#doomcoming

While it may not be an entirely realistic depiction of sexual assault, the symbolic horror of Doomcoming is still portraying a very real message about the reversal of gendered power and the logic of sexual violence. Doomcoming intentionally ties power to sexual violence, which shows how quickly people can reproduce the same oppressive dynamics they once experienced once roles shift.

Doomcoming, along with Travis’s role in the story from that point forward, is meant to function as a deliberate reversal of what women experience in society. In this new society in the wilderness, Travis loses the privilege and power he once held as a man, and the girls now possess authority over him. The violence against Travis is driven by domination and possession. He stops being perceived as a person (they notably envision him as a prey animal) and his body becomes something to be claimed and objectified. Does that sound familiar?

These girls come into the wilderness conditioned by misogyny. They have lived their entire lives in bodies that are surveilled, sexualized, dismissed, and controlled. They have been placed into passive, suppressive roles in order to be considered acceptable and desirable by society. Doomcoming becomes a catharsis of that accumulated powerlessness. Claiming Travis functions as proof of dominance. They’re experiencing a thrilling adrenaline in the feeling of no longer being the powerless ones. This catharsis is not healing or “female revenge.” The girls are inverting the logic that harmed them rather than dismantling it. They are moving from victim to perpetrator; maintaining the same hierarchy but placing themselves at the top this time.

Sexual violence is not about attraction. It is about taking.

The symbolism of the hunt that occurs afterwards is intentional. The girls’ perception of Travis as a stag as they chase him is important. The stag is a traditional symbol of virility and masculinity, but here it is rendered prey. In patriarchal societies, women are often reduced to bodies to be pursued, consumed, and dominated. Doomcoming reverses this as Travis as the stag is hunted, cornered, and his agency is removed completely.

Lottie placing the antlers of a stag on her head while preparing to kill Travis is an embodiment of misogynistic violence itself and a symbol of Lottie taking on the power men hold in society in this moment. The antlers signify the adoption of the same logic that has historically harmed women. This is patriarchal violence redirected.

Shrooms and psychosis cannot be used as an excuse or as the only explanation for the girls’ behavior. These elements merely exist to elevate and intensify what is already there. What Doomcoming depicts is the activation of power structures and urges that already exist, once social constraints are stripped away by the wilderness and inhibitions are lowered due to mind-altering substances. Nuanced discussions about Lottie’s psychosis can be had about this scene, but not if it’s done so to excuse the harm caused or to serve as the only explanation for her actions here (as there are many other factors involved in her behavior during this scene which do not involve her psychosis or her spirituality).

One of the most unproductive responses to Doomcoming is the fixation on what to call it instead of what was happening. Debates over whether the girls should be labeled “rapists,” because it was interrupted before it reached the point of rape, or whether intent matters more than outcome ultimately function as a form of avoidance. Step out of your instinctive need to defend the girls for a moment and look at this scene objectively: A group of people hold down and physically restraint one person, they hold a knife on him, and they begin to kiss him, touch him sexually, forcibly rip his clothes off, and all of this is done while he’s visibly terrified and repeatedly telling them to stop. The only reason they do eventually stop is because he manages to escape them. This is sexual assault, point blank. Arguing semantics will only serve to minimize the moment and show your own discomfort with recognizing your favorite characters as perpetrators of SA.

And it’s not a one-time thing. The effects of it on Travis are lasting and prominent. He apologizes for his own assault (in the script he says he deserved it), he isolates, he breaks down into sobs while talking about it. And, in Seasons 2 and 3, he is noticeably quiet, submissive, and conforming/assimilating to the group’s demands. He keeps himself safely in the background and rarely speaks up. He turns to substance use to cope with trauma.

Lottie continues to hold power over him, cross his boundaries, and cause harm reminiscent of his sexual assault. Sexuality leaks into his spiritual devotion to her because the original violation was in itself bodily, intimate, and power-laden (this can be interpreted in the scene where Lottie calms his panic attack and he becomes visibly aroused, and when he envisions Lottie offering him spiritual comfort while he is having sex with Nat). Lottie occupies a paradoxical role for him. Lottie is connected to this traumatic moment of sexual violation and helplessness, but she is also the one who offers meaning afterwards. Trauma bonds often form when the same person who causes harm also provides connection, guidance, or relief. Lottie does not need to consciously exert sexual power over Travis. The power already exists because she mediates his relationship to the wilderness, to the group, and to the narrative that allows him to survive psychologically. This internal battle Travis has around his gravitation and resentment towards Lottie remains with him for his entire life and leads to his death.

Doomcoming is an incredibly important part of this show and to understanding these characters. I consider it the best episode in the entire series. To minimize and deny what Doomcoming is actually portraying is not feminist. That response is exactly what the episode is critiquing. It replicates real-life misogynistic logic by excusing sexual violence when it is uncomfortable, inconvenient, or disrupts the instinct to sympathize/identify with the perpetrators.

Doomcoming is a scenario that’s happened to so many women inside of the church.

pairing: van palmer x f!reader summary: after the crash, van starts getting closer to someone who isn’t you. you’ve always been hers. until suddenly, you’re not. jealousy builds, things go unsaid, and doomcoming brings everything to the surface. word count: 2.8k contains: angst, blood, jealousy, miscommunication, shroom stew, slight smut towards the end, fingering (r!receiving)

the thing about being van's best friend was that you never had to share.

back home, that was just the way it was. people came and went— boyfriends, teammates, randoms from parties— but it was always you and her in the end. she'd come to your locker before school even if she had to loop around the long way. she'd call you first when something dumb happened. you always got the front seat in her car, and you never had to ask.

but the wilderness had its way of changing things, and it was so jarring when she started choosing someone else.

not officially. not out loud. but you weren't stupid. you noticed when she started walking next to tai more than you. when they laughed too easily, too often. when van didn't immediately make eye contact with you after a joke, like she always used to.

you tried not to take it personally.

but it was personal. obviously.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you pulled her aside and told her you wanted to go when they were heading out, looking for any trace of civilization.

"i should come," you said, arms crossed, jaw tight. "i can help."

van gave you this smile that you used to find charming. now it just loked like someone talking down to you. "we've got it covered," she said.

"oh, tai's got it covered?" you snapped before you could stop yourself.

her eyebrows shot up. "is this what we're doing now?"

you rolled your eyes, but your face was hot. "whatever. doesn't matter."

"it matters if you're gonna be weird about it."

"i'm not being weird. i just don't want you to get eaten by something out there and me being stuck here roasting squirrel with shauna."

that got a laugh out of her. "you're so dramatic."

you scowled. "says the girl marching into the woods like it's lord of the flies."

but van wasn't listening anymore. she was already calling over to tai, already slipping away like you hadn't been arguing, like you hadn't just tried to claw your way back into the space that used to belong to you.

you watched her go, jaw clenched, arms crossed, stomach turning.

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you hated how much you checked the tree line after that.

every hour. every shadow. every time a squirrel rustled leaves, your heart launched into your throat. you weren't even mad anymore— you were scared. and that made you mad again.

she was supposed to come back to you. that was the deal.

when they did return— bruised and bleeding, dragging each other through the dirt, your body moved before your brain did. you sprinted toward her.

she was soaked in dried blood, her face pale, eyes foggy. she barely looked like herself.

"van?" you choked out.

she blinked at you like she wasn't sure if you were real. "hey," she rasped.

you reached for her, but she flinched away.

"it's okay," she murmured, wincing as she leaned heavier into taissa. "i'm okay."

you nodded, even though nothing about her looked okay.

while they cleaned her wounds, you hovered. you couldn't stop. it was like your body needed to be near her to remember how to breathe. you wiped blood from her jaw with shaking fingers as they stitched her face together—and she didn't stop you this time. she just looked at you like she wanted to say something.

but she didn't.

that night, you sat next to her while she slept, curled up in blankets, her breaths ragged. you stared at her face and thought:

i should've been there.

she should've picked me.

and then, worst of all: what is she doesn't come back to me?

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after that, it wasn't just that van and tai were close— it was that they started acting like you weren't part of it.

inside jokes, soft glances, little touches.

it was the way van lit up when tai made some dry comment. the way they walked off together to check snares, whispering and laughing and forgetting you were even nearby. it made your skin crawl.

you kept telling yourself you didn't care. that it was fine. that you were just tired and stressed and sunburned and hungry.

but then you'd see van hand tai a piece of fruit or tuck her hair behind her ear or laugh that laugh—the one she used to save for you—and something inside you would just snap.

one day, van flopped down next to you by the fire like nothing was wrong.

"you missed a good show earlier," she said, grinning. "tai fell straight into the stream chasing a rabbit. i thought she was gonna drown in six inches of water."

you didn't look up. "bet that was hilarious."

van blinked at you. "okay... what's your problem?"

you finally met her eyes. "nothing. go talk to tai about it. i'm sure she thought it was so funny."

her face fell, and for a second you felt guilty. but then you remembered the way she'd been basically ignoring you all week, and the guilt curdled into something darker.

"she's not replacing you," van said quietly.

"oh, cool," you said, voice flat. "good to know."

"i'm allowed to have more than one friend, you know."

you scoffed. "that's funny. because it kinda feels like i'm the one getting cut out."

van narrowed her eyes. "seriously, what's going on with you?"

you shrugged. "guess i don't like being someone's second choice."

her face shifted— hurt, maybe. or anger. you didn't wait around to figure it out.

you were still stewing over it when jackie found you later.

"you look pissed," she observed, chewing something that looked vaguely edible.

"do i?" you muttered.

jackie followed your gaze to where van and tai were sitting. too close. again.

"god," you snapped. "it's like they're glued together."

"she almost died," jackie said midly.

you shot her a glare. "and? that mean she's tai's now?"

jackie raised her eyebrows. "damn. jealous much?"

"i'm not jealous," you snapped, even though you obviously were. "i'm just saying, if someone almost got eaten by wolves and came back covered in blood, maybe they should want to be around people who actually care about them."

"she knows you care about her," jackie said. "it's just...tai does too."

you shook your head. "it's not the same. it's never been the same."

you didn't know what you meant by that. not really. just that van had always been yours, in some quiet, unwritten way. she knew all your moods, your looks, your dumb fears. you didn't have to explain yourself around her— and now suddenly you felt like a stranger to her, like she was choosing someone else over you every single day.

and you didn't know why that made your chest feel like it was caving in.

later, van found you by the stream.

"you've been avoiding me," she said, like she was annoyed. not hurt— annoyed.

you rolled your eyes. "maybe i just don't like watching you flirt with your new favorite person."

van crossed her arms. "wow. subtle."

you didn't answer.

she sighed. "look. i'm sorry. if i made you feel—"

"forget it," you cut in. "you don't have to explain."

van looked at you for a long time. "i should've let you come with us."

you stayed silent.

"i thought i was protecting you," she said softly. "but maybe i was just... scared."

that pulled your eyes up to hers.

"i kept thinking, if something happened to you out there—" she shook her head. "i wouldn't come back from that."

your heart lurched. then why does it feel like you already left me behind?

you didn't say it. you just nodded.

"i'm still glad you're here," she added.

you wanted to say then act like it.

you wanted to say don't look at her like that.

you wanted to say i miss you so much it makes me sick.

instead, you looked away and said, "yeah. me too."

that night, you laid awake, listening to the creak of wood and the soft sounds of breathing.

van was asleep across the room, turned toward taissa.

you hated how much you noticed.

you hated that she didn't feel like yours anymore.

you hated that you didn't know why that mattered so much.

but mostly, you hated that no matter how angry you got, how bratty or bitter or stubborn, you still would've followed her into the woods.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

doomcoming.

someone got the idea to throw a fake homecoming dance, like if we acted normal enough, we'd forget where we were. like candles and dresses could erase the crash, the cold, the blood dried into the seams of everything we wore. so we wore our dresses, found a half bottle of something flammable to light in jars, and misty cooked some sketchy stew that tasted like it had been soaked in moss and secrets.

you should've laughed. instead, you let mari smudge something dark on your cheeks and handed over your nicest shirt to be torn into ribbons.

because everyone else was pretending. and if they could do it, maybe you could too.

except now it's hot.

not temperature-wise— the woods are already tipping into that late-fall chill, and your summer dress isn't helping—but your blood feels like it's boiling. you're flushed and fidgety, pacing in the flicker of torchlight, heart pounding like it's springing away from you.

van's laughing across the clearning, eyes locked on tai.

of course.

you tip your head back and down the rest of mari's DIY alcohol, something sour and wild buzzing beneath your skin. there must've been something in the stew because everything looks like it's on fire—glittering, golden, wrong.

she's supposed to be yours.

van. van who always used to sit next to you and crack jokes to make you smile. van who used to say you were the only thing keeping her sane out here. van who now followed tai around like a lost puppy.

you were always the one who knew her best. until you weren't.

and maybe it's the herbs or the hunger or whatever, but the twist in your chest won't stop. you feel like you might explode. like your skin's too tight, like your throat might crack open if you don't say something.

you march toward her.

"having fun?" you say, voice saccharine, fake smile clamped on your face like the matching masks that the pair in front of you were wearing.

van blinks at you, surprised. "hey, you look—woah. you look amazing."

tai snorts beside her. "she's been saying that to everyone tonight."

you flinch.

van notices.

your mouth curls into a bitter smile. "don't let me interrupt."

van's brow furrows. "what's your deal?"

"my deal?" you echo. "oh, i don't know, maybe it's that fact that my best friend ditched me to play pretend with her new girlfriend."

tai raises an eyebrow but walks away—smart girl. you're halfway to feral.

van stares at you. "she's not—what the hell, are you drunk?"

"maybe. what's it to you?" your voice wobbles, too loud, too sharp. you hate yourself for it. hate how much you care. hate that she hasn't said your name all night.

"i didn't know i needed your permission to talk to people," van says, and it's so casual, like you're just being silly, just overreacting like always.

the words punch out of you before you can stop them. "you used to talk to me"

silence.

her eyes widen.

you suck in a breath, the fog in your head thick and spinning. "and then you left. you just left. you didn't let me come with you when you went looking for help, and then you came back all bloody and broken and i—"

your voice breaks and you realize that everyone else has disappeared.

van takes a step toward you, jaw tight. "you were mad at me?"

"i was scared," you snap. "and then i was mad. because you came back looking like a horror movie and all you cared about was tai. you didn't even look for me."

"that's not true."

"no?" you laugh, humorless. "could've fooled me."

she's close now. close enough to touch, and you're trembling, and you don't even know what you want anymore except that you want her.

"i thought you didn't want me anymore," you admit, quieter now. "i thought you picked her."

van stares at you like you've grown another head.

"i didn't pick anybody," she says finally. "i didn't know i had to."

you blink at her, eyes glassy. "well, i didn't know i wanted to be picked until i saw you looking at her like that."

silence again.

she reaches out, fingertips brushing your arm. "you're acting like i dumped you. we weren't even—"

"we were." your voice is a whisper now. "we were something. i don't care what it was, but it was real, and now it's gone."

she exhales slowly. "it's not gone."

you meet her eyes.

"then why does it feel like it is?" you say, a little girl's voice, broken and raw.

"i don't know." van looks down, then back at you, eyes blazing. "maybe because we're idiots."

you let out a breathy, half-crazed laugh. "yeah. maybe."

another beat passes. then—

"you know," she says, licking her lips, "if you wanted me to kiss you, you could've just said something instead of throwing a tantrum."

"shut up," you whisper.

van leans in. "make me."

you kiss her like you're starving.

her hands find your waist, yours her hair. you taste berries and ash and her. the night spins around you—lights pulsing, torches flaring, the world cracking at the edges—but all you feel is her. her mouth, her body, her hands gripping you like she's trying to pin you back into the shape of something she lost.

you pull away first, gasping.

"i'm still mad at you," you murmur, forehead pressed to hers.

"good," she breathes. "you're hot when you're mad."

you kiss her again—harder, messier this time, like you're burning through the weeks of silence and jealousy and everything you didn't say. it's reckless and loud and a little wild, but so are you. so is she. so is this whole damn place.

your hands are under her shirt before you've even though about it, nails grazing her ribs as she exhales sharpy against your lips. she tastes like smoke and salt and something sweeter. something only hers. you kiss her like you hate her for how much you still want her.

van presses you back until your spine hits a tree with a dull thud, her thigh sleeping between yours with purpose. the friction pulls a sound from you—needy, half-strangled— and it makes her smirk.

"there she is," she murmurs, dragging her mouth along your jaw, "knew you missed me."

you grab a fistful of her hair and pull, just enough to make her groan, "just shut up and touch me."

"bossy," she breathes, but her hand's already working it's way down, sliding under your dress. she hums low in her throat when her fingers find you—warm and wet.

"fuck," she whispers, like she wasn't expecting it, like it ruins her, "you're dripping,"

and then she's inside you—two fingers, deep and slow, like she's savoring it, like she wants to drag it out. you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, hips jerking forward, but she pins you in place with her free hand on your wast.

"let me," she growls, voice gone rough. "just—fuck—let me feel you."

her fingers curl just right, just there, and your knees nearly give out. she keeps you upright, mouth back on yours, swallowing the sounds you make as she starts to move—steady, relentless, filling you up with the same energy she kisses you with: wild and aching and a little furious.

you claw at her back, her shoulders, anything you can reach, and she moans into your mouth like she's the one coming undone.

"you gonna come for me?" she asks, breath hot against your ear. "all over my fingers? c'mon, i know you can"

she rubs her thumb over your clit, and it's game over—your body arches, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. you shatter against her, every muscle drawn tight before your break, gasping her name like a prayer.

she holds you through it, still moving, slower now, coaxing every last twitch and whimper out of you.

when it's over, you slump against her, boneless. she kisses your temple, gentle now, a contrast to the chaos of a minute ago.

"i'm still mad," you mutter, breathless.

van laughs, low and smug. "yeah? then maybe i'll have to make it up to you again later."

you're still catching your breath when van eases her fingers out, slow and sticky, then brings them to her lips like she can't help herself. she sucks them clean while staring at you like she wants to ruin you again—and your whole body shivers under it.

"you taste so good," she murmurs, grinning like the devil.

you barely manage to lift your head. "you're such a showoff."

she leans in, nose brushing yours, "you love it."

you can't help but think that maybe you'll both wake up tomorrow regretting everything, heads pounding, hearts bruised.

but right now?