[gloomysapphic]

I have a feeling you got everything you wanted

And you’re not wasting time stuck here like me

You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened

The world ended when it happened to me

“we hug now” - Sydney Rose

[gloomysapphic]

Poem for Natalie

The survivor.

The antler queen.

The huntress.

She learned early

that living comes with a debt.

That every breath taken

has to be paid for later.

She started saving.

She carried the rifle

like a confession.

Heavy.

Necessary.

Something you don’t put down

once you’ve picked it up.

She never forgot.

That was the punishment.

Javi haunted her dreams.

Small hands,

cold skin,

eyes that kept asking why

she let him die.

Coach Ben too;

the space where he should’ve been,

the echo of a man

who couldn’t survive

what they became.

Everyone who died out there.

Everyone she consumed.

Every choice framed as mercy

and swallowed anyway.

The others learned how to forget.

How to soften the story.

How to wear crowns

and call it fate.

She kept the truth sharp,

let it cut her palms

every time she held it.

Now it consumes her.

The hunger turning inward.

The wilderness learning her name.

A girl who lived

because she fought,

and stayed human long enough

to feel every second of it.

The survivor.

The antler queen.

The huntress.

Still awake.

Still carrying it.

[gloomysapphic]

Poem for Travis

His father loved the Yellowjackets

in a way that felt public.

Applause-love.

Sideline-love.

The kind of love that wears a whistle

and forgets to come home.

Travis learned early

how to stand just outside of it.

How to be the extra body

in the backseat of a team bus.

How to watch his dad beam at girls

who weren’t him.

He thought the wilderness

might finally make them equal.

It didn’t.

It took his father first;

left him hanging like a warning sign

in the trees.

Left Travis holding a rifle

he barely knew how to carry

and grief he didn’t know how to name.

The girls looked at him differently after that.

Like he was a resource.

Like he was meat with opinions.

Doomcoming tasted like rot and berries.

Like something sweet

that shouldn’t have been swallowed.

They circled him,

crowns of flowers,

eyes glassy and feral,

laughter too sharp to be playful.

He said no.

They heard hunt.

There is something worse

than being chased by wolves.

It’s being chased by girls

who used to share classes with you.

He ran because he wanted to live.

Because no one else in that clearing

was thinking about tomorrow.

And then Javi came back.

Small.

Silent.

Miracle-shaped.

Travis didn’t let himself believe it at first.

The wilderness doesn’t return things

without taking something else.

He tried to be careful with him.

Tried to be big-brother steady.

Tried to make the world small enough

for Javi to survive it.

But the ice does not care

about older brothers.

It swallowed Javi

like it had been waiting.

And the same girls who once painted their nails

and braided each other’s hair

watched the water close

and chose not to look away.

Travis screamed.

Not at them.

Not at the lake.

At God.

At his father.

At the part of himself

that was still hoping someone would choose him

the way it chose Javi.

After that,

he was alone in a way

that has no word for it.

The wilderness didn’t just take his family.

It left him alive.

Which might be worse.

Back home,

people wanted stories.

Survival anecdotes.

Something cinematic.

But they didn’t want the truth.

They didn’t want to know

that sometimes,

when he closes his eyes,

he’s still running through the trees

flowers at his throat,

hands reaching,

someone laughing behind him.

They didn’t want to know

he never really made it out.

Travis is not the hero of the story.

He’s not the Antler Queen.

He’s not the butcher or the saint.

He’s just the boy

who kept surviving

long after he stopped wanting to.

And no one ever clapped for that.

[gloomysapphic]

Poem for Taissa

She learned early

that fear is a weakness

you outrun.

Knees pumping through suburban streets,

heart steady,

mouth set in a line that said

“I will not break”

Taissa Turner does not believe in ghosts.

She believes in grades,

in scholarships,

in the clean geometry of victory.

She believes in becoming untouchable.

But the wilderness

does not care what you believe.

It splits her open

like bark under frost.

By day, she is discipline;

sharp jaw, sharper plans,

the girl who maps escape routes

while everyone else prays.

By night,

she is teeth.

Dirt packed under her fingernails.

Sleepwalking through pine shadows.

Breathing something older than language.

Something that hums

when the trees lean in closer.

There are two of her.

One who kisses Van

like it’s a promise.

And the other

who leaves the cabin at midnight,

who follows symbols carved into trees,

who kneels at an altar no one admits building.

Van sees both.

That’s the problem.

Van, with her split-open face

and stubborn, sly grin.

Van, who survives fire

and calls it fate.

Van, who looks at Taissa

like she’s both miracle

and omen.

Love in the wilderness

is not gentle.

It is clutching someone’s wrist

as wolves circle.

It is whispering I’m here

while something inside you

answers back,

“but I’m not”

Taissa builds a life after—

law degrees and lawn signs,

a wife, a child,

a house that smells like lemon cleaner

instead of blood.

She runs for office

because power feels safer

than prayer.

She tells herself

the other one is gone.

But you cannot starve

what learned to feed in the dark.

It waits

in reflections.

In cracked mirrors.

In the quiet stretch

between sleep and waking.

It waits

for dirt.

For bone.

For the taste of something sacrificed.

Taissa Turner does not believe in ghosts.

But sometimes she wakes

with her mouth full of earth

and Van’s name

caught between her teeth

like something she almost swallowed whole.

[gloomysapphic]

Poem for Misty

Misty learned how to be useful

before she learned how to be loved.

If she could stitch the wound,

mix the right dose,

press her hands hard enough against a chest,

maybe they wouldn’t leave.

But they always do.

Everyone close to her dies—

not always by her hand,

but never without her watching.

Never without her memorizing the moment

they realize she’s all that’s left.

Crystal, smiling too wide,

trusting her with secrets and songs,

falling out of reach.

Natalie, sharp and breaking,

finally choosing to stay,

only to slip away anyway,

right in front of her,

like punishment disguised as fate.

It’s always her fault.

Even when it isn’t,

it feels like it is.

She needs to be needed

the way some people need air,

the way a heartbeat needs a body.

She offers herself in pieces:

a skill, a secret, a cure,

a favor you didn’t ask for

but can’t survive without.

She tells herself crying is for babies,

for people who expect comfort afterward.

She swallows it down,

locks it behind her teeth,

pretends she doesn’t need

what no one has ever offered her.

But sometimes it leaks out anyway;

quiet,

humiliating,

alone in a bathroom or a dark room,

her face pressed into her hands

like she’s trying to disappear.

At night, fear curls up inside her ribs:

the fear of being unnecessary,

of standing useless in a room full of living people,

of being seen

and still unwanted.

So she stays.

She fixes.

She hovers.

She wipes her face clean.

She fixes her smile.

She stays useful.

She mistakes survival for love

and calls it devotion.

And somewhere deep inside her,

there is a girl still waiting to be chosen,

terrified that if she ever lets go,

if she ever lets herself fall apart,

there will be no one left

to save her.

And she doesn’t know

who she is

without that.

[gloomysapphic]

I don’t know where you end and I begin

we were girls once—

before hunger spoke,

before the woods answered.

jackie,

you wore certainty like a letterman jacket,

clean, inherited,

already warm from someone else’s body.

i followed you the way shadows do—

close enough to feel important,

far enough to disappear.

they say best friends share clothes,

but we shared oxygen.

i breathed when you breathed.

i learned my smile by watching yours

in the mirror of bathroom sinks,

lip gloss smeared like a promise

neither of us planned to keep.

you were the center of every room.

i was the room.

sometimes i think i loved you

the way girls are taught not to—

quiet, consuming,

like if i swallowed you whole

i’d finally be real.

other times i think i hated you

for how easy the world felt in your hands,

how it never asked you to bleed

to earn its softness.

out there,

the wilderness didn’t care who we were.

it peeled us down to bone and instinct.

it taught me that hunger sounds like prayer

and love can look a lot like taking.

jackie,

you stayed frozen in the girl you were.

i kept changing.

i kept surviving.

i learned how to live with your name

lodged somewhere between my ribs,

a splinter i never pulled out

because pain meant you were still here.

they ask me when i lost you.

i don’t know how to tell them

i was losing myself first.

now i carry you everywhere—

in my mouth when i’m silent,

in my hands when they shake,

in the way i measure goodness

by who gets to stay warm.

i don’t know where you end

and i begin.

i only know the girl i was with you

is still starving somewhere inside me,

waiting for permission

to be forgiven.

[gloomysapphic]

ghost girl

the cold preserved her,

almost beautifully.

like the world knew she mattered too much

to let her decay.

she was close enough to the alive jackie

that I could forget the difference—

close enough to hold entire conversations

with a body that never answered back

but never left either.

her face stayed soft.

her hands stayed clean.

the snow learned her shape by heart.

forever a girl.

forever a yellowjacket.

I talked to her like she could hear me.

apologized like apologies still worked.

told myself if I stayed close enough,

I wouldn’t have to become

what I was becoming.

the cold didn’t make her distant.

it made her eternal.

a version of jackie that never changed

while the rest of us learned

how to rot and keep moving.

she lives in guilt that fails to decay—

in full stomachs,

in warm beds,

in the way her name still stops my breath

like a prayer I don’t believe in

but say anyway.

forever alive through guilt

that refuses to soften,

that refuses to forgive,

that keeps her seventeen

and keeps me awake.

ghost girl,

you are not what we lost,

you are what we carry,

preserved in the cold space

between survival

and shame.

[gloomysapphic]

Shauna’s POV:

I hated her

the way you hate a mirror

that tells the truth first.

Jackie walked through the world

like it would always open for her.

Doors. Mouths. Futures.

And I stood just behind her shoulder,

learning how to be smaller.

I wanted her life

before I wanted her.

Her ease.

Her certainty.

The way people chose her

without asking what it would cost.

Loving Jackie felt like losing

before anything was taken.

Out there, the hate sharpened.

Every smile a theft.

Every clean memory

another reason to starve.

I loved her

and I wanted her gone

and those two things learned

to share a pulse.

I tell myself it was the cold.

I tell myself it was fate.

I don’t tell myself

how easy it was

to let the night finish her sentence.

Jackie never left.

She moved in.

She sleeps in my ribs,

asks questions in my own voice,

watches me touch my stomach

like I’m still counting ghosts.

Sometimes she’s angry.

Sometimes she’s seventeen forever,

hair perfect,

waiting for me to explain myself.

Sometimes she’s soft

and that’s worse.

I loved her.

I hated her.

I learned how to live

by choosing myself over her body

and I will never be forgiven,

not by God,

not by memory,

not by the girl

who still wears my face

when I close my eyes.

[gloomysapphic]

Shauna POV:

I was a girl once.

Before the plane,

before hunger learned my name,

before my body stopped being mine

and started being useful.

I was supposed to leave.

I was supposed to become someone else.

Instead, the sky split open

and handed me nineteen months

that never stopped counting.

Girlhood didn’t fade.

It froze solid.

It stayed sixteen and shivering,

waiting for permission

that never came.

Jackie stayed clean.

That’s what hurts the most.

She never learned how to get ugly enough to live.

She stayed soft.

She stayed warm in her beliefs.

She stayed the girl I was orbiting,

even when I pretended I wasn’t.

I loved her wrong.

I loved her quietly.

I loved her in comparison,

in shadow,

in hunger.

The wilderness didn’t care about any of that.

It only cared about what we could give it.

My body became evidence.

Then shelter.

Then a grave I had to keep breathing inside.

I lost my baby.

But first I lost the idea

that life arrives gently.

I lost the belief that wanting something

could keep it alive.

I carried him through snow and blood

and learned that hope

can rot just like anything else.

Those nineteen months

rewrote every future I was promised.

I came back older than my face,

younger than my guilt,

hollowed out in places no one sees.

I smile now.

I cook.

I remember birthdays.

I play the part of a woman who survived.

But there is still a girl in the woods

with my name in her mouth,

kneeling beside a frozen body,

learning too late

that love is not protection.

I left the wilderness.

It never left me.

[gloomysapphic]

Just yassified Vecna

[gloomysapphic]

The way I IMMEDIATELY hopped on faceapp/editing apps when I saw these pics

[gloomysapphic]

Fem Steve edit using a still from the volume 2 trailer 🥰

[gloomysapphic]

Fem!Billy/Billie dump

[gloomysapphic]

hey gays, I made a new fem billy/billie edit 🥰

[gloomysapphic]

How tf am I so late to seeing this photoshoot??? Embarrassing.

[gloomysapphic]

Fem!Eddie <3 (reposting since I was impatient and posted this in the middle of the night lol)

[gloomysapphic]