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wackycvnt · 18 days ago

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found old LottieNat (maybe LottieLee???) shit that I wrote on a piece of notebook paper in the dark of my room with only the light of a shitty flashlight to guide me

Second person POV, POV Lottie.

Title(?):

God may not be real, but the wilderness is, and her name is Natalie.

Quote one:

“I’ll pray for you.” / “You’re the first one to ever do that.”

A/N: Lottie to Natalie I assume. Cool.

EDIT: I think this is Laura Lee to Lottie actually

Quote two:

The others have started calling it a gift too. You don’t correct that. That’s what Laura Lee told you, her eyes wide and full of life, her cheeks flushed, and what are you if not her friend?

A/N: I’m sure there was supposed to be more context to that.

Quote three:

You can hear them watching. That’s all they do— they watch and stare as Shauna throws punch after punch and you let her, so they let you. You taste blood and you see blood, but you know you are not you. You are Jeff and Jackie and everyone that she is frustrated with and you are the one who caused it.

You lay there for a moment more, gentle eyes locking on Shauna’s wild ones. The last thing you think before you let yourself go is that she has never looked more beautiful.

A/N: ok my bad I guess there’s lottieshauna here too. so this is just Lottie being gay as hell for a few pages. Happy pride.

Quote four:

You can hear the chaos from upstairs. It is too quiet and nobody has come to check on you, so you listen. They are picking a sacrifice. You blink, run it back— no. She is choosing a sacrifice.

There are gasps and for a moment you’re sure that it’s over, but then you hear Travis murmuring something too quiet for you to hear. It means javi is okay; you suppose you’re alright with that.

When someone does get chosen, it falls silent, and only then do you know:

“You’re gonna have to look me in the eye.”

Natalie.

Something in you is screaming— that same broken piece from the lake, the same girl who watched Laura Lee die and who wept as you ate Jackie whole and she screams now as you wait.

A/N: cool ok so that’s the scene

Quote five:

But nothing comes. There is a thud and a scream that you know must be travis and then there is yelling, too much yelling for you to know what is being said or what it means. But there are footsteps, and then nothing. The nothing is blissful, and though you don’t want to, you close your eyes.

A/N: ok not horrid I guess

Quote six:

You see it before they do. The thin lines etched in the lake’s surface, the boots against the ground. A hand reached up and one reached out and one pulled back. You hear the breaths and the bubbles. She has chosen, and it wasn’t Natalie.

Somewhere, that broken little part of you dries her eyes and goes back to sleep.

A/N: rip javi but Lottie doesn’t gaf

Didn’t write these in order lmaoooo

Quote seven:

She doesn’t make it seem like a bad thing. That is a bit of a shock and she doesn’t even know. She just stares at you with that kindergarten-teacher smile— crinkled eyes and soft lips and far more patience than you deserve. It makes you feel like a kid again, small and shaky, desperate for reassurance. You ask her something else.

She nods. Listens. And you let her.

A/N: ok so THIS is lottielee

Quote eight:

you want to consume her. You want to run your fingers through her hair— but that will only dirty it— and you want to rip that shirt she’s wearing to shreds.

you want her, need her, and she likes you. But you can’t let her because it won’t work; she is a wife and you are a disaster.

You want to run your fingers along her cheek, trace the contour of her jaw, so you do. you are careful not to wake her, though she stirs under your touch. She is like porcelain, gentle and perfect and you wonder how she does it. You need her inside you.

you need to be one so you can be good.

A/N: okay still on that LottieLee grind let’s go

Also— “be one”— BE WHAT?? LINDA WHAT WERE YOU SAYING AGDJAJDJFJFNFNGN

Quote nine:

She is everything. You would do anything, would drop to the gross floor and risk splinter and infection. If it meant, she would tell you that you’re normal, but she can’t.

Yet you’re still on your knees.

for her.

A/N: okay cool that’s nice

Uh..yeah!! I may never finish this.

TL;DR Lottie is a girlkisser!!! happy pride <3

photos of the actual writing under the cut

#lottie matthews #lottienat #lottielee #lottieshauna #lottie yj #lottie yellowjackets #yellowjackets #my writing

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wackycvnt · 28 days ago

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be there.

‪♡

you don’t remember a lot of what happened at Doomcoming, but you know he’s hurt. and you know you can’t leave him.

or: a soft one-shot in which a reader who doesn’t remember much of Doomcoming takes care of a Travis who remembers too much.

gn!reader

CWs: mentions of sexual assault and druggings / being roofied. it’s doomcoming, you know what to expect. also it might be slightly out of character / contain some canon divergence. please bear with me. im new to this and its been a hot fucking second since I’ve watched doomcoming (or written at all!) so…yeah.

You’re not entirely sure how things went to hell so quickly, but that’s certainly where they seem to be.

You don’t remember all the details, but you’ve gotten bits and pieces from the others— Someone had spiked the food, and the definitely-not-hallucinogenic-and-good-for-soup-and-a-normal-fun-time mushrooms turned out to be the it-would’ve-been-fun-had-you-known-you-weren’t-fucking-dying-and-were-just-tripping-balls kind.

It didn’t end up being fun. Lottie had gone batshit insane, and everyone had followed suit. Even you, supposedly, but you didn’t remember much.

Everything was pretty fuzzy, but you remember one thing clearly— a very shaky Travis standing there with wide eyes, shirt awkwardly hanging off his shoulders. He looked a wreck, but it wasn’t his appearance that hurt most. No; it was the look in his eyes as he stared at you, like you’d done this.

It was only then that you’d realized that you were the one holding the knife. Clutching it, really, so hard that you could feel the imprints the hilt was making on your skin.

It felt heavy in your hands; the gleam from the moonlight almost blinded you. There was blood on the tip— his blood— and that fact alone made you feel like you were going to vomit. It slipped from your hands, hitting the grass with a dull thump.

When you looked back up, he was gone. Somehow, that was what scared you most.

Misty stepped up beside you. “He’s hurt,” she said, “I should—“

You didn’t hear her, after that. The words he’s hurt bounced around your brain, clearing out the rest of the fog. And then you were taking off too.

What if it was your fault? It was your responsibility to fix this before he hated you.

That’s why you’re running through the forest, or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself. He’s hurt. You can’t leave him in the forest alone, and you’re not going to let Misty fucking Quigley play doctor if you don’t have to.

“Travis!”

He doesn’t respond when you call out, but you keep running. You’re not sure if you’re going in the right direction— it’s too dark to see him clearly, and he’d gotten a head start— but you keep running anyway, calling out his name between panicked gasps of breath.

“Trav��!!”

You’re forced to cut off as your foot gets caught on a stray branch, sending you tumbling to the ground. You sit up, but the trees all look the same, and the birds sound like they’re laughing. Panicked tears cause your eyes to burn, and fuck, everything still feels so foggy. It’ll be a miracle if you can find your way back to the cabin, much less find someone who’s far too good at staying quiet.

Tears fall into the dirt, hot and wet, and you don’t bother wiping them. You wrap your arms around yourself, shuddering as a cool breeze washes over you. Your thoughts spiral, and they do it quick, screaming that he hates you. you did this. You must’ve. You had the knife after all.

He might never trust you again. It’s like the knife is being stabbed directly into your chest, and you can’t breathe.

A branch snaps somewhere to your left, and you whip around so fast you nearly end up falling flat on your back. You scramble back a few steps as a shadow steps forward, looming over you, and you’re met with the pointy end of a tree branch. “What the hell do you want now?”

Even with the remaining fog still clouding your brain, even with the hoarseness of the other’s voice, you know. Your shoulders slump, a breath you hadn’t quite realized you’d been holding fogging in the cool night air.

“Travis.”

He freezes at the sound of his name before stepping forward fully. He’s fixed his shirt, and he’s bleeding in more places than one, but otherwise…

Well, he still looks like a mess. But he’s not dying; at least, you don’t think he is. God, maybe you should’ve had Misty do this, because now that he’s standing there, staring down at you with those same wide eyes and a look that, if it wasn’t Travis, you’d label as fear, you have no idea what to say.

You stare at each other for a few awkward moments, him still pointing the tree branch at you. “There’s no need for that,” you finally manage, aiming for a light tone. “I come in peace.”

You make a vague gesture with your hand, and he blinks, glancing from the tree branch to you. He tosses it to the side without a word, stepping back a few steps and slumping against a tree with a sigh. “Sorry,” he finally mutters, running a hand over his face. “I…thought you were one of the others.”

You shrug. “It’s okay.” It’s not, not really, but neither of you can bring yourselves to acknowledge that point, so a brief silence falls between you. His hand never leaves his face. Your eyes never leave the blood on his neck.

“You’re bleeding,” you remark softly, shifting forward to cross the short distance. He stiffens, head snapping up as the leaves crunch beneath you. The look in his eyes is wild, almost manic, and you freeze, raising your hands in surrender.

“Woah,” you murmur. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to…” to what? To scare him? To make things worse? You’re not even sure at this point. You clear your throat and try again, gaze dropping to the dirt. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you,” he mumbles, staring off into the darkness, and your head snaps up.

You can’t hide the hopeful tone when you speak. “It’s not?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. It’s a bitter noise, rough and angry, but his words are soft. “No. It’s not.” He looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “Why would you even think that?”

He says it like you’re an idiot, and honestly, you’re starting to feel like one. “Because of the way you looked at me. I-..” you break off with an exhale, blinking rapidly and averting your eyes. “I had the knife, Travis. A-..and I don’t even know why. I don’t remember any of it. I don’t know what I did, but you’re hurt, and—“

“I’m fine,” he cuts in, but you both know that’s a lie. You look up at him again. His eyes widen when they lock on your watery ones. You swear his are gleaming too, but you’d never call him on it.

“I need to know if I hurt you,” you whisper, and you hate how desperate you sound but goddamnit, you don’t care. “Please. I can’t apologize if I don’t know what I did.”

He’s silent for a moment. Too long— long enough for your eyes to burn again, long enough for your hands to tremble. You clench them into loose fists on your thighs. “Please,” you whisper, voice cracking pathetically.

“You were barely even there,” he finally says, and your breath gets caught around where your heart has nestled itself in your throat, coming out as a strangled little “what?”.

He huffs out a soft exhale through his nose. “You weren’t even there when they were…” he trails off for a moment, running a hand through his hair, “…doing all that,” he finishes, somewhat awkwardly, looking up to the sky. “You came in when Natalie intervened. None of it was your fault.”

You look up at him, slowly. “You’re..serious? I didn’t—?”

You trail off, but he gets the point. When he nods, you sag, flattening your hands against your thighs. The relief that washes over you is so intense that you could sob, but you can’t. There’s one more thing. “Why did I have the knife?”

He frowns, tilting his head a little. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head, unable to force the words out.

He huffs, quietly. “You fought Shauna for it,” he says, and he’s smiling. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s there.

A small squeak escapes you, a mix of a gasp and a sob that falls flat into the dirt. He doesn’t look at you as he keeps talking. “You grabbed her by the wrist and wouldn’t let go until she dropped the damn thing. Then you picked it up, just to keep it away from her.”

“Did I use it?”

His head snaps over to you, eyes gentle in a way you’ve never seen. “No,” he says, and it’s almost placating, like he’s trying to soothe a spooked animal. It’s almost grateful, the way he says it. “You didn’t.”

‪You stare dumbly for a moment, eyes wide, lips parted. “Jesus, Trav,” you mutter. “What did they do to you? Was it…?”

The words sexual assault die on your lips as you watch his face shift, screwing up tight as he angles it away. It’s answer enough.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Lottie tied me up. Gagged me. Shauna had the knife until you grabbed it from her. It’s still kind of fuzzy, but I…remember enough.”

It’s worse than you’d thought. You can’t hide the tear that slides down your cheek, the small sob that wrenches its way free from your lips, even as you bury your face in your hands.

He tilts his head back and laughs. It’s hoarse and rough and it’s not funny at all. “Why’re you crying? You’re not the one who had a pinecone shoved in your mouth.”

“I know, I just..” You shake your head. “I’m sorry.” It’s soft, but you mean it. And he knows.

“God, stop fucking doing that. Y—“ his voice gives. He coughs to hide it, but you hear anyway. “You have nothing to apologize for, okay? I’m fine, and you weren’t even there. So just stop.”

“No.” The firmness in your voice surprises even you. Your hands drop from your face, taking the last of the tears with them. He’s not looking at you, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “You deserve an apology for what they did to you. And you probably won’t get it from them.”

You scoot closer, close enough to where your knees almost bump, but don’t. You don’t touch him. you won’t. “You don’t have to be fine. They assaulted you, Travis. There’s nothing fine about that.”

Maybe it’s the way you put it so bluntly, like there’s no room for argument. Maybe it’s the way your voice cracks on the word ‘fine’, or maybe it’s the way you shift away from him after you say ‘assault’ so you don’t risk contact, but he goes entirely still, something in his face that you can’t quite name softening. But he still doesn’t look at you.

“They’re never going to see it that way,” he says flatly, but the waver in his voice is getting harder for him to disguise. “I’m…“their stag”, or whatever.”

You almost want to throw up at the sound of it. “That’s not true—“

“But they think it is.” He sighs. “It has to be fine.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You lean forward, daring him to look at you. “Not right now. Not when it’s just me.”

You’re not sure if it’s the promise in your voice or the fact that you’re still not touching him, but that’s what does it. Like the shitty ball pump the team used to use back in Wiskayok, he breaks.

The tears that fill his eyes are sudden but plentiful, and then he’s crying, entire body seeming to fold in on itself. His sobs fall into the dirt, his body shaking with the force of them. Your hands hover awkwardly above his shoulders, not quite touching yet.

You swallow hard. “Can I…?”

You’re not quite sure what you want to say, but he nods anyway. Slowly, you lower your hands onto his shoulders. It’s not a rough grip, no; just enough for him to know that you’re there.

His hands fly up to cover his face, and before you can think better of it, you catch his wrist and gently tug his hand down. His eyes are red and bloodshot, still glistening with the few tears that haven’t fallen. He’s biting the inside of his bottom lip so hard you can see the blood beginning to blossom and though you have the urge to wipe it, you don’t. His cheeks are stained with the tears that are still sliding down his face, and if he weren’t so surprised by your sudden boldness, you’re sure he would’ve pulled back by now to hide them. But he hasn’t. And he doesn’t.

He’s broken open in a way you’ve never seen, and it’s so vulnerable, so broken, and so utterly real that it damn near takes your breath away.

“You don’t have to hide,” you whisper, letting your hand slide from his wrist to his hand. “It’s just me.”

“You’re still one of them,” he says, but his voice is lacking heat. “You’re just going to turn around and forgive them right away.”

You huff, soft and almost amused. “How do you know that?”

“Because Lottie’s your friend.”

You shrug. “That doesn’t mean I agree with everything she does.”

He scoffs. “Doesn’t it?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You were an asshole for months, yet I’m friends with you, aren’t I?”

That gets his attention. The speed in which he looks up at you would have been comedic had it not been for the tears still lingering. “You are?”

His voice is flat, a desperate attempt at seeming unfazed, but his wide eyes are bright, locked on yours, like a scared kid begging for reassurance.

You nod, slowly lacing your fingers together. “Yeah. I am. And I can’t forgive them for doing that to you.”

For a second, you think he’s going to pull back, but he doesn’t. He just gives your hand a small squeeze. “You don’t need to cause a fight over me.”

The way he says it makes it seem like he’s not worthy of such effort. “I would,” you say, and he just shakes his head.

“Don’t.”

He says it so quietly, softer than you’ve ever heard him speak to anyone but Javi. You don’t know if you want to yell at him for being so stubborn or cry, or shake him until his brain hits his skull hard enough for some sense to enter his mind.

“Fine,” you relent, “I won’t. I won’t ask any more questions. I won’t push. But I’ll never forgive them. Not for sexually assaulting you.”

He blinks down. “Is that…really what it was?” He sounds so unsure, so lost. It’s so unlike him that it hurts.

“Did you want it?”

He flinches, like you’ve physically struck him, and there’s your answer. “No,” he snaps, and his voice breaks on the word. “No, I didn’t.” He takes in a harsh inhale. “I didn’t want any of it. At all.”

“Then yeah. It was.”

It seems to sink in for him, then, and the tears well up faster than ever. He pulls his hand back from yours, and when it looks like he’s going to pull back, he does the opposite. He crumples, leaning forward a bit.

Your voice is soft. “May I?”

He nods, and when he says “please”, it’s desperate and rough and you waste no time pulling him into your arms as the sobs come anew. His hold on you is firm, his hands bunching in the fabric of your clothes so tight you can almost hear it rip. You can feel him heave with giant, heavy sobs that wrack his entire frame. He trembles against you; or maybe it’s you. You’re not sure, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the shattered pieces of Travis Martinez that he’s letting you hold together.

He’s talking into your shoulder, shaky, broken murmurs that you’re not sure if my you’re even meant to hear. But you do.

“I can still feel their hands all over me.” That one’s punctuated by another sob. “It burns. I can’t stand it. I want to rip my own skin off just to get them away from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t respond, that time, letting the apology sink in. When he speaks again, it’s quieter, more steady. “I-I don’t know how I can face them after this. How am I supposed to live with them?”

“You won’t be on your own,” you offer quietly. “I’ll be with you.”

He lifts his head to look at you. His eyes, red and puffy, are still glimmering with tears, but he doesn’t look away from you this time. “Promise?”

You allow yourself to smile, lifting a hand, pinky extended. “Promise.”

He glances from your hand to you, the most unimpressed expression on his face. “Really?”

You roll your eyes. “Just do it.”

His eyes flick over your face. searching. Imploring. For what, you don’t know, but when he doesn’t find it, he lets himself smile too, linking his pinky with yours.

“We’ll face them together,” he says softly, glancing back up like he’s expecting you to take the offer back. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Together,” you echo, tightening your pinky around his own. There’s more you want to say, but none of it here. None of it now. “I’ll be there.”

You mean that. And when you look at him, at his timid smile and tear-streaked face, the way his pinky is still linked in yours, the soft tone of his voice as he murmurs “you’ll be there”, you think maybe, just maybe, he might believe you.

‪♡

A/N: it’s done!!!! so sorry it took so long lmao, I kept getting distracted.

thank you to @loves--fate for the suggestion (see this post!) and for being so very patient. I’ve never written an x-reader fic before, but I actually had quite a bit of fun writing this! I hope it’s okay.

( @boopiemadz !)

maybe I’ll do a part two of this one where you like help him clean up (that is, if people want that!).

but in the meantime, please feel free to send me asks and requests (headcanons especially!!!) any time!! i might not get to them quickly, but I’ll do my best!

until next time! <3

edit / additional A/N: shoutout to the mutuals who saw this so quickly, I audibly said “oh no” when I saw it was getting notes <3

#travis martinez #yellowjackets x reader #travis martinez x reader #travis martinez x you #yj #travis yj #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets #Linda’s first x-reader!#doomcoming #cw sexual assault mention #request #mutual request #love yall #<3

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