SC4TORCCIO. an indie, semi selective interpretation of natalie scatorccio from showtime / paramount +'s yellowjackets, as written by steph. ( she / her, 30+ ). blog established march 2025. medium activity. mutuals only. mostly canon compliant and open to canon divergence.
this blog contains content that can be considered dead dove, do not eat.
exploring themes such as : loss of girlhood, the weary savior, eyeliner as war paint, heavy is the head that wears the crown, survivors guilt, & curing poison with poison.
carrd. playlist. other blogs: @ltnsingh , @danviers
the rearmost room of the cabin, bereft of everything but a glimmer of candlelight and a cooling bath, offered a precious sliver of solitude — a moment of scarce quiet in which natalie, unraveled makeshift bandage half - wound around her hand, all but seemed to tune out the muffled chatter coming in through the latched door; the thin, hunger - laced conversation.
the quest for something normal when starvation and exposure had so viciously threatened it.
in a jarring instant, the quietude shattered, the sudden incursion of a clear voice plucking nat out of her laser - focus before she'd even noticed the shifting firelight and moving, scattershot shadow — or the perennially hat - bearing silhouette catching the dirt speckled window pane over her shoulder.
drawing her long pants back up and over the wound in question, like she'd been caught red - handed, nat simply shook her head. to call the serrated, half - dressed laceration she'd hastened to cover up a scratch was an understatement. the jagged edge of it pulled when she moved, raw and still stinging with the snow she'd packed around it when no one had been around to bear witness. burned, even when she didn't. still, it didn't hurt any worse than losing an entire limb. it ached no worse than she was sure travis did, day in, day out.
" yeah... it was a stupid accident, " she lied. she didn't elaborate; couldn't, when it was tangible proof of the falsehood she'd spun for travis. " it's fine. seriously. "
@chrryslushie asked: “ you could’ve gotten yourself killed! you could’ve— fuck! you scared the shit outta me. ” / from taissa
" it was misty's fucking fault, " came nat's drug - mumbled retort: a half - slurred one from the half - propped head of her hospital bed.
there was no bravado in her response; no completely formed sense of apology, either, behind the way she forced her glance up to meet taissa's hovering form at her bedside. just the haze of half wakefulness; the abrasion of a voice deprived of everything but plastic - tinged oxygen and sterile emergency room air. just the vague shadow of relief without a lick of guilt, for perhaps the first time in decades, that she'd somehow escaped death's cold grasp with her life.
exhaustion laced the rough edge of natalie's cowed drawl. a sliver of regret, too, for the things she could scarcely recall. the last thing she'd remembered had been fire, consuming and spitting embers into the black breadth of the night sky; the glint of it in misty's glasses. the horror she'd watched bloom in her eyes before she'd lost the feeling in her limbs and everything had fallen away into darkness. " what happened to lottie? "
' you're lying . ' frustration drips like venom : all the power , the heavy antler crown atop her head , the blood spilled to anoint her .... and natalie still won't bend . still acting all high and mighty , like she could comprehend half of what shauna has been through to earn the respect she deserves . ' you just want to feel like you're better than me ---- better than all of us . you can judge all you want , nat , ' a step closer , a looming threat . ' but you're just as guilty as the rest of us . you might as well stop acting so fucking self righteous about it . '
" jesus christ. you realise how paranoid that sounds? " nat fired back, her hair - triggered refutation slipping out without a second thought no matter how vigilant she'd been — how careful she'd tried to remain while in shauna's close proximity, knowing how much hurt lingered behind the flat darkness of her cornered - animal stare. how much unrestrained rage there was underneath it ( how much violence, stoked by the ever shifting seasons and rudimentary, tiny headstones that'd begun to mark the countless months since they'd last seen civilisation ) was next to impossible to fathom.
" I know you're fucking mad, shauna, " she affixed, sourly, the sway of her gait shifting backward a little — but not quite in retreat. " but you don't have to keep intimidating everyone. "
louis & lestat . you crave love that consumes you, even when it leaves scars. you’re torn between gentleness and chaos, always drawn back into what hurts because the thought of loneliness feels worse. you’re magnetic, haunted, and impossible to resist, living in a cycle of obsession and devotion. even when it destroys you, you stay because some loves are too intoxicating to ever let go.
tagged by : @eatbitch
tagging : @sorevivals, @p1mer, @teethcut, @ladyintree and anyone else who wants to do this!
@proph5t asked: ❛ i like being close to you. you’re warm. ❜
the earnestness of that statement struck nat as unusual: a departure from the bickering, from the uneasy mystery that seemed to ooze from every crevice of the cabin's dilapidated frame. whispered against her shoulder, it was just honest — like something murmured in the esoteric space between sleep and wakefulness, momentarily undisturbed by the creaking of the floor upstairs.
untouched, for the time being, by whatever it was about this place that'd made lottie so apprehensive to cross the threshold.
nat couldn't bring herself to believe in it, either way: the ghost stories, even if it'd been fun to partake. the mythologising. given the catastrophe that'd swept their plane into a heap of half - disintegrated debris, the bare floorboards and open fireplace left behind by the cabin's previous dweller were a glint of light in a frigid, swelling void. something better than the wild woods and slowly diminishing supply of food. better than nothing, when any hope of going home seemed further and further out of reach, and nothing but death tainted the frost - tinged air.
" just go to sleep, lot, " nat whispered, not quite dismissive, but quiet enough to not stir mari lying a half foot beside her — and beckoned lottie and her ice - cold extremities closer, tugging the old quilted blanket she'd draped around herself back to fully envelop her too. if she could offer nothing else ( no spoils of an hours - long hunt, no reassurance that rescue might come ), she could still share this. " it'll be better in the morning. "
it's late and most of the other girls have already gone to sleep, but shauna is still sat in front of the fire, sharpening her knife after butchering their latest hunt. she thinks it should be scary how easy it is for her now to be able to just methodically cut apart something that was once living. but the thing is, she likes to do it. she enjoys it and that's more frightening.
shauna wants to groan when natalie approaches the fire, but keeps the reaction internal. she doesn't dislike nat, it was only that she was enjoying the silence. the only sound being light snores in the background alongside the crackling of the flames.
instead, shauna looks up at her and offers a quiet, "hey. what are you doing still awake?"
the creak of natalie's nearing footsteps hardly rose above the faint susurration of soft snores and long, sleep - heavy, breaths — the crackle of the fire splitting the snow - damp kindling, still licking at the innards of the old fireplace. it was habit, she supposed, that kept her so light on her feet; some learned quirk she'd picked up the last few months before the winter had diminished her twice - daily trek through the woods into an unendingly fruitless slog.
" it's getting fucking cold back there, " she murmured back, softly, hesitant to join shauna by the still - smouldering flame, but not willing to shy away, either. the jackie of it all still hung heavy, like dark clouds. nothing needed to be said: nothing that didn't clearly pass across the downward trajectory of nat's sorry glance, anyway.
" look, shauna, I wasn't trying to interrupt... but you should be resting, or something. you probably need it more than the rest of us. "
things after camp green pine were both better and worse in her own ways. after that night, lisa can say for a fact that it hadn't been good for her, leaving with a near-empty bank account and entirely new set of thought distortions will do that. however, it is hard to deny that she'd gotten worse, generally, since then. with her previous baggage and now new trauma, it was easy to fall back into old habits and make a few new ones (the smoking only started recently, after all).
honestly, though, she hadn't expected to see natalie again after what happened. lisa still isn't sure what to make of what she saw that night. in truth, lisa was only out that night because she was worried for natalie, and then she heard the yelling and grabbed the gun. she hadn't known what she was getting into then, didn't know the chaos that would come from that night or the following days. her and the other members of the commune had just been left there, no direction, no support or way forward.
"except the nutjobs who tried to kill you in the woods." there's a bitter laugh at the end of the statement, but there is truth to it. the lingering paranoia of if one of them decided that they actually weren't okay with lisa having been a witness.
lisa wasn't wrong. try as natalie had to move past that night, taissa, van, misty and shauna had practically retreated back to their tainted, suburban lives without consequence. not to some musty old motel: some rent - by - the - hour room that'd seen more dubious affairs and borderline criminal enterprises than a restful night's sleep, but home.
in a manner, they'd gotten away unscathed, unburdened. all except for lottie, and the call to old, mystic violence that they'd failed to resist.
" we were all there, " she noted, that admission almost sheepish, heavy with the same clinging, sap - thick darkness she'd tried to little avail to run from, to heal from. " it's not like any of us were really innocent. " they weren't: far from it. they'd all had some part to play — even her. she'd been masked, twisted into complying with lottie's insane game, just like the rest of them, and yet she'd never really believed in the sacredness of the hunt. neither had she been able to shake off the unwieldy weight of it. not back then, with shauna's bowie knife pressed against her trembling throat, and not now.
a glimmer of a shade of solemnity washed over nat, then. relief, no matter how cynical it all seemed. " I'm glad you... got out of that place. "
