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about me
i’m a 24-year-old fanfic writer. i use she/her/they pronouns, but i don’t particularly mind what you use. i’ve identified as pansexual for years but i’m not sure what would be best. please don’t mind me figuring that out. my fixations change every so often so i try to keep detailed masterlists. i sadly have a day job that takes up a lot of time, and i often find myself hiding from social media. i’m here, i promise, but if i ever disappear, please know that i’m hoping for the best for you, dear reader. ♡
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current fixations: the terror, golden kamuy, and of course anything tolkien
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☆ day six: sihtric of dunholm ☆
— the last kingdom sihtric x gn!reader with the following prompt: Inexperienced. Infallible. Inescapable.
w/c: 1.8k words
a/n: argument-ish convo that leads to somewhere? but the somewhere is not written, so it's more or less up to your imagination what that somewhere is
click here for the original event post.
MASTERLIST
Inexperienced. Infallible. Inescapable to Sihtric's busy mind.
You were everything to him, and yet, you were everything that he tried to avoid. He would ruin you. He was sure of it. He would hurt you, curse you—keep you from becoming the very best commoner you could be.
Hell, he knew it was stupid.
Battle had never graced your innocent eyes. Not in the grand scale that he has seen it, the blood, the terror. Death had yet to kiss your lips, begging for you to follow.
You were one of the few who had yet to have any sort of romantic experience, and Sihtric had been one of the first to pull that out of you—ale had not been kind to you the evening of. A confession never came, though, and the admission of his crush continued to keep under wraps. Even with ale singing your name.
Sihtric didn't want you to know. Or at least, that was what he told himself.
You didn't want him to know, either.
You would much rather go off into another's battle, weaponless, than ever let him know exactly how you feel.
For why, you had no answer. The fear of Sihtric's untimely death, the fear that you would tell him and lose him in the same breath. Was it truly this fear you kept onto the reason you did not want him to know?
It had only been a few weeks after your drunken state. Sihtric had taken you home that night and you did everything in your power to avoid the Dane. Embarrassment became you, rooting itself deep into the woven patterns in your clothing.
And yet today, you found yourself in the mix of Lord Uhtred's vagabonds, traveling to Coccham on a path unfamiliar to you. You kept away from Sihtric, only answering him with a smile if he looked your way.
He made your heart beat, fast enough you were sure it would gain wings and fly away.
If only you knew he felt the same.
It was as if the two of you played some grand game of hopscotch, carefully hopping over the thrown stones, coming close to crashing but staying upright just in time to win. Only, neither of you were winning this game.
He needed you to know, despite the fear that he held deep within. He wanted to shout it from the mountain tops, from the cliffs overhanging the vast oceans. The gods already knew. Now it was up to you. You would know, and soon. He was tired of waiting.
Sihtric led his horse over to yours, your name escaping him to catch your attention.
You glanced over at him, tense smile prepared as you gripped onto the reins, ready to go and lead your horse elsewhere.
"Don't go," he quickly said, stopping you from pulling away. His jaw clenched, brows furrowed as he watched you. His frustration was palpable. "You have avoided me for weeks now," he said, keeping a steady rhythm with your horse. "It is as if you have crossed me out of your life completely. For what reason?"
For what reason? You had no true reason. No reason that would sound... viable, if you said them aloud.
Your silence spurred him on.
"Truly you must take me for some sort of miscreant to avoid me so," he said.
Finan piped up from somewhere behind you: "Leave them be, Dane!"
His head shot in his direction. "I did not ask for your input, Finan."
He raised a defensive hand and guided his horse to move before yours, leaving the two of you behind the others and pretty much alone.
His interjected did not stop Sihtric. "Did I do something? Have I offended you in some manner for you to go and pretend we do not know each other?"
"No," you began, but Sihtric was not finished.
He had an entire argument set up. "I do not know what it was that I did to you, but I promise you, I—"
He paused. You had said no. He blinked slowly, lips parting. He had been prepared for you to say yes, or something to that regard, and yet, you didn't. You...
"You didn't do anything," you reasoned, frowning at him. "It is my fault."
"You... your fault? No, no—"
"—I am scared," you blurted.
"Scared? Of who? Me?"
"No," you shook your head. "I do not want to get close to you."
His jaw clenched once more, hands tightening on the reins. "What?" His voice was tense, yet beneath it, if you truly went looking, you'd find the hurt he held onto more than anything.
"No," you repeated. "If I get close to you, then I risk so much, Sihtric."
"You risk—" he sputtered indignantly. "What do you risk? Being friendly? Having someone look at you like you painted the flowers, hung the stars by yourself? Having someone look at you like the gods gifted you to this world?"
You eyed him warily. That was your concern.
"And what happens when I let something like that into my life and somehow, it all goes wrong?"
"How would it go wrong?"
"You live and breathe for Lord Uhtred. Who is to say that you would not follow him to his death?"
Sihtric tensed at your words. He looked away, finding the back of Lord Uhtred's head many paces ahead of you. No one could hear your argument.
"I would not," he said defensively.
"Yes you would," you countered, unable to help from rolling your eyes. "You would, and that is what scares me most."
Sihtric scoffed. "Scared of death? You have lived your life thus far without the comforts of a lover, and you are more scared of death than being alone forever?"
"I do not need a lover if it means I will mourn them in the end."
He blinked owlishly, heterochromatic eyes finding yours. "You would only mourn the love you shared. You would love until you couldn't, and then you would remember then the rest of your life. Why is that such a bad thing?"
"I do not want it for myself."
"You do not want it, or you do not know how to deal with it?"
Your silence was loud as you stared at him, stopping your horse entirely. He stopped a few paces ahead, horse turning to the side just so he could look at you properly.
"Love does not have to be a battlefield," Sihtric said. "Neither does it need to be something you fear. It is... it is beautiful, and righteous, and everything that you deserve."
You mulled over his words. Love was something you already had—you just hadn't shared it with anyone else. Hadn't shared it with the man you knew you loved more than anything.
"Sihtric..." you began.
"I love you," he said. "I am sorry that I am only telling you now. I—I wasn't going to. I was going to take it with me until the day I died. I know you are not as I am. You are pure, and perfect, and so innocent that I would ruin you. But I cannot sit here any longer without telling you, knowing that you are so scared of something so... so..."
"So human?"
His eyes blinked rapidly this time. "Yes. So human. The gods may have blessed me with my heart, but they do not know what it is that I feel when I look at you. I fear I will ruin you, but that fear is not as strong as the fear of you not knowing is."
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you averted your gaze.
He said your name, guiding his horse in your direction until the two of you were side by side, both horses facing opposite ways. He reached out a strong, calloused hand, taking yours in his own.
"It is foolish, I know, but you must know that it is true. I have never lied to you, and I am not starting now."
Your brows furrowed, but you did not pull away. You went to speak again, but the sound of Uhtred's voice ringing out across the field stopped you.
"Come now, lovebirds! Coccham will not come to greet us if we stay here any longer!"
Sihtric cursed under his breath and let go of your hand, nudging his horse to move once more.
You settled into a tense silence, shoulders scrunched together and eyes trained on Uhtred in front of you. The truth of Sihtric, the truth of you, sat on the tip of your tongue, waiting for you to take it in and devour it whole. You deserved it. Sihtric did, too. Even if it meant you would have to mourn him longer than you ever had to love him.
You bit your lip, glancing at Sihtric as he rode alongside you. He went the same speed as your horse, watching and waiting for something more to happen.
When you said nothing, he remained silent.
He looked so handsome there, dark hair and beautiful eyes finding the sunlight so perfectly. The gods above, his gods, must have took special care in creating such a beautiful man.
Battle may have never graced your eyes, and death had yet to truly kiss your lips, but if it meant that you could love a man such as Sihtric Kjartansson, then so be it. You would face death in stride, taking out those around you if it meant that you felt the love he was willing to give.
He caught your eye, a small smile forming on his lips despite the tense nature of your conversation.
"I do mean it," he softly said. "Every word."
"I know," you answered, nodding your head without much give. You let out a soft sigh, averting your gaze. "It is the truth that scares me most."
"The truth," he echoed. "The truth is that I will be the best you have ever known."
A soft laugh finds its way through the clearing. "You would be the only man I have ever known in such a way."
He grinned. "So be it. I will be the only man you have ever known that way, and I will be the only one to ever know you that way. Once you let me in, you will never want for anyone more."
You rolled your eyes. "Sihtric, I am going to have a conniption."
His smile only widened. If he could speak to you this way, then surely that meant good news for him.
"When we return to Coccham, would you do me the honor of allowing me to show you exactly what I mean? Whether it be just talking or something more."
Your eyes widened. Gods, he was ridiculous. You looked at him, feeling that familiar warmth of embarrassment settle between your heart and your ribcage. Your mind screamed at you to say no, but your heart begged you to say something far simpler, something far more dangerous. You let yourself breathe, and the answer came forth without hesitation:
☆ day five: victor zsasz ☆
— gotham victor zsasz x gn!reader with the following prompt: "I told you why—" / "—shut up! It's not your turn to talk," he snapped. "You don't get a chance to talk right now. Not when you go and do this bullshit!"
w/c: 1.5k words
MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: contemplating suicide, in the process of attempting. do NOT read if this is something that will make you uncomfortable. also, victor being victor, and at some point his possessive side def comes out.
a/n: also??? somehow it's christmas? holiday season? idk what happened, it just popped up and i ran with it. you can ignore that line though and pretend it didn't happen. it's not integral to the plot.
click here for the original event post.
MASTERLIST
The cold settled deep beneath your bones as you stared out from the pier, coat pulled close to your body. An hour had passed since you found yourself standing here, waiting. Debating. Trying to figure out what it was you were going to do.
It would only take one step.
One step, and then, it would be all over.
No worries about friends, uninvolved family, the stupid holidays that stretch on far longer than they should that never seemed to leave you alone, the overwhelming intrusive thoughts that continued to urge you on. Said thoughts sent you closer to the edge than you ever thought possible.
You'd never have to worry about anything, ever again. You'd never have to wake up, wondering if you'd die that day. Gotham would cease its relentless havoc, allowing you to just... rest, if that's what truly happened once you passed.
But an inkling of something in the back of your mind seemed to make you pause. It wasn't quite your mind; at small intervals, you could have sworn it was him, scolding you for your insecurities, telling you to cut it out, knock it off.
Is all this truly what you wanted?
You wanted to die. To have your life stripped away in a matter of minutes.
Just behind you, thousands of people were preparing their gifts and making final additions to the holiday season. Many were lighting candles, fixing ornaments, or prepping their meals for a joyous feast.
It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.
Not your job, your boss, your dear friends. Zsasz.
You left him a letter in the middle of your dining room. He'd find it soon enough, and when he did, you would be long gone. You wouldn't have to face him, and that made things a little easier. If you had to look at him, if you had to face his disheartened features (because god knows you'd have to), you weren't sure if you could do it.
Who could say no to that cheesy, disco-loving assassin?
Could you really leave him with a note that confessed your love, instead of telling him in person?
Yes.
Yes, you could. You had to. You had it already prepared. This was it.
The murky depths of the water lay just beneath you. What a terrible way to go, huh? Drowning. But you knew it would work in a matter of seconds if you just... breathed it in. The cold around you would help to numb the side effects.
But then... your feet wouldn't move. Your mind screamed at you, begging you to do something before some freak came out to the pier, looking for something to do—for someone to kill, or worse.
You couldn't do it.
Tears rapidly formed in your eyes, your hands coming up to dig your fingers into the flesh of your cheeks as you tried to ground yourself.
"Shit," you breathed out. "Shit, shit, shit."
It hadn't even been that loud, but your voice echoed across the dock. A sob escaped you and you buried your face in your trembling hands—your skin was ice cold.
In your constant dolefulness, the sound of footsteps came from behind you. Your breath hitched in your throat. Fuck. Too late. Head jerking in the direction in which it came from, you sucked in a deep breath. Your eyes landed on the shoes of the culprit, and it only took a second for you to figure out who it was based on the shiny leather of his dress shoes.
Zsasz.
Your eyes slowly trailed up, from the crumpled letter clutched in his trembling—yes, trembling—hand, to his disheveled clothing, and finally, to his face which showed far more emotion than you were used to.
He scrunched his nose, taking yet another step forward.
"Are you insane?" he spat, disdain lacing his words.
"What?"
He scoffed, waving the ridiculous letter around. "You really leave something like this? You're even more stupid than I thought!" He was pissed—furious. You said you loved him in your letter. If you were leaving like this, was it even true?
Death followed Victor Zsasz no matter where he went. A comforting friend that found pieces of memory etched into the scars on his skin. But your death? No. No, it couldn't happen. It wouldn't. You were going to live forever. He made sure of it.
"Victor," you began, but to no avail.
"No," he interrupted. "No, I'm not done," he said, jaw clenched. He stuffed the crumpled letter in his pocket, pulling out his trusted gun from its holster.
He lifted it, pointing the thing directly at you.
The chill that had already found you was replaced by something knew—a freezing dread, seeing his gun pointed at you instead. What was he doing?
"Isn't this what you wanted? To die? Why so scared, now, hm?"
You said nothing, hands trembling by your sides.
"You'd just leave? Without a word? Leaving without telling me. That's a new low, even for you."
"I told you why—"
"—shut up! It's not your turn to talk," he snapped. "You don't get a chance to talk right now. Not when you go and do this bullshit!"
He stalked closer to you, barrel of his gun now at eye-level. He stared you down, never once wavering in his anger.
You ignored his order—his demand that washed over you like a cold shower, inching its way up your spine.
"Are you going to kill me?" Your words were barely above a whisper. You had been prepared to die, but now... you didn't know if you could. Not when he stood in front of you.
"Do you want me to?" he asked, finger on the trigger. The safety was still on. He'd never moved to fix it. He wasn't about to tell you, either.
You slowly shook your head, hot tears forming in your eyes once more.
"Then why the fuck are you out here?"
You averted your gaze, body trembling under his glare.
"I thought you loved me," Zsasz said, voice hard yet gaining that small, tell-tale quiver of fear. His anger wasn't alone. He was terrified of losing you to the one thing that comforted him most. He would find no comfort knowing you were six feet under.
"I do," you blurted. "I do love you." You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to keep yourself from crying.
"Then what the hell are you doing?" he repeated the same sentiment, though it seemed to do little to spur you on.
You loved him. Love. You love him more than life itself. But was that enough? To keep going. To continue on, knowing that you tried to do this, even if you loved him.
"I just—I can't do it anymore, Vic."
"Do what? Be with me?" he blurted, question heavily settling between the two of you. You weren't together, and yet, he couldn't help himself. "Live in Gotham?"
"No! No, I just—I just can't live anymore," you sobbed. "Every day is a waking nightmare in my mind! I can't escape it anymore. Can't, can't just like you can't escape the fucking Penguin. It's so—it's so—"
Victor dropped his gun, slipping it into his holster with practiced ease, finally closing up the distance. He wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you away from the edge of the pier as you broke down in his arms.
You don't know how long you cried for, but your assassin crush held you the entire time.
He knew.
He knew exactly how you felt. Hell, he felt it daily before you came into the picture. Hell, had he known—if he could have taken that pain away from you, he would have.
The big, bad Victor Zsasz held you close, his chin resting against the top of your head. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the way you eventually relaxed in his arms.
"Let's get you home," he said, not waiting for you to reply. "Get you comfortable. Maybe get some takeout. How's that sound?"
You gave a small nod, but then shook your head. "Not—no, not my apartment. I can't—"
"—okay," he interrupted. "Mine, then."
You did not refuse this time, letting him lead you off of the pier and to his car, waiting for your return. You turned your head toward the pier, eyes flickering to the water.
"Look away," he snapped, and you immediately did as told. "Don't be looking at the water. You're never coming back here. Ever again."
Zsasz helped you into his car before he jumped into the driver's seat, staring at the dashboard for a minute too long. He turned to face you as you put your seatbelt on.
"I mean it when I say you're never coming back here. Even if it means I have my eyes on you at all times."
You frowned softly at him, not quite meeting his gaze.
He reached forward, fingers gently grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him. "I will keep you alive, even if it means you hate me."
Your eyes softened. "I... I could never hate you, Victor."
"Good," he said, letting you go and starting the car. "Because it wouldn't matter, even if you did. I love you, and when I love someone, I never let them go."
☆ day four: sihtric of dunholm ☆
— the last kingdom sihtric x gn!reader with the following prompt: There are times when he is not sure of anything but the sheer anxiety he feels any time he is around death.
w/c: 1.4k words
a/n: i love love love. ps, erm idk what pies were called during this time. some places use "rissoles" and some use "coffyns" but i'm just gonna say pie to save us all some time. godspeed.
click here for the original event post.
MASTERLIST
There are times when he is not sure of anything but the sheer anxiety he feels any time he is around death.
It is not like it was anything new—death had always been around. He knew death well, and it would never go away, much like a cruel mistress who followed you every which way. To the ends of the Earth, really. It was just the way the world worked. Without death, there would be nothing new. Without birth, death would be a figment of the imagination.
It was just the way of the world.
He hated it.
Every moment he stepped onto the battlefield, he wondered if it would be the day he met his demise. He fought valiantly, yes, every time—but why? Just so he could live and someone else could die? Was it cruel of him to live a life of such hypocrisies?
And then there were days that the thought of death got to him, and not even ale would bring him comfort. On these days, he searched for familiar faces. Finan was fun, yes, but not like the friend whom he's come to know and love. They tended to his emotional wounds like no other. But it was rare that the days and thoughts of death would land on the days they were actually in Coccham.
When he was in Coccham, though, his feet found the familiar path to their humble abode. His lips would say their name so sweetly, and the scents wafting from their home from the freshly baked breads and pies they would always make would hound his nose, reminding him that he was oh so alive.
Death would not have him yet. Not any time soon, if he had a say in it.
You were to thank for that. His perseverance. His need to stay alive, no matter the cost.
Sihtric slips through your front door with little bit a quick knock just to let you know he was there. You would have heard the horses, heard the people running by announcing their return.
And of course, you were ready to greet him.
All smiles, you open your arms to him, and he immediately melts into them, pulling you close and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He smells of rain and mud and blood. A little of it is uniquely Sihtric's, his natural musk evident. He needed a bath, but it would come in time. For now, you held him.
"It is good to see you," you say, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
He hums against you, unmoving and as still as a tree, feet anchored to the ground beneath him. He breaths you in, feels your body in his hands. The consistent force of man and steel, the agile Dane who did all he could for his Lord Uhtred, reduced to nothing more than a simpering child in your arms. He loves you. He knows he does.
Now to tell you before his feet grew cold.
He looks up at you, a soft smile gracing his lips.
"I must tell you of our battles," he says, hands squeezing your sides. "I must tell you what I learned, as well."
"Come, then. Let me get you a slice of pie and a bit to drink, hm? Then you can tell me while you eat."
He perks up at the mention. "Pie?"
"No meat, but we had an abundance of berries just this morning. I thought a sweet would settle nicely. Had I known you'd return today, I would have done differently."
"What?" he starts, smiling all the while. "No, no, berry is good. I love berry pie."
You fight back a soft giggle, pulling back from his hold. "Go, sit. How much would you like?"
"As much as you're willing to give."
Soon enough, you return to him with wine and pie, grateful you bartered one of your other pies with your neighbor for a bit of wine that morning. It turned out to be a wonderful decision, after all. As Sihtric dug in to his food, he talks through bites.
"There were so many of them! It was like walking through an army of men completely out of their skulls. May the gods follow them where they lie." He bites back his other words. I was scared I would not return to you. I was scared to die.
"Sounds as if you've had your fill of blood for the next few weeks," you say, more hopeful than anything.
He smiles. "Lord Uhtred says we're to stay in Coccham for at least two weeks. He's waiting to hear word from Alfred, and you know how that goes."
"Hmm," you sound out, leaning back against your chair. "And you? Are you planning to stay?"
He quirks an eyebrow. "Where, pray tell, would I go?"
"You must have a woman to go and find," you say, smiling at him. Not out of jealousy or delirium, but genuine care. For all you cared for the man, you could admit that you only wanted him to be happy.
At your words, he nearly chokes on his sip of wine. He sputters, quickly sitting it down to stare at you with wide, heterochromatic eyes.
"What?"
"Sihtric."
"No, truly," he says, staring at you in disbelief. "Are you—you cannot be serious."
"I am," you say, shaking your head. "I'd like to believe you're not here to waste all your precious time with me."
"I want to waste my precious time with you," he blurts, clearing his throat. "I—"
He averts his gaze for less than a second. And then, he reaches forward, grabbing ahold of your hand. The gods spur him on. He must tell you for fear of missing out, for the fear of missing you.
"I'm here to waste all my time with you. But—it would not be a waste. Not if it was with you. My time spent with you, that is."
He's flustered and blushing, hand gripping onto yours for dear life.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, lips parted in surprise. Or, well, more or less a feeling of disbelief. Was he in earnest? You move to speak, to ask him, but he stops you by speaking himself.
"What I learned," he says, "when I was out there, fighting. I learned that there is something bringing me back to Coccham, and it is not just Lord Uhtred. It is not my friends, not Finan nor Osferth. You—I learned that you are the reason I continue to come back. And I fear that if I do not say something, I will miss out on the chance."
You stare, wide eyed and silent.
"Death is always around the corner. I shall die and find Valhalla one day. Even so, I do not wish to die. Not until I have had the chance to know you as I want to know you."
"You... you want to know me?" you echo, unable to stop yourself.
"I want to love you," he says. "Ah—no, I do love you. Very much."
Heat burns in the core of your heart, weightless amongst the nervous feeling washing over you. You had never felt so seen before this moment, never felt so loved. You could feel it just through his words, through his tender gaze.
He felt the same.
He felt the same, and you were sitting here, staring like some daft child—
"I love you," he says, this time much quieter, hesitant even. "I am not lying to you."
You squeeze his hand.
"I love you, too," you whisper, the confession leaving you breathless and out of your depth.
This was it.
Death may be waiting on the other side for Sihtric, but he would face it willingly now, knowing that he spoke the truth in every possible way. He would fight it for as long as he could, but when the time comes, he knows the anxiety he feels now would be nothing compared to the love you have given him, even if you only just confessed.
He smiles at you, a small, steady thing that is far more contagious than you would like it to be. He leans forward, nose gently brushing against yours.
"Truly?" he asks.
"Truly," you answer.
He closes the small gap between you, chapped lips pressing against your own. He tastes of berry and pie crust and the sweet wine long since forgotten on the table beside you, lips molding perfectly with yours.
He hated the way of the world. But for you? He'd face it all.
☆ day three: jack abbot ☆
— quick fic for the pitt jack abbot x gn!reader with the following prompt: "Yeah. I'm golden." / "Don't say that. It's like a trigger. If someone hears it, they'll start singing that damn song."
w/c: 346 words
possible trigger warning: not necessarily blasphemy but there's a joke that might not sit well with the über-religious
a/n: i know the gif is not for the pitt but pretend
click here for the original event post.
MASTERLIST
"Are you okay?"
His question is so soft, his words sounding more like gibberish in the head of the moment than anything of importance, his hand gently brushing against your cheek. He took the seat beside you, hand finding yours rather quickly.
"You're staring again."
When had it come down to him comforting you? He never would admit it, but for the longest time, your roles were reversed. You comforted him. You asked him if he was okay.
But now...
You pull your gaze from the point in the room you'd been staring at—the framed picture you have of the two of you, all smiles and happy faces. It had been a beautiful day, one that you've never been able to let go. The day he asked you to marry him. You should have known something was suspicious, because Robby was around for it, and that never happened. He had insisted on taking a photo right after (and of course you let him—he seemed just as psyched as Jack had, if not more for his friend of many years). Any time the two were together outside of work? Total chaos. Or, in your case, the total change of the world as you knew it.
"Yeah," you say, smiling softly as you look up at him. You lace your fingers with his. "I'm golden."
He leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Don't say that. It's like a trigger. If someone hears it, they'll start singing that damn song."
You blink owlishly, brows furrowing in confusion.
"Jack, we're inside."
"Doesn't matter," he says, pulling you into his side, making you cuddle up with him. "Someone will hear it."
"Jesus Christ."
"No, no, just Jack," he chides, resting his cheek against the crown of your head. "But if you're desperate to speak with him, I think I could make a call or two."
You glare up at him. "I was fine, but if you don't cut it out, I may have to kill you."
☆ day two: jack abbot ☆
— the pitt jack abbot x gn!reader with the following prompt: "I swear to you, if I was smart enough, I'd be in medicine."
w/c: 844 words
note: reader is a teacher in this fic.
a/n: i had a kid slip on a clorox wipe once
click here for the original event post.
MASTERLIST
The soft grumbles from your impeccably credentialed, supremely skilled husband gets your attention before you even see him walk into the kitchen. Footsteps heavy and laden with the weight of the day, shuffling through the hallway.
Don't let him hear you say all that, that he's impeccable and supreme—he'd rather chew on rocks than hear those words out of your pretty mouth, especially when he was in such a mood.
You look over your shoulder, food searing in the pan as he unceremoniously threw himself on a wooden chair, finding your gaze soon after.
"Hi, baby," he says, a tired smile sent your way.
You return it. "Hi, handsome. Long day?"
It was one of the few weeks that Jack adapted to day shift, allowing him to be home at a decent time and actually present when you were settling down for the evening. You enjoyed having him around, but you knew it pained him. He lived for night shift. They were his people, his confidants when you weren't in the picture.
Only a few more days, then he had a week off—after, he'd return to his regularly scheduled life, and you'd return to the steady groove the two of you created.
"You don't know the half of it," he says, snorting softly. It had been a hell of a time. Little did he want you to feel the brunt of his frustration, so he found some gumption deep within him and held onto it like a buoy in a large expanse of ocean. He ran a hand through his short hair, salt and pepper strands slipping through the cracks between his fingers. "You?"
You shrug. Eventful was a fair assumption.
"One of my kids decided it would be a good idea to try and to walk on a banana peel and actually fell. Nurse Harris had a field day with it."
He snorts softly. "Not bad enough to go to the emergency room, huh?"
"Busted his chin," you say. "I saw him with a bandage, but... It was in the cafeteria, so I only saw it in passing. I don't know much more than that."
You flip over the food, the aromatic scent of your favorite dish wafting in the air.
"Testing has been terrible, too," you continue, shoulders tense. "The program completely froze up halfway through the morning so a few of my classes went without their state testing. They'll have to come in another day for it."
"You're kidding," Jack says, leaning his chin against his hand as he watches you, elbow in the table. He likes the wood—it's calming, somewhat, smooth yet rough enough that he stays alert, watching and waiting.
You snort. "God, I wish."
"Just a few more days, though, right?"
"Three more."
"Three more, then we've got a few days to ourselves," Jack says, voice carrying over the sizzle. "You've no idea how ready I am to have you all to myself."
You smile at him over your shoulder. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, baby," he says, pushing himself to stand up. He walks over, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm gonna go shower. Should be done when you are," he reasons, nodding to the food.
You scrunch your nose at him. He kisses the tip of it, grinning.
"I won't be long. Then you can tell me more about your day."
You roll your eyes. "It's not that interesting. Bunch kids acting like hooligans. I'm telling you what. Sometimes I don't know how I ended up here. I swear to you, if I was smart enough, I'd be in medicine."
It's Jack's turn to snort and roll his eyes. His strong, calloused hands settle on your waist, thumbs gently brushing against your body.
"You are smart enough. It's why you decided to be a teacher instead of dealing with life or death every day."
"Yeah, yeah," you deflated, waving him off. "Go shower, stinky. You want your usual?"
He hums and kisses your cheek one last time before he nods, smiling all the while.
"My usual. Sounds good."
Jack walks to the entryway, pausing just before he looks back at you. "And baby?"
You do not look at him, but the way you tilt your head just so your ear is turned to him a bit more tells him all he needs to know.
"Don't beat yourself up too much. Someone's got to teach these kids how to avoid slipping on banana peels."
"Go shower," you snap, but there's no real bite to your words.
Jack laughs as he leaves, letting you stay in the kitchen to finish everything up.
He loves your cooking. He loves teasing you. He especially loves knowing that the two of you were so much alike—both finding ways to give back to your communities, both in public service for the hell of it, because it was what you were made to do.
It’s actually insane I got a full on comment that I thought was real. Replied to it, and then they tried to get me to contact them off-site. Ig it could have been a person? But it was a reply immediately after I posted ch1 of the fic I can’t believe it
YES I'VE had bots find me on tumblr and i don't know if they're just that good or if they're real ??? but it's so confusing bruh. i hateeeeee hate hate
STARTED JUNE FIRST, 2026. ENDING JUNE TWENTY-FIFTH, 2026. this post is just to keep all of my fics for this event together in one place.
click here for the original event post.
☆ day one: bob reynolds ☆
You were lucky. / He was luckier. | 846 words
major tw: suicide attempts, references to hospitals, suicide watch, antidepressants, etc.
☆ day two: jack abbot ☆
"I swear to you, if I was smart enough, I'd be in medicine." | 844 words
☆ day three: jack abbot ☆
"Yeah. I'm golden." / "Don't say that. It's like a trigger. If someone hears it, they'll start singing that damn song."
possible tw: not necessarily blasphemy but there's a joke that might not sit well with the über-religious | 346 words
☆ day four: sihtric of dunholm ☆
There are times when he is not sure of anything but the sheer anxiety he feels any time he is around death. | 1.4k words
☆ day five: victor zsasz ☆
"I told you why—" / "—shut up! It's not your turn to talk," he snapped. "You don't get a chance to talk right now. Not when you go and do this bullshit!" | 1.5k words
major tw: contemplating suicide, in the process of attempting. do NOT read if this is something that will make you uncomfortable. also, victor being victor, and at some point his possessive side def comes out.
☆ day six: sihtric of dunholm ☆
Inexperienced. Infallible. Inescapable. | 1.8k words
☆ day seven: ukai keishin ☆
texting in some form | 631 words
☆ day eight: steve rogers ☆
Just when you think that the road's straight ahead / Is when the devil shows up on your dashboard again (Dashboard - Noah Kahan) | 420 words
possible tw: angst, steve regretting his timeline, not happy. also, super super short.
☆ day nine: fíli durin ☆
Oh, some things live forever, even when they die (All Them Horses - Noah Kahan) | 1k words
possible tw: major canon divergence—no deaths, but there's definitely some trauma. depictions of a panic that fíli definitely doesn't discuss may be something to be wary of??
☆ day ten: benedict bridgerton ☆
So we spent what was left of our serotonin / To chew on our cheeks and stare at the moon (Graceland Too - boygenius) | 1k words
☆ day eleven: tsukishima hajime ☆
I will go if you ask me to / I will stay if you dare (If I Go, I'm Goin - Gregory Alan Isakov) | 2k words
☆ day twelve: fiyero tigelaar ☆
Cutting through the avenues / I'd always find my way to you (San Luis - Gregory Alan Isakov) | 1.2k words
☆ day thirteen: anthony bridgerton ☆
☆ day fourteen: victor zsasz ☆
"I didn't mean it. Not like that." | 1k words
☆ day fifteen: ogata hyakunosuke ☆
☆ day sixteen: ogata hyakunosuke ☆
☆ day seventeen: bucky barnes ☆
giving the other a key to their place | 1.3k words
possible tw: reader is described as having severe anxiety and there are depictions of said anxiety?
☆ day eighteen: yelena belova ☆
Oh, I thought that we would be the great story that I tell / I know that it's time to tell you it's over / But I don't wanna love somebody else (I Don't Wanna Love Somebody Else - A Great Big World) | 380 words
☆ day nineteen: thorin oakenshield ☆
"Come back to me. Please come back." | 1.1k words
possible tw: major canon divergence—no deaths, thorin falls back into his sickness after the battle of the five armies. goldsickness in general???
☆ day twenty: kíli durin ☆
"You ever fall in love?" / "I don't know." | 1.2k words
☆ day twenty-one: loki ☆
star-gazing and one of them knows all about the constellations above | 456 words
☆ day one: bob reynolds ☆
— thunderbolts bob reynolds x gn!reader with the following prompt: You were lucky. / He was luckier.
w/c: 846 words
major trigger warnings: suicide attempts, references to hospitals, suicide watch, antidepressants, etc. it's a heavy one.
a/n: gosh he's so pretty when he cries
click here for the original event post.
MASTERLIST
The morning after it happened, you came to with a breathing tube down your throat. Monitors beep, beep, beeping until it drilled a steady rhythm in the back of your mind, sounding to all those who cared to listen for the hum of your failed attempt.
You were alive.
The moment you had called him, you knew you fucked up. Oh, you fucked up, badly, if the breathing tube told you anything. A numbness passed through your body, tingling at the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, pins and needles poking into your epidermis. Your stomach still churned, a side effect of it all.
You were alive.
Oh, god, you were alive.
Body refusing to cooperate with your wants, you used your eyes to look around the room. You were looking for a sign—for anything. Private room, closed curtains, and...
There he was. Sat in an uncomfortably nauseating green armchair, head resting on his hand. His elbow dug into what could only be a far cry of cushion on the arm. Pleather creased with the effort, and you could see where it had started to peel back from its initial layout. Sleep, albeit restless, had taken him asunder. The creases of his frustrations, of the exhaustion that he'd long wrestled with, stayed ever present on his gentle features.
You wished you could speak. Instead, you raised your hand, a soft grunt escaping you at the effort. You tapped your fingers against the plastic of the hospital bed railings as gently as you possibly could. At first, nothing happened. You try again, this time tapping a bit more aggressively.
Bob sucked in a sharp breath, sitting up straight at the sound in fear that something had happened, and then his eyes fell to yours.
"You're awake," he blurted, lunging from his seat to come to your side, hand fumbling to take ahold of yours.
He'd never felt so helpless before—like his world had been swept from under his feet in one quick motion, taking the very breath from his lungs. He had spent so long wishing for death, for something more beyond the life he led, and now that he had an inkling of that something, he wasn't about to let it slip away.
Bob had never acted faster.
You were his everything, for better or for worse.
You couldn't speak to him, so you opted to squeezing his hand in response.
Tired circles under the eyes held him captive, a mask of sleep rubbing away under his free fist. Chapped lips proved he'd been there for far longer than he would ever admit. A growling stomach, parched tongue. He'd not left your side once.
"Let me go get the doctor," he said. He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "I'll be back. Promise."
He cast one last glance at you before he quickly left you in the mess of your own volition. You knew what was coming—a psychiatric hold, maybe even a suicide watch for far longer than you may have needed. Maybe they'd change your antidepressants, your therapist. Hell of a job either of them have done for you.
A change of pace was what you needed.
The world could be so suffocating at times, and the thoughts, the bad ones, they circled around your mind in constant precision, one right after the other—some over and over again to the point where you wished you could beat it out of your head. You hardly had a minute of peace the night of.
You should have called Bob.
Could have, would have, should have. Instead, you opted to breaking into your medicine cabinet. Fuck, why did you even think of that? Intrusive thoughts. A nagging little voice in the back of your mind, egging you on. They were just that. Thoughts.
Thoughts you acted on. How were you still alive?
Bob soon returned to your side, older doctor in tow. He told you all you already knew, and then some. It was not the morning after. No, you'd been out for nearly a week. Had Bob not gotten to you when he did, you would've been either in a much longer coma, or dead. Gone. Six feet under. The breathing tube was precautionary. You'd have it taken out soon, especially now that you'd woken up—which, he said rather quickly, they hadn't expected for another day or two, so you were recovering far faster.
You were lucky.
He was luckier.
Bob sat on the green monstrosity, leg bouncing as he listened to the doctor. He took his chapped lips between his teeth, nibbling at the skin. His nails dug into his palms, and he never once looked away from you.
Did you know it? How grateful he was that you were alive?
All his thankfulness, everything within him was screaming for joy. You were alive, and he would never let you feel such a way. Ever again. Even if it meant staying by your side until he was no longer able to.
June 1st is TOMORROW. It means that GAY PEOPLE will exist, but only for ONE MONTH. Do not forget to buy your tickets to see them NOW, or else you will have to wait AN ENTIRE YEAR to be able to meet them AGAIN.
tomorrow, starting at 11:30 AM EST, my queue for my birthday event starts!! click here to see more info. that being said, in between the numerous fics i'll be posting, if you send in one of the following, i'll answer it (but of course, it's not expected and only here if you're interested):
☆ ask me anything! anything you want to ask, anything you want to know. have a question about my fics? have a list of questions you want answered? want to know about something irl? i'll try my best!!
☆ kmk: send me three characters and i will tell you who i would kiss, marry, or kill. (recognize this from my celebration post over FIVE years ago? noooo, no you don't) (there's a list of fandoms on the info post if you need)
☆ what's on my playlist? send me an ask w/ this little emoji here ⏾ and i'll send you a few of my recent favorite songs!! another one if you need it: ⏾ (can't copy? it's just a crescent moon!!)
☆ hot takes: ask about my hot takes and i'll give you AT LEAST two. >:)
i totally didn't copy and paste that from the original event. no worries if no one sees this but just in case my three active mutuals are reading this... ama. ♡
earlier in the year i must have said something to one of my students because she looked me dead in the eye and whispered to her friends, "she's definitely on tumblr." i did not confirm nor deny but my love the enemy is much closer than you think.
