Hello, I'm Chris 😎 I'm a fan of yellowjackets, resident evil, the oxford comma, and all things horror. X reader fics are a complete mystery to me, and one I plan on learning about through this blog. I'm new to the scene so I cannot promise much, but I can promise an extensive wikipedia dive for everything I write.
Guidelines, rules, and any other information is here.
Want to talk about unrelated headcanons, theories, travis martinez, or about the extensive research and multiple papers I've done about the final girl in slasher films? I talk shop on @periwinklekryptonite, my main blog.
an evil wizard transforms travis into a hedgehog and you have to put her up for adoption because you’re not equipped to care for her
Your wish is my command.
Ethics of Pet Care
Summary: A wizard has come for the Yellowjackets, cursing them one by one and leaving them with ailments you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy! Can Travis fend for herself and avoid a fate most strange, or will you be left to pick up the pieces?
900~ words; second person; gender neutral reader; trans travis
The Yellowjackets have all had a difficult time recently. In another life, a difficult time would come in the form of starvation and many more mouths to feed than food to give, but you live in gentler, less confused times. An evil wizard has been tormenting the group for weeks, losing them matches and leaving them with all sorts of afflictions. Poor Shauna seems to have been dealing with the most troubles, (she's a person who invites suffering, especially the supernatural kind,) but tonight it was Travis's turn to be on the wrong end of the wizard's ire.
She's stalked as she walks home.
Travis had thought she was safe, not technically a Yellowjacket, just connected to them through coach Martinez. Walking a couple blocks isn't that big of a deal for someone who's not being harassed by a mysterious wizard.
It's dark, and where she lives the lampposts are few and far between. It's barely raining outside. The temperature difference between the rain and the world beneath it has a slight fog rolling in.
She's two blocks away when she feels watched. The feeling rolls up her spine and forces her to look behind. Prey instinct. Travis stays still until she sees what's watching.
There's a figure under the lamppost.
If it weren't for the sparkling robe, Travis could pretend it was just some burnout hanging around. She doesn't make the mistake of calling out to them. She looks forward again. Ignores the figure.
She keeps walking. Then stops.
She looks back. They're gone.
She keeps walking. She picks up the pace.
She's one block away from the door when she feels watched again. This time, the wizard is closer.
She starts sweating. Every shadow and hidden corner is now a threat. She's too far from where she started to turn around, and just far enough from home to question if booking it will just bring disaster to her faster.
The wizard steps forward instead of disappearing when she looks away. Travis picks up the pace. You'd think the instinct to stop and stare would at some point tell her to pick up her knees and fucking move, but no.
She's nearly at the door when the wizard is within an arm's length of her. She gets a single glimpse of what's under the glittery hood before they can touch her and finds a pale scar across the wizard's forehead.
Travis screams loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. You're awake already and have the luxury of hearing it uninterrupted. It lasts for five seconds before it's choked off. For the average person, this is a sign to lock your doors and call the cops about a noise complaint or suspected murder.
You open the door and peak your head out... and find no one around. You could have sworn you recognized it. The voice, you mean. It's a mystery that needs solving. You step further outside, too curious for your own good, and find a pile of clothes instead of a body. It's shuffling... Alive. A red t-shirt, jean shorts, and a peak of what might be boxers lays on the sidewalk, and it's making noise. Again, this is where you'd want to step back and call someone else to deal with the strange screaming and animated clothing.
It's not a good idea to get closer, but you do. When you're close enough to touch it, you pick up the shirt. It seems to be moving more than the rest of it. The shirt isn't a biohazard, or at least isn't sticky to the touch, affirming your choice.
You look at the ground and find hedgehog. Nestled in the jean shorts is a tiny hedgehog. Maybe average size for a hedgehog. How would you know?
It's kind of cute. Needy, too. The moment you reveal it, it begins to make chirping sounds. It demands your attention.
You pick up the hedgehog, tentatively grab at the clothes, and bring it inside.
Once you've set everything down, you can get a better look at what you've found.
The hedgehog is unremarkable. No offense to the hedgehog, you're just not well versed enough in hedgehogs to tell if it's a cool one. It's got small eyes that hardly wander. It looks at you the whole time. You guess that's cool. The average hedgehog doesn't care about you specifically.
The clothes, on the other hand, tell you everything you need to know. You recognize each article of clothing once you have decent lighting, and the initials on the inside collar of the shirt, T.M., only confirm it. The look, the smell, the existence of the jorts... It all clicks into place.
The hedgehog... Is Travis. The incessant squeaking makes so much more sense now. The hedgehog, Travis looks up at you and sniffles. This is probably a normal hedgehog noise. A bid to communicate. You can't understand a single lick of it. You can't tell if she's scared, or curious, or completely at ease as a hedgehog. She just... is.
Travis had once asked you if you'd still love her if she were a worm, and now that theory was being put to the test. The unfortunate reality of Travis being a small mammal and not a worm was that taking care of her would be much harder. Maybe impossible.
Until you learned how to take care of hedgehogs, you couldn't just give her subpar care... You couldn't do that to her. It was inhumane. A crime against humanity. Animal abuse? You don't want to think about Travis that way.
"I'm sorry, Travis..." for being a hedgehog, or potential animal abuse. She chirps again. You don't know if she's grasped that communication is impossible in this state.
You have to find someone to foster her, and quick.
Travis squeaks at you, maybe in acceptance, maybe in ignorance of what was about to befall her. You hold out two fingers to Travis and watch her sniff and grab at them with tiny paws. In the morning, you'd start asking around to see if anyone could look after her. If not...
You pick her up and wince when you get a handful of quills. "What are we going to do?" Travis wouldn't be any help even if she could speak, so the chirp in response doesn't bother you as much as the rest of the situation at hand.
I hope to one day fill out a previously unknown niche for travis fics that don't make sense and don't need to make sense. In other news, new fic out tonight if I don't get too busy to edit.
Imagine yourself making dinner on the stove. You're making something easy, like eggs. Travis sticks his hand into the skillet and burns off his finger prints in your food trying to grab a bite. He screams really loudly.
I love that one of the first things you post is an x reader about user hitting Travis with a plate ðŸ˜ðŸ˜ðŸ˜ðŸ˜ðŸ˜ please don't ever stop posting
My goal in life is to leave a plate shaped mark in people's hearts. Or perhaps a bowl. I saw an ASMR video of someone putting a metal bowl over their phone and hitting it with a spoon relentlessly. I'd like us all to imagine shauna doing that for a moment.
In other news, I will go as long as the day as long! And the day is very short because I wake up at noon if left to my own devices... If you have any yellowjackets asks that seem crazy or unrealistic, send them my way, and I will set my alarm for earlier to work on it!!!
Thank you for sending this ask, anon. I will hit travis with another plate on another day.
Summary: You and Travis have a rare moment of peace, and then he fucks it up. Your reaction is definitely proportionate and reasonable.
600~ words. Second person. Gender neutral reader.
A dog bark. Uneven breathing. A leaky faucet. Fingers drumming on wood. Electricity buzzes in unsteady waves in the Martinez house.
Two people sit at a table, hunched over and whispering amongst themselves. You lift your head a little and see Travis staring back. You can feel the electricity under your feet.
It's become ritual to sit in the living room whenever the rest of his family is gone, a nebulous event that happens 'whenever.' When it happens, he's... less. Sometimes he cuts off his usual bullshit. He decides to count the gouges in the wood instead of holding eye contact. He's just calmer.
Right now, 'whenever' is an hour or two after lunchtime. It's a rare weekday where you don't have school and everyone else has work. The two of you are grazing, taking a bit of this and that out of the cupboards and eating whatever is appealing to you. 'Whatever,' if you're curious, is grapes– and a sandwich, but mostly grapes.
Travis reaches his hand across the table and swipes one of the grapes off your plate. It's green, just barely overripe, and you can see the way it squishes between his fingers.
"You want it?" He asks the question while still pressing down on it. You see its flesh begin to herniate.
"Not... Really." Is he really going to mess around with it and then pop it in his mouth?
Travis looks between it, and you, and back at it again. You can sense a thought brewing between his ears. He's squinting as he stares at the thing, calculating some variable you can't deduce, before drawing his arm back and tossing it right at you. It bounces off your forehead and lands back on the table. "Seriously?" The grape's blood drips down towards your eyebrows, drying out as it goes.
What a waste of a perfectly mediocre grape.
You pick it up off the table and throw it right back, only for it to whizz past his ear and fall to the ground behind him. He starts smiling.
Embarrassment burns hot in your chest and on your cheeks, and Travis's shit-eating grin does nothing to help you. It nearly splits his face in two. You want to say it's unnatural.
(He just doesn't usually smile... it's a good smile, otherwise. It's pretty.)
If you give him enough time to respond, he's going to say something as obtuse as it is grating. Something about him being, objectively, better. He starts laughing. Your mind whites out. You need to prove yourself. You need to do better than him.
He starts doing something else, maybe grabbing another grape, but you can't see. Your heart is hammering against your ribcage.
Panic does strange things to people.
You grab the plate in front of you, still full of grapes and a half-eaten sandwich. The grapes start rolling off the edge. The sandwich slides but doesn't fall. The weight of the plate is solid on your fingers. Some unnamed neurons or ancient reptilian instinct tells your arm to draw back and feel the potential energy coursing through your muscle. Another instinct tells you to push forward and let go.
You throw the plate right at him. It's sloppy, but the shot rings true. His laughter cuts off right before impact, and his jaw drops at the sight of his mother's (probably, maybe) expensive plate soaring in the air. It shatters, and Travis falls to the floor with a thud.
It's a perfect throw.
You killed him.
His body hits the floor at an uncomfortable angle, surrounded by a halo of ceramic, grapes, and a half eaten sandwich. Your blood freezes at the sight.
Upon closer inspection, you can see the faintest trail of blood on his cheek. His chest doesn't seem to move. Or, maybe the whole room is moving with him.
"Fuck."
You threw a plate at him.
"Fuck."
You threw a plate at his miserable head and he's gone and died.
"Shit!"
Travis's body doesn't respond. Not a squeak. It continues to lay on the floor with you hunched over it.
Rules, Guidelines, and My Short List of Fandom(s) I Refuse to Acknowledge
I'll do fics+headcanons for any of the following:
YELLOWJACKETS; Shauna Shipman, Travis Martinez
SAW; John Kramer, Amanda Young, Mark Hoffman
RESIDENT EVIL; Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine
HALLOWEEN (H20&2018 unless specified); Laurie Strode
Know any other fandoms I'm in but haven't listed? ASK!
I'll write any horror villain/monster from movies I've seen if your prompt is "I am hunted for sport." It is the bread and butter of horror and I support your endeavor wholeheartedly. Getting murdered/almost murdered is a personal affair, so please tell me any boundaries beforehand, and be specific. I cannot read minds. If you want to get saw trapped, please help me with a general vibe (type of trap+why+who is saw trapping you).
What don't I write?;
I will write just about anything within my own personal boundaries, which means anything goes except for smut or graphic details pertaining to sexual assault and rape. If I come across anything else I am uncomfortable with, I will delete asks without comment and update here at a later time if necessary.
General guidelines:
I do not like halloween (dir. rob zombie). I do not acknowledge that movie or michael myers's freakishly tall, freakishly blonde form
If interacting with my blog, please be 16+! If asking to be murdered or similar, 18+.
PROMPTS ARE GOOD AND I LIKE THEM. I will write faster with prompts.
Reader is gender neutral by default, unless specified. I will even add shoe size if told to (why, though?)
Have a character you like but don't see from a fandom I've listed? Submit anyways! The above characters are ones I will write for, but I might take a crack at any unlisted ones. No guarantees, though.
