#jackie writes
Text
trouble 2 | austin!elvis au
wc 4,783
tw smut, oral f receiving, elvis being a cheeky mf
part one here!
Your hand trembled over the page as you held the pencil firmly between your pointer finger and your thumb. You just couldn’t find the courage to sign the end of the letter, your lower lip between your teeth and your leg bouncing up and down below you as you sat at your desk, staring at the page filled top to bottom with your neat handwriting.
That was one of the first things Elvis had brought up when the two of you managed to speak over the phone instead of writing to each other. “Your hand-writing is so neat, doll, mine’s gotta look like chicken scratch to ya. Can you even read it half the time?” he’d said, and you laughed before reassuring the boy that you could read his writing, even if it did take you a few minutes to decipher a couple of the words. The call lasted about five minutes before it got clicked off and you realized you had no money left to call him back. You cried that night, having used all your savings from working at the diner just down the street, a job you picked up for that specific reason — Elvis mentioned in one of his letters that the base he was on had a telephone, one that made transatlantic calls, and you worked day and night for three months straight to be able to afford just a few minutes of hearing his voice. And boy, was it worth it. You never got too sad when Elvis was away, never shed any tears over it up until that point. But hearing his voice, the familiar Southern drawl that you’d only been hearing over his records you played a million times a day — it was all real to you again, and it was like you’d been living in a fantasy the whole time. There he was, talking into your ear like he had been that night you sat on your porch. The way your heart raced when you heard the way his lips mumbled the word darling, as opposed to reading it on a piece of paper. You wished you got more than five minutes with him but unfortunately that wasn’t the case, and you just clutched onto the fact that these last two years would be over in just a few more months, and then he would be back home, and you would be in his arms.
It was no question that Elvis was in love with you. You didn’t know it, but he talked about you nonstop to the boys in his division. When he’d first met you that night that he showed up to your house, it was all so surreal and you had brushed off the fact that he confessed his love for you. It didn’t seem serious, he had just met you for Christ’s sake and knew nothing about you besides your name — which, mind you, he had to dig up from someone else. You’d never even spoken to each other before that night, so the idea that he was in love with you was absurd. Of course, you wanted nothing more than to believe it, but the more you did, the less everyone had faith around you. You recounted the events of that night to Lucy and she was over the moon, but everyone else you told seemed to think you were exaggerating the details. Girls at school, your coworkers, even a few of your family members insisted that you were lying. The only people that truly, wholeheartedly believed that Elvis Presley was in love with you was Lucy and your mother, who’d read every letter he sent you as you showed her every other week with ecstasy written across your face. But the thing was that the longer time passed with him gone, the more you believed it yourself. Because the more you believed he was in love with you, the more you believed you were in love with him.
You’d always loved Elvis Presley, ever since you heard his first song on the radio. But you loved him as the singer, not him as the person. Up until spending years writing to the boy, dreaming of him when you slept and fantasizing about him coming home. You thought of him when cleaning tables at your work, and sometimes you even found yourself planning out your next letter to him, excited to race home so you could get out your pen and paper. Elvis had signed every letter he wrote you with Love, your Elvis since the very first one. Yours were usually finished off with a talk to you soon or a miss you entirely. This one, the one you wrote as the last one he would be receiving before coming home, felt different. Nothing had changed, it was still the same old summary of your week, telling him how excited you were for March 2nd, the day he would be coming back. But this time, you couldn’t write the words see you soon. Your first thought was love.
Your pencil stood still in your hand as your eyes raked across the page. You read the hundred word letter over and over again, stalling as you tried to work up the courage to write the simple closing line before folding the note up for the envelope. It took you what felt like hours before you gave in and signed it, I can’t wait to see you… your Y/N and then setting the pencil down. You would send it in the morning on your way to work, completely unhappy with the closing statement but ultimately, you knew you weren’t gonna do anything about it. You wanted your first ‘I love you’ to be in person, to his face, where you could see his raw, honest reaction. Not over a letter, when he would read it two weeks from now and then you wouldn’t be able to read his for two weeks after that.
So you would wait, until you could see him in person, and then you would tell him you loved him. You planned on doing it immediately, the moment you saw him, but when the day finally came, that wasn’t the case.
“Y/N, honey, you have a visitor.” It was deja vu, almost, the way your mother poked her head into your room, much like she had done the night you met the boy. But you weren’t in for a surprise this time — you’d been counting down the hours for this moment.
“He’s here!” You jumped up from your bed, and the speed at which you ran down the hallway was faster than any track star could have dreamed. You made it down the stairs in record time, and when your eyes landed on the boy standing in your foyer, talking with your father, dressed in his army green military suit, holding his cap to his chest respectfully, you lost your breath.
“There she is,” your father said, and at his words, Elvis turned around to see you for himself. The smile that exploded onto his face was unlike any other, and the boy reached out as you jumped onto him. He lifted you into his arms, spinning you around as you grasped onto him for dear life. It felt better than you were expecting, hugging him, smelling his scent that hadn’t changed a bit since he was gone.
What had changed, though, was his hair. It was short now, buzzed at the sides and not what you remembered at all. It made sense though, Elvis had mentioned in one of his letters that they had to shave his head when he joined the military. You hated the idea, one of the main focal points of Elvis Presley was his hair. But seeing him in the uniform, all dressed up, returning home from the war — he looked handsome, more beautiful than you could’ve dreamed of, so you didn’t mind the lack of hair. Actually, you quite enjoyed it.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” Elvis set you down, his arms still wrapped around you as he held you to his chest. You nuzzled into him, hugging him tightly as though he would leave you again should you let go. You heard his chest rumble with laughter as he placed a hand on the back of your head, seemingly talking to your father as he said, “Think she missed me, too?”
“Only a little,” the man responded, and you smiled into the jacket of Elvis’s uniform. It had taken a while for your father to warm up to the idea of you and Elvis Presley — ultimately, it took the proof of him not leaving you when he got shipped off. It was up until a year into you and the boy still talking that your father finally came to terms with your relationship. He’d told your mother that he was afraid Elvis would break his daughter’s heart, since, after all, he’s Elvis Presley. Your father chose to believe the media outlets over situations like these, so he’s never had a fond outlook on the boy, even before you began dating. And if he’s away in the military for two years, your father had said, nothing good would come from that. But, you proved him wrong, and here he was, almost as happy to see the boy as you were. Almost.
“Come on! I-I wanna show you my dress!” you exclaimed after pulling away from the boy, and you looked to your parents for approval. They nodded, and as quick as you had come down, you were pulling Elvis upstairs to your room. While he was away, Elvis had missed your high school graduation, along with your senior prom. He wrote you saying how much he wished he could be there, and when you responded you’d even sent him a few photographs your mother had taken of you on that evening, a few solo but a couple with the boy who had taken you, as well. You were stuck with the privilege of going with a mister Tommy Baker, a boy you’d known since you were little as your mothers were best friends. Elvis didn’t like the idea of you going with another boy, but you reassured him that as a girl, you had to go with a boy. And if he wasn’t there to take you, Tommy was the next best thing. If you had gone to the senior prom by yourself, it would’ve been humiliating, and it would’ve been even worse had you gone with a friend like Lucy, which is what Elvis suggested when he wrote you back. He got over it quickly though when he saw you in your dress, and he asked if you would show him in person when he came home. Lucky for him, you remembered.
It was also just an excuse to get him alone in your room.
“The pictures don’t do it justice — look at how pretty this colour is.” You unzipped the bag that your pretty purple prom dress resided in, and Elvis hummed in approval. “I would show you what it looks like on, but it takes ages to get into and then tie up.”
“That’s alright, baby. Another time.” You felt his arms wrap around your waist as you zipped the bag back up, and you blushed when he rested his chin on your shoulder. “For now, I wanna kiss you.” Elvis pressed his lips to your cheek, and then your jaw, and you giggled as you pushed him away.
“Let me hang this back up first. And Mama’ll kill me if she sees us kissin’ in my room.”
“That’s why we keep the door closed,” Elvis said slyly, moving across the room to grab the handle on your bedroom door, slowly and carefully closing it. You scolded him in a whisperful way as he twisted the handle, shutting it without a sound despite your protests.
“Are you crazy? Daddy’s gonna kill you! An’ then he’ll kill me!”
“That’s why we lock it, too.” He clicked it shut and you smacked the boy on the arm. Chuckling, Elvis grabbed your wrist in the process, pulling you over to him expertly as his free hand snuck its way to your lower back, and he dipped you down while he connected your lips.
The feeling of the kiss was too good for you to worry about the door much longer, and finally you allowed yourself to melt into him. His hand moved to cup your face, fingers twisting into your hair on the back of your head while he held you dangerously close. You felt his tongue slide past your lips and nearly gasped as it met yours, such a vile action that had your stomach dropping in the best way possible.
“Two years was much too long,” he said when you pulled away to catch your breath, and his words couldn’t help but cause a smile on your lips. His hand tightened its hold on your cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin as he gazed down at you. His blue eyes were even more beautiful than you remembered, and you fought the urge to lean up and kiss him again.
“You’re tellin’ me,” you responded, and Elvis smiled small before he read your mind and bent down to connect your lips once more. As you kissed, all you could think about were those three words you’d been denying to write to him. I love you. It was such a simple saying, but for some reason thinking about saying it out loud had you more nervous than you were when you had to slow dance with Tommy Baker at prom. You loved Elvis so goddamn much it made your toes curl and your heart speed up so fast you were certain you’d go into cardiac arrest. And if you didn’t tell him soon, you were beginning to think that might not be an exaggeration.
“Elvis,” you said, placing a hand on the boy’s chest to signal you wanted to stop. Immediately, he pulled away, blue eyes gazing down at you concerningly, his lips swollen from the prior activity and his chest rising and falling with deep breaths under your hand. You stared up at him, heart pounding and mouth growing dry, despite the sloppy kissing you’d just endured with the boy towering above you. His eyes were sparkling and his lips were so pink and full and he just looked so beautiful— “Kiss me again.”
So he did, and you wanted to curse yourself for chickening out but his lips were too entrancing. Elvis began leading you backwards, his hands sure to keep you steady when your knees hit the edge of your bed and you collapsed onto the mattress, his body falling over you gracefully. Elvis flipped you over, your legs moving to straddle him as he pulled you on top, and it was then that you pulled away, tucking your hair behind your ears as you repositioned yourself awkwardly. Elvis sat up on his elbows, staring at you. “You okay, lil darlin’?”
“Mhm.” You sat back, dropping your hands into your lap before realizing that was his crotch, and then lifting them as quick as you realized. The boy chuckled, smirking up at your flustered expression. “Oh!— Sorry.”
“You’re all good, mama.”
The nicknames he gave you never failed to erupt a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, on top of the nerves you felt just thinking about what you needed to say to him. It was now or never, you thought, staring back at the boy who lay under you, watching you with a look of love and adoration in his eyes entirely, a lazy smile on his lips and dark hair styled to perfection atop his head. The sight alone was enough to have you blushing. “Elvis, I…”
You couldn’t get the words out before a shout came to cut you off, and suddenly the nerves in your belly weren’t caused by the preparation of admittance. “Y/N Y/L/N! What did I say about boys in your room with the door closed!”
“Sorry, Momma!” you called back, smacking Elvis on the arm as he chuckled lightly. You climbed off him, rushing to open the door before stepping out into the hallway to apologize face to face. When you went back inside, Elvis was sitting upright on your bed, a picture frame in his hands before he glanced up at you. “See, I told you you’d get me in trouble!”
“Hardly,” he said, setting the picture frame back down on your nightstand. Elvis reached out for you, tugging at your skirt to pull you closer to him. You stood between his legs, peering down at him as your hands came to rest on his shoulders. He smirked up at you, resting his hands on your hips while he looked on at you devilishly. “I like it when you’re bad ‘cus o’ me.”
Your mind went fuzzy, stomach dropping at his raspy tone, his words dangerous.
“Makes you even sexier.”
Your head turned to see if your mother was still out in the hallway, and Elvis’s hands on the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer, had you turning back to him. “Eyes on me, baby.” He brought his hand to your chin, tilting your head down with his fingers. “Could be more fun this way.” He was gesturing to the lack of privacy, with the open door, and how suspenseful it would be, but you couldn’t ignore what would happen if your mother — or worse, your father — walked in at the wrong time. Elvis, on the other hand, couldn’t care less, as he was pulling you back in for another kiss.
“You’re crazy,” you whispered against his lips, and you felt they turn into a smirk as he whispered back, “I know,” before crashing his lips down onto yours for the third time that day.
You had your hands on his shoulders to keep you steady, but no amount of stability could keep your knees from weakening when you felt his hands slip under your blouse, making contact with the foreign skin as he held you at your sides. He flipped you over then, laying you down on your bed as he knelt over you slightly, keeping watch of the door. His hands were still under your shirt, sneaking their way down, and it was a dangerous touch but the way he was so delicate, fingers whispering across your skin as they slid into the waistband of your skirt, plucking at the fabric of your panties — you were more than certain it was the right thing to do. Everything he did, he did with such certainty that you couldn't help but agree with him. He was ethereal, and you were sure you wouldn’t have let any other man touch you the way he was doing now. Not until marriage, at least.
But yet, this boy had you under him, no ring on your finger, begging for his touch as his fingers slipped under your panties.
“Elvis,” you whimpered, and the boy shushed you as he ran a finger up your folds.
“Gonna have to be quiet for me, darlin’. Ain’t nobody gonna hear a sound, alright?” He began working two fingers over you, a feeling so foreign to you you couldn’t help but shiver, and the way you leaned your head back, teeth biting down on your lip, had Elvis struggling to contain himself, too. “So wet for me, sweetheart. You been waitin’ so long for me to come home to ya, haven’t ya?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, thighs clenching together as he had his hand buried deep between them. He finally entered a finger in you, your jaw falling open at the foreign feeling of penetration inside of you.
“That feel good, baby?” The suspense of being caught felt almost as good as the quiet, raspiness of his voice caused, and you couldn’t decide if those two things trumped the feeling of his fingers working you over. Every sense of yours was heightened and you could’ve sworn this was what cloud nine felt like.
He entered a second finger, pumping the two of them in and out before adding his thumb into the mix, rubbing your clit lightly to create a nice, steady pace for you. Your back arched off the bed at the feeling, a few whines escaping your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut, and Elvis shushed you before placing a hand over your mouth when he increased the speed of his fingers.
They were thrusting in and out of you at a rapid pace, curling inside of you to hit your g-spot while his thumb pressed circles into your clit as well. You were wiggling underneath him much more than you were minutes before, telling him that you were close to release, and Elvis pulled away with no warning, making you whine in distress. Was he just gonna leave you here like this?
He crossed your room to shut the door halfway, leaving it open just a few inches so that at least the bed wasn’t visible to anyone passing through the hallway. Elvis made his way back to the bed, where you sat on the edge with a pout on your lips. He chuckled, moving to stand in front of you as he grabbed your chin, tilting your head back so you looked up at him.
“You liked that?”
You nodded submissively, your pupils shot and eyelids weary from the bliss you didn’t think was possible from the vulgar act you’d just taken part in. Elvis clenched his jaw as he moved to kneel between your legs, his arms wrapping around your calves to pull you forward. At the sudden movement you squealed, falling back onto the bed, feeling him place his hands on your thighs underneath your skirt. He slid your panties off smoothly, discarding them somewhere unknown, before pushing your skirt higher up your stomach.
“This alright, darlin’?” he asked, and the weak attempt at a hum of approval was enough for him. You felt his lips meet the skin of your inner thighs, dangerously close to where his fingers had just been minutes before, and your breath hitched.
“O… Oh,” you moaned, leaning up some to cast a quick glance down at the boy below you. His fingers gripped into your thighs, lips moving across your skin hastily, and it was when you felt his tongue like a stripe up your core that you fell back onto your back, a loud moan escaping past your lips.
Elvis pulled away as quick as he could, smacking you on the thigh lightly as he shushed you. “Don’t want us to get caught now, do ya?” he asked, and you shook your head apologetically. He got to his feet, leaning over you as his hand gripped your face much like how he had done at the concert, your first interaction with the boy. Now, two years later, he had you in the same position, still writhing underneath his touch. “Gonna have to contain yourself, baby. Can you do that for me?”
“Y-yes,” you nodded, and Elvis hummed, half satisfied with your answer, before he kneeled back down between your thighs and went to work. If you thought that first bit felt good, you were in for a treat. Elvis had your heart in your throat, your back arched off the bed with your fingers digging into the bed sheets while his tongue worked you over.
It was taking all of you not to scream out his name, your moans dying off your tongue before you could project them out. All you wanted to do was lean your head back and cry out in pleasure, his lips sucking at your core like his life depended on it. You’d never experienced a feeling like this, and it had you spiralling. You weren’t sure if you wanted to chase your release or just stay in this moment forever.
“Fuck,” you heard Elvis mutter as he adjusted, pulling your thighs closer with his fingers pressed into your skin, lips brushing over your heat again. He kissed the delicate area before standing up, placing a hand next to your head as he leaned into your neck and whispered, “You got no clue what you do to me, baby girl.” It was then that he lowered his hips, rolling them onto yours, and you felt a bulge pressing against the fabric of his pants, now pushing against you. It was big, and you couldn’t deny that his size was doing anything but turning you away from the idea of him burying himself inside you.
“Please,” you whispered, head rolling back as you felt him thrust against you, fully clothed. Your hand gripped his bicep, your other hand coming to push his button up further up on his stomach, fingers making contact with his warm skin.
“You want this, baby?” Elvis was imitating the acts of intercourse now, his hips moving with yours while you wrapped your legs loosely around his torso. His hand strayed down to your heat, finding your wet core as he began rubbing your clit while he continued his previous actions. “You like it when I touch you?”
“Mhm,” you whined, digging your nails into his arm that held himself above you.
“How much?”
“A-A lot,” you mumbled, trying to keep quiet as you bucked your hips against his hand, searching for friction and that feeling that you had no clue about, but you knew it was something extraordinary. “Go-Go back.”
“Back where, baby?”
“Down. I—” Before you could finish, Elvis was sinking back down to his knees, pulling you close and burying himself between your thighs again. You were whimpering, sitting up slightly at the shock of his tongue against you. Your fingers were digging deep into the jungle of his hair, teeth clenching down on your lip to stop you from screaming out.
His tongue licked at you, the speed ferocious as he focused on your bundle of nerves above everything else. He knew exactly where to pleasure you, exactly what felt the best, and Lord were you grateful for it. Within seconds, you had your stomach clenching, your head thrown back and your legs shaking. A feeling of euphoria washed over you as Elvis worked his magic between your trembling thighs, and once you fell back, releasing your hand from his hair, Elvis knew his work was done. He climbed back over you, grinning from ear to ear as he placed a kiss to your cheek.
“How you doin’, baby?”
“Fantastic,” you breathed, opening your eyes, and the boy chuckled before you pulled him in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on him, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t get enough of him.
“Woah, slow your roll there, mama. Not much else to do ’cept put a baby in ya.”
“At this point I ain’t even care.”
“Now who’s the crazy one?” he teased, and you smiled up at him as he sat beside you, your head coming to rest in his lap. Elvis reached down to fix your skirt and your blouse, his hand taking home on your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek while he looked down at you.
“Elvis?” you said, staring into his eyes. Now or never, Y/N.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
You gulped. “I love you.”
The look on his face didn’t change too much for a while, which had you nervous. It wasn’t until you saw a smile peek at the corner of his lips that you let out a breath of relief. “You love me?” he asked, and you nodded, letting out a smile of your own. “Well that’s good, baby. ’Cause I’m crazy about you.”
You blushed, grinning wildly now, unable to contain it from spreading across your face like a wildfire. “You are?”
“I been in love with you since the moment I laid eyes on you, baby. You won’t even believe.”
The grin on your lips turned into a mischievous one, and you knew you had Elvis to blame for that. He wasn’t the greatest influence, but you loved it. “Well if I won’t believe, why don’t you make me?”
The look cast across Elvis’s face was more shock than anything, but it quickly transformed into a daunting expression, eyes excited and the smirk on his lips wicked. “You sure are trouble, ain’t you, little one?”
“You’re to blame for that.”
“Oh, am I?” He was sliding off the bed, fingers caressing down the tops of your thighs with him. “I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”
“You know what?” you said, watching as he sank to his knees again, large hands moving to wrap around the backs of your knees. “Me neither.”
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#austin butler#elvis 2022#elvis presley#austin!elvis#elvis movie#elvis!austin#austin!elvis x reader#austin butler x reader#austin butler fanfiction#austin!elvis smut#austin butler smut#elvis presley trouble#mamaspresley#jackie writes
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Decepticon Reader x TFP Starscream thoughts
- he likes to try and be sneaky and look at you while you’re working on your own stuff. he likes sees how you move, how you compose yourself, how you act when others aren’t around (he’s not very good at being sneaky though, so you always end up inviting him to work with you. this eventually leads to you two talking and not working)
- he can be very tsundere at times. but you can always tell he’s happy to see you because his wings perk up whenever he talks to you. he denies it but pretty much everyone knows, the vehicons especially like to tease him about it
- if you like to draw, he will pose for you at any given moment. sometimes he does these not very subtle poses while addressing the troops or doing other tasks (he begrudgingly asks knockout for advice on posing. he wants only the best for you even if it means knockout teases him)
- really incredibly gentle when he kisses you. he doesn’t wanna accidentally hurt you or anything… if he did he would probably throw himself off the nemesis
- a little touchstarved actually. if he’s feeling tired and you are alone together, he will simply rest his head on your shoulder, maybe wrap an arm around your waist…. the man just wants to be held okay???
- we all know that starscream loves to talk. but he also loves listening to you talk! he’ll actually shut up for a little bit to hear you ramble about the things you like, whether that’s earth media or your own work within the decepticons (sometimes he’ll fall into recharge but he doesn’t mean any harm. your voice is just so soothing to listen to that he can’t help it…)
#jackie writes#tfp x reader#tfp starscream#transformers prime#starscream tfp#tfp starscream x reader#starscream x reader#probably ooc?#i haven’t actually watched tfp in a while#just having thoughts
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do you perhaps. have any thoughts about our beloved owl boy
OH I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS (here is one of them) ANYWAY
SOVA HEADCANON DUMP BAYBEE
- he is a little touch starved, so he likes it when you play with his hair,,
- this one time you got up on a stool to give him a forehead kiss. that is now a regular occurrence bc HOLY FUCK he loves receiving forehead kisses!!!!!!!
- sometimes when you cuddle he likes to lie on your chest; the sound of your heartbeat is just so relaxing to him
- he’s into origami. he gives you lots of cutesy little things he makes (he may or may not have a collection of stuff to slowly but surely give you)
- does not understand boops. you booped him once and his brain fried immediately
- he likes to write you fancy little letters with nice calligraphy and envelopes and wax seals and everything,,,
- a little bit shy about kissing you actually. one time he pecked you on the lips and speed-walked away
- he’s terrified of the movie coraline. he doesn’t even know why
- sometimes he will have archery competitions with you and lose on purpose bc he likes how cute you look when you win
- you see this big stone faced, strong man?? he blushes so easily. you tell him that he looks nice once and suddenly his face is a new shade of red
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wreck my mind while the planet turns | imodna | 3k+
hello hello hi
i got bitten by the imodna fic writing bug guys.
playlist here
ao3 link here
Imogen blinks to get the red out of her eyes.
It’s snowing.
She pauses on the path to crane her neck and watch the flakes fall from the night sky. The red fades to the back of her mind, a low, distant ebb.
(Almost like a moon is there, maybe, pulling at tides.)
There is a small, sacred pleasure in watching the snow—from this angle, illuminated in midair by lantern light, the flakes falling almost look like stars. Momentary constellations, generated and broken apart moment-by-moment through the whims of the clouds overhead.
She is fascinated as she holds her hand just in front of her face. She watches the geometric ice crystals alight on her gloves, no longer for concealment and now purely for warmth.
For a while, she stays right where she is, content to quietly, happily watch the flakes accumulate and clump together on the knit purple texture over her hands. Snow is still endlessly entrancing to her desert-born soul. As the pink in her cheeks begins to shift to a chapped, bitten red and her shiver intensifies, though, she decides that it’s probably best to tear herself away and resume the journey back.
With the lantern brandished, she continues on, settling into a familiar, quickened pace as she rounds the next curve of the path. Her body knows this, by now, the pain of her sore muscles and aching bones all but lifted from her by the knowledge that she’s almost home.
Home—the stout, perfect cottage of stone and wood, built strong and small and warm against the wild of the woods. Honey-colored light spills out of the windows and glitters on the snow. A thin curl of smoke rises from the chimney, and a soft, unbidden smile rises to Imogen’s face as she senses Laudna’s familiar music nudging at her mind.
She lets her in. She always lets her in.
Laudna’s presence is unobtrusive and distinctly pleased in her head as Imogen takes an assessing look at the horses, safe and warm in the side barn. The familiar, sweet feeling makes her smile loosely as she knocks her boots free of snow on the porch.
A horseshoe hangs on the door, situated just above a bundle of dried thistleweed to keep the wraiths away. A sigil is carved on either side of the display—one in a spidery, thin-fingered script, the other burned into the wood at a skewed, lavender-tinted angle. Protection spells, from both of them.
Imogen’s key is stubborn in the lock, but turns eventually, and she stumbles inside.
The sigils flicker.
She experiences instant warmth from the roaring fire in the fireplace, a pot of stew boiling over top of it. The seizing, wholehearted fondness for the creature kneeling bent and delighted in front of it, though, dulls all other sensations down to nothing in comparison to its vibrancy. She practically can’t even notice the change in temperature.
Hey, sweet thing, she thinks, overflowing with affection, then says it aloud for good measure.
Laudna turns and tilts her face up to beam at her. “Hello,” she says again. “How was your day?”
Imogen opens her mouth and, curiously, has nothing to say. How was her day? Where has she been?
“It’s snowin’,” she tells her, stalling with a slowed cadence so she can sift through her memory anything about what transpired today.
All she has is the path, the snow.
“Well, yes, darling,” Laudna replies. She giggles a little bit, points to the thick, lead-paned windows that show the forest (and the snow) outside. “I saw.” She stands up and rests one hand on Imogen’s hip, the other on her cheek, still flushed from the wind and cold. Her thumb traces over the skin there. “You look extremely adorable like this. I feel as though I was robbed with all those years we didn’t spend in the snow.”
Imogen laughs, then, forgetting her forgotten day, and cups Laudna’s face in her purple-gloved hands to kiss her sweetly.
“Thanks, honey,” she murmurs, stepping back to begin peeling off her winter layers. A coatrack, roughly hewn, stands crooked by the door from the weight of coats and hats and scarves. “How was your day?”
“Went collecting, found some treasures,” Laudna says pleasantly, shrugs. It’s a short response from the normally verbose Laudna, and Imogen’s brows knit together in worry until Laudna leans in to kiss her again, nipping lightly at her lower lip.
“Glad to hear it,” Imogen says softly, and lets the world fall away for a moment save for her lover, who is so beautiful, and so all-encompassing. It’s easy to let her eclipse all the rest.
When the world comes back, she makes an effort to take it in.
She tucks her face in the thin crook of Laudna’s neck. The smell of dew-soaked earth surrounds her. Chilled. Familiar. Safe. She feels utter contentment, the likes of which she first encountered in those early days on the run—the two of them curled into each other nose-to-nose, awash in newly minted trust.
She had a small and sacred wish for this future, back then, held closer to her heart than its own beats.She didn’t dare to risk her closest hope by speaking it aloud.
She just wished for a home for them. Both of them want (then and now) nothing more than to never have to run again in their lives. They need somewhere to settle.
Imogen presses a brush of a kiss to the cool skin at the edge of Laudna’s jaw. “Dinner?” she asks softly, and when Laudna smiles Imogen feels the movement of it under her lips.
When she steps back, it’s all sharp teeth and sharp joy. “Dinner, yes.”
She moves to the hearth again, and Imogen follows her with a hand on the small of her back. Her eyes go to the tchotchkes scattered over the top of the fireplace.
Bones. Pieces of statues. Bundles of dried flowers.
A inexplicable snowflake interrupts her cataloguing and swirls across her vision, followed by a second, then a third. Imogen’s focus is magnetically pulled to their paths.
A voice says her name, somewhere. The sound does not come from inside the house.
Imogen dimly recognizes it as her name after the fact, like when you can label a birdsong only after the echo has long faded. She cannot tear her eyes away from the snowflakes, now accumulating over top of the fireplace like they did over the surface of her gloves earlier.
An awful feeling gathers in her chest.
“Imogen?”
This time, her name comes from just off to her side—oh, yes, Laudna. It’s all right. Laudna is here. The weight of the feeling eases at the sight of her girl, holding a bowl of stew and looking at her with her deep eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“Peachy,” Imogen tells her through a dry throat. “I’m okay, honey, sorry. Heard something—or, well, saw something, I guess. Both.”
Something alights in those dark, dark eyes. “What did you see?”
“Probably nothing,” Imogen reassures. “I don’t want to worry you about it, okay? Probably just the aftereffects of the chill from outside. Maybe I’m gettin’ sick.”
Laudna rests the back of her free hand against Imogen’s forehead, cold and smooth.
“Eat this, darling, and we’ll talk.”
Imogen takes the bowl of stew with both hands and sits down, keeps her eyes on Laudna at the fire. The tension in her chest unwinds as the other woman ladles a serving into her own bowl, humming to herself.
The stew is delicious. It tastes like her father’s cooking, when he still cooked. Imogen has practically devoured half the bowl before she comes up for air.
Laudna sits at her side after a minute, and takes one of Imogen’s leyline-scarred hands in her own instead of beginning to eat. Laudna never needs to eat much.
“Tell me what you saw,” she says softly. “Like we do with your dreams.”
Imogen keeps her eyes on her face, finding comfort there like she always does as she starts speaking.
“Snow,” she murmurs. “I saw snow. Falling indoors, though—right over there, over our fireplace.”
“No moon?”
“No, there was no—no. Just snow.”
“Think, darling. Really think. Was there a moon?”
Imogen is confused by her insistence, but closes her eyes tightly, remembering the single flake, then the flurry. Remembers the way the snow had drifted together over their things.
Remembers red light from the moon falling through the windowpanes, glittering on the snow like fresh blood.
“There… there was, but…”
“But what?”
She opens her eyes, then, feels Laudna’s music in her mind, anxious now. It’s like a too-quick bow dashing across the strings of a fiddle.
Ruidus is visible now through the kitchen window, silhouetting Laudna’s form—how did she not see it before?
Imogen’s hand, flickering with violet light, clenches and unclenches over the surface of the dining room table.
More sigils are carved over its wood. These are in the thin, webby etching that must have been done by Laudna’s hand. They’re not traditional, instead made up of strung-together foundational symbols that have been cobbled into novel translations.
Refuge. Home. Stronghold.
Fight it, Imogen.
“But what, darling?”
She stares hard at the last sigil, remembering what it’s supposed to say, what they carved there in the first place, and finds that she can’t. Finds, in fact, that now all of the sigils are burning red, bright in her eyes, and that all of them now spell FIGHT, IMOGEN.
“We have to go,” she says desperately. “Laudna, I—.”
Laudna takes both of Imogen’s hands in hers, now, and turns fully to face her. The stew sitting in front of them both has gone quite cold.
“Breathe,” she says fiercely. “Breathe. Shut it out. It’s just that old moon again. He cannot find you here.” She holds Imogen’s gaze with her dark, caring eyes. “Breathe, Imogen.”
The red light recedes. Imogen’s breath still shakes on the way out.
Laudna takes her right index finger and touches it to her own lips before she rests it against her forehead, eyes still locked on Imogen.
Remember? she hears.
Imogen breathes out a weak laugh, and does the same—kisses her index finger, touches her own forehead.
I’m keepin’ you up there, she thinks. Don’t you worry.
“Good,” Laudna whispers, and moves her hand from her own forehead to cup Imogen’s cheek. “I’ll fight it off for you, okay? If it comes, I will fight it.”
Imogen leans into Laudna’s touch, twists just slightly so she can brush her lips against the palm of Laudna’s hand.
I don’t know if it can be fought, honey.
She keeps the thought just between their minds—some things are too terrifying to be said aloud.
“It can be fought, because I will make it so.” Laudna is determined, her eyes getting deeper and darker like they do when her form of dread begins to take its shape. “You are bound for more than that moon. I will not let it take you.”
Imogen smiles wanly at Laudna’s ferocity, but feels tears gather in her eyes, too.
“Everything we learn about Ruidus seems like it’s pointin’ right to me,” Imogen whispers. “My scars… my magic… hell, my mama, Laudna. This is my fate.”
“Why?” Laudna asks, broken. “Why is that your fate, and not this?”
Imogen looks around their home, its life and warmth and light, and a truth settles in her.
“This isn’t real,” she admits, finally. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not real.”
There is a lump in her throat that makes continuing feel impossible, but she tries to speak around it. She will always try for Laudna.
“I made my choice,” she says, the softest her voice can go. “I could’ve abandoned the mission—the group—I could’ve left, and gone to pursue this, with you. But I… at every point, when I could have changed my fate, I chose not to. And now I’ve bound myself to a path with one end.”
“Only one?”
Imogen smiles listlessly, on reflex, a shield more than anything else. Something to deflect the aching weight of Laudna’s gaze.
“Ruidus’ll be the end of me,” she says. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do. One way or another, my road ends there. I’m dying up there, Laud.”
Laudna watches her, quiet, and doesn’t say anything for a long while. It feels like she sees right through to the core of Imogen. It always does.
“So you’re giving up, then,” Laudna says, as a statement of fact.
“What? No, I’m—I’m seeing this through till the end, honey, that’s what I—”
“I woke up at the base of the tree,” Laudna interrupts her.
Laudna never interrupts her.
“I know.” Imogen hears her own voice shake.
“When I opened my eyes, I was so cold. I had never been that cold before, ever. And it was raining, and there was rope—” Laudna’s pale hand goes to her neck, to the friction scars that are textured over the skin there. “I was dead. And then I was alive again—but only partly. Half a life, tossed to me like scraps.”
“I know,” Imogen insists. “I know all of this, Laud, and I also know that you don’t like to talk about it, so we don’t have to…”
“Imogen. Please listen to me.”
It is a simple request, but it’s delivered with such sincerity that Imogen bites down on her tongue.
“Do you know what I did first?”
“Tried to find someone… to talk to?”
“I tried to climb back up the tree and retie the rope. To right the unnatural wrong that had been done.”
Imogen could not speak now if she wanted to. Bile crowds the back of her throat, tears burn at the corners of her eyes. Her vision is edged with red, and she doesn’t know if it’s Ruidus or the storm or the hot, awful press of grief and fear.
“I did not succeed, which you know, and it is something I am now grateful for. I am grateful in a manner so uncomplicated that it is beautiful. There is no regret in the fact that I am alive—or as alive as a Hollow One can be.”
Imogen grabs Laudna’s hands again, and holds them so tightly she fears a knuckle will pop out of place.
“You never told me that before,” Imogen breathes, through her burning, tight throat. “I—Laudna—”
“I continued on, after that, because I understood something that I am trying to get you to understand by telling you all of this, darling.” She squeezes Imogen’s hands right back, bony and strong. “I know what it is like to feel predestined for nothing but doom. I know that you do, too. But my love, my heart, you must understand that you cannot let yourself believe that. You are a creature of such capability and wonder—” she touches her forehead to Imogen’s, and Imogen feels their connection tug open—what a waste it would be if you arrived at the gates of hell and walked yourself in.
There are so many tears on Imogen’s cheeks. She tries to swipe at them, and mostly fails. “Are you real?”
Laudna smiles in the same way Imogen did earlier—humorlessly, like it’s armor. “Yes. No.”
Imogen stands from their table, where the sigils are glowing red, and walks to the window.
Ruidus is closer now—larger. It has begun to storm outside instead of snow.
Someone is calling her name.
She turns back, looks at Laudna sitting at the table, there in all her open, perfect glory.
“I’m here to protect you,” Laudna continues to explain, softly. “From the storm.”
Imogen looks around the house again. Looks at it, really sees it.
It is so beautiful. Messy, like she’d always thought it would be. Flowers in vases, flowers framed on the wall, dried flowers hung in bunches to ward off wayward curses. Bones peppered in among the blooms.
She commits it to memory, just in case.
“I can have this,” she says aloud. “I can hope for this.”
“Yes, you can,” Laudna responds softly. “Always.”
Imogen goes to her, then, because how could she not? She wraps her in her arms, holds her close and flush and as tightly as she dares. Laudna holds her back.
“I want this,” she murmurs. “I’m going to fight for this.”
Fight, Imogen.
With Laudna gripping her hand, she takes one last look around a home that could be hers and strides out into the storm.
The snowy path, the barn, the shed, all of it is gone—there is only red. Lightning screams overhead like it has a voice.
COME.
It’s the call she’s familiar with, the one that she hears every night when she falls asleep. Ruidus—Predathos—calling her forth, beckoning her within.
She takes a step towards its eye. On what ground, she isn’t sure. She can’t see where her foot finds purchase.
COME.
Darling. Follow me.
Laudna, in her form of dread, stands spindly and tall at Imogen’s side, and beckons her away from the storm.
Imogen blinks. The red dims, slightly.
Come on, darling. I’m right here. We can get out of this.
With the effort of a god, Imogen reorients herself, takes a step in Laudna’s direction.
There you are. I’m your tether, right? I’m pulling you right along. Just follow me. It’ll be easy.
One step turns to two, to three. The howling intensifies, the storm’s voice crowding her mind and splitting her head in two with pain, pain, pain—
Sweet, melodic music undercuts the sound of screams, and then mutes them down to nothing.
Follow me, sweet. I’m right here.
I love you.
She’s running, now, the steps coming easier, and Laudna is loping right alongside her, a many-limbed thing with eyes like the night.
“I love you!” she shouts back, out loud. Her voice is stolen by the wind, but she knows Laudna hears.
Keep running! Don’t stop! I love you more than any—
“—thing.”
Laudna’s voice.
There is sun.
There is sun, falling over her skin, and the smell of dew-soaked earth.
“Oh—oh, gods—Imogen?”
Laudna is holding her. Laudna is cradling her, really, draped over the thin frame of her body, and her face is wide-eyed with a naked sort of hope.
“Hi, darlin’,” she croaks. Her throat is painfully dry. “I didn’t… am I okay?”
Black tears gather in Laudna’s eyes and she starts to laugh, then, holds her impossibly closer and shoves her face in the crook of Imogen’s neck.
Imogen nudges at Laudna’s mind, out of habit, and an explosion bursts forth of Imogen-Imogen-Imogen-my Imogen-my girl-Imogen-oh, Imogen-Imogen, Imogen, Imogen—
“You were gone,” she says, mostly against Imogen’s skin. “We were on the road towards Ludinus, and then you went out like a light—like a candle, or something—oh, Imogen, I’m so glad you’re awake,” she says, pulls back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Do you feel all right? Are you all right?”
Imogen leans in and kisses her, touches their foreheads together.
“I love you,” she says softly. “I’m all right.”
I can have this. I can hope for this.
She looks in Laudna’s eyes, sees the fierce, stubborn light behind them, refusing to wink out.
I’m going to fight to keep it.
#critical role#imodna#imogen temult#campaign 3#laudna#imogen x laudna#bells hells#jackie loves the lesbian witches#the adventures of a first time critter#imodna fanfic#imodna fanfiction#critical role fic#critical role fanfiction#jackie writes#the coven of c3
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this isn’t leverage related but I want y’all to hold me accountable for the book I want to publish one day
modern fantasy where there is a supernatural world operating under the normal society.
it’s a throuple between a witch art teacher who is on the run after being attacked by a group of anti-witch sentiment werewolves (that murdered her ex girlfriend in front of her), sofia- a werewolf child psychiatrist, and her boyfriend will who is a selkie marine biologist
maura moves into a cottage next to where sofia and will live and she ends up working at the same school sofia works at
quite a bit of angst but also mutual pining and falling in love with the two people that make you feel safest in the world
here’s what they look like:
maura is a mix between these two
sofia
will
they are the throuple of my dreams I want to write them so bad
edit: here is my pinterest board that is organized by plot points
edit 2: if anyone wants to hear more about it PLEASE ask me more about it I would love to rave about them and it might give me more motivation to write
#I have a pinterest board for the storyline and it has over 2k pins if anyone wants the link#I see maura looking a mix between victoria pedretti and may callamoway with the filler figure of kat dennings#(I just want more curvy girl rep tbh it means a lot to me to have characters like me)#I also headcanon will as autistic lowkey maybe I’m not sure yet but I def want autism rep#maura DEF has ptsd and also anxiety but that’s to be expected after everything lol#sofia has adhd#both maura and sofia were orphans and had different experiences in the foster system#spoiler: maura has a foster sister who is gay and is lowkey modeled after breanna and she’s a hacktivist#not leverage#jackie talks#about me#my writing#mine#my fics#OCs#jackie writes
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https://archiveofourown.org/works/43774128
Snow begins falling in the early hours of the evening. Raven asks, “can I stay here tonight? Don’t really wanna drive in this weather.”
“You live literally four blocks away,” Murphy gripes, but he doesn’t mean it. “But I can’t have you freezing to death three days before Christmas. Yeah, you can stay.”
Raven gives a contented little hum, settling in closer. “Do we have to get off of the couch?”
#all I want for Christmas#ficlet#one shot#murven#murven fanfiction#Christmas#fluff#john murphy#raven reyes#dogs#jackie writes
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Heya do you have any more snippets of the Percy still has the Curse of Achillies/Doesn't remember Annabeth au?
I loved it so much!
I dont mean to be rude,sorry if I sound rude
Oh my god not rude at ALL! It’s such a compliment that you’ve been thinking about my fic!!!! And want more ! Omg !! 🥹🥹❤️❤️
thank you!!!
sooooo I did actually have some drafts of continuations/ different versions lurking somewhere 👀! but I wasn’t ever sure what I wanted the ending to be. And, apologies I’m just gonna blurt this all out to show you my indecisiveness, bc so many routes are interesting! I struggled with which to explore! Like which would be the most accurate to them? I’d want to do them justice yknow! Hence my hesitation. I thought of a few scenarios:
Like, Would he remember her a little and get happy? Or not remember, but appreciate her as a warrior and get on common ground to start a friendship? Ooorrr Would they start the quest with him not remembering and not wanting to find out, not really interacting because she’s sad and frustrated (at the gods but also would accidentally take it out on him)? Would this Roman version of him care that much that she seems so upset? If so, why? Because it interferes with the success of the quest and his Roman brain cares about that? Or Because of something more internal and OG Greek Percy ? Would he actually not care? How long would that last? How long into the quest would I need to write for some closure (bc the closure sounds fun but the quest is not to me tbh. Tho I can see myself writing snippets along the quest timeline, not every single moment in between), and To what level of closure; Hope of memories returning? Acceptance that they won’t but it’s okay? Are they friends again? On the road to dating? ?
so many questions !!!!
So, you see, when I originally wrote the one shot I really struggled with what I’d want to do with the scenario so I never did!!!! Would any of these options interest you? Or anyone else? Not promising it, bc idk if I can do the storylines justice, but do any of these options even make sense to someone besides me??
again, totally delighted that you reached out! Very happy to chat about what all these options mean for their characters bc it’s so interesting to me! and really would love some feedback! Maybe it would inspire me to write it if I felt more confident on what would happen? Tbh even just writing these options out gives me a bit of understanding on what might work best! But lmk your thoughts, I’d love to hear em!
Again, thanks so much for reading the fic and sending the message!!!! It means so much ❤️❤️❤️
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im writing a fic thats so self indulgent i might as well put my own fucking name
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Everyone just thinks that hozier vibes are just cottage core with trees and animals and all that stuff, but i raise you Hozier's album vibes being:
Self titled: a beautifully old pub, with random guys in the corner screaming laughter with beers on their hands, a beautiful group of women happy in a table at the centre and a guy alone on one of the stools writing his diary
Wasteland, baby: a destroyed town due to some man made disaster and all that's left are ashes of what was once there and a couple that just fell for each other coming back to see what's left of it
Unreal Unearth: well maintained but abandoned cathedral at night with its affreschi coming off, a broken painting in the corner, and infinite history underneath it, a guy looking at all of it right after having his heart broken for the first time
#hozier#unreal unearth#put some respect on my irish bestie#he wasn't writing jackie and wilson to have y'all just think he was decomposing#hozier my beloved#wasteland baby
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okay so yj spoilers ahead
in case yall don’t know, the episode where shauna munches jackie’s ear is named “friends, romans, countrymen.”
that name is a quote from julius caesar, a shakespeare play.
and the end of that quote is, “friends, romans, countrymen, lend me an ear.”
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I don’t like needing anyone for anything.
Jackie Robinson
#Jackie Robinson#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic
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trouble | austin!elvis au
wc 5,693
tw violence, sexuality (its the trouble performance so what do u expect)
Your first concert. A charity event, one that your best friend had scored tickets to seeing as her father worked for the foundation they were raising money for. Elvis Presley just so happened to be headlining the event, and seeing as you were his biggest fan right after Lucy, she knew you were the obvious choice to bring. The two of you had known each other forever, and fangirled over the controversial singer since the day you’d heard That’s All Right on the radio. Neither of you understood why the rest of your friends disliked him - he was so talented, charming, he sang so well, and was quite frankly the most handsome boy you’d ever laid eyes on. Not to mention, the way he moved… he had awoken feelings in you that you didn’t know were possible that day you’d watched him perform Hound Dog on live television. It seemed that after that show, his quite sexual style that he showcased in his performances disappeared. You watched him on the Steve Allen show as well, bundled up on the couch with Lucy that night. The two of you had waited all day for it to broadcast, only to be disappointed when he walked on stage in a tailcoat and sang to a dog, for Christ’s sake. Since that performance, every one that followed it was seemingly censored, and even just watching on your tv at home, you could tell the boy hated it as much as the rest of you.
When Lucy phoned you and surprised you with tickets to the charity event at Russwood Park, you were over the moon, and the two of you talked non-stop about it until the day finally came. You went over to Lucy’s house to get ready, and it was then that your best friend finally said what you’d both been thinking the last month or so.
“Y/N,” she’d started off hesitantly, her voice lowering as she dabbed on a few coats of blush to her cheeks. You sat on her bed, watching her get ready at her vanity. “Do you think… Do you think Elvis will be good tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like–” she paused, lowering the brush she applied her makeup with, and turned around to face you. “Do you think he’ll go back to his old ways? With the dancing, and stuff?”
Oh. You knew exactly what she meant – you’d been wondering the same thing. “I hope so,” you answered, and it became obvious that the two of you understood each other. “He’s still good, but… I miss the old Elvis.”
“Me, too.”
The two of you finished getting ready and headed over to the stadium, the even was being held at the field for the Memphis Chicks baseball team. Lucy looked great, dressed in a green plaid dress, her hair pinned up. You were all dolled up as well, wearing a pink skirt and a white blouse with Oxfords on your feet. You had your hair curled to perfection, with the help of Lucy’s mom. The two of you looked wonderful, she had said right before you hopped into the car with Lucy’s father. He was a nice man, and was kind enough to get his daughter an extra ticket for you as well as drive you two to the event. Once you got there, it was packed, half of the stadium being full only because the other half was closed off at capacity.
“Where are our seats?” you asked Lucy, taking her hand as she led you onto the field. Onto the field? “No way…”
“Right up front!” Lucy looked back at you with a grin, and the look on your face was almost comedic, your jaw dropped. “Not necessarily up front, but it’s general admission, so it’s wherever we can fit.” You stuck to the side, walking against the rope that separated the coloured people from the whites, and glanced over. They were all dancing, laughing, having a good time, and you couldn’t help but smile. You never did understand the need for segregation, you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the idea of treating someone different just because they didn’t look like you. The crowd on your left looked a lot more fun than the one you were a part of, but you didn’t have too much time to think much on it as you almost lost your footing, getting pulled to the front by Lucy.
“We’re so close!” you gasped as the two of you found a safe spot, only a few rows of people separating you from the stage. Gripping both of her hands, you looked at Lucy with an excited smile. “This is unbelievable!”
“I know. I can’t believe my daddy got us these!” The two of you squealed in excitement, your heart racing more and more with each minute that went by, and before you knew it, a man stepped on stage and the crowd roared loudly. The man announced that Elvis Presley would be coming out, and if you thought the screams were loud before, you were in for a surprise when everyone laid eyes on the boy of the hour. He was standing off to the side, halfway up the stairs, bent over as he spoke to some man below him. He was dressed in all black, his tie red as the only accent on colour on him, and when he began walking across the stage, a guitar hanging from over his shoulder, you felt your breath escape you.
“Oh my God, it’s him!” Lucy was squeezing your hand as tight as she could, and the way your heart picked up in your chest, you were sure it was lethal.
Everyone was cheering, girls around you were losing their minds, and when he stepped up to the microphone and looked out into the crowd, you found yourself praying to the heavens above that he would notice you in the sea of fans. You knew it was silly, even childish to think such a thing, but the excited teenage girl inside of you had the littlest bit of faith.
“There’s been a lot of talk about the new Elvis.” At his words, everyone booed. “And of course, that other guy…” He lifted a hand, wiggling his pinky finger in the air. “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog … cryin’ all the time.” He couldn’t sing the lyrics without letting out a chuckle, and you and Lucy cheered excitedly. That was your favourite song.
His laugh into the microphone was like music to your ears, and to see him smiling as he did so had your stomach twisting and turning. His voice was so deep and husky as he spoke into the microphone and projected out of the speakers all around the stadium. You’d never heard him in real life, only over the radio, your record player, or on tv at home. In person was so much different – he was so much different. Taller than you expected, leaner and much more handsome. You were sure every girl surrounding you was feeling the same way as you, overwhelmed by his perfectness.
“There’s a lot of people saying a lot of things,” he said, looking up into the night sky as he spoke, his hand wrapped around the mic. “Of course you gotta listen to the people that you love…” He looked off to the right, and you followed his gaze, wondering if his own family was here at the show. “But in the end you gotta listen to yourself.”
Screams erupted at that, and it wasn’t a long pause before he gripped the microphone stand harder and said, “So I want you to know those New York people ain’t gonna change me none!” Elvis lifted the guitar off his back, moving to place it on top of the piano at the edge of the stage. He muttered something to one of his band members before grabbing the microphone again, and in a deep, aggressive voice he yelled, “I’m gonna show you what the real Elvis is like tonight!”
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of wild cheers and screams, and you froze in your sport, palms clammy and your heart pounding in your chest. Lucy squeezed your hand tightly, squealing as excitement took over both of you.
The first note of the song came as a loud bang of the guitar, and everyone around you went wild. “If you’re lookin’ for trouble … you came to the right place.” You’d never heard this song before, he must’ve been saving it for this show. “If you’re lookin’ for trouble … just look right in my face.”
You watched Elvis put all that he had into performing the song. He was singing with so much passion and aggression, his body moving in ways that were definitely unholy and if they weren’t illegal, he sure was making them. The crowd was going crazy and you were getting pushed every which way as girls around you tried to claw their way to the front, some of them even attempting to climb on stage. At one point, Lucy stepped into a spot by the barricade of officers, and she reached for your hand to pull you up with her. You were in the front row, and the boy you’d dreamt about since hearing his first song on the radio was just a few feet away from you.
You felt like you were dreaming.
“I’m only made out … of flesh, blood and bones,” he sang. Lucy dragged you with her off to the side, away from the officers where one girl was leaning her entire upper half onto the stage. “But if you’re gonna start a rumble don’t you try it out alone!” Elvis swivelled his hips, swinging himself up onto his toes before he dropped down to his knees, right in front of you, and pushed his pelvis up into the air only inches away from your face.
“Because I’m… evil.” Suddenly, Elvis was reaching for you, his fingers wrapping around your jaw as he leaned in as close as a man has ever been to you, and the way his dark, cloudy eyes stared into you had your knees buckling. “My middle name is misery.” You could feel his breath fanning on your face as he sang, his close proximity causing your mind to grow foggy as you took in his scent, his cologne suffocating you in the best way.
The boy was so close to you, his slender fingers grasping onto your jaw in a bruising manner but you were completely okay with it. He was leaning down, his lips so close to yours, and you were almost sure he was about to connect them before he suddenly pushed himself back up, shooting a look in your direction as he walked backwards across the stage. “Well I’m evil,” he sang, never breaking eye contact, until he dropped the stand of his microphone, catching it just before it hit the ground. He leaned down, holding the mic up to his lips. “So don’t you mess around with me.”
You took the rest of the song to recover, and thankfully he didn’t really return to your section otherwise you were sure you would disintegrate into the grass below you. You couldn’t believe what had just happened, and apparently, neither could Lucy, as your best friend grabbed both of your shoulders, turning you to her as she screamed. “Elvis Presley just touched you!”
“I know.” You were in shock, your fingers reaching up to ghost over the place where his had last been, and suddenly you were pulled out of your trance by the crowd shifting, and you had been bumped a few rows back with Lucy right beside you. The magical moment was over, unfortunately, and the show went on as girls threw themselves at him left and right. The guards standing in front of the stage tried their very best to hold everyone back, but as Elvis turned his performance and lewd movements up a notch, all hell seemed to break loose.
He was lying on the floor, thrusting his hips up against the microphone stand as he sang, rolling around and feeling the music overtake his body. He moved to the other side of the stage, grabbing the statue of a dog that sat in the corner, and hugged it to his side as he sang to it.
His acts became more and more deranged, the intensity and passion of the music getting to his head as he threw himself into the crowd. Fans left and right tried to get ahold of him, and he climbed back onto the stage, crawling across the floor and he reached for the mic and screamed the rest of the lyrics. It was absolute chaos, and you were overwhelmed at how fast the show had gotten completely out of hand. You could see at the edge of the crowd, police officers were beating people with their batons, mainly the coloured people that had escaped the restraints of their designated section, and your stomach dropped at the sight. You felt like you were going to be sick, and as you turned to point out the acts of violence to Lucy, you realized she was gone.
Elvis wasn’t even singing now, he was being tackled by security guards up on the stage, but you paid the singer no mind as you looked for your friend throughout the crowd. In the corner of your eye, you saw a group of girls climbing onto the stage, and thankfully recognized one of them in her green dress. “Lucy!” you shouted, pushing your way to the front. The crowd was getting violent, elbows were thrown and you’d nearly caught one in the face as you got shoved forward. “Lucy!”
She glanced over at you, screaming your name as she reached out her hand down to you. You took it, letting her pull you up and escape the angry hoard of fans. It was then that you realized how bad this truly was – officers were trying to usher you and the rest of the girls off stage while they held Elvis back as well. He looked angry, his face red and dewy with sweat, the veins in his forehead along with up the side of his neck popping out of his skin while he pushed back against the men.
“Elvis!” a few of the girls called out, and suddenly, you felt a body collide with yours, and then you were on the floor of the stage. Your vision went blurry and a sharp pain shot up your legs when your knees hit the hard surface.
“Don’t fucking touch her!” a masculine voice yelled out, and you’d barely caught it before feeling a metal baton hit your side harshly, winding you slightly as you collapsed to the ground. Because of the pain, you blocked everything out – whatever you saw, anything you could hear, any presences around you; it was all black as you laid on the cool surface below you. It wasn’t until you felt someone grab your hand and pull you away that your vision came back, and you saw Lucy standing above you.
“Y/N! Y/N, are you okay?”
“Hey, hey, hey – is she alright?” If it weren’t for the haze that your eyes were casted in, you could’ve swore you saw Elvis Presley making his way over, his hand reaching out for you. Except your vision couldn’t have made out the way his touch felt on your cheek, and it was then that you finally blinked away all the tears in your eyes, and clearly saw the scene in front of you. Elvis Presley, with his hand on the side of your face, a look of concern cast over his features as well as splatters of blood and bruises, his hair damp and his skin sweaty as he knelt in front of you.
“You all right, darlin’?”
Whether it was the shock from the beating, or from the boy of your dreams right in front of you, you couldn’t seem to make up the words to answer.
“Elvis! Elvis!” Throughout the sudden bliss you’d found yourself in, there was still a riot happening all around you, and as more police officers tried to rip Elvis away, you realized he’d broken away from his restraints to help you. A girl he knew nothing about, not even your name, and he had focused his attention on helping you rather than escaping the cops after him.
Lucy was quick to get you to your feet, her arm around your shoulders as she pulled you in the direction of a safer area, not caring too much about the man that had caused all this commotion. But you did, and you glanced back over your shoulder to see Elvis, his all black attire standing out in a sea of white uniforms, his body squirming under their hold as he tried desperately to get free.
“Get off’a me!” he yelled, pulling an arm free from one of the officers to push another one away, and you watched as he pointed out towards the crowd. “Mama, you get in the car!” Your gaze followed over to where he was looking, and saw an older woman trying to break free of the officers as well, worry written across her face as she screamed out for her son. Elvis was captured again, but he was quick to retaliate back as he swung a punch out, hitting one of the men square in the nose. He had managed to rid himself of the officers, but you knew there’d be more. And so did he, but he managed to look over at you frantically, checking to make sure you had made it out alright.
“Y/N, come on!” Lucy tugged you along, and you found yourself having to break eye contact with the boy as you followed your friend. With one last glance, you watched as the boy was shoved into the back of a police car, and when the door was slammed shut on him you turned back around, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in leaving your lips. “We gotta get outta here!”
About two days had gone by since the concert, and to say you hadn’t fully processed it would be an understatement. Lucy and her father had taken you to the hospital that night to get you checked out, since apparently you’d taken a pretty brutal beating – Lucy reinformed you of the events from that night, since you had blacked out after the first collision with the officer, and from what she told you, you were surprised you weren’t hurt more. A broken rib, they’d diagnosed you with at the hospital, and some internal bruising, but that was it. Everyone was saying how lucky you were, but you only began to think so a few nights later when the boy who had caused it all showed up on your doorstep.
“Y/N, honey, there’s a visitor for you,” your mother said as she peeked into your bedroom. You’d spent the last two days in there, curled up with a book as the doctor advised you take the next week to rest. Lucy had stopped by once to check on you but that was it – you assumed it was her again, but you were a little confused why she’d be visiting you so late at night. Her daddy had a strict curfew of eight pm, and it was hours past that.
Standing in your foyer was the dark haired boy you thought you’d never see again, Elvis Presley. He was dressed in all black, dress pants and a long sleeved button up, which did nothing to attend to the name as it was popped open halfway down his chest. His hair was styled messy, a few strands falling across his forehead, and as you took the final step down the stairs, you noticed the cut on his lip and bruising around his cheek.
“My God,” you mumbled, not at the fact that the Elvis Presley was standing in your home but at the sight of the boy from the events of two nights before. “They really hurt you, didn’t they?”
“I could say the same for you,” he said, the Southern drawl of his voice causing your heart rate to pick up, much like it did the other night when you’d laid eyes on him for the first time. “Took me a while to find you. I, I–” He raised a hand to the back of his neck, casting his gaze down nervously. “I couldn’t sleep, not knowin’ how you were doin’.”
Although it was beating rapidly in your chest, your heart seemed to be swelling up, as well, at the thought of Elvis caring so much about you. You wondered how he found you, not even knowing your name, but you pushed the thought to the side as you hugged your arms close to your chest. “You worried that much?”
“Of course. What they did to you was… was horrible, darlin’.” The nickname had your stomach twisting, but not as much as it did when he stepped closer to you. Suddenly, you were aware of the fact that your mother and father were in the room next to you, and you interrupted the boy to lead him outside. Soon enough, you sat on your porch in the dark of the night, his knee knocking against yours as you resided on the front steps, sitting oddly close together. The porch light was on as well as the lamps lining your street, but that was about it for light. It was pitch black out, and you wondered what he was doing wandering around at night looking for you.
“I wanted to come here and apologize, most importantly,” Elvis had said, holding your hands as you stared up at the boy. His eyes were much different now than they were when you were staring into them just the other day – they were dark, then, and dangerous. Now as you admired them, the porch light above you casting a shadow over his face, a beautiful shade of blue took them on, his irises sparkling when he looked down at you. “What happened to you was my fault, and although I don’t regret a thing I did for my career, I do curse myself everyday for lettin’ that happen to ya. I shouldn’t’a let it get that bad, and–”
“Elvis,” you said, cutting him off, and the boy closed his mouth as he let you speak. “It’s okay. I didn’t get hurt too bad.”
“But you could’ve, and it’s my responsibility to keep you safe. I’m sure you and your friend paid a hefty amount o’ money to come see me perform, and knowin’ that I put y’all in danger just by bein’ there–” The worry and concern on his face was something that you wish you could keep in your memory forever. Elvis was truly such a kind-hearted, sweet and caring man, and it hurt your heart knowing that he’d gone the last two days in pain from worrying so much about you.
“You did what you had to do,” you said, and the words that left your lips had a confused expression replacing the previous one on Elvis’s face. “That performance was amazing, and I’m glad I got to see it. Even if I did end up gettin’ hurt at the end.” You gave him a soft smile, and Elvis squeezed your hands. “That’s what everyone came to see, the real Elvis. No one wants to see you all dressed up singin’ to a damn dog.”
Elvis smiled widely at your words, chuckling as he looked over at you. “You know, you’re the first person to tell me the truth in a long while.”
“Well I’m glad I could help,” you said with a nod, and Elvis reached a hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Elvis?” The boy hummed, his eyes fixated on his fingers twirling in your hair. “For what it’s worth, I… I really like the real Elvis.”
His eyes darted back to meet yours, and the shy smile toying on your lips enticed a wicked grin on his. “You do?”
“Mhm,” you nodded. “He’s unlike any other.”
His smirk had butterflies in your stomach, and you watched as the outline of his tongue moved to poke his cheek. “Well, thank you, darlin’.” His hand dropped from your hair, down to the ground beneath him as he leaned back onto his elbows, his legs extending as he crossed them at the ankles. He relaxed into himself, looking out into the dark before tilting his head to the side, gazing up at you. “You know, they’re sendin’ me to the army.”
Your eyes widened as you looked at the boy, not a trace of sarcasm or any joking manner to be found in his features. “What?”
He nodded, and you found your heart sinking in your chest. “It’s either that, or jail. I don’t think I’d do too well there,” he said with a chuckle, but you didn’t find it funny at all. “And who knows, maybe the service’ll be good for me. The Colonel says it’ll be like a fresh start. Clean cut, all-American boy for when I come back.” You had no clue who this Colonel fellow was, but you couldn’t disagree with him more. Elvis looked up at you, his eyes darting between yours in search of some sign of something. “What you thinkin’, baby?”
“I’m thinkin’ this Colonel guy’s a damn fool.”
At that, Elvis laughed. It was a throw-your-head-back, deep from the belly type of laugh, and if you weren’t so damn mad at the thought of him being sent across seas as punishment, you would’ve admired the sound. “A lotta people been tellin’ me that lately.” He looked down at his shoes, black and white and shiny and expensive-looking, tapping the toes together as he spoke. “He knows what’s best for me, though. He brought me this far.”
“Mr. Presley, if I may,” you started politely, placing a hand over his as you looked at him. “That was all you.”
The boy looked at you now, his lips pressed into a firm line as he took in your words. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, and it was beautiful how pensive the boy was, his eyes narrowing into yours. It took him a few moments to answer, but when he did, it was nothing what you expected.
“Where have you been all my life, Y/N Y/L/N?”
Jesus, was your heart being put through the ringer today. It had nearly stopped beating altogether at his question, and your eyebrows twitched inwards as you stuttered nervously. “What?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you.” His words were genuine, you could tell, and the look he was giving you, eyes never leaving yours for the past three minutes, had you convinced that he really meant what he said.
“Well–” you stammered, and it took all of the confidence gathered within you to muster your next words. “Well I’d hope not.” Elvis smiled at this, and he laughed to himself a bit before finally breaking eye contact and staring back down at his shoes.
“You ever been in love, Y/N?”
Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”
“I thought I was in love, once.” The boy was talking to the air, his head leaning back as he looked up at the sky and the stars. “Dixie Locke. She was my girlfriend back when I was just startin’ out. I thought I loved her – Hell, it just took me the last couple o’ days to figure out I didn’t.”
“If you’ll forgive me,” you said, “I don’t got a clue what you’re gettin’ at, Mr. Presley.”
Elvis smiled, rolling his head over to look at you, not quite moving the rest of his body. The smile on his lips was lazy, relaxed, and the expression in his eyes was the same. It was like there wasn’t a care in the world that he had. Despite half the country wanting to throw him in jail, his awaited shipment off to the service, and everything else the most famous man in the world would have to worry about, there wasn’t a concern in mind when it came to Elvis in that moment.
“I didn’t know what love was ‘til I met you, Y/N.”
Your mouth ran dry.
“I didn’t mean for it to be you, when I grabbed you that night, sang to you. It was like you fell right into my lap, all helpless and pretty and innocent. I thought you were gorgeous.” He wasn’t even speaking to you, more to himself as he recounted the night, looking back out off the porch. “Still do. Most beautiful girl I ever seen. And then everything happened and I– When I saw you,” Elvis looked over at you again, “I melted. Those goddamned police officers had me, but then I watched you get hit and I just… I saw red. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My God, Y/N, I’d never been so damn angry in my life.”
You listened to him silently, your hands in your lap while you watched him display every emotion he felt that night on his face while he told you the story from his perspective.
“They got mad at me for makin’ sure you were all right,” he said, and you assumed he was talking about his crew, the people he associated with, “but it was like I was possessed, or somethin’. All I could think about was you, and I wanted to stay with ya longer ‘n’ make sure you were okay, but I got snatched up by those damned officers again. Soon as they let me go I went searchin’ for ya.” Elvis laughed as he admitted that, and he was relieved to look over and see you smiling at the tale. “Took a while, but… I got to ya.”
“I don’t…” You were blushing, smiling shyly as he stared on at you. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t gotta say nothin’,” he said, reaching a hand up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb smoothing over your cheek gently. “I just needed to find ya, make sure you were alright.” There was a moment of silence, filled with the adoring looks the two of you poured into one another’s gaze, until Elvis spoke up again. “You know, it’s funny.”
“What is?”
“How fast I booked it outta there when Billy told me they’d found you.” Elvis smiled, his hand still on your cheek as he remembered the scene that took place less than an hour prior. “I was sittin’ at home, talkin’ with the Colonel, and Mama and Daddy about the war. I got my draft letter and Mama was just wailin’ – Oh, she was goin’ on about how I can’t go to Germany, and everyone was arguin’. Then Cousin Billy came runnin’ in – I’d never felt such excitement in my life. He told me they’d found your friend’s daddy and tracked you down. I swear on my mama, Y/N, I ain’t never drove faster in my life tryin’ to get to ya.”
The smile on your lips stretched wide and Elvis grinned, grabbing your hand as he lifted it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “It felt like the end o’ the world ‘til I finally found ya.��
“You’re a real charmer,” you mumbled, blushing as Elvis continued to press kisses up your hand, around to your wrist, “you know that?”
He hummed, leaning onto his side now as he met your eyes once more. He was propped up on his elbows, holding your hand in both of his, his lips dancing around your fingers as he stared up at you adoringly. You nearly had to pinch yourself at the occurring event – Elvis Presley was sitting on your porch, leaving kisses all over your skin, confessing his love for you. Two days ago and you wouldn’t have even dreamed of this; it all seemed so out of reach.
“What are you thinkin’ about, baby?” he asked you, for the second time that night, and you smiled small as you gave your answer.
“You.”
You watched as he enclosed his bottom lip between his teeth, keeping the smirk he had growing at bay. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?” he teased, using your own words against you, and at the blush spreading across your cheeks you smacked him on the arm lightly. “Will you write me when I’m in Germany?”
The recurring knowledge of his departure hit you like a freight train, and the sight of the frown twitching at your lips didn’t escape him as Elvis squeezed your hand. “Only two years, baby. Then I’ll come home to ya.”
You had a hard time finding the comfort in his words as you were focused on the seven hundred and thirty days you’d have to go without him. “I’ll write to you everyday.”
He smiled, moving his free hand back to cup your cheek. “And you ain’t better find no other man to treat you while I’m away. You hear me, little one?”
You nod, falling into his touch, and it’s when you begin to close your eyes that Elvis sits back up, stirring you from your trance as he pulls you forward. As quick as you opened your eyes, you were closing them again when his lips fell on yours, inhabiting them with his sweet taste and the familiar smell of his cologne you’d been dreaming about since the last time he’d had you this close.
His lips were soft, glistening and swollen when you pulled away to catch your breath. Elvis held you close as he rested his forehead against yours. “Been dreamin’ about that since the moment I saw you,” he mumbled, and you smiled as you closed your eyes, taking in his voice, his scent, the warmth still on your lips after the kiss. “I’ll write you soon as I get there, my girl.”
“I’ll be waitin’, Mr. Presley.”
It was a short goodbye, he’d kissed you once more before heading down your driveway and hopping in his purple Cadillac. With a sad but excited feeling nestled in your chest, you headed back inside, only to be met with both of your parents standing in the living room, waiting.
“Sorry, Mama. And Daddy.” You looked sheepish as you closed the door behind you, leaning up against it as you read the looks on both your parents’ faces. Your father looked upset, whereas your mother, you knew, wasn’t mad at all. “He’s bein’ sent off to the service. Germany, for two years.”
“Good. I don’t wanna see that boy around you again,” your father said gruffly, and you gulped, nodding as you looked down. You heard his foot steps retreat and it was your mother’s clear of her throat that had you glancing upward.
“Don’t listen to your father. I think he’s a nice boy,” she said, and you smiled. “Very kind of him, to come all this way to check on you. That shows a lot of character. If your father knew the full story I’m sure he’d agree.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
“And he’s a real cute one, isn’t he?” She moved to look out the window, peering through the curtains but becoming disappointed after seeing he’d left already. “That’s a shame he won’t be around for a while. I’ve always sorta liked that Presley boy.”
“Yeah,” you smiled. “Me too.”
part two here!
➳ @satninbeaulieu @suspiciousbutler @sagesolsticewrites @shimmeringlights44 @imanibyfaith @butlersbitxh @floralcyanide @sassy-ahsoka-tano @austin-butlers-gf @butlersbabe @dontbesussis @x-earthangel @anangelwhodidntfall @she-is-juniper @butler-on-beale-street @iloveaustinbutler @http-sponge @theliterarybeldam @melodydior @dances-and-dolly-dresses @mommy-maia @alligator-person @elvisabutler @scarlet-knight @austiebutbut @80s-outsiders @a-bolanos @sweetheartlizzie07 @ghxst-heart @matchaluvr123
#austin butler#elvis 2022#elvis presley#austin butler x reader#austin butler fic#austin butler fanfic#austin butler imagine#elvis!austin#elvis fanfic#elvis fan fiction#elvis imagine#austin!elvis x reader#mamaspresley#jackie writes
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bit from an oc x swindle thing that i thought was funny
"You talk too much sometimes, Swindle."
"Oh, really? Why don't you shut me up, then?" is his almost immediate reply.
Spinoff raises an optic ridge. "And how could I do that?"
"Any way you like." (The businessman winks after he says this, but the other is too engrossed in their work to notice.)
Spinoff stands from their desk and walks over to Swindle. They’re close to him- Almost too close. They ever so slightly loom over him, and his eyeline just is at their lips, and Primus- Are they looking at his, too? Is this really happening?? He can’t help but shut his optics and wait. But then-
"I see. Pass me my welding torch then, would you?"
"Wait, no, not that way!"
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mornings with cypher are… fun(?) to say the least
- i fully believe this man is the furthest thing from a morning person
- he has a habit of working on gadgets and checking cameras during the night, so he’s usually the last one to wake up
- if you happen to share a bed with him, it’s kind of a mess
- he’ll hold you tightly in his sleep, not to the point where it’s uncomfortable, but to the point in which it’s difficult to wiggle free from his grasp
- (not that you really want to leave his side. he feels so warm and you’d feel bad if you just left him like that)
- if he’s at that half awake point he’s mumble sweet nothings to you
- he’s so grateful that he’s lived to point where he can have someone as wonderful as you by his side in the mornings
- even if he’s fully awake he likes to stay cuddling you, just to have a moment away from all the work and the gadgets and the fighting
- “you remind me of the moon.”
- “hmm? why?”
- "because… like the moon, you are not only beautiful when full. you’re gorgeous in all your fractions and phases and pieces. words can’t explain how much i adore you, ya amar.”
#valorant#valorant fanfiction#valorant x reader#valorant cypher#cypher#cypher valorant#cypher x reader#jackie writes
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new imodna fic just dropped! :D
look i don't write kidfic but the conversation with liliana in episode 89 got to me in a way i cannot even describe. "would you end my life? and stop that child from being born?"
all of us are going forward; none of us are going back || imodna || 5k+
“Do you ever think that we’re going to lose it?” Laudna asks, finally, her voice that kind of deep gravel it becomes when she’s fallen deep inside herself.
“Lose this?” Imogen asks, looking around them, as the first drops of rain begin to fall outside. She swallows. Weighs the truth against the lie. “All the time.”
“Delilah always comes back,” Laudna murmurs, biting out the name like it’s poison. “It was fine when it was me, and me alone. When I wasn’t—I hated when she could get to you, when you were vulnerable, but at least you—you are extraordinarily capable. You’ve beaten her once, you could beat her again.” Her eyes fall to meet Imogen’s, and Imogen understands what she will say next. It makes her body go cold. “They’re only children,” she whispers. “They’re our children.”
ao3 link
playlist link
#critical role#imodna#critical role fanfiction#cr fanfic#imogen temult#laudna#imogen x laudna#bells hells#the coven of c3#campaign 3#cr fanfiction#jackie writes#lily jean i would die 4 u!#cr3
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I can't stop thinking about the fact that, even if they don't physically eat her, jackie taylor is the first person the girls cannibalize.
we see it most intensely and most obviously with shauna, who consumes more and more of jackie's life. before the plane even crashes, shauna takes jeff's virginity, which was supposed to be jackie's. she takes jeff, jackie's boyfriend. after the crash, she takes the team's loyalty; more and more of their teammates start confiding in and working with shauna, ostracizing jackie, until the team firmly chooses shauna over jackie, their captain. shauna goes on to marry jackie's boyfriend and have the suburban little life that jackie was supposed to have. hell, shauna even takes rabbits from jackie—jackie "loved them", but we only see rabbits when it's about shauna. they're symbolic of the wilderness and who shauna has become.
but it's not just shauna. the longer they're in the woods, the more the rest of the girls start taking from jackie, consuming bits and pieces of her identity until there's nothing left.
jackie is the leader. she's the team captain, and her role is to lead and keep her team together. we're explicitly introduced to jackie this way. coach martinez points out how the other players on the team are better than her, but what she has is influence. she's specifically chosen to be the one to lead her teammates through difficulty. and at the party, we see her in action. we see her take a fractured team and put them back together! she fixes them, she leads them, she heals them.
but after the crash, jackie isn't a leader. misty is the one calm under pressure, who gets them through the first few hours. taissa steps forward and pushes the team to move from the crash site, the one with the initiative to go look for help on foot. laura lee is the one brave enough to try and fly the plane. akilah stops them from eating poison. nat hunts for them, provides for them. lottie protects and guides them.
she almost finds a foothold with the seance, almost finds the old part of herself that gives pep talks and lightens the mood with distractions. but van can weave stories by the campfire, and mari can lead late night line dances and make booze.
so what's left for jackie? each of the girls cuts and picks at the facets of leadership until there's nothing left of it for her. until she's a worthless captain to a group of girls who have figured out how to break her up and share her between themselves.
#yellowjackets#yellowjackets meta#jackie taylor#i've been thinking about this all day i'm in so deep#meta#shauna shipman#i'm so late to this party this has probably been discussed already but i had to write it in case#mine#wordles#~#1k
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