminals.

the man chuckled shortly, gruff and stubborn, almost like he did not mean it to slip out. "no . . .?" but even that came off as a question, so she shrugged and let it slide. "thanks for helping me."

"are my plants okay?" she asked, wringing her hands together in worry. she couldn't hear them whisper, her heart still pounding in her ears from all the steel-cap boots on metal.

"what? oh, i think so," he shrugged, "didn't pay too much attention, sorry." she nodded slowly, biting the inside of her cheek, unsure of what to say. "i'm, uh, james, by the way."

bucky barnes didn't feel right with the way it rolled off his tongue, as if the name he read in a museum wasn't his own. even bucky didn't taste right as it rolled around his mouth upon practice, but his first name was the safer bet in not being recognised. which, now that he thought about it, he could not work out why she did not know who he was.

"lily," she was quick to introduce herself in the same way she did to everyone — by using the english version of her asgardian ( which she had since learnt was also scandinavian ) name because it made things so much easier. it was more of an instinct than a habit now. "so, james . . . who are you running from?"

"complicated," he half-shrugged. lilja noticed that his left arm looked stiff as he tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders. maybe it got injured when he was running? there was no way to tell; he adorned a large hoodie and black gloves like armour. bucky shook it off and inched closer to her window, scanning his surroundings to look for any signs that those chasing him were still lurking, but also to make sure that he had not lead any of them to lilja's quaint apartment. "uh, thanks again, lily."

she raised her eyebrows as she watched him sit up on her windowsill, "you are just leaving now? without an explanation?"

"yep," he nodded stiffly, hopping through to land on the metal of the fire escape — he hardly made a sound this time. "safer that way."

bucky was gone before lilja could register it. she slowly walked over to the window and pulled it shut, clipping the lock on the inside and shaking her head. "what on earth?" she asked no one in particular, her dark eyes scanning the city below before drawing the curtain across like a shield. "such a strange realm," she mumbled before heading back over to her bonsai tree.

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ IRIS, bucky barnes

summary — in which a super soldier and a goddess develop an unlikely bond based on the trust that they can't find in other people (extended summary below).

pairings — bucky barnes x oc (lilja leifsdottir)

pronouns — she/her

masterlist — can be found here

note — this is not an x reader and i will not tag it as such. being released on v-vettel on wattpad (direct link) if you prefer to read over there instead :) i also had to screenshot and paste for the bottom formatting because tumblr formatting gives me a headache istg

IT WAS NO SECRET that leif and astrid wanted a son. they'd had a good feeling their firstborn would be a son from the very moment astrid fell pregnant. nine months later, disappointment prevailed. lilja was born.

it was almost immediate when astrid fell pregnant as soon as she could after the birth of her daughter. those nine months passed painstakingly quickly, with servants tasked with the care of lilja, until they finally got their wish: a strong, healthy son was born. erik was set to be the official heir.

LILJA WAS USELESS. or that's what she was told. she was not needed, an unnecessary aspect of their family because she did not earn strength and talents of weaponry in her youth. no, she was unceremoniously given the gift of controlling plants. it was embarrassing, stupid, her gifts over the gorgeous flora everything to be ashamed of. what good was she other than growing flowers for table centrepieces?

useless or not, lilja freed herself from the shackles of her family in asgard and bypassed the bifrost, landing somewhere in what she could identify as midgard. though she felt like a child needing to learn everything anew, lilja built a new life for herself, never staying in one place too long. she became what the mortals called a botanist, studying different plants across the globe. it kept her busy, it kept her away from anything that reminded her of home, but it most certainly kept her away from the clutches of the avengers.

ALL THINGS MUST COME TO AN END when the time is right. when the last grains of sand fall through the hourglass. the fractured avengers have two very different targets as they enter europe, their goals so similar yet so contrasted. lilja leifsdottir, the asgardian that can be used as a mediator and overall safety net was the backup plan if things were to go south. and bucky barnes, the war criminal on the run from everyone including himself, with one party looking to murder him and the other trying to save his life.

what they hadn't expected, however, was their two targets to be in the exact same place: some dainty, old apartment in the heart of bucharest. and they weren't letting each other go without a fight.

[xxepherr]

──── 𖦹 .✧˚｡ iris, bucky barnes. the masterlist !

can also be discovered on wattpad.

.ೃ࿐ IRIS

.ೃ࿐ ZERO ⤥ in which lilja falls from asgard and meets a strange man on the run.

[xxepherr]

and if i hypothetically post the bucky barnes x oc fic im writing for wattpad on here then what 👀

[xxepherr]

Did Charles actually tweet that

no but basically yes

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ RACECAR BLANKETS

summary — in which a fight with your parents leave you without a home for the night. you have never really spoken to your neighbour before, but carmen is your only option at such a late hour.

pairings — carmen berzatto x reader

pronouns — none

word count — 2982

note — contains rocky family dynamics etc. set before the bear when they were in their early twenties

THE DOOR SLAMMED, THE wood cracking painstakingly as the lock clicked shut. your breath caught in your throat, the weight of the situation slumping your shoulders and making your eyes blur.

it wasn't your fault. maybe you had made the situation worse by actually fighting back, but it wasn't your fault. it was all what it normally was: stupid disagreements going stupidly too far until it was too late to back out. it was all normal, it was all something you could deal with ( and something that was resolved the following morning by simply never bringing it up again ) but this time was worse.

way worse.

it was so bad that you'd found yourself kicked out of the house into the freezing chicago weather, hardly dressed warm enough to be out of your bed let alone outside. a hoodie that was worn to death covered the shorts you had on, and the knee-length striped socks barely providing warmth for your legs did nothing to combat the freezing cold. snow was expected within the next few days; the cold snap had finally settled in.

"kicking me out like i'm a fucking child, fuck," you grumbled under her breath as you shook the shit out of the doorhandle, trying to force the lock to miraculously unlatch itself to let you back inside. you supposed your parents also expected you to be living on your own by now, that somehow in this shit economic climate paired with your equally as shitty job at the local diner you would be able to afford to live in an apartment somewhere nearby. it was always expectations but no reality with them, you couldn't catch a break.

"fuck you guys, seriously!" bashing on the door didn't do anything but hurt your hand, your screaming scratching at your throat. it was all futile but you were so frustrated it was all you could think of doing. crying wouldn't even be worth it because the tears would freeze into your cheeks the second you let them slip. perhaps it was worth it to see if it would freeze your tear ducts like a fucked up science experiment.

hands aching, you gave up when the neighbourhood was utterly silent. no one cared to hear your pleas as you tried desperately to get your parents to let you back in. they were probably not even listening.

the front verandah you stood on was icy, the cold seeping in through your socks until your teeth chattered. it would be too cold to sleep on like you could during the summer months, and not necessarily wanting to die from frostbite or hypothermia or whatever, you carefully stepped down the steps while trying not to slip. that would be even worse than having to sleep outside in the freezing fucking cold. just the thought of it tried to flush heat into your cheeks.

the street was dark. the dim streetlights flickered from years of no repair, barely enough to illuminate the backstreets of chicago's south. they'd been flickering for as long as you could remember. countless complaints had been put it but to no avail. they spent the money on yet another highrise instead.

no one was around when it was this late and cold. the nice couple a few houses up didn't even have their bonfire going. you liked the bonfire, as did the rest of your neighbours. everyone chipped in — snacks, firewood, alcohol and board games brought together the little community you lived in to take part in the brief respite from the real world, only if it were for a few hours. they were such a lovely couple that you didn't want to go intrude by asking them if you could sleep on their couch for the night. it was far too late and their lights weren't on, you definitely were not waking them up.

there wasn't a single living room light on. from left to right, the only source of light came from the tiny glow across the road, two houses up.

carmen berzatto wasn't someone you saw much of anymore. he was always away now, and you had overheard his mother boasting about how he was traveling the world to learn to become a chef during her drunken rambles before she turned sour about it. before she started growling about how he had abandoned her because he hated her. it was hard to ever believe a thing that came out of donna's mouth on the best of days.

every now and then you saw him out the front of his house like he used to when you were teenagers. he was older so you never had a reason to talk to him at school, or outside of it for that matter, but it always seemed you were in the same predicament. sometimes you heard donna screaming at him, you still did now that you were both in your twenties, and you had a feeling he heard your parents do the same to you. there was always that strange, unspoken glance whenever the two of you were outside at such an hour. that you both understood without needing words.

you decided that tonight was the night that you broke the silence. grimacing as your socks padded across freezing cold grass and concrete, dampening the bottoms of them until they soaked up to your ankles, you made your way across the street to his place. it couldn't hurt, and you could walk past his place to reach the main road in hopes of finding a place that was open twenty-four hours to stay for the night.

carmen had a cigarette between his fingers, the same as every time you saw him. he took a drag and tapped the ash onto the driveway under his feet, the orange flakes extinguishing itself as the air caught it on the way down.

your teeth chattered so loud that you were sure he could hear it from the middle of the road. carmen glanced up, you couldn't confirm nor deny if it was because of your loud shivering, and you froze. standing on the road at the edge of his driveway, you didn't have a plan. there were no next steps.

"they kick you out again?" he gestured casually with his arm, more ash falling at the simple movement.

"do you have a blanket?" you hardly let him finish before you asked, crossing your arms like it would provide sufficient warmth. this was not how you pictured having your first ever conversation with him. you always thought a mutual greeting of hello before awkwardly parting ways was how it would go because you shared no interests you could think of. he liked cooking and you didn't. he probably had a five-year plan and you didn't even know what you would have for breakfast tomorrow. the only thing you remotely had in common was the insane parents who smelled more like a brewery than a home.

"you smoke?" he deflected, and when you shrugged, he held his half-smoked cigarette out to you. you took it without a second thought. janet, your coworker, was a smoker, so when you took your breaks together, you often joined her. it was a strictly social thing because you didn't really like the idea of wasting nice perfume on hiding the smell of smoke.

you breathed it in, filling your lungs with the warmth of the smoke before exhaling. you felt a little bit warmer. "thanks . . . i guess," you handed it back to him.

carmen was silent for a few minutes until he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. "i got blankets," he answered the question he previously ignored. "but that's not gonna help you out here." he took one look over the entirety of you, not even bothering to hide his slight judgement. "you'll freeze to death."

"i'll take my chances," you gritted back. you knew he was right and your bedtime-outfit choice was not helping your case. "can i please have a blanket?"

"mum drank herself into a coma," carmen shoved his hands into the pockets of his thick winter jacket. it took everything in you to not glare at the simple action — it felt unintentionally mocking. "you can stay here for the night."

you didn't know him. it probably wasn't the best idea to stay in a stranger's home but he was your neighbour. surely there was some sort of neighbour code where you didn't have to fear being murdered or something. either way, you'd probably die or get pretty close to it if you slept outside on your front verandah so . . . it sounded better to at least die being warm.

"okay," you were far too cold to think or say anything else. you accepted the offer gratefully and felt his hand press against your spine in response, guiding you towards his front door. you internally thanked him — your legs felt like they had frozen to the spot.

he walked slow by your side, silent as he helped you up the slippery steps to his front door. he didn't open it in quiet manner like you expected, just slammed it open like he had his own problems simmering under the surface and led you inside. "mikey's out, who the fuck knows where," he muttered the second part under his breath like he tasted something bitter. "no need to whisper or anything."

you liked michael. there had been times in the past where you had nowhere to go and so you would wander to the beef just to sit in their empty dining room and he would bring you some leftovers that were going to get thrown out at the end of the day. he'd sit with you in silence until you opened up about how annoyed you were, and he would do the same. you swapped family stories and their annoyances until he either had to go back to work or shut up shop. it was the only reason you knew bits and pieces about carmen's life without every speaking to him. micahel spoke so highly of his younger brother that it made you wish you had someone who thought of you the same.

you left damp wet footprints on his floor, leading a trail upstairs to his minimalist bedroom. he muttered something about finding something warm for you to wear and left you in the middle of his room.

his walls were white and his floor was bare. he had a bookshelf drilled into the wall above his bed, each book a different cookbook from a different place he had been. you could only recognise few of them when the other titles were in languages you didn't know. there was a single teddy bear on his blue bedsheets that looked like it had been through hell and back, barely hanging on by a thread.

without really knowing him, his bedroom felt very him.

there was a picture frame on the dresser he was digging through that had been flipped downwards, dust collecting on the top of it. you didn't have time to think of it much more when he suddenly turned to you with a bundle of clothes in hand. "the bathroom's down the hall on the right."

you blinked. "i'll be so for real, i don't think you want a stranger using your shower."

carmen just shrugged. "'s technically mikey's. he's not a stranger." he shoved the clothes into your hand and slipped his jacket off, dumping it on top of the pieces of paper he had on his desk.

well, that confirmed that michael had clearly spoken to his brother about you. you weren't exactly sure if that was a good thing or not. making a mental note to ask him the next time you went around to the beef, you stiffly followed carmen's directions to get to the bathroom.

the water falling from the showerhead was just warm enough to expel the chill deep within your bones. you'd showered earlier so all you did was stand under the warm water until you were no longer shivering. thank god for showering after you had dinner earlier because there was about four different soaps in just this one bathroom. two pump soap bottles and two bars of soap were all in the holder, each different. one of them was a floral scent based off the bottle, no doubt belonging to carmen's older sister natalie because the smell of frangipanis didn't jump out at her from being around michael or carmen. the most you were glad for was the fact that there was no two-in-one in sight.

wrapped up in the spare towel you found folded and placed in the cabinet under the sink, you stared down at the bundle of clothes carmen had handed you. they looked like older clothes — an old grey shirt with a small hole in the left shoulder, grey tracksuit pants that had lost elasticity ( but thankfully still had a drawstring ) and a black pair of socks. either he dug through his clothes to only find his old ones or he only really had these clothes laying around because he was always in his culinary apparel for work. judging by his tired eyes and how donna called him a workaholic whenever she came to the bonfire, you assumed it was the latter.

you hung the towel up on the empty spot on the rack before shuffling back out into the hallway and turning the bathroom light off. the light was dim from carmen's room, his desk lamp on as you turned the corner into his little section of the house. was this intruding? carmen was shelving an old leather book with something french titled into its spine.

you did not belong in this bedroom.

he didn't hear you until he turned to look at where the sudden shadow was coming from. "warmer?" he asked, a genuine look in his electric blue eyes. as if somehow this didn't bother him. as if having to shelter his neighbour for the night wasn't a complete and utter hindrance.

"thank you," was all you could say. "i seriously appreciate it . . . this is way more than necessary."

his eyes narrowed, "i'm not gonna let you freeze to death on the street."

why not? was all you could think, my parents would, and i'm their fucking child. i'm a total stranger to you.

he looked through you like he could read your mind. he probably could considering he had suffered the same situation so many times growing up until he moved as far as he could from the clutches of chicago. the only difference was that you had noticed natalie or her partner pick him up whenever you were out on the verandah, drowning out the sound of hell from inside your house with headphones. he had a place to go back then, you weren't — and still aren't — so lucky.

"i, uh, made you up a bed," he gestured nonchalantly to the floor before running his fingers through his unruly curls like constant stress gnawed at him. for the first time you noticed the floor. he had one of those beds that had a spare one roll out from underneath to accommodate for another person without needing a whole new bed. the pillow missing from his bed looked suspiciously like the one on the mattress, and at the end of the spare space for you to sleep sat a mountain of blankets. it looked like he had raided a linen cupboard and grabbed everything because he couldn't make up his mind on which to grab.

he wouldn't ever admit to that actually being what happened.

you couldn't form the words. it was embarrassing that this was truly the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. padding further into the room, you sunk down onto the thin bed that was surprisingly comfortable, carefully unfolding two of the blankets to cover yourself with.

dressed in carmen's clothes with your head on his pillow and warmed by blankets that had racecars on them, your eyes felt prickly as you turned to look up at him from where he was sitting on his bed. "thank you," was all you could say, eyes blurring with unshed tears. "why?" you couldn't explain the million thoughts rushing through your head, only that the simple word of why was all you could voice.

he seemed to understand. "i, uh," you could see a pink hue blend across his face as he looked away, "had to do some therapy shit; made me look at books and stuff." he didn't mention that he fucking hated the one session of group therapy he went to in new york in hopes that it would magically fix him. "there was some shit in there about kindness being a virtue, made me think about it."

"mhm," you could only hum, ever so appreciative. this all felt like too much. "i would do the same for you, i hope you know."

for the first time tonight, carmen cracked a smile. "you'd let me borrow your clothes?"

"and my barbie blankets," you nodded with a gentle smile, his own so contagious. the world would benefit from him smiling more . . . or at the least, you would.

his amusement was audible in the sound of a chuckle this time. his blankets rustled as he climbed under the covers. "lamp on or off?"

"off, please," you buried your head in the pillow that smells like vanilla with hints of smoke. carmen reached over your bed to the desk on the other side of you to turn off the lamp, basking you in a darkness that wasn't so scary. "goodnight, carmen."

"goodnight," he responded, your name falling from his lips like it was only meant for him to say. you'd never fallen asleep faster in your life, and little did you know, neither had he.

[xxepherr]

THE LEVEL OF INSANITY TO TRY INVITE AN INSANE 55 MONTH SUB TO RIP THEM TO SHREDS ON STREAM IM CRYING HASAN PLS

[xxepherr]

turning watching the context nuke into a fundraiser is literally the best way hasan could've gone about watching this bullshit

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐RESEARCH

summary — in which a research day takes place in the comfort of the home she shares with her boyfriend. he has a debate with his former podcast cohost to prepare notes for, and she has a federal election to cover.

pairings — hasan piker x politicalcorrespondent!girlfriend

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1470

note — not really an x reader bc she covers australian politics but lives in america with him, and therefore i didn't wanna make it too reader-specific. anyway, the election just ended here in australia and it was on the same day as the hasan v e debate so i decided to get back into writing :)

THE HOUSE HAD NOT been this silent in a long time.

for the past week and a half, her and her boyfriend had been locking themselves in different rooms during their free time to get together as much research as they possibly could on two very different political situations. hasan, who had an upcoming debate with the man who was a former friend and podcast cohost, and her, who had little time to prepare for the upcoming australian election before she had to fly there to cover the lead up to the count.

hasan's family hadn't been around as much since the start of last week because of it. she loved his family but there was something incredibly peaceful about the atmosphere being so silent that every shift in the air could be heard. especially when she had twenty tabs lagging out her laptop and could feel another blue screen threatening to interrupt her once again.

it was late afternoon, the sun mellowing outside the window as she lounged on her stomach across the floor of the open-space living room. the loudest thing that greeted her ears was the sudden heavy footsteps on the hardwood flooring. lost in thought as she scrolled endlessly through an article to ensure it withhold as much bias as possible, she didn't look up at hasan, not even when he stepped over her, bending slightly to scratch the top of her head in a silent greeting before sitting down next to her on the comfortable rug.

he waited for her to speak first, not wanting to break her out of her train of thought. he watched the time tick to two minutes at the top of his phone as he retweeted a post before she spoke. "hey," she lifted her head to look up at him, a warm smile bubbling to life. "how was stream?"

"same old," he said simply, tilting her chin up a little more to press a kiss to her lips. "i tried to finish as early as possible for you." he'd explained at the start of the stream that it wasn't going to be super long one because he had other commitments, namely his girlfriend, and so once he covered everything he needed to plus a few extra things, he was queueing up the outro song and turning off his camera.

"aw," she hummed, turning back to glance at her laptop again. she glanced at the time down in the corner of her screen. "did you want me to make us something to eat or . . .?"

shaking his head, hasan reached over to the coffee table that she had pushed closer to the couch earlier to grab his laptop. "ordered us your favourite already." he knew she was busy and didn't want to interrupt her, so he took the initiative to order from her favourite cafe to treat her. he had walked past her multiple times within the past couple of hours to go get food or a water refill because she didn't come in to drop off any when she got her own like she normally did due to the amount of research she was stuck under.

it meant that he knew she had not eaten much either, and they were going to be on the floor for a while until they called it quits . . . he was getting ready for it to be a long night.

"ugh," she groaned in delight, "you're a lifesaver. this is doing my fucking head in."

with each day of campaigning changing the narrative, there was so much constant work she had to do to keep up until her flight out to australia in a few days time.

"talk to me," hasan hummed, opening the lid of his laptop and typing in the password. the document that already had links and bullet point lists under subheadings already took up two pages and it wasn't even in full detail yet.

"they want me to talk about literally every party, basically," she tried not to sound like she was complaining too hard, but she was genuinely just frustrated. not at the workload — at the fact that the country was slowly turning to shit and people were genuinely falling for the lies of all the conservative parties that got far more votes than they realistically should. "there are people genuinely considering voting in the next trump and elon because they listen to the australian equivalent of fox news and do no further research, like they're straight up just ignoring the fact that peter dutton and gina rinehart are gonna fuck things up so bad, and people believe their nuclear power being cheaper bullshit." she spoke so fast she was quickly out of breath.

hasan did not know as much about australian politics so a lot of it did not stick out to him, but he gladly listened to her every time she spoke about it. the information got stored into a compartment in his brain that was labelled 'aus politics for when i need it' and it got added to every time his girlfriend mentioned anything about it. he didn't have to understand her to be attentive.

"and there's this dickhead who makes a new right-wing party every election 'cause he has too much money," she rambled on, melting under the sudden feeling of his hand tracing patterns on the skin that was exposed on her back from her shirt riding up. "guess what it's called this year."

"uh . . . trump part two?" hasan answered unsurely, partially kidding. his jaw dropped when she didn't immediately say he was wrong.

"basically," she admitted, "it's called trumpet of patriots. it sounds like a super bad meme."

that was news to him. "you're . . . not joking?"

"nope."

laughter tumbled out of him, his hand stilling on her back for a moment. "that's so unserious."

"it's basically the unserious version of the us election," she shrugged, switching to a different tab. this time, an article about how cost of living is swaying younger voters. "anyway . . . how's yours going?"

the words on the document he had open were staring holes through him. "i'm definitely mentally preparing for this shit way more than preparing notes, that's for sure." he didn't do debates because they showcase as more of an entertainment thing than an actual way to get your point across to the other party involved. he was willing to have a conversation with his former cohost and friend, but he knew how it would unfold. everyone did. it would hardly be productive, and so all mental preparation would go towards harbouring extreme levels of restraint and calamity.

her fingers hovered over the keyboard, pausing. hasan maneuvered so that he was laying stomach-down on the floor, his laptop beside hers as he got comfortable. "we both know how its gonna go down."

"uh huh."

"he's gonna talk over you, mock your stuttering, and be a child about literally everything," she easily listed off, annoyance simmering underneath at the thought of it. sometimes she sat in the armchair in the corner of the room while he streamed when she wanted to be in his presence without being on camera. she, however, would absolutely not be sitting in on that debate because she could already picture how much of a mess it would be. she planned to watch it from afar, but even then it was going to be a hard watch.

there was no denying it. hasan could only sigh. they lapsed into a comforting silence, basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun shining through the windows. the peaceful levels of quiet were only broken by the repetitive pattern of keyboard keys echoing clicks and when kaya dug her wet nose into hasan's arm to try get attention before doing it to her other owner.

a brief cuddle session break that was lengthened when the food arrived lasted a little longer than it perhaps should have, but then it was back to scrolling through videos, social media posts and articles to compile as much as they could. hasan was interrupt her train of thought to ask "does this sound okay?" whenever necessary, and she did similar, instead asking, "is this okay enough?" because all she really needed were unbiased facts to at least try combat the problem of political presenters sharing their opinion when they shouldn't be.

it only lasted until the sun was pretty much gone and they were bathed in darkness when she shut the lid of her laptop and rolled onto him until she was laying directly on top of his back. "wanna play stardew valley?" was all she had to ask and he was closing his laptop lid and trying to stand up without her falling to the floor, research long forgotten as they booted up the xbox to play their split-screen farm.

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐DANCE WITH ME

summary — matt can't see the way you dance to your old vinyls, but he can imagine it. he doesn't have to this time when you invite him to dance with you

pairings — matt murdock x oldsoul!reader (established relationship)

pronouns — none

word count — 1439

note — i have a million and one matt murdock ideas half written, but this one is a bit self indulgent :)

LIVING WITH YOU MEANT there was never a complete moment of silence.

not because you were loud, but because you always had your record player spinning. from bob dylan and joan baez to the beach boys to fleetwood mac, the air was never dull. matt could feel the change in the air better than anyone — the mood seemed to lift, your high spirits mixing with the pleasant sounds of calamity, successful in pulling him out of his head and into the moment with you instead.

he'd felt the extensive amount of vinyls you had, he'd bought the shelf for you to store them all on when you moved in after all. the smell of old dust that was impossible to scrub away made it so much more you. he liked that his apartment didn't linger with the scent of antiseptic or bandages, or even that metallic tang of blood on his tongue when he took a breath. matt murdock never thought he could like the subtle texture of dust so much, but he welcomed it with open arms and an open heart.

every day he wished he could see you dance the way he could hear you — the subtle shifts in the air leaving him with just enough description to hang onto, but never enough to satiate.

MATT could hear the music before he heard you, as always. the second he entered the apartment complex, he could usually tell what you were up to based on what you were listening to. tonight it was a record he hadn't heard before, no doubt one of the few he hadn't been around to hear spin on the turntable. he was almost sure he'd heard every single one by now.

the music was louder by the time he got to the door, not loud enough to be heard through the door by the average person, but just loud enough for only him to have a small smile pulling across his lips at the thought of you.

opening the door, he set his cane by the door and removed his jacket. he softly called out your name, "i'm home," he turned the corner, setting himself in the direction of where he could hear you in the kitchen.

with a smile, your humming fell short, dropping the wooden spoon in your hand down onto the counter. "how was work?" you asked him, making your way over to him. he wrapped you up into a warm hug before you got the chance to do so first.

"spent most of the day researching," he answered, raking his fingers through the ends of your hair. "how was your day off, hm?"

you were so comfortable you almost forgot to answer. "good! i cleaned the place up a bit for us . . . bought some more bandages for you," he could almost taste the edge of sadness in your voice, maybe even something bordering the same bitterness a lemon tasted of. he knew you hated fixing him up purely because that meant he got hurt in the first place. your disdain stemmed from all the years you spent growing up listening to anti-war bob dylan, he knew that. you would never turn him away, however. "now i'm making dinner."

matt didn't have to ask what it was — the herbs and spices you had open was a telltale sign you were making that family recipe pasta sauce while the tagliatelle boiled.

you pulled away first, a small skip in your step as you made your way back over to give the pasta a stir in the pot, a gentle ripple of movement a dance across your shoulders, every step in time with the beat.

there was no reason for him to be able to see you to be mesmerised by you. "which one is this?" he asked, turning to face the direction of the music, feeling around for the vinyl's cover on the table beside the record player. it was smooth with a rough edge, much like all the others you had, each weathered with age from the people who owned them before you.

"some of dinah washington's best songs," you answered mindlessly, a warmth flourishing in your cheeks from talking about it. you enjoyed talking about this with anyone, more so matt than anything, much more than you cared to admit. "it was a few bucks in a second hand store, i couldn't resist." it was a few days ago now, and it had taken as long for you to gain the courage to listen to it. you liked what you knew, and it always took longer for you to open up to the idea of something new — only now were you regretting that ( once again ) because dinah's old jazz music was heavenly to your ears.

you moved away from the stovetop once more, the sauce simmering while the pasta boiled, not needing to be touched at all now until the timer went off. matt's head tilted ever so slightly as he followed the soft sound of your socked footsteps, each one closer than the last.

your hands slipped into his, gently pulling him away from the record player and out into the open space between the lounge room and the kitchen. "come dance with me."

he'd never danced with you before, though you had asked almost every single time. he didn't like to dance apparently, but still had the audacity to try and get you to explain the movements to him. dancing wasn't really something you could just explain ( though you were sure he could picture roughly enough with all those senses ) and so you left it. now was your chance if he said yes.

a quiet sound of protest escaped his throat as he had no choice but to follow your direction. "no," he shook his head, his hands loose in yours. still, he wasn't pulling away. "i can't dance, come on . . ."

you just shrugged, shifting only slightly from foot to foot, following the jazzy rhythm. "you just gotta move with the music," you explained. "feel it. i know you can do that . . . i'll guide you."

matt supposed it couldn't hurt just this once. he was stiff, trying to seem completely uninterested as your movements became more fluid, moving his hands for him and hoping it would be enough to encourage him to try it on his own. he refused to let go of your hands.

a few moments of silence as the current song ended drew heavy, and you frowned, unfamiliar with the record. you were letting go of matt's hands in defeat knowing that there would be no use trying to get him to dance now that the moment had passed, but he surprised you by squeezing your hands. he refused to let go. your frown disappeared.

the next song kicked up to fill the void, this one slower than the previous. you were surprised when you looked down to see matt's feet shift, albeit awkwardly. you laughed, a sound that sat beautifully on his ears, showcasing a happiness he had only ever seen in you. "okay, work with me here," you warned, and before he could try and work out what you were doing, you had lifted one set of your connected hands as high as you could.

piecing it together, he held his tongue and spun slowly until he was facing your direction once again. who was he to deny you of your excitement? "gorgeous twirl, my love," you giggled, pulling him close. you wrapped your arms around his neck, and his hands naturally gravitated to sit on your hips.

"never again," he shook his head, but he couldn't help the laugh that tumbled out of him, tangling in with your own. "now this . . ." he trailed off, his head dropping down to rest in the crook of your neck. you kept your mouth shut as you swayed slowly in a soft slow dance, not wanting to spook him now that he was actively participating like he was some kind of small animal. "this i can do."

with his approval on slow dancing — which you couldn't believe had taken this long to find a style of dance he was willing to participate in — keeping you comfortably melting into him, you sighed softly, homely, enjoying every moment in his presence. "this is perfect," you agreed, all in all glad that you could spend such a loving moment with him.

it would only last until the end of the song when you had to check on the pasta, but it was enough, and now you knew exactly how to coax him into dancing with you next time.

[xxepherr]

hello! i love your hasan fics! there’s not a lot for him so i appreciate your work.

i don’t know if you’re up for any requests, but i think it would be fun if you wrote a little reunion fic with hasan for when he gets home from his japan trip. maybe include something about his ‘beautification’ bc that was really interesting to witness on stream

.ೃ࿐HOMESICK

summary — in which hasan's homesick after spending time away from you in japan, and you're homesick because his house isn't a home without him in it.

pairings — hasan piker x reader (established relationship)

pronouns — none

word count — 1343

note — thank you sm <33 requests are definitely open :) (sorry it took so long, it's not much but i kinda like it? idk hope i didnt disappoint too hard)

YOU NEVER THOUGHT IT was possible to be homesick within the walls of your own home.

it obviously wasn't the first time that hasan had left you behind to go somewhere, but it was the first time he had left the country without you. last year you went with him to japan, but this year's trip was grander than the last, and you stayed behind so that he could go do all the content goals he had planned. ultimately giving up on convincing you ( and subsequently qt ), he let it go and enjoyed the last few days with you before he had to fly out.

you couldn't say the house was quiet while he was away, only for the first two days because it was just you and kaya, with murat stopping by to pick up some things. you had a feeling that was bullshit, and you were right because you coaxed the truth out of him: hasan had asked him to drop by to make sure you and kaya were comfortable. it made your chest feel warm at how much he cared; you couldn't really fault him for thinking about you.

the house got louder when hasan's parents came to visit, another thing you were pretty sure was scheduled so that you wouldn't be on your own the entire time. even though you spent nights watching movies with them and mornings walking kaya and swift with qt, it still felt like a hole was carved into your heart. perhaps a touch on the overdramatic side, but it definitely did not help when you had hasan's stream open, tiredly watching him have a fantastic time while itching to not pick up your phone to text him.

you already felt bad enough when he stepped away from his friends for one minute maximum to send you a goodnight text, it made you feel worse when austin mentioned you on fear& because apparently he had a gripe that hasan spent more time texting you than he did listening to him talk. it was a joke, you recognised that it was just a subtle dig, but you weirdly still felt bad. this was their trip, you didn't mean to get mentioned as much as you did, but in all fairness hasan and you hadn't been apart for this long before. and you were also pretty sure you hadn't gotten this many texts from him ever.

YOU waited impatiently at the airport, and you had been for the past hour and a half. in excitement, you'd left the house way earlier than necessary. you were also pretty sure that came down to your worry that the traffic would be so bad that he'd be waiting around forever if you weren't there on time.

hasan insisted on catching an uber home but that would mean waiting even longer to see him. maybe you were selfish, but you didn't want to have to share his attention among his brother and parents after not seeing him for so long. you loved his family, but you really just wanted to be wrapped up in the warmth of his presence for just a little bit before he was pulled into at least five different conversations as to how the trip was.

you were one of the few waiting by his gate, and probably was just as excited as the little girls waiting impatiently for their father to get off the plane just beside you. their mother was a lovely woman trying to wrangle the twins into behaving in such a busy place, and you'd helped out briefly earlier when they were almost trampled by a man passing by in a hurry with his suitcase.

the plane hasan was on was in view, and various airport staff had been getting everything ready to allow passengers to disembark. you'd been keeping yourself occupied by trying to spot hasan's luggage as a mound of suitcases were being pulled off the plane and put onto a lengthy trailer.

excitement doubling tenfold when the doors were opened and people started filtering through into the space. the twin girls squealed when they saw their dad, rushing over and jumping on him, their mother not too far behind. you shifted slightly, fingers tangling together as you peered around the happy family, trying to spot your boyfriend through the crowd. you knew it wouldn't be hard, he was pretty easy to spot in crowds, but you were getting antsy with how long it was taking.

you pulled out your phone, ready to check if he had texted you at all without you realising when you spotted him. actually, you weren't too sure if that was really him.

a very clean-looking hasan piker was making his way towards you, and you squinted, excitement dwindling ever so slightly as curiosity gnawed at you. "oh my god," you finally laughed, a short series of giggles that were pleasant on his ears the closer he got.

"why're you laughing?" hasan asked, his voice a honeyed sweetness. "not the greeting i was expecting."

"i'm sorry," you couldn't stop staring at his face, barely noticing his hands coming to rest on either sides of your waist. "you look so much more . . . turkish . . .?" it came out more like a question than a statement, but you couldn't help it.

everything about him seemed so sharp. his beard had been done up nicely, neatly trimmed and lined to accentuate his jaw. his hair was shorter, blended down to the buzzed sides, and you knew it would look even better as it blended further when his hair grew out. and his eyebrows, oh my god they were nicer than your own. they were neatly shaped so perfectly that you couldn't spot a single stray hair or anything out of place. he was all angles and lines and god he liked interestingly good. you liked your boyfriend as his rugged self, but you couldn't say you hated what he looked like right now.

"you didn't watch the stream?" he chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. you all but melted. "it took, like, three hours for all of this to be done."

you sighed, trying to calm your chuckles. "i missed you," you said quietly, "and watching your streams made me miss you more, so . . . i stopped. did you have a good time?"

"of course," hasan let go of you, slipping his hand into yours instead so you could make your way over to collect his bags. "but next time you have to come." you made a subtle noise of protest, knowing the whole reason you didn't go in the first place was to avoid distracting him from his friends. "y'know i always have more fun when you're there, c'mon," he shook his head, squeezing your hand.

"austin kept telling you to stop talking to me," you deadpanned. "if anything, i'm ruining content."

"nah," he waved off, running his fingers through his hair, momentarily forgetting that it wasn't as long as it was a few days ago. the simple action from him and you were immediately back to staring up at his face again, still trying to get over how different of a look this was for him. "stop staring." he didn't have to look at you to know.

you laughed again, "i can't help it! you look like one of those greek statues; all angles 'n' shit."

as much as he loved you, he knew he wasn't going to hear the end of it for at least a few weeks until his hair growing was more noticeably changing him back into how he looked before the beautification stream. he was proven right when he went home and his mum reacted in the same way you did, and how you kept running your fingers against his eyebrows when he was laying his head in your lap later that night.

he absolutely was not going to live this one little bit of content down, but he couldn't say he didn't hate it when your attention was constantly on him because of it.

[xxepherr]

i have another hasan fic idea!! (if your open to requests)

reader is a popstar and releases a surprise single (like "nasty" or "positions" by ariana grande) and he reacts to it on stream and is blushing and flustered listening to it🤭

.ೃ࿐SURPRISE SINGLE

summary — in which you drop a surprise single conveniently while hasan is streaming, and that means he has to react to it on principle.

pairings — hasan piker x popstar!reader (established relationship)

pronouns — none

word count — 1750

note — i am SO open to requests!!!!! i don't personally think he'd blush but i think he'd get flustered word-wise if that makes sense. like SUPER caught off guard by it all. not my best work but i tried </3

WOULD HASAN CONSIDER YOU a closed off person? no. you weren't necessarily secretive either, so when you kept yourself locked away in the studio hasan had put together for you, your head in the clouds for months, he knew something was up.

he wasn't sure what exactly, just that your hands were constantly covered in pen ink by dinner time, and that you hummed the same tune as a mellow afterthought. or the way you disappeared "to the studio" but you never took your notebook with you, and usually came home with your hair a different way or covered in stray glitter.

hasan paid attention, he knew you had an album you were working on that was due to be released later in the year, but you were never this quiet about it. you bounced ideas off him, you let him sit in the studio with you and brainstorm what sound you wanted until you got distracted and gave it up for the day. it was the reason why you usually went to a proper recording studio with producers more often than needed.

either way, he trusted you. he didn't want to pry as much as it would ease the constant itch in his brain. you'd lost quite a bit in simply just dating him in the first place — people didn't like the fact that you were dating a political commentator, but you moved past it fairly easily. ignorance was truly key to happiness. you were happy.

it was like any other day. you woke up, put kaya's harness on her and held the unattached leash separately ( just in case you ran into other dogs and their owners on the way ) and went out for a run on your normal circuit in the neighbourhood. when you got back, you kissed your boyfriend through the car window as he left to go meet his personal trainer at the gym. you made a simple breakfast of cereal and fruit and retreated back to what austin had started calling your cave.

it was for one last time in a while, just to prepare a few things so that you could immediately promote the single once it dropped. it was all lined up and awaited the click of a button . . . just hours from now. you felt jittery with excitement, the secret of a few months so close to being exposed to millions.

HASAN came home and did as he usually did — ate a ridiculously protein fueled meal, took a shower, prepared his things for stream, and then joined you for an episode of the show you were currently watching. in fairness, it was the first time in a while he'd joined you or the show part of that plan, something he was incredibly confused about but not exactly bothered by. it was nice, cuddled up together on the couch, sharing moments together that weren't meals or naps or brief moments you'd bring his food to him while he was locked in on whatever he was talking about on stream.

"i have to get up," hasan's chuckle was breathy, his fingers trying to pry your hands off his bicep. you clung to him with all the strength you had, a whine building in the back of your throat.

"five more minutes," you sighed. you both knew five minutes turned to ten which then turned to at least thirty. once he had been a whole two hours late because you wouldn't let go of him, all to the point where he considered just streaming with you clinging to him like a backpack. he wouldn't, of course, but it was definitely still a thought. he knew you wouldn't care anyway, your lyrics were quite . . . questionable and anyone could decipher what your relationship was like without having to physically see it.

"you wouldn't give me five minutes when you were off being secretive," he challenged lightly, eyes rolling in a playful manner. "i promise i'll take more breaks than usual to come see you," it was a common form of negotiation in situations such as these, one you couldn't argue with.

if you were interested, you'd sit in the chair off camera that murat usually sat in, or you'd sit in the armchair he put in the room just for you to read a book while he chatted politics. you wouldn't be doing that today, not even popping in for a quick hello to ask him something like you normally did. not today.

you let go of his arm, doing so in a way that made it look like he'd finally pried your hands away, and pressed your lips against his cheek. "fine . . ." you drawled in mock disappointment. "go do your job or whatever."

he laughed, standing up from the plush couch and disappearing around the corner. you tapped on your phone, the wallpaper of you and hasan posing with his mum in front of a gingerbread house from christmas last year greeting you with the time. you had a few hours to kill before the single's release, and so in the meantime you could tidy up a few things before his parents arrived later tonight.

HASAN, DESPITE POPULAR BELIEF, didn't actually get annoyed as easily as perceived. things had to pile up and really push every single one of his buttons to create an outburst, and one thing that certainly did that was some dumbass spamming the same thing over and over.

"dude, i can't fucking stand dumbasses like this," he sputtered out his usual rant, one that at least half of his chat could probably recite word for word. "shut the fu—" he cut himself off when he opened the link in a separate tab, a snippet of a sound he hadn't heard before paired with what he knew was footage of the richard nixon presidential library. the part that caught him off guard was that your youtube channel's name was displayed at the bottom as he paused it.

oh. it all made so much sense now. all the hours spent holed up in your studio . . . all the hidden secrets and the sudden shutting of your notebook whenever you were close enough . . . oh.

"okay," hasan cleared his throat, dragging it over to the main screen. he didn't make a big spectacle on unbanning the person who spammed the link because how could he be mad? and set the music video back to the beginning. he couldn't not watch it, not when he'd reacted to all your other songs and music videos on stream. "quick break so we can watch this."

heaven sent you to me, i'm just hopin' i don't repeat history.

already, he was justifying it in his head as if he really had to. the title, positions, had him a little nervous as if you hadn't written suggestive songs about your relationship before. it was a little more obvious in the target demographic ( himself, mainly ) when you, in the music video, were clearly meant to be depicted as the president of the united states.

boy, i'm tryna meet your mama on a sunday. then make a lotta love on a monday.

okay, it shouldn't have been a huge deal. it wasn't. once again, this was no different from what you had written before, if anything, this was probably more toned back. even with that, the fact that he had no warning about you dropping this song whatsoever had his face feeling warm at the contents.

switchin' them positions for you, cookin' in the kitchen and i'm in the bedroom . . .

he was uncharacteristically silent through the rest of the song, not glancing away from the video on his monitor. not even to stare at either one of his chat that he had open. he only snapped out of his daze when the lyrics begun to fade and the door to the room swung open.

"thoughts?" he heard your voice before he saw you, a skip in your step as you made it over to stand behind his chair. you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, eyes scanning the chat that he had finally started scrolling through again like he wasn't just at a loss for words.

"uh, i, uh," he stuttered momentarily, clearing his throat. the messages he scrolled through were turning into various greetings directed at you. you giggled softly in his ear too quiet for his mic to pick up. "you were fucking amazing, when aren't you?" he just managed to grasp his bearings, looking at you through his monitor.

"aw, i think your face is even a little pink," you leaned even closer, squinting as if to try see it through his beard. tone riddled with tease, "did i do all that?"

hasan glanced away, scoffing out a laugh that you knew was the result of him feeling flustered. he was never super vocal whenever he was embarrassed, but all the signs were there. his body heat had skyrocketed, and he twisting one of his silver rings with one hand while tapping the desk with his other. mission accomplished, you supposed. the secret song was all worth it to witness this.

"thought you'd appreciate me being the president," you shrugged, a grin spreading across your face when he didn't answer "would i be the hottest president ever?"

"mhm, i don't know," he pretended to think, "have you seen obama? man, he could hit a three."

you turned your head slowly, your eyes locking with the obama cutout leaning against the wall behind the small cutout of queen elizabeth and bernie sanders. on numerous occasions when you sat in the room while he was working or when they used to do the podcast in here, you would have to get up and turn it around so you didn't feel like obama was staring into your soul.

"yeah, okay," rolling your eyes, you straightened back up, mindlessly lifting your hands up to fluff up the back of his hair. "i'll let you get back to talking about . . ." you glanced at his other monitor, "elon musk." the face you pulled was enough to show your subtle disgust because you knew one word would have your pr bombarding your phone and you didn't really want to deal with that today.

"i'll take an encore of positions later," hasan added as an afterthought as your fingers left his hair and you waved goodbye to his stream.

"of the song or . . ." you raised an eyebrow at him, and he winked at you in response.

"surprise me."

[xxepherr]

how did the child serve more cunt than george motherfucking russell