#where it implies that shes afraid of dying which makes things sad when she's suicidal

[thedrotter]

as a little treat i am sharing with you little Aya doodles I've done over the last few days to unwind ww just little expressions based on lines in-game because those are always fun to draw. nothing too special just biscuit

it's Aya because upon doing bizarrely throughout playthroughs of the game for still unspecified project purposes I've gained a soft spot for her she's my daughter now my mental tier list on my favorite characters is so confusing right now

[weasleydream]

Operation swan song

Here is my participation for @hp-imagines-07​ writing challenge! Once again congrats love 💜  My prompts were “I don’t care!” “But I do!” and “Is it that bad?” “Yes.” (I’ve taken a bit of liberty and changed them a bit but they are still here... for the little story I had completely forgotten them and I had to put them at the last moment) 

TW: mention of torture 

As usual feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

(Also I’ve recently reached the 500 followers and I’ve organized a writing challenge that you can find here! Plz don’t let it flop 😂 )

Masterlist 

(gif not mine) 

Everyone is different, everyone acts different. Some people cry while some others laugh, some run while others walk. Some use their head while others use their fists. I liked to think I was the kind of person that was like Remus when I was the complete opposite. He was the head and I was the fists. I was as reckless as Sirius and as impulsive as James, but with a heart as big as Remus’ and a love and an admiration for my friends as unconditional as Peter’s. The only priority I had ever had was to make sure this little group I called my family was safe, whether it was from Filch or a Death Eater. You attacked them, you attacked me; that was something I had made clear since the end of the first period of our first year at Hogwarts. Maybe I wasn’t very convincing at the time - James still used to laugh when remembering the time I had threatened a fourth year who had made fun of Remus, only because with one push from the boy I had ended on the floor - but I had never been afraid to defend them and they had never been afraid to defend me. 

And now that school was definitely over for us, now that we were adults, now that James and Lily were going to be parents, the mission I had decided to complete had taken more sense than ever. In my mind, if someone had to take all the responsibilities for James, Lily and the baby they were awaiting, for Remus, Sirius and Peter, then I would do it without hesitation. I would give my life for all of them, as much as I knew they would do the same for me. And now that the war was here, now that the prophecy had designated James, Lily and the baby as targets for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I felt more than ever the need to make sure they were safe. Everyone knew this, everyone including Albus Dumbledore. 

_ _ _ 

“Professor Dumbledore, as much as I’m happy to be back here, I believe you didn’t ask me to come only to propose to me some acid pops, am I right?” 

Dumbledore folded his hands on the parchment that was spread out on the desk. His blue eyes were fixing a point on the paper, and he fixed the spot a few seconds before clearing his throat and eventually looking at me. 

“You’re right, miss Y/L/N. It is for a way more grave matter that you’re here today. You probably know the Order is in a delicate position.”

“A delicate position? With all due respect, we’re being killed one by one. I don’t call this a delicate position, I call this being near from the end.”

Dumbledore sighed, a sadness all but habitual emanating from him. 

“I know that, miss Y/L/N, and I believe you would do anything to prevent the Order from reaching its end, right?” I stayed silent, because we both knew the answer and I was beginning to understand where the conversation was going. “You want to protect your friends and their family, right?”

“What if you got to the point?” 

“I need to stay one step ahead of Voldemort, and I need you to help me with that.”

“How- what- how could I help with that?” I stuttered, truly taken aback with what Dumbledore was implying. “Don’t tell me- do you want me to infiltrate the enemies’ camp?”

“That is not exactly what I want. I need you to spy on them, they must not know about you.” 

Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes were almost burning holes in my forehead as I was looking down, trying to process all that it meant. I had the unpleasant sensation that every word had been carefully chosen and that the old man knew that by insisting on my devotion for my friends, he would ensure that my answer would be positive. But spying on the Death Eaters? Even for me, it was a lot. More than a dangerous move, it was a suicidal mission, and if the thought of dying to protect baby Potter wasn’t scaring me that much, thinking that I would have to leave my friends and more especially Remus was making my heart ache painfully. 

“Is that your plan?” I whispered. “The only thing you’ve come up with to save us all?”

“Who said it is my only idea? And this is not a plan, miss Y/L/N, only a proposition. You don’t have any obligation.” His eyes still on me, Dumbledore slowly raised his hands to fold them underneath his chin. Somewhere behind him, his phoenix moved.

“A plan, a proposition, I don’t care what we call this. You need someone to send among the enemies and you want me to do it, that’s the same thing.” 

“Will you do this, yes or no?”

“Of course I’ll do it.” I muttered before leaving the office with the sensation I had just been manipulated.

It was late at night and the corridors of the school were empty. There were probably a few students out of their dorm - Merlin knew only a few years ago I was part of them - but I didn’t see anyone, and I took the occasion to wander in this familiar place. I stopped in front of a window on the second floor that was overlooking the entrance courtyard. A girl and a boy were sitting next to each other on a bench. They looked like they were looking at the stars. Suddenly, the boy got up and grabbed the girl’s hand and they began to dance to an unheard music, maybe the music of their hearts, I thought bitterly as I looked away. 

Maybe it was the weight of the upcoming mission that would very probably kill me, maybe I was just being sensitive because I was alone in the dark, but I was regretting the days I would be in this girl’s shoes and Remus would be in the boy’s. How many nights had we spent here, on that same bench, looking at the same stars? Our thing wasn’t to dance but to share stories, legends or gossip. We would stay here for hours, only coming back to the dorm when the sky took a delicate orange shade. And we would never talk about these nights, greeting the other in the morning in the same way we did with our friends, we would avoid questions and the other’s eyes for the day before doing exactly the same a few days later. 

I had always thought I would have a lifetime to figure out what my feelings for him were, but only now did I realize my lifetime was desperately short. 

_ _ _

Lily opened the door carefully before smiling broadly. 

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming!”

She stepped aside to let me in. As soon as the door was closed, she threw her arms around me. When she let go of me, my eyes fell on her barely visible bump and a whiff of courage invaded me. 

“How is the baby?” I asked. 

Lily’s eyes brightened and she began to babble on about how she wasn’t sick anymore, how James was adorable with her (“But still an idiot.” she stated with a little smirk), and how cute was that little stuffed stag she had found. We were now sitting in the small kitchen, the both of us holding a welcomed cup of tea. We were in January, the air was freezing, the sky was always so dark yet Lily and James’ little house was still so warm it made you feel like home. To be fair, it felt like it was also ours as Sirius, Remus and I used to spend a lot of time here. Peter was a bit less with us, he was working on a personal project which, in my opinion, had something to do with the Order. He seemed more invested than before, and we were all glad to see he had finally been able to fight his fear. 

“Y/N, listen, I didn’t want to tell you but… The boys are worried about you, and I am too. We all agree on the fact that you’ve acted strange last week and- well, you know you can tell us everything, right?”

Lily’s eyes were so full of worry that I felt guilty for making her feel such a negative emotion. 

“Lily, don’t make a big deal out of it, it’s no good for the baby. I swear everything is okay.” I smiled, an expression that looked everything but convincing, which I realized as soon as Lily frowned. 

“Now I know something is definitely wrong.”

“No, really, I told you-”

“Hello there!”

James entered the kitchen, his smile widening when his eyes caught mine. 

“Hey Y/N/N, I didn’t know you were coming!”

I smiled broadly and got up before wrapping my arms around him. When he joined Lily to kiss her, Sirius and Remus appeared at the door, the both of them greeting me in the same way James had done. When Remus’ hands touched my back, the memory of us on this courtyard came back and I shivered. Quickly stepping back, I pretended to be cold and ended up in Remus’ sweater. James had insisted for Lily to stay with us in the living room and had brought more tea, and now we were all squeezed on the two couches, sharing not really pleasant news. 

“Lily, Y/N, did you know about the rumour that’s going about the Order?” suddenly asked Sirius. 

James looked up, and I felt Remus tensing next to me. 

“What rumour?” asked Lily, genuinely confused as to why the three boys looked so grave. 

“It says that Dumbledore would have given a suicidal mission to a member of the Order.” declared James. “As it seems, it would be a spying mission. Not even undercover.”

“I don’t know who has agreed to do this, but they must be crazy.” muttered Sirius. “There’s no way they are coming back.”

“For me, things are different now,” said James while placing his hands on Lily’s little bump, “but even a few months ago I wouldn’t have done something like this.”

“But why not undercover?” asked Lily. “I mean we already have a few members infiltrated, but why not another?”

“I guess that’s because the infiltrated members of the Order aren’t close enough to You-Know-Who.” Remus spoke up. He was frowning and absent-mindedly playing with the end of his shirt’s sleeve. “A spy would be able to hear the most confidential things. If they aren’t killed before, of course.”

I shifted uncomfortably. Of course they were talking about me without knowing it, but the way they were bringing this up was making me realize how insane I had been to accept this. But the worst was that seeing Lily in such a state of worry without knowing for who she was scared, hearing Sirius mumbling that the poor guy would be a hero, yes, but a dead one and James adding he wouldn’t like to be in their shoes, seeing Remus sighing and closing his eyes as if he was already mourning, all of this made me wonder how they would react. 

“Y/N, are you feeling well?”

Sirius’ voice almost made me jump, and I realized all of my friends were now looking at me. I felt my blood becoming ice in my veins while my heart was beating way quicker than it should. 

“Yes- yes, don’t worry.” 

My shaky voice didn’t convince anyone, of course it didn’t, and it only made them suspicious. 

“Y/N,” began slowly Remus, his eyes not leaving mine, “would you happen to know who is going on that mission?”

As soon as the last word left his mouth, I saw in Remus’ eyes that himself had read the answer in mine. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes, usually so clear, were darkening more and more as the realization of what it meant was sinking into him. 

“Y/N?” asked Lily, her voice sounding so far from me I almost missed it. 

“I am. I am going on that mission.” 

The heaviest silence I had ever heard took place, and it stayed here for so long that I began to wonder if I had turned deaf. I was now looking down, I didn’t want to bear Remus’ gaze nor did I want to know how the others were reacting. After what felt like hours, a sob crashed the silence and Lily left her place to throw herself on me. Her tears were soaking my sweater and her hands clenching its back. 

“You can’t do that!” she cried out. “You’ll be killed! You can’t!”

Her hair was all over my face and I couldn’t see the boys, but I had felt Remus leaving the couch. 

“Why the hell did you do that?” exploded Sirius. 

Lily jumped and James put his hands on her shoulders before pulling her in a comforting embrace. If his face was closed, Sirius’ was expressing so many things at the same time that I couldn’t put my finger on what he was really thinking. Anger, fear, disbelief? If he was probably feeling all of this, all I could see was that he was furious. 

“Are you crazy? Y/N, you will be killed! Killed, you get that? Did you even think about it?”

His voice thundered, making me feel the urge to disappear. 

“Sirius-”

“I knew you were ready to do anything to end this fucking war but this? You’ll never get out of this!”

“I don’t care that much!”

“But I do!”

“Sirius, please-”

“We go to Hogwarts, now. I need a word or two with-”

“I did it for you! Is it that bad?”

Obviously none of them were ready to hear this. Lily stopped crying after something that sounded like a squeal and Sirius stopped dead in his track, his hands having almost reached his jacket. The both of them along with James were looking at me with round eyes, and only at this moment did I realize the door was open and Remus wasn’t here anymore. 

“What the hell does that mean?” murmured James. “Yes it is that bad! We don’t-”

“The Order is losing, James!” I exclaimed, desperate to prove my point. “We need more informations, Remus was right, infiltration isn’t enough!”

“But why you? Y/N, the Order has members stronger than you, trained Aurors! Why did Dumbledore ask you to sacrifice yourself?” 

“Stop talking like I was already dead. Can’t you consider the fact that maybe I’ll get out of this alive?”

In fact, I wasn’t considering it either. I just didn’t want to admit that if Dumbledore had asked me, it was because he knew I would be easy to manipulate. Suddenly realizing I was standing in the middle of the living-room, I sunk back on the couch and put my hands on my face. 

“Listen…” I began, my voice trembling. “You know as well as I do that we’re losing. James, Lily, you are threatened! I can’t let anything happen to you or your baby, not now that you’re reaching the happiness you’ve always wanted. And the both of you, this little baby, Sirius, Remus and Peter, you are my family, I love you all so much and- and I can’t let anything harm my family.”

I looked up to see that Lily had tears streaming down her face. I smiled at her, a very little smile that broke my heart as much as it seemed to break hers. 

“I’m sorry Lily, really.”

“I know.” she nodded quickly before wiping her tears away. “You should go and see Remus.”

With the feeling that my knees were going to give up on me, I got up and crossed the living room under the weight of my friends’ eyes. I pushed the door that was already half open and stepped outside, the freezing air making me almost gasp as I looked for Remus. 

“Remus?”

My eyes weren’t tricking me… Remus was nowhere to be seen. 

“Remus!” I screamed. 

Sirius stormed out, closely followed by James and Lily. 

“Where is he? Where did he go?” I cried out, completely panicked as the worst scenarios were playing in my head. 

“Calm down Y/N/N, I’m sure he’s okay.” said James. 

He nodded toward Sirius who disappeared without a word in a soft pop that disturbed the silence of the night. 

“Come on Y/N, let’s get inside before we freeze on the spot.” murmured Lily, both her hands on my shoulders. 

I sighed to give myself an impression of composure and nodded, following the couple inside. My thoughts were all about Remus. What the hell was he doing? And what the hell was he thinking? James and Lily made a point of making me stop thinking about him and asked me about my meeting with Dumbledore. 

“He knows how to do, this old bastard.” muttered James. “I can’t believe you fell for this.”

“I know…” I sighed. “I know but he isn’t completely wrong either. Maybe I’ll be able to catch the information that will save us all.” I added with a bitter chuckle. 

The door opened suddenly, and Sirius’ silhouette appeared. As it seemed he was alone, and he cut our questions short by lifting his hand. 

“He’s outside.”

I immediately got up and stormed out of the house. Remus was sitting on the low wall at the end of the garden, giving his back to me. I slowly approached, my feet making the snow screech and my breath forming a small cloud in front of my face. My eyes were humid and at this point, I didn’t know if it was really because of the cold. However, I saw Remus’ hand moving and patting the wall next to him after a short hesitation. I joined him and we sat in silence. An air stream colder than the others made me shiver. 

“Are you still cold?” asked Remus with a quiet voice. 

I nodded and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. 

“Come here.”

I moved closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder, already feeling his warmth radiating between us. The time seemed to have stopped, it was just the both of us and the snow. My mind was haunted by so many thoughts I couldn’t think straight, and all I was conscious of was Remus’ presence next to me. 

“What did I do to end up with such foolish friends?” he finally asked quietly. 

“We aren’t foolish,” I murmured, not wanting to break the little world around us. “We just love each other.”

“So that’s why you accepted? Because you love us?”

I lifted my head and met Remus’ eyes. They were full of pain and of worry, and how I hated seeing those eyes! I looked away, unable to face what I was imposing him. 

“Y/N, please, look at me.”

His hand found my chin and I faced him again. 

“You are my family.” I whispered, and as a single tear was rolling down my cheek, I leaned in his touch. “I love you all too much to let anything happen to you. I- Remus, I love you.”

Remus smiled, a tiny smile that made my heart flutter. I was feeling like a teenager who is breathless because she’s madly in love with a boy. 

“I’ve been to Hogwarts.” he suddenly muttered. “I wanted to make Dumbledore change his mind, but this- well, he refused.”

“I won’t change my mind either.”

Remus grabbed my hand and kept his head down, his eyes locked on our hands. 

“I know that. I just… I don’t know. I asked him to let me go with you-”

“You what?” I exclaimed, my heart suddenly racing in my ribcage. “No! Remus, no! I won’t let you! If I have to tie you myself-”

“He refused.” 

It was a simple statement, but I sighed and closed my eyes, relieved. Another silence took place only to be disturbed by a rumbling coming from the depths of my stomach and a chuckle coming from Remus’ mouth. 

“We should get inside and give you something to eat.”

I precipitately jumped off the wall and rushed toward the door, extremely ashamed as I had just realized I had confessed my feelings and Remus had just ignored them. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

He grabbed my wrist, pulled me against him and crashed his lips on mine. 

“I love you too.” he whispered against my mouth, and at the moment I was so happy I forgot every kind of threat. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

To say the last three days had been weird would be an understatement. Lily had insisted that I shouldn’t stay at my place and Sirius, Remus and I had ended up staying at the Potter’s. We still hadn’t any new of Peter which, more than worrying me, was also saddening me. The atmosphere was tense, it felt like all of us, me included, were already mourning my death. Of course, it wasn’t my friends’ intention, they had done everything to hide their worry, each in their own way. Lily, who had never really been able to cook, had made the most delicious plates I had ever eaten, even better than James’ mother’s, which I had had the chance to try a few years ago. James and Sirius had spent their time looking for informations in files stolen from the Order which had resulted in them not saying anything for hours before resuming their discoveries during the meals. Remus had shared his time between helping them and staying with me, holding my hand or chatting about anything not Order-related. 

We had also received Dumbledore’s visit, who had given me all the instruction for my mission. Except the fact that he was there for what would probably kill me, it was quite funny to see the almost exaggerated glares he had received from everyone, but especially from Sirius and Remus. 

And now, here I was, standing in the living-room, a backpack at my feet and holding back my tears as I was ready to leave. Remus was waiting outside but the others were here, and the first one to come to me - or jump in my arms - was Lily. She tightened me against her and was trying her best to contain her sobs. 

“Promise you’ll do everything to come back, Y/N, do you promise?”

“Of course Lily. I’ll try, I swear I’ll try.”

She nodded and stepped back, sniffling. James nodded toward me before looking away, trying to hide his fear and sadness. Far from being offended, I nodded back. 

“I count on you to take care of them Prongs, yeah?”

He nodded again. 

“Only if you take care of yourself.”

It was my turn to nod.

I had thought Sirius would have the same reaction as James but he proved me wrong when he pulled me in a strong embrace, a bone-crushing hug we had never shared before. 

“You better come back.” he muttered, his voice muffled by my hair. “There will be no place for mistakes. We can’t lose you.” he added in such a small voice that it broke my heart. 

The lump in my throat prevented me from saying anything but we didn’t even need words. At the moment, I could feel their love for me, and I knew deep down that I couldn’t give up on this. I knew I would come back because we still had so much to live all together… 

A whole new courage flooded in my veins and I smiled at them before grabbing my bag and getting out. Remus was sitting on the same wall as the last time and I joined him. This time, he lost no time and pulled me against him. 

“I suppose they have already told you you better come back?”

“It was pretty clear.” I let out a watery chuckle. 

“So I’ll just tell you I love you.”

Remus rested his forehead against mine and we both closed our eyes, enjoying this proximity. Then we shared a passionate kiss, a kiss that held so many emotions it was overwhelming. It was a kiss that meant I love you, I’m scared and See you soon. It was a kiss that meant Goodbye but also a kiss that meant Hello because at this very moment, I felt like I was re-discovering Remus, as if I was seeing and feeling a whole new part of him, and I knew he was feeling the same. 

“Useless to say I don’t want you out of here, right?” I murmured against Remus’ lips. 

“It would put you in danger. No, I’ll stay here, but know that everyday my eyes won’t leave the door. I’ll be waiting for you.”

I grabbed my bag which I had left on the floor and sighed. 

“Guess this is it…” I said. “Time to go.”

“Y/N, please, make sure this is not your swan song.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

It wasn’t my first mission for the Order. I had already fought against so many Death Eaters I had lost count, and I had two infiltration missions under my belt. But I had never been that close to him, to the wizard that was killing my friends one by one and threatening my family. And never in my life had I even suspected such an army. The enemies were everywhere, they were young or old, men or women. Everytime I turned my head, I saw new faces, new enemies, and it was the scariest thing I had ever experienced. Yet I was doing quite well; in fact I had barely been spotted and the few Death Eaters that had found out about me were now dead. For three months, I had managed to stay alive. However, the more the weeks passed, the more I had wondered if that was worth it. I hadn’t heard anything, absolutely anything that an infiltrated member of the Order wouldn’t have heard. 

I knew they were suspicious, all of them knew they were spied on and that was probably why they were being extremely careful when they talked. That’s why, after three months, I began considering the idea that I could try and get in one of their reunion places. However, I had made a promise to Remus, to Sirius, James and Lily, and I wanted to do my best to keep it. I didn’t want to put my life in danger more than necessary and it felt like a suicide to try such a thing. 

What decided me was a conversation that I overheard between two Death Eaters one night, at the corner of a street in the heart of London. 

“-in Malfoy’s manor tomorrow.” said the first. “As it seems, it’s pretty important.”

“More important than interrogating the Auror we’ve had last week?” asked the second. “What can be more important than that?”

“I’ve heard it’s the prophecy.” My heart almost stopped beating. As far as I knew, there was only one prophecy that could interest Voldemort. “The Dark Lord wants to decide on a plan to eradicate this threat.”

Then the Death Eaters disappeared, leaving me trembling in the street. A plan. To eradicate a threat. Which happened to be James and Lily’s baby. There was no way I would let that happen. I had now two choices: going back to Godric’s Hollow and warn them but miss the plan, or staying here and listening to what would be said. Apparating was too dangerous, anyone could follow me and that would threaten my friends. Suddenly, I realized that after all the time that had passed, Lily’s bump was bigger by now, and imagining her taking care of her child, James always fussing over her, Remus and Sirius and maybe even Peter with them made me take my decision. 

_ _ _ 

I thought the plan was good. Not perfect, obviously, but good enough so that it wouldn’t end up with me being killed. Now, after having dodged dozens of green flashes of light blasting toward me, I was forced to admit that I had screwed up. 

I was hiding behind a statue in the corridor, trying to catch my breath as the Death Eaters were getting closer and closer. 

“Find her! She’s Dumbledore's spy, I want her alive!”

Voldemort’s voice thundered and the screams in the manor doubled in intensity. Apparating was impossible and I had to reach the front door to try and maybe - just maybe - hide long enough to leave this hell. 

Suddenly, and that caught me completely off guards, my wand escaped the grip of my hand. I gasped, slowly realizing what it meant, and turned my head only to gasp once more, this time because I couldn’t believe it. 

“Peter?” I whimpered. 

Peter was here, in front of me, one of his hands holding my wand and his own wand pointed on me. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” he squealed before looking above his shoulder, obviously terrified. 

“You- you- Peter, we thought you were- I don’t understand…” I stuttered, unable to process that he was a traitor. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here? You’re complicating everything!” he lamented. 

Then I understood and I felt the urge to strangle him, to kill him because he had betrayed us, his friends. I was going to jump toward him when I felt a burning sensation in my back and everything became black. 

 _ _ _ 

“Crucio.”

The first thing I felt when gaining back consciousness was agony. It wasn’t even pain anymore, it was a fire in every bone of my body, magma flooding in my veins. It was the urge to rip my skin off and to end it as soon as possible. It was torture. 

“Will you tell us who you are?”

I didn’t answer, and the agony came back. 

“Are you from the Order?”

No answer. Agony. 

“Did Dumbledore send you?”

Nothing. Agony. 

“What informations have you already transmitted?”

Agony. 

“Do you know the Potters?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Agony. 

“Where are they hiding?”

Agony. 

“How did you get in the manor?”

Agony. 

“Y/N, I’m going to help you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Peter didn’t listen. I didn’t know what was happening. No one was here except us. He did something and suddenly the ropes around me were on the floor. He tried to grab my arm and I shifted. I fell on the floor. 

“Don’t touch me- you traitor, don’t-” I hissed. 

Peter ignored me. He half carried me. We arrived outside and it was dark. Then the world became black and coloured again and we weren’t in front of the manor anymore. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.”

One last world I didn’t understand, then black.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The old man’s eyes were sad, their usually piercing blue was now shining with contained tears. The young woman in front of him wasn’t containing her tears. She was sobbing in the arms of her husband who was trembling. Then the two other men. One of them fell on his knees, his hands in his hair as if he wanted to yank them out. “Y/N, please, make sure this is not your swan song.” he had said. The other was frozen, his fists so tight his knuckles were white. 

The old man left. A few seconds of shock, then the four of them disappeared. 

Remus couldn’t care less if a muggle saw him. He crossed the barrier and arrived in the hall of St-Mungo’s. Not bothering to ask where she was, he rushed in the stairs and gained her level. 

“Where is she? Y/N? Y/N, where are you?” he screamed. 

Three nurses arrived, begging him to calm down. Remus ignored them and asked where she was. Once, twice. The nurses eventually gave up and indicated a room. 

Sirius was just behind him, James and Lily were still in the stairs, but Remus didn’t care. He had to make sure- he had to see her. This couldn’t be true, obviously Dumbledore was wrong… 

She was sitting on her bed. Her skin was almost as white as the sheets, except for the scars and bruises that seemed to cover her body. When Remus slammed the door open, her head snapped toward him and she smiled brightly, a beautiful smile Remus hadn’t seen in years. 

“Hello!” she said. “Who are you? I was thinking about the swans’ songs. Beautiful, don’t you think?”

Remus’ heart stopped beating, and his world crashed at his feet. 

Dumbledore was right. 

Y/N had lost her memory, and he had lost her. 

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter twelve - Lose a piece of that non-heart 

Sander’s sides fanfiction

Wordcount: 1529

Ship: prinxiety  (Get ready people.)

TW: So, a bunch of kissing - though no shirtless people this time; a little bit of for-play (Can it be called for-play if nothing really happens?), hard teasing, flirting, very subtle mentions of cruelty and something resembling suicide, though it is not exactly that, cursing (a lot) and a bunch of light-hearted backstory angst because why not? Let me know if anything else pops up :3

Summary of the whole story: They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the  most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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Chapter twelve - Lose a piece of that non-heart 

Roman often tends to forget what it is like to be happy. That one little feeling that grows inside your chest, suffocating you in the best way possible until you blow up, smiling and grinning (in his case talking and twirling around like a little princes).

It’s been so long since this feeling grew out of proportion. Since he wanted to jump around and talk someone’s ears of. Wanted to sing out loud.

But right now, no matter how Roman’s body would be reacting to this much happiness in any other situation, he just pulled the Devil closer to him, grinning into the kiss.

V smiled too, leaning his forehead against the thief’s. “You seem awfully happy.” he murmured, teasingly. As if the pink on his pail cheeks and the way his non-heart was beating didn’t imply the exact same thing.

He was awfully happy. And judging by the way Roman was literally vibrating, he was as well.

“I just kissed the man of my nightmares, who wouldn’t be?” Ro grinned even wider.

Virgil couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head against the being’s.

“What? It’s not like you didn’t get lucky! Just look at me!” Ro pulled away, with Virgil still on his lap, gesturing at himself.

“I don’t think emotionally fragile and easily breakable is a think you should be proud of.”

“Hey! I’ll let you know! I’m much tougher then you think! I might just be tougher than you!”

“Oh really.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Let’s put that to a test, shall we…?” the dark toothy grin wasn’t nearly enough to forebode the kings next actions.

Roman didn’t even have time to blink before he was laying once again. Hands above his head, pinned to the bed.

Something snaked up his leg, circling around his thigh. Too high, he might ad… This was dangerous. Very, very dangerous…

“Now you can show me how though you really are.” the Devil’s eyes darkened, clouds circling around like small tornados. “When someone’s holding you down…” he leaned in close. Close enough that he could feal his breath on his lips. “…pinning you…”

“… what will the though thief do?” he hummed. Deep voice resonating through Roman’s whole body.

“He… am….” the human gulped. He hated how clipped his voice came out.

But Hades, did Virgil love the flustered expression Roman was wearing. He could hear his heart beating faster then light, blood rushing in his wains. See his brain failing to function. Cheeks flushed and eyes unable to leave Virgil’s lips. Roman was completely gone. Melting underneath the Devil.

“He what?” V smirked, voice dark with lust. Tail tightening around Ro’s thigh.

Roman yelped.

A very high-pitched, very restrained, very embarrassing yelp. And Virgil couldn’t take it. He fell back onto the thief’s thighs, tail uncurling, hand’s letting go, howling with laughter.

And Roman just laid there, a giant emotional mess watching the Devil with big round eyes.

“Oh Hades! Lord of the darkness! I can’t, I’m sorry.” the king stuttered out through laughter. “Don’t take it too seriously. I was just having some fun.”

“We’ll if this is the kind of fun you like to have…” the thief blinked, barely breathing.

But Virgil didn’t even hear him through the laughter. He just leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re adorable when flustered, liveling.”

“Yeah yeah.” Ro rolled his eye, trying to collect his thoughts. He cleared his throat and took in the whole of his supposed captor. Apparently that thing that abused his thigh earlier was a long thin tail, similar to the wings he saw earlier. Huh… interesting.

But didn’t the Devil say- “Where are your horns?”

“What?” Virgil wiped of a tear, trying his best to calm down.

“Your horns. You said ‘tails and horns and everything’. Where are the horns?”

“Ah well… Their here.”

And suddenly, Roman was looking at two small horns poking out of V’s scalp. Barely visible from the hair. “Oh, dear Gods! They are so small!”

“Oh shut up.”

“No! You’ve got small little hornies!”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“They suit your personality so much! Small and adorable! I just -”

Virgil sighed defeated. “Apparently not…”

His fun has ended…

-

Nobody knows how long the two didn’t come out of that room.

Well… nobody except Remi. He’s been lounging around the throne room for Hades-knows-how-long, sipping at his delicious coffee.

Souls, no souls, he wouldn’t have been working even if Virgil was around. But he wasn’t. He was off with that boy-toy off his doing dark-knows-what.

If you’d ask Remi, the king went soft. But he never really was tough to begin with…

All those years ago, when they used to go down to earth and do crazy shit nobody even dared to think of! That was the shit! Them - the duo. Tearing people in half and making buildings crumble and burn. But thinking back, even Remi knew it wasn’t Virgil’s free will talking. The former prince always looked back at the damage they caused with a sad look in his eyes. Guilt.

No, it was not him. It was Lucifer.

The former Devil was the truest meaning of the word. Remi hasn’t been here long enough to get to know him, but the twelve or so years spent with him in charge were enough. Abusive, power-hungry, mad. Nothing was ever enough for that creature.

Not his wife, Remi never got to meet. Not his son, who grew up to be too weak for the kings liking. Not Hell itself.

Remi wasn’t blind. Nor was he stupid. Lazy and bitchy, maybe, but those were his best traits! Besides for the obvious great fashion sense and awesome personality. But he was a mind reader for fuck’s sake. And Virgil’s thoughts weren’t exactly quiet.

Safe to say it was best for everyone involved when Lucifer got banned from Hell. Well, not exactly from it - they were demons, but not even they were cruel enough to unleash such a monster to the upper world. He got sent to the deepest darkest pit of Hell where no server had acces to. Not even the prince himself.

And after the immediate coronation of Virgil, the power the former Devil once had now belonged to V. Who never used it, unless necessary.

So yeah… maybe Remi did miss those times when Virgie was more fun, but he sure as Hell didn’t miss those thoughts of his swirling around in both of their heads.

Now at least it was mostly quiet.

The Devil seemed happy. Unusually so. Remi even got his fucking coffee! Who would’ve though?

He chewed on the straw of his almost empty drink. No matter what, the king was the king. And right now, he was locked away somewhere with his little Human doing dark-knows what. And Hell, if Remi wasn’t curious as to what it was!

And what it really was, was nothing.

V laid in his bed with his head on Romans chest, completely oblivious to the outside world. This was their bubble - their safe place.  Nobody could walk in without permission and nobody could take Roman away either.

He wouldn’t let them.

Maybe not that. But Virgil knew Ro would have to leave at some point. He couldn’t stay... Though he’d rather not think about that just yet.

Instead, he looked up at his liveling and watched him. Listened to the steady beet of his heart. Who knew it would be a Human thief that would end up owning his?

Hair still damp from the shower he took earlier. Eyes closed. Smiling.

Yeah… Virgil was a lucky son of a Devil. And nobody could deny that.

Father wouldn’t have approved, but mom… Mom would have loved Roman.

She herself has fallen for a mortal. Which ended up being her downfall. But she never regretted. She never coward.

Not once.

“Don’t be afraid love. It doesn’t hurt.” she said.

“But I am afraid, mommy…”

“Don’t be, my dark angel. I am not afraid.”

“How?”

“Because, when you love somebody enough, you’re not afraid to give up anything.”

Now, Virgil knew this was faulty logic. If she loved her son as much as she said she did, why didn’t she give up dying on the account of her supposed love? And why did she need to give up anything at all?

If she loved someone, shouldn’t they be kind and understanding enough to at least come to a compromise? Find some way for his mommy not to have to die?

The mortal probably was dead by now, forgetting all about his beloved mother the moment she stepped out of their life. But she didn’t…

It was faulty logic. Very stupid and faulty logic.

But somewhere deep down, he understood her…

She did love him. More then anything in the whole universe. But sometimes love isn’t enough.

And so, she perished. Erased herself from existence without a single tear ruining her perfect face. And a beautiful smile.

That’s what Virgil remembers. That smile.

And as he looked up at Roman, he saw the same one. Same peaceful, astonishing small smile lingering on the lips he was kissing just a moment ago.

So, he kissed them again. And let the realization of what he was about to do next swallow him whole.

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I don’t feel like this chapter is very consistent... But oh well. I refuse to sit on it any longer. I have a last chapter to write!

Not that I want to end this story, but I have such a juicy ending prepared I just can’t wait to write it!! ^^

Anyhow, this was a little bit of backstory before the actual end. Roman already had his, so now it was time for V’s. And that brings us to the last chapter coming soon. 

Also some more art because I feel like drawing V and all his forms. Ya know, all the forms of evil :3.

Okay XD It’s late and I’m just spewing out words now. 

As always, hope you liked the chapter! <3

Tag list:

@romano-hottopic

@vpow

@a-formless-entity

@lovelivingmydreams

@alice-only-me

[mypoisonedvine]

Hiya! Could you maybe write a sad/angsty Jaskier imagine where the reader is dying from an illness or something, but when she dies she kinds of a transformation (like yen) where not only does she come back to life, but she’s even more beautiful. After years she eventually finds Jaskier and Geralt again and they reunite ect ect. Could you please make it really emotional? I’m in the mood to cry 😩

Hoo boy, I really ran with this one, because I actually had a vaguely similar idea before I got this ask and I ended up sorta frankensteining the two together into something hopefully enjoyable!  Sorry it took so long, but with a word count of 6k it’s not too shocking that it took me a few days!  Hope you’re still in the mood to cry!  I took a few liberties with the original prompt although I actually had a second idea that followed it more closely in some ways and less so in others.  Maybe I’ll write that one up someday as well but I don’t want to be known for killing readers lol so I’ll need to get some normal stuff out there in between.

Quick disclaimer, I sort of made canon squishy in this one… it’s supposed to be set after Jaskier breaks up with Geralt after the dragon hunt.  Theoretically, he heads straight back home and that instigates this whole plot.  The thing is that he and the reader would be 40 for that to really make sense.  So, I kind of left it vague…. depending on your age, feel free to imagine that less than 22 years have passed lol.  So, just a heads up on that.

WARNING: major character death, in fact it’s the reader and it is depicted graphically.  I would not recommend this story to someone struggling with suicidal thoughts because it does straight up describe you dying, all in second person.  If you think you would find that really disturbing and/or really enticing, please don’t read this!  The good news is, as is made clear in the original request, there’s a happy ending!

Never Really Over (a Jaskier x Reader oneshot)

Rating: T (violence but only implied smut)Word Count: 6kTaglist: never had one of these for an ask before but lol @100percentamess you asked to be tagged in everything so here’s your first!

You were cleaning out an old closet when you found it, tucked away under a floorboard.  When you saw the small decorated chest, you instantly remembered what was inside.  Throughout your childhood you had written him a number of love letters, confessing your undying commitment to him every few years like some kind of triennial tradition.  None of the letters ever made it to him, because you knew better than to dream of him ever returning the sentiment.  Even knowing that, you felt embarrassment burning in your chest when you remembered some of the ridiculous things you had written.  Julian, you’re the love of my life and I know that we’re meant to be together, shit like that.  

You had always wanted to get out of this town, see the world, experience life, but you never got your chance.  That made it sting all the more when you found the letter from him under your door so many years ago.  You didn’t even need to open the box to read it, you remembered it like you had it right in front of you: You’ve been my best friend my whole life and I’ve loved you like a sister.  I hope you won’t be hurt that I’m leaving, but I can’t stay in this place.  I need adventure, and I plan to find it while I tour the Continent with my songs.  If I ever return I’ll be sure to stop by… and if I become a famous bard, you can always say you knew me back when!  -Julian

When you heard a knock at the door you jumped, having lost yourself in the memory.  You slid the floorboard back quickly, and moved a rug over it to cover the cracks.  Running to the door, you swung it open and what you saw made you sure you’d gone mad.

It was Julian.  He’d barely aged, so much so that at first you thought he was some sort of corporeal memory of the day he left.  

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he remarked casually.  

~

“Julian-” you began.

“I go by Jaskier now,” he corrected.

“Unless you’re here to perform, I’m not going to call you by a stage name,” you frowned. 

“It’s not just a stage name: I’ve reinvented myself,” he boasted. 

“Jules, I’ve known you my whole life, and you’re the same you’ve always been,” you shot him down with an eye roll.  He smiled at you and it made your heart ache.

“You’re the same, too.  But you look different,” he observed.  You must have made a face of disappointment because he instantly corrected himself. “Not older, necessarily.  Well, not old.  You look different…” he paused, “but it suits you.”

“Don’t sound so hesitant,” you laughed.

“It’s just strange!” he defended. “But it’s good to see you again.  I missed you greatly.”

You sighed, looking away. 

“You don’t hate me for leaving, do you?” he asked nervously, taking your hand in his.  His touch shot through your entire body, and you wished he wouldn’t do things like that- things that were so unimportant and nonchalant to him but meant so much to you.

“I only hate you as much as I ever did,” you answered quietly, looking back at him.  He looked like he really needed to believe that you didn’t hate him, which was strange: normally he seemed to either not care what people thought of him, or maybe even thrive on negative attention.  He was always meant to be a star: a firm believer in the idea that there’s no such thing as bad publicity.

“Strangely, I don’t find that comforting,” he replied with a chuckle.

“You best not come to me for comfort, don’t you remember how mean I am?” you smiled back.

“Yes, but never to me!” 

“Well, you left,” you responded, and the mood was dampened.  Regretting to have lost the energy, you piped up quickly with a question. “How were your travels?”

It didn’t seem to help.

“Oh, lovely,” he said, but his energy didn’t match the words. “Saw all sorts of wild things.  You’d have loved it.  We were going to make it to the coast- we never did.  But you’d have loved it,” he reflected somberly.

You sighed, imagining how incredible it would be.  To think that he thought of you in such interesting places made you wonder if he would be willing to go with you, like you’d always wanted.

“Maybe we should go,” you suggested hesitantly.

“No, you’d have a terrible time,” he deflected.

“But you just said I’d have loved it,” you remembered.

“I meant being there, but travelling?  You don’t have the constitution for it,” he scoffed.

“What I don’t have the constitution for is staying here,” you countered, sadness palpable in your voice.

“Well, now that I’m back I’m wishing I’d never left,” he groaned.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Please tell me you won’t be staying long,” you replied incredulously.

“Best not to, I suppose.  Maybe I’ll go to the coast on my own-” he began.

“Take me with you,” you pleaded, gripping his doublet, having lost all sense of dignity, “I need to leave this place.  I can’t die in this town, Julian.  I need to see the world!  I’ve never seen the ocean, the mountains-”

“No,” he repeated.

“Please,” you begged.

“I don’t do that anymore,” he grumbled, turning away to pick up his bag and starting to walk away. “It’s over, alright?”

“What?”

“I was travelling with someone but… I guess I drove him as crazy as I always drove you.  And he told me to leave him alone,” he sighed.

You felt guilty for pressing on it, not realizing it was still a sore spot.

“You didn’t drive me crazy,” you comforted, “not really.”

“I think I’m just too much.  I’m too intense for most people,” he explained.

“Most people are terrible,” you groaned. “Remember how we talked when we were young?  How everyone was so pompous and ridiculous and fake?”

“Yeah,” he smiled a little at the memory.

“Well, we were right.  I mean, I know we were whiny little brats,” you smirked, “but this town hasn’t changed much.  All gossip and nonsense.”

“It’s not this town, it’s the whole Continent,” he corrected.  “Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of it, and people are the same everywhere.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

“Except you,” he added, “of course.”

You smiled but it hurt when he said things like that.  All the “love you like a sister” crap that made being his friend so painful, and now more than ever you couldn’t escape from it.  Of course a part of you was glad to see him again, but now that he was in front of you, it was like not even a day had passed since he left: you still loved him so completely, so desperately, and so pointlessly.  

~

You heard him singing, ever so quietly, from around the corner.  You always thought he had a lovely voice but he’d never liked to play for you.  He said it gave him stage fright, something he failed to experience on actual stages.  You figured he was just holding out on you, for whatever reason.  You didn’t want to spy but also you couldn’t really help it, since you were visiting his family’s home and he had been silly enough to play a song with the door open.  He started and stopped and started over a few times, but once he got going for good, you were close enough to be able to hear the words…

She is the sun, bright and unforgivingBurning the grass and drying the rainI never looked at her, afraid to go blindI loved her light though she brought me such pain

She is the sun and when she walks awayThe world gets colder though the sky is in bloomAs the sun sets I ask if I’ve lost my chance foreverBut she could never stay and to the night I am doomed

“Ah, fuck, doomed doesn’t really rhyme with bloom, does it?” he interrupted himself.  You jumped a little, not realizing how entranced you were by the song, and you reached up to wipe a few stray tears from your cheeks.  You couldn’t be mad at him for singing a song about another woman when he didn’t even know you could hear, but you were angry regardless.  Moreso than angry, just sad.  Wasn’t love supposed to make you feel good?  Loving Julian was a thankless job, certainly.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, and you jumped again, not even having noticed he’d turned the corner.

“Just mopping,” you blurted out.

He looked around for a moment with a raised eyebrow.

“…where’s your mop, then?” he (fairly) queried.

“Still in the kitchen,” you explained, “I’m planning where I’m going to mop.”

“I figured you could sort of just wing it with mopping.  Didn’t realize there was a pre-mopping phase.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you nodded, “it’s really important.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you.  Get on with it,” he encouraged, starting to go back into his room.

“Wait,” you prompted.  He stopped, turning back to face you. “I liked the song.”

“I was hoping you hadn’t heard that,” he replied nervously.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want anyone to hear it until it was finished,” he explained.

“And when it’s finished, will you play it at the local pub or something?” you asked, remembering his earliest performances when you were fifteen or so.

“No, too personal for that: I was planning to play it for the subject,” he explained.  You winced.

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” you responded quietly

“Yeah, the Countess is fickle and all but she usually spreads her legs for a good song,” he smiled mischievously.

Thinking of him with someone else, especially like that, made you want to vomit… then you would actually need to mop.  

“Why did you come here?” you asked him, finally, after wanting to understand for so long.

“I… I needed some time at home,” he answered, but you didn’t buy it.

“Why now?  And why did you come to my door?” you growled.

“Are you offended by that?  Am I not allowed to visit a friend?” he responded in confusion.

“I didn’t even realize we were still friends!” you admitted.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” he asked like it made no sense at all, and you were thankful you weren’t holding anything because you likely would’ve thrown it.

“You left without a proper warning, I didn’t hear from you at all for… a long fucking time, and now you have the audacity to come back!” you barked.  “I already gave you everything, and you threw it away, searching for adventure!  What could you possibly want from me now?”

"It’s just my selfishness, I suppose, but I wanted to know there was someone out there who still cared for me,” he defended.

"You’re asking me if I care for you?  Is that really what’s on your mind?” you asked incredulously.  He didn’t respond, seeming confused.You felt tears sting the back of your eyes, rage burning through your chest.  You were tired of lying, tired of running around and being his pet all so you could be near him when he wanted nothing from you but a reminder he wasn’t totally alone in the world after he’d burned every bridge- including the one you had been standing on, waiting, for all these years.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, I will love you until the day I die.  I promise you that.”  You tried to say it with the anger, hatred even, that you felt, but most of it was lost as your voice wavered from crying.  You turned away and walked outside, sobbing so hard you weren’t sure that you would be able to walk home properly.  You did, eventually, and immediately crawled into bed and cried yourself to sleep.

~

Maybe it wasn’t even noon yet, but it felt like time for a drink.  The pub was empty, at least at first; halfway through your fourth mug, an old acquaintance, Viktor, walked in and sat beside you.

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” he frowned.  

“Then what are you doing here?” you asked.

“Looking for you,” he answered.

You chuckled, considering how disappointed he must be to find you like this: eyes still swollen from crying, half-drunk, more cynical and calloused than ever.

“So, listen, I’ve been thinking,” Viktor began, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.  Despite being nearly an old maid at this point, Viktor had always sought you.  You’d known him your whole life and he was always a pest: rude, aggressive, dull.  Dumb enough to think you hadn’t realized his feelings for you.  He had proposed marriage twice, never having much of a better reason than “we’re both still single and it would make our families happy if we married.”  And now here he was, bothering you while you were trying to have a drink in peace, presumably so he could do it all over again.

“I’m not here to ask you to marry me,” he clarified, as if reading your mind.  You perked up a bit at that.

“I’m finally too old for you?” you scoffed.

“Don’t be like that,” he frowned, “you’re not old.  It makes perfect sense to me that you’re unmarried at this age, even if everyone calls you an old hag and a spinster.”

Viktor had a way of trying to be nice but it always ending in an insult.  Not that it was news to you that people talked about you that way.

“And why do you think I’m unmarried?” you pressed.

“Because you haven’t gotten to know anybody well enough,” he posited. “Look, I’ve known you my whole life, so I always figured I knew you well enough for marriage, but I see that you’re right now.  We don’t really know each other that way.”

You nodded. “Good, you’ve come to see reason then.”

“There must be some way that we could, though,” he added. “A date; courting.”

“Courting?  I’m not fourteen,” you grimaced.

“Whatever you’d want to call it.  I’d come by tomorrow and we’d go for a walk.  And we’d talk about whatever we wanted to, and we’d see how we get along when it’s just us,” he offered.

“Sound boring,” you mumbled.

“Don’t be so mean,” he requested.

“I was always mean and you still fell for me.”

“I was always nice and you still ignore me.  If you would just stop chasing something you’ll never get-” he began, but as you looked at him he stopped and started over.  “You have to stop hurting yourself over people who don’t care about you,” he explained. “If you gave me a chance, you’d appreciate how nice it feels to know someone cares for you.”

I wanted to know there was someone out there who still cared for me, you remembered Julian saying.  Apparently everyone else wanted to be cared for, but you were too busy caring to consider your own feelings.  You were so tired of fighting for Julian and rebuffing Viktor and shouldering the burden of spinsterhood in a conservative town like this one.

“Alright, come by tomorrow, then,” you acquiesced.  Viktor smiled.

“You won’t regret it- you’ll learn to appreciate me,” he predicted as he stood up to leave.

“The beginning of every successful relationship,” you replied sarcastically, but he seemed to take you literally.  What a moron.  At least he was nice enough- and actually had the integrity and honesty to tell you how he felt… not that you felt particularly integritous after your confession to Julian.  But you were optimistic; maybe this was a step in the right direction.  So why did the idea of letting go of him, even when you had known you needed to for years, hurt so deeply?

~

You stayed drunk through the afternoon but stopped drinking after a while, so you could go to bed sober.  You stayed up later than normal, avoiding sleep and the torturous dreams of love that it always brought.  It had started to rain- downpour, actually- and the thunder would’ve kept you up anyhow.

You heard a knock at your door and answered hesitantly, unsure who would be coming by so late.  When you opened it you saw Julian, soaked through with rain, looking like a lost puppy.  Of course you wanted to invite him in from the rain but you were still angry so you let him stand out there a bit longer.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

He looked at you, and when you looked back into his eyes, you saw it.  You understood instantly what was really going on.

“Oh, oh no,” you reprimanded as you stepped back, wagging a finger at him. “No, Julian- don’t you dare.”

“I can’t help it,” he defended.

“No, no, don’t you dare love me now!” you ordered.

“Why can’t I?” he asked quietly, stepping towards you, through the doorway and out of the rain.  You stepped back again, running into a wall and bracing against it.

“It’s too late.  Jules, after all these years…” you trailed off, but then shook your head. “It’s too late,” you repeated.

“It can’t be too late,” he refused, “there has to be another chance.”

“You ran out of chances,” you explained, starting to cry, “it’s over.  Julian, it’s too late.  At some point, it has to be too late.”

“There has to be another chance for us,” he asserted.  You sobbed when you heard him say that word, ‘us.’

“Jules, no,” you wept, “I waited for so long.  I thought that if I loved you hard enough, that you would have to love me back.  And you left.  Julian, you left.  I had to give up.  I had to let it go.  I had to stop loving you.”

“But you didn’t,” he remembered, and you watched as a tear ran down his own face.

“Because you’re my fucking curse!” you screamed. “You’re my ghost!  You fucking haunt me!  Loving you has taken everything from me!”

“I never asked you to love me all those years!” he countered, his voice raising but not matching yours.

“But you’re asking me to now,” you scoffed.

“I’m not asking for anything.  I just need you to know the truth,” he explained.

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You came here because I was always your back-up plan.  You tired of whoring around, and you decided to come back because I was the stable option, the safe option.  You never wanted my love, you just wanted my attention.”

“For a long time, I didn’t understand the difference between love and attention,” he responded with a quiet, somber tone.  Your anger subsided partially.  “I didn’t understand the need for loyalty or reliability.  And then I lost everything.  The first thing I thought of when I considered coming here wasn’t my family, my house, my culture.  It was you.  I wanted to go home,” his voice began to waver tearfully, “and coming back to you was coming home.  I lost everything and all I had left was you.  And it’s not because you were my second choice.  It’s because I’m a fucking idiot who couldn’t see how much I needed you until-”

“Until it was too late,” you finished.

“Don’t say that,” he pleaded, stepping towards you again, this time touching you, grabbing your arms gently but with urgency.  His hands were warm, even when they were wet with cold rain. “Gods, don’t say that, please.”

You looked up at him and cried; you cried because you knew that there was no ending for you but heartbreak. 

“The day I met you, when I was just a few years old, was the day my life was ruined,” you whispered. “Cursed forever to live a life at your beck and call, because I loved you with everything I had.  I’ve never been able to stop, even when I hated you and even when I needed to let you go and move on so that I could live.  Julian, I waited my whole life for you…”

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” he whispered back, leaning down as his face moved closer to yours.  You whimpered weakly, your crying beginning to soothe.  His hand wiped your tears away, and you rested your face into his palm.  His touch was so warm, delicate, comforting.  

“I love you,” he confessed, examining your face.  You nodded, still crying partially from the initial hurt and partially from a solemn joy of everything you ever wanted suddenly right in front of you.  He was so close now that his face was just a few centimetres from yours, you could even feel his breath, see every drop of water running down from his hair into his face.  “Tell me it isn’t over,” he begged.

“It was never over,” you reassured, closing the distance between you and kissing him softly.  You were both still crying, just a little, perhaps mourning all the time lost that you could never get back.  And yet, all the anger of the past and the fear of the future washed away, and all that was left was being together in this moment.  The hand on your face moved to hold your head and neck, and the other pulled you closer at the waist.  Feeling his body pressed against yours was like cozying up to a warm fireplace, his presence a golden glow against the cold, dark world outside.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss and starting to fall back into his arms.  He held you tightly, the wetness of his clothes soaking through yours quickly.  You didn’t even gasp when he picked you up, too lost in the kiss and trusting him too much to be afraid of falling.  He carried you down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open but setting you down onto the quilt gently.

~ 

You awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window, and the feeling of Julian’s fingers running through your hair.  You turned to face him, appreciating how lovely he looked washed in the sunrise.  You indulged yourself in looking at his muscular shoulders and chest where they weren’t covered by the bedsheets.

“Good morning,” he smiled.

“I can’t believe that really happened,” you whispered, mostly to yourself.

“I can,” he replied. “It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you answered, feeling yourself blush a bit. 

“We should go somewhere,” he suggested suddenly.

“Where?” you asked.

“Wherever you’d like,” he shrugged.  You ran your fingers down his chest, admiring the thick layer of dark hair, imagining all the places you could go.

“Take me to the ocean, then,” you requested.

“The middle of the ocean?  Or is the coast alright?” he smirked.

You laughed.

“I’m serious!” he defended. “I’m not opposed to sailing.  It’s rather peaceful.”

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?  The water?” you imagined.

“Nothing quite like it,” he smiled serenely.

“Promise you’ll take me,” you demanded.

“I promise,” he whispered as he moved a stray lock of hair out of your face.

“Soon?” you pressed.

“There’s nothing keeping us here.  We could leave tomorrow if you’d like,” he offered. 

“Not planning on running off without me again, are you?  This wasn’t all some convoluted ploy to get me into bed?” you asked, mostly joking.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he laughed, sitting up and pulling you closer.  Soon he was hovering over you, and your legs wrapped around his waist before you could even think about it.

“Twice in a night didn’t satisfy you?” he smirked.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be satisfied,” you replied.

“And to think you accused me of wanting to run off!  I’m not sure I’ll ever get out of this bed, if you have your way,” he teased, leaning down to kiss your neck.

“I waited so long for this,” you explained, “I suppose my patience has run thin.”

“Then I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” he growled, and you bit your lip as you smiled.

You startled when you heard a knock on the front door.

“Who’d be coming by at this hour?” Julian asked with confusion.

As if to answer, you heard Viktor’s voice coming from across the house: “Are you all right?” 

“Fuck,” you whispered, rolling out from under him and hopping out of the bed.  Despite the commotion and the events of the night previous, Julian still took a moment to look you up and down as your naked form was exposed.  “I forgot he was coming over today,” you hissed.

“Tell him to bugger off,” he scoffed.

“Alright, but I need to get dressed and you need to stay hidden,” you commanded.

You searched for your clothing strewn about the floor, slipping back on your wrinkled dress and attempting to make some sense of your hair.

Dressed enough to answer the door, you shooed a half-clothed Julian into a corner where he couldn’t be seen from the entryway.  You dashed down the hall and opened the door, and Viktor was waiting on the other side.

“Viktor!  Good morning!” you said cheerfully, holding the door only enough to fit your body into it, hoping he wouldn’t see much of the messy room behind you.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” he noticed instantly.  You sighed, not realizing your plan wouldn’t last even through one sentence.  What you especially didn’t realize was that, upon understanding what most likely had happened, Viktor would push past you, entering in a rage.

“Wait, stop!” you protested, but it was too late.  Viktor stormed towards the bedroom, from which Julian had emerged and then immediately started to run away. 

“You,” Viktor growled as he pointed to the topless bard.

“Hey, long time no see!” Julian cheered weakly.

“Bastard!” Viktor bellowed, chasing Julian down and pinning him against the wall. 

“Stop!” you demanded, rushing towards them.  Viktor released Julian only for a moment to grab you by the collar of your dress, and you yelped.

“I’ll deal with you next, whore!” he spat, the back of his hand slapping you across the face so hard that you spun onto the floor.

Julian launched at Viktor, the two falling next to you on the ground and wrestling in a flurry of punches.  You tried to kick them off of each other but the fight grew more brutal quickly.  Soon Viktor had forced Julian onto the ground and was punching him over and over, each hit bloodying his face more and more.

“Stop, please!” you begged, but he wasn’t listening.  You were sure that he was going to kill him, and you scrambled towards your bedside chest.  Opening it, your dagger was laid right on top, and you wasted no time grabbing it and running over to the two of them.  You grunted as you swung the blade down, stabbing Viktor in the back.  He cried out, falling onto his side on the floor.  Julian weakly sat up, sliding along the ground to get away from his attacker.  You watched Viktor struggle for a moment and then relax, a large pool of blood already forming under him.  You rushed to Julian’s side on the floor, examining his face.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured before you could even ask.

“It looks pretty bad,” you winced.

“You saved me- I thought he was going to kill me,” he groaned.

“I couldn’t let you go that easy,” you smiled.  Julian closed his eyes, leaning his back against the wall as he sat in the corner of the room.  You looked at him with a smile: even bloodied and beaten he looked like everything you’d ever wanted.

You stood up and turned around, hoping to be able to care for Viktor’s wound, and everything happened so fast that you were on the floor before you realized exactly what had occurred.  You looked up just in time to see Viktor topple to the ground and die, a trail of blood behind him.  The wound in his back was empty, and you looked down to see your own dagger plunged into your gut.

“No!” Julian yelled, crawling towards you and examining the wound before grabbing your face. “No, no, no, no,” he rushed, tears running down his face as he scrambled around you to try to decide what to do.

“Julian,” you tried to soothe him, feeling a burning heat radiating from where you’d been stabbed.

“Oh Gods, I’ll go get someone- there must be a healer nearby-” he began desperately.

“Julian, look at me,” you requested, your voice weaker.  You felt so tired.  He obeyed, the fear in his expression clear even as you couldn’t see him that well through your tears.

“It’s over,” you whispered.

“No, no, it’s not,” he reassured as he shook his head, “it can’t be.  You’re going to be okay.  And we’re going to be together.”

"We were together, and it was beautiful,” you remembered, stopping to cough which sprayed blood from your mouth.

“It’s not over,” he repeated, but the way his voice wavered made it clear that he didn’t believe it entirely.  “I can’t lose you again.”

It was getting harder to fight to stay awake, and you didn’t want to fight anymore.  You felt like if you just let go, you could fall back into something warm and dark and peaceful.  And you were ready to let it wrap around you and take you home.  He grabbed your hand and held it in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles and holding your fingers against his forehead.  His touch kept you lucid a bit longer, but your fingers were already so cold…

“I kept my promise,” you whispered, a warm tear rolling down your cheek as you felt everything blur and soften, your vision narrowing down to a point even though you couldn’t tell if your eyes were closing.

“No, no, please don’t go…" Julian’s begging faded away into the quiet static of sleep.  

~

You startled awake, and instantly you couldn’t see or breathe.  Your body flailed against the oppressive darkness and you felt it moving against you, felt that there was something to struggle against.  Pushing back against the weight, your hands were suddenly cold and you remembered the feeling as air.  Sitting up, you were freed, coughing hoarsely as you breathed for the first time you could remember in a long time.  Opening your eyes, you saw you were on the beach, surrounded by and covered in sand.  You looked behind you and observed the hole you had just crawled out of.  Just above where your head must’ve been lay a pile of rocks, and remnants of dead flowers.  This was a burial ground.  Your burial ground.

You vaguely remembered dying, the sensation of holding Julian’s hand as you slipped away.  You could imagine it so clearly that it almost felt real, like you’d only let go of him a moment ago.  You reached down to your stomach where the knife had been, and found a bloodied hole in your clothes but no damage on your skin.  

You touched your hair and it was braided.  You looked through the sand and found flowers everywhere, even a bouquet.  You began to cry as you realized that Julian had kept his promise to take you to the ocean, and even gone so far as to prepare your body for a funeral and decorate your sandy coffin with flowers.

There has to be another chance, his words from the night before you died rang in your head.  You stood up, your legs still a little wobbly as you got used to walking again.  But quickly you were running, determined on your mission to find Julian and fix this for good.  You weren’t sure how you were alive, but you knew why: he and your teenage self were right.  You were meant to be together.  And now not even Death could stop you.

~

“Tell me the date,” you demanded as you swung open the door to the mage’s office.  He motioned to an astrological calendar on the wall, and you examined it.  

“It’s been exactly a year,” you realized aloud.

“Since when?” the mage asked curiously.

“Since I died,” you said casually.

The mage stood up, pulling out a chair and gesturing towards it.

“Please, have a seat,” he requested.

~

“I’m not sure I came back from the dead,” you groaned as you looked at yourself in the mirror.  You saw some features that you shared with your memory of how you’d looked before, but you saw yourself as a stranger.  Everything you’d hated about your face and body (and there was a lot) was gone.  No pockmarks from your childhood illness.  No wrinkles around your eyes and mouth.  Stronger jawline, bigger eyes, fuller lips.  Your hair was fuller as well, and even the colour was different.  It wasn’t like looking at an entirely different person necessarily, moreso just yourself with several minor changes that really added up, but it was quite the shock regardless.

“In my experience with resurrection, a physical change is normal,” the mage explained.

“You have experience with resurrection?” you asked incredulously as you turned to him.

“No,” he frowned.

You grimaced, looking back to yourself in the mirror, tugging at your skin as if the mask would peel off and you’d look like the old you again.

“So, you don’t know how or why you’ve changed?” the mage interrogated.

“Yes, of course,” you sighed.

“And you don’t know how or why you’re alive?” he asked.

“I don’t know how,” you answered, “but I know why.”

The mage waited for an explanation.

“Love,” you stated plainly.  “Do you think love can create miracles?”

He pondered for a moment before he replied. “Destiny gets her way,” he decided, “and even Death bends to her will.”

“I’ve always known he was my destiny,” you remembered.

“I have to say, I’ve had quite a peculiar day,” the mage admitted.  You glared at him.  “Not quite peculiar enough to compete with yours, of course, but peculiar nonetheless.  I don’t usually spend all day talking about destiny.”

“I thought that was normal fare for a mage.”

“Most people come here asking to either lift a curse or cast one.  Destiny is a rarer issue.  Just before you came in, I was discussing it with someone else- a witcher, if you’d believe it,” he recalled.

“I’d believe anything now,” you smirked.

“Say, do witchers normally have travelling companions?”

Your face dropped and you stood up from your seat.

“Tell me where they went,” you demanded.

“I try to offer my clients privacy, a sense of discretion-” he began, but he choked when you grabbed him by the collar.

“Tell me where they were headed, now,” you repeated through your teeth.

~

“You’ve aged more in the past year than you did in all our travels together,” Geralt observed.

“I lost everything,” was all Jaskier said.

Suddenly he looked to the horizon, not for any reason, just a feeling that he should.  Staring ahead he saw a silhouette begin to emerge from over the hill.  You looked back at him and you prepared to explain who you were, what had happened, why you changed (not that you understood all of that yourself).  Instead he started to run to you, and you couldn’t fight back your ecstatic smile as you began to run to him as well.  When you met in the middle he embraced you, spinning you around and pulling you into a kiss that made you feel properly alive again, more than before.

“It was never over,” he told you quietly as he pulled back from the kiss.  

“How did you know it was me?” you asked, running your fingers down his cheek. “You buried me.  I look completely different.  I don’t even recognize myself.”

“I could just… tell,” he shrugged.

“But how?” you demanded.

“Because it’s you,” he answered simply, using his hand to brush some hair out of your face. “It was always you.”

You kissed him again, with enough passion to make up for the all the time lost, and yet, brimming with hope and excitement for the future.

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Hey y'all! So I wrote a relatively long oneshot (for me) in 24 hours or so (breaking my record for most words written in one day in the process), and I decided to dump it all on you. This is minimally edited and was posted with a cat on my lap, so if you spot any errors, please let me know. 

Also, while it's not technically necessary to read all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me and all the things that you never ever told me, which are the fics which this is an alternate ending for, it will be really really helpful to understanding this. (All the smiles is here and all the things is here.) Do be careful of the warnings for those two, as they're quite dark fics. But then again, so is this, so...y'know.

Oh and please don’t question why the Cherri POV is present tense and the Newsie POV is past tense, idk either it just felt right.

Title: if i died we’d be together

Wordcount: 5316

Summary: Cherri Cola dies. NewsAGoGo refuses to accept this.

The Phoenix Witch is unhelpful (and an asshole, if you ask Newsie.)

Warnings: major character death, implied/referenced suicide, implied self harm, minor violence, an extraordinary amount of swearing.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

In this universe, the Phoenix Witch doesn’t come for Cherri Cola. He lies in the sand, alone and in pain, unable to move himself a single step further. He would get up if he could, he would go home, but he’s helpless. Alone and afraid, truly afraid for the first time in years. He doesn’t want to die alone. He doesn’t want to die knowing the people in his life will never know what happened to him. D, Pony, Newsie…

Cherri doesn’t want to die. Not like this. He was supposed to die helping his friends, not because he decided that life wasn’t worth living and let himself fade away into the heat of the desert. He doesn’t want to leave his friends, he doesn’t want to leave his family. Did they even know he counted them as a family? Does Newsie know he loves them like a sibling?

Cherri Cola dies alone, and the last words on his lips are “I’m sorry, Newsie.”

-

Cherri didn’t come back. Not after the mask discussion, not after Newsie’s talk with the Phoenix Witch, and certainly not any earlier than that. It was another week of silent dinners and endless, hopeless searching before Pony put eir foot down. 

“Cola is dead.”

That was what ey said, breaking the silence of that morning’s breakfast. 

Newsie couldn’t even manage the energy to snap at em. “No.”

“Cola’s gone, Newsie. You know it, just like me.”

“He can’t be fucking dead. I won’t- I won’t let it happen.” She hated that her voice shook. 

“He is, though. Nothing we can do about it.” Pony’s usually cheerful voice was quiet, beaten-down. 

“No!”

“Yes! We gotta accept it!”

“No, we don’t!”

“Maybe-“ eir voice broke on the word. “Maybe it was his time. Or fate or something.”

“Well fuck fate then! Fuck the Phoenix Witch and fuck her ‘plans’! It can’t just be right to fucking take him away, he’s got a fucking family!”

“Well- well- maybe you’re right, but what are we going to do about it?” Pony’s voice had gone quiet again, and ey was staring at the table like it might have the answers somehow.

“We’re going to find the Phoenix Witch and tell her to go fuck herself,” Newsie declared. 

D sighed. “I don’t think that’s possible, Newsie.”

“Why not? Cherri’s met the Phoenix Witch, it can’t be that hard.” She got up from her seat, tossing the empty power pup can into the sink.

“I mean…they’ve got a point,” Pony said as D sighed again. 

“See? Pone knows I’m right.” She made those words as firm as she could, filling them with all the confidence that she didn’t have but wished she did. “I’m going to go find the Phoenix Witch, flip her off, and get Cherri back.”

“Newsie-“

They ignored D’s worried voice as they went tromping into the back of the radio station, back to the room that used to be theirs and Cherri’s- and still would be, Newsie vowed. She packed up a messenger bag with a few supplies and located Cherri’s mask and ray gun, picking up the ray gun first. It was pink like hers, but a heavier weight in her hands. If she had been poetic like her brother, she would have said it was the weight of the task she was about to take on.

But they were no Cherri Cola, and they knew the real reason was that Cherri’s ray gun was a nicer one than theirs, taken from an exterminator he had fought back in the Analog Wars. It certainly wasn’t the newest model anymore, but it remained a high-quality weapon. Not that he ever used it anymore. Still, even however long after he had last held it, she thought she could feel the ghost of his hands on it, warm and rough as they guided her hands into place the first time she had ever fired a ray gun.

Newsie slid the ray gun into her spare holster and picked up Cherri’s mask. They debated putting it away into their bag, but that felt too much like they were bringing it to the mailbox for a final goodbye. Instead, they put it around their neck, where it bounced against their collarbone as they donned their own mask. 

“Alright, Cherri. Let’s go bring you back from the dead.”

Show Pony and Dr. Death Defying didn’t try to stop her when she walked back through the main living space. D reached out as if to grab her wrist, but stopped himself in midair. “Newsie.”

“Don’t try to stop me.”

“I won’t, but I want you to take this.” He held out a crow feather, shining a gorgeous glossy black in the sunlight that streamed in from the window. “I met the Witch, once. During the Analog Wars. And she gave me this.”

“So you think it will help?”

D’s smile was dreadfully sad. “Worth a shot.”

Newsie hesitated a moment and took the feather. It was smooth under her fingers as she tucked it into her bag. “Thanks, D.”

“Of course.” He didn’t tell her to come back safe, and Newsie didn’t promise she would.

Pony skated up before she could walk out the door, handing her a packet of what looked vaguely like glitter. “I don’t have a fancy Witch feather like D, but take some glitter for the road. Because sparkles…”

“Make everything better.” Newsie’s throat burned. “Thanks, Pone.”

“Of course, GoGo.” Ey shot her a grin. “Bring back our Cola. Oh, and give him some shit for dying, would ya?”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Newsie muttered. They paused in the doorway, looking back at the other two. “Thanks, Pone. Thanks, D. Love you.”

“We love you too.” D’s face was sad as he watched them go.

Newsie hopped onto their motorcycle, grinning a bit to themself at the familiar noise of the engine. “Come on, baby, we’ve got an idiot brother to retrieve.”

What had once been called Death Valley was silent as Newsie hopped back off the bike, only a few caws of crows to welcome her. It was said that here, the lines between reality and wherever the Phoenix Witch was were even thinner than they were for the rest of the Zones, practically non-existent. No one could quite agree if it was because the Phoenix Witch lived here, or if the Phoenix Witch lived here because the lines were so blurred, but either way, she was said to dwell here in this aptly named valley. It wasn’t a place many people went by choice, not unless they wanted to risk the wrath of the Witch.

Newsie figured the Witch, her wrath, and all the superstition could all go fuck themselves. She was uneasy, yes, but the valley held no great fear for her. Only great fucking heat, given that the sun was blazing down and the air was almost unnaturally still. Couldn’t the Phoenix Witch have picked a nicer home? This was the closest thing you could get to hell on earth, with the exception of possibly whatever was beyond the Zones entirely. Not that Newsie particularly believed in hell, but she imagined it would be something like this. Blazing sun, still air, the faint haze of radiation, and the omnipresent sting of grief.

“Hey, Phoenix Witch lady! Asshole! Where are you?” The words didn’t even echo, absorbed into the stifling heat, and Newsie took another couple of steps. “I know this is your home- and you picked a pretty hellish one, if you ask me- so come on out and fight me!”

There was no reply, and Newsie dug through their bag to see if they had anything useful. Their hands brushed against a smooth…something, and they pulled out the feather D had given them. “Hey! Asshole! This is your feather, so come and get it!”

Once again, there was no reply, but the feather strained against Newsie’s grip, despite there being no wind. She reluctantly let it go, and it hovered above her hand, turning to point further into the valley. 

“Holy shit. I guess I’m supposed to go this way?” She took a few cautious steps, and the feather almost seemed to bob in approval. “Okay, let’s go then.”

They zipped their bag closed again and started walking, following the lead of the feather. It was a longer trek than they really appreciated, across shifting sand through the hazy day. Every so often, the feather changed directions, and Newsie had to turn to follow it. Despite the fact that she guessed she must be out in Zone Seven by now, or possibly even further, the landscape never seemed to change. Rocks and sand and endless, burning heat, matching the burning of her eyes as the sand stung them. She would have been lost in a second if she didn’t have the feather, wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t lost anyways. They certainly didn’t know their way back. 

Newsie shoved that concern to the back of their mind. Right now, all they needed to focus on was finding Cherri. The rest could come later. Still, there was no sign of Cherri- or anyone else for that matter- as they made their way further into the dusty valley. It should have been lonely, but the faint hovering presence of someone or something next to her kept away that particular anguish. She really should have been more alarmed by whatever was in the corner of her eye, vanishing when she looked right at it, but the presence felt safe. Almost familiar. So Newsie kept walking. 

They walked, and walked, and walked and walked and walked until the steps all blurred together under the infinite sun. It seemed like it should be nearly nightfall by now, but the sun didn’t seem to move, no matter how many steps she took. The landscape didn’t seem like it was moving much either, even though they must have walked miles and miles by now. Every step was harder than the last, sand stinging her eyes and nose and throat as her feet ached.

Still, Newsie was too damn stubborn to give up now. She followed the feather until the landscape did start to shift, the feather pointing towards…a tree? On a hill? It wasn’t like the tiny, scraggly trees that clung to existence in the wettest parts of the desert. No, this was what Newsie vaguely thought might have been called an oak, once upon a time, branches stretching towards the sky as the tree stood proud. The leaves were dark green, striking a sharp contrast to the faded blue of the desert sky and the endless beige sand, and the branches were thick and steady, growing in a pattern Newsie hadn’t seen before. It definitely wasn’t a tree that was meant to be in the desert, but...shade was shade. 

She staggered over and flopped down underneath it, every muscle in her body screaming at her. “Hey, Witch, asshole, why do I have to walk so fucking far?”

The only reply she got was the rustling of leaves above her. They didn’t think the Witch was actually watching, but they flipped off the tree anyways, just in case. 

She could have sworn she heard faint laughter at that, but it was probably her mind playing tricks on her. Water, she could really use some fucking water. Thank the Witch, or maybe just Pony’s quick thinking, they found a bottle of water when they reached into their bag. It was warmed by the sun and tasted vaguely of rust, but then again, most water in the desert did. Newsie was used to it.

She only got a few minutes to rest before the silence was shattered by a cry. “Help! Help!” It was a young-sounding voice, and Newsie groaned as they climbed to their feet. Having a moral compass was a real pain in the ass sometimes; they couldn’t just ignore a kid in need.

The presence by their shoulder seemed to have grown stronger as Newsie came around the tree and saw a few dracs holding a struggling killjoy who looked to be maybe thirteen or fourteen. She would have to be very careful in order not to hurt the ‘joy, given their close proximity to the dracs. Their hands shook as they pulled out their ray gun, reconsidered, and took out Cherri’s instead. They were pretty sure it had that gyroscope stabilizer (or whatever it was called) that some of the nicer ones were built with, and she would need every advantage she could get. This time, she was almost certain there were ghostly hands over hers as she took careful aim.

“Steady. Breathe,” a voice murmured in Newsie’s ear as they tilted the ray gun carefully. It would be only seconds before the young killjoy was dragged off, so she had to act now. 

Newsie took a deep breath, releasing it fully before she pulled the trigger and took out one of the dracs holding the ‘joy, who was able to break free from the other one’s grasp as Newsie took that one down too. She might not have been Cherri Cola, but she was by no means a bad shot, and she grinned a bit to herself. Drac down, drac down, and that was the last of them!

“Fuck yeah, NewsAGoGo, you kick ass.” They figured they might as well encourage themself, since there was no one else around to do it.

That was met by what she could have sworn was another faint chuckle, but there wasn’t anyone else around to be laughing. Well, except the younger killjoy, but they were way too far away to have heard her. 

Newsie shrugged and accepted that weird shit was going to happen on a quest in Death Valley. They had to keep moving, they decided, but first they should check on that ‘joy they’d saved. 

“Hey, kid! You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thanks to you, I think.” Their voice was hoarse, and Newsie sighed as she handed them her water bottle. Cherri was getting his ass kicked for this, she decided. It wasn’t technically his fault that she was thirsty, but if he hadn’t up and died, she wouldn’t have had to quest after him and then she wouldn’t have ended up giving her water to some random ‘joy.

“Thanks,” the teen said, handing them back the water bottle.

She shrugged. “No problem. You going somewhere?”

“Yes, but not the same way as you.” Their head was tilted curiously. “You’ll have to go that way. Until you see the building.”

Newsie debated for a second if this kid was trustworthy, but ultimately decided it was no worse than following a fucking feather. “Thanks, kid. Good luck, keep running.”

“Keep running!” They flashed a smile and wandered away.

Newsie sighed and started walking again, this time in the direction the kid had pointed. Again, Cherri was so getting an ass-kicking for this. Their feet hurt. 

Thank the Phoenix Witch- no, thank Destroya, she wasn’t thanking the Phoenix Witch for fucking anything right now- she wasn’t back on her feet for long. Compared to her earlier trek, it was quite a short distance, maybe a mile or so, to what must have been the building that kid was talking about. It was a small shack which looked vaguely familiar, even from a distance, and Newsie sped up a little as they headed towards it. Shade! Maybe even a place to sit that wasn’t sand! Of course, knowing her luck, the Phoenix Witch would show up and demand she go run some errand or walk another hundred fucking miles or something. 

The presence that had been following her this whole time seemed stronger and easier to catch a glimpse of, now, but the was the least of their worries as Newsie approached the building and found it familiar. They could peer in through the window and find D and Pony sitting there in the living room, talking about music (she assumed, given that the only time D gestured so broadly was when he was giving opinions about music).

“D! Pone!”

They didn’t seem to hear her, and Newsie felt her eyes stinging from both sand and grief as she knocked on the door. There was still no reply, no Pony at the door or even sound from inside. But the two carried on their conversation, gesturing and laughing away.

"D, Pony…” If they were back here, that meant they had failed. They hadn’t gotten to the Witch after all. 

Newsie gave up her knocking and turned her back to the door, sliding down to sit on the hard ground. Their feet hurt from standing and their legs hurt from walking and their hands hurt from clutching Cherri’s ray gun so tightly. The sun was still blazing, and their throat was dry and sore. Her collarbones were banged up where Cherri’s mask had been bouncing against them, and her hip was bruised from the bag bouncing against it, and everything fucking hurt. They had promised themself they weren’t going to cry, but now they were breaking that promise because their goddamn brother was dead and they couldn’t fucking do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry, Cherri,” they choked.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” The words were only a whisper, but the voice was familiar. 

Newsie’s heart skipped a beat. “Cherri?”

“I’m here,” the air next to her whispered, right where that presence had been hovering. “Not exactly, but close enough.” If they squinted, they could make out an outline of a familiar killjoy, smiling a soft, sad smile as he pushed his hair out of his face.

“Fucking bastard! Fuck! Fucking hell! You just fucking died on me and do you know how far I fucking walked?”

“Technically, you didn’t walk at all.” That was a different voice, belonging to the cloaked figured who was suddenly in front of Newsie. They could have sworn the person hadn’t been there just a second ago, which was damn inconvenient. Right as she was trying to catch up with her fucking brother? Really?

“Who the fuck are you?” They demanded.

“The deity you came to find, NewsAGoGo.”

Newsie hopped to her feet so she could stand on level with the bird creature, ignoring the ache in every part of their body. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Witch lady! Fuck you and your fate and your cryptic ways! What the fuck do you mean I didn’t walk?”

The Witch seemed faintly amused by her swearing. “I mean that in real-world distance, you went nowhere. You’re on the border, the boundary between this world and the next. Which is how your lovely brother is here, by the way. He belongs to the spirit world, and you belong to the ordinary one, but on this border and this border only, you can see and hear each other.”

“Great, now I’m taking him back to the real world.”

The Phoenix Witch tsked disapprovingly. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, NewsAGoGo. You see, Cherri Cola is dead. He belongs to my domain now.”

“Well fuck that! I’m not letting him go.” Newsie hadn’t walked however many fucking miles to give up now.

“Fine, fine, you can have him.” Newsie’s heart soared. “For a price,” The Witch added. 

“And what’s the price?”

“The price is the people in that house behind you.”

“What?”

“Well, technically they aren’t there, per se. That’s not Dr. Death Defying and Show Pony, although it seems that way to you.” The Witch’s voice was annoyingly calm. “But my point being, if you can give up one of them, you can have your Cherri back.”

“Newsie, no,” Cherri whispered from beside her.

“Can you do it?” The Witch was still smiling. “Can you sacrifice one friend to save another? Could you live with yourself if you killed your friend to save your brother? And could you live with yourself if you left him here to save the others?”

“No, I can’t do it.” They knew their voice must sound very small and very tired as they leaned a little against the radio shack that wasn’t the radio shack. “I can’t choose the life of one of my friends over another. I won’t make that choice. I refuse.”

“So do you choose to leave him here? I’ll take good care of him, you know.”

“No. I choose to not choose. I refuse to choose.” She had no idea what she was doing, only that she wasn’t leaving without the lives of all of her family. “I won’t put Cherri’s life over D’s, or Pony’s. I won’t put D or Pony’s life over Cherri’s. They all deserve to live.”

“Oh, hon, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Well I’ll make it work that way!” A thought niggled Newsie’s brain. “What if…What if I gave you something else?”

“Like what?”

“Like my life.”

“No!” That was Cherri again, his spirit form flickering fiercely. “No! Newsie, just leave without me. Please.”

The Phoenix Witch was smirking, but she shook her head. “Sorry, NewsAGoGo. I can’t accept that offer, selfless as it might be. You’ve got things ahead of you, I can’t just mess up my plans like that.”

“Fine, then something else.” Newsie rooted around in her bag, desperately trying to find something to trade with the Witch. Empty water bottle, no. Can of power pup that she never touched, no. Their hand collided with a small, slightly squished packet of something, which they pulled out triumphantly. “Glitter. I’ll give you glitter for my brother’s life.” Newsie knew she sounded ridiculous, but it really was all she had to offer.

The Phoenix Witch threw her head back and cackled; it was almost more of a caw than a laugh but clearly a sound of amusement nonetheless. “Glitter! Glitter! I haven’t laughed so hard in years.”

Their hand was shaking. “Pony gave it to me. Because sparkles- because sparkles-“ Their voice wobbled and they couldn’t finish that sentence.

“Sparkles make everything better,” Cherri whispered softly from next to her. Newsie nodded, trying not to cry.

The mirth on the Witch’s face was gone, replaced by true, genuine pity. “You care so much.”

“Yeah, of course I fucking do. He’s my brother, asshole.”

Cherri’s form was flickering again, and Newsie wished she knew what that meant as the Witch smiled softly. It was a bit of a sad, pitying smile, which they really didn’t appreciate, but they guessed they did make for a pitiful sight. Sandy and dusty, tear tracks on their face as they leaned against a wall and offered a pitiful little pack of glitter in exchange for the person they loved most in the world. 

“So…are you going to take the glitter?” Maybe it was dumb, maybe she should know the Witch would never accept glitter, but she had to try. 

“Yes.” 

Newsie gaped at her. 

“Yes, I’ll take the glitter. Not as a reward, but as a symbol. You, NewsAGoGo, traveled uncountable miles of unreality, fought a squad of dracs, and dared defy me, a literal deity, for your brother. I am not a cruel goddess, I do not need to be. The world is cruel enough for me. And your Cherri did not deserve to die. Oh, he was asking for it, he was taunting me into swooping down to take that bracelet you gave him off his wrist and taking his soul on with me just the same, but he still didn’t deserve to die.”  

The Witch flicked Cherri on the nose, or where Newsie thought his nose ought to be. “We’ve had some conversations about it, haven’t we? Because you didn’t want to die, Cherri Cola. You wanted to not be in pain. Something everyone wants. And your sister cares so much, so I’ll give you one more chance. This is your last one, lovely.”

“I understand.”

“Of course you do, hon.” The Witch turned back to Newsie. “Keep an eye on this one. He’s a bit prone to wandering off, but he’s yours again. He belongs to the land of the living. I’ll be keeping this, though.” She tapped the bracelet on her wrist, which Newsie recognized as the one they had given Cherri. “And the glitter, just for the hell of it. Tell your friend Pony they have good taste in décor, will you?”

And just like that, she was gone. Newsie was standing alone at the entrance to Death Valley, her faithful motorcycle next to her. At first, she thought the Witch had lied, since she did seem to be utterly alone, but before long, footsteps sounded from within the valley. 

Newsie turned as a figure approached, her breath catching at the familiar face. Cherri Cola was exactly how he had been the day Newsie had left him at the radio station, not knowing she would come back to find him gone. His battered green jacket was just as ripped and dusty as ever, and there was a small scar across his right cheek, as always. The only immediately visible difference between Cherri of a few weeks ago and this Cherri was the pure white streak in his hair, white like bones and death and the salt crusted on some parts of the desert. Yet when she looked closer, she could also see a tiny spark of determination in his eyes that had been missing for a very long time.

Cherri came to a stop in front of her, smiling cautiously. “Hey.” 

Newsie didn’t know if they should cry, yell at him, or hug him. They settled for a mixture of all three, sprinting over to hug him tightly as they unleashed all the bottled swear words and tears of the past few weeks. “Fuck you, Cherri! Dipshit! Bitch boy! Fucking rat bastard, you left me! You left me alone and I- and I was scared.” Their voice dropped on the last few words.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Cherri’s voice was very soft. “I should never have left.”

A bit of her fierceness came back at that, with another couple of swear words to unleash. “No, you fucking shouldn’t have! Asshole. Little shit! You died, you fucker! You died and I had to walk so fucking far to get you back, fuckface!”

“I’m sorry, Newsie. I’m so sorry.” 

She sniffled, unable to stay mad for long. “Just never do that again. Ever. I’m not fighting a squad of dracs to save some child so I can get directions to a fucking fake radio shack and talk to a cryptic deity next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Cherri said softly. “I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

He crossed his heart, giving her a very serious look. “I swear on my best poetry and Show Pony’s glitter stash.”

They let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Now you can never break it, Pone would never forgive you if something happened to their glitter stash.”

“Exactly.” His eyes were glimmering with tears as well, but he was smiling as Newsie led him back to her motorcycle with a “Hop on, fuckface.”

It felt safe to have Cherri’s arms wrapped around her again, his head leaning on her shoulder as she revved the engine. He was a warm, safe presence, just as he had been in the unreality-reality place, but this time he was a solid one. A real one.

They might have been tired as all fuck, but that didn’t stop them from grinning as Cherri muttered something about it probably not being safe for her to drive while this tired. “Hang on, fucker. We’re going home.” 

Home was, as it had been for quite a while now, a (mostly) structurally sound radio station in the middle of the desert. It was almost nightfall by the time they pulled up in front of the radio shack, and Newsie was yawning as she climbed off the bike with another huge yawn. Cherri practically had to carry her to the door, but in her defense, he wasn’t the one who had walked however many miles, got in a firefight, and argued with a deity today. So they felt no guilt in leaning against him as he paused on the porch, using his free hand to knock gently on the door.

They were met by an exhausted-looking Show Pony, eyes red-rimmed and blood-shot as ey opened the door. “I’m sorry, no visitors today- Newsie?! Cherri?!?”

Cherri waved with his free hand. “Hey.”

“Am I just seeing things?” Pony’s voice was as shocked as eir face, which was very.

“Not seeing things, bastard,” Newsie yawned. “I said I was getting Cherri, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you’ve been missing a month, Gogo! D and I thought you were ghosted like your bro!”

It probably was not an appropriate reaction, but the first thing out of her mouth was “No wonder I’m so thirsty.”

Cherri started laughing at that, and after a second so did Pony, half-hysterically. “Well, we’ve got water, that’s for sure. D’ll give you plenty, he’ll be so glad you’re alive!” Ey led them inside, still laughing in a somewhat hysterical way. “D, we’ve got some rat bastards alive and back on our hands!”

“Fuck you, Pone.” 

“She’s kidding, we love you,” Cherri yawned.

“And I love you too, but you can’t just- just up and disappear! The lot of you, honestly.” 

D’s face was only slightly less shocked than Pony’s when he rolled into the living room, and Newsie had a feeling that was only because he was even more exhausted than em. 

“Hey,” Cherri said again. 

“Cherri- Newsie- Witch, you both, we thought you were dead!”

“Well we’re not, deal with it.” She was too tired for this shit. Shouldn’t arguing with a deity give you a pass? “Also, sorry, Pone, I traded your glitter away to the Witch.”

Ey only looked shocked for a second before eir usual grin returned. “Well, it was meant to be used somehow! Plus, sparkles…”

“Make everything better!” Newsie, Pony, and Cherri all chorused. 

D sighed. “Welcome home, you two. Never scare us like that again, alright, Newsie?”

“I wasn’t the one who wandered off and died!”

“To be fair, you kinda threatened to fight the Phoenix Witch and then vanished, sugar,” Pony put in.

Newsie flipped em off, flopping down on the sofa. “My point was, give Cherri shit instead. I’m too tired for this.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” D’s voice was vaguely threatening, but his face cracked into a smile as he turned to Cherri. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”

Cherri stared at the ground. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“And we love you so much,” D added.

Newsie grinned at her brother’s shocked face. “Uh-huh, fuckface. We love you, even if you’re a rat bastard. Now I’m going to sleep for a week, see you all later.”

“Goodnight, Newsie,” Cherri said with a smile. If anyone else said anything after that, Newsie didn’t hear it. They were out like a light within seconds.

-

In this universe, the radio station is peaceful that evening, the family reunited at long last. Cherri Cola smiles to himself as he lifts Newsie off the sofa, giving D and Pony a thumbs up as he wanders into the back of the radio station. Their room is quiet, and Newsie barely shifts when he sets her down gently on the mattress.  They do move, however, when Cherri tries to pull away, reaching out to snatch his wrist. Trapped, he has no choice but to lay down next to Newsie, earning a sleepy noise that sounds vaguely happy.

Cherri grins softly, even if she can’t see it, running his hand along the new set of scars on his arm. There will be time to think about those later, time for the conversations that have to come with that, but for now all they are is a reminder. A reminder that he’s a survivor, a reminder of what matters. 

Cherri Cola falls asleep with Newsie by his side, and the last words on his lips that night are “I love you, Newsie.”

[mnogorgannik]

2 10 n 11 :)

this is basically an essay im so sorry. watch how hard i can infodump (ill put this under a cut hopefully it works bc sometimes tumblr decimates the keep reading things if theyre in asks)

2. Who’s your favorite of the Bound? What do you think of the different ideologies they have? Which of the factions are you most aligned with?

WE ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER I AM A PETER LOVER THROUGH AND THROUGH!!!!!! oh baby i love that morally questionable architect. pretty early on in getting into pathologic (it’s coming up on a year now...) i thought about peter stamatin too hard and now i’m here. but really i find him to be such a fascinating character!

the thing about pathologic that i love is how almost every character can be as complex as you want. pathologic does an excellent job of implying a lot of character traits while only exploring some in further detail, which in some games is frustrating but patho does it so well! it consistently hints at traits and lets you fill in the details yourself. peter’s character is extremely interesting to me... and maybe a little more relatable at times than i want to admit lol.

i think i’ll talk about both stamatins though! their dynamic hurts me a lot. i’ll start with andrey bc i’ve been thinking about him lately. although i’ll bounce back and forth between both stamatins.

i’ve said this before but i’ll say it again.... andrey’s role as a protector who inadvertently hurts the people he cares about really gets to me. he is not a shield but, in his own words, a battering ram. and the problem is that battering ram has a recoil.

i have to wonder how that mentality of his came about, anyways. the implication is that it’s always just been him and peter, so did he take on that role because there wasn’t anyone else to do it?

in his efforts to protect peter from... military, i believe, he kills four people. which leads to daniil getting mistaken for andrey, which leads to daniil getting shot. and almost dying. he protects peter but to a smothering extent, peter even says he’s been suffering for ten years bc of andrey which is a LOADED line. he protects on a physical level but he kinda fucks up on the emotional.

there’s a horrible irony in peter and eva being the people he cares about the most and both attempting suicide. with eva once she’s missing he immediately goes running off trying to look for her, and . ahh i can’t remember right off hand what exactly he thought happened. but ik he was probably expecting a fight. with peter he says that after that he’ll never let peter leave his side, at least “as far as his knife can fly”... it sounds cheesy but the one thing he can’t save anyone from is themself.

and god the way andrey bases his ENTIRE sense of self worth on peter fucking hurts. they’re not peter and andrey, the architects. they’re Peter And Andrey, The Architect. (thinking about “one architect, two brothers” here.) andrey thinks he’s larger than life and all but he’s constantly living in peter’s shadow. their theatre of death positions come to mind here, with peter standing up, looking down at andrey. but andrey is on his knees in front of peter, arms limp to his sides.... separated by a wooden beam...

peter’s side of this dynamic is fascinating too. his dependency on andrey is. ow. leaving all practical matters and decision making to him... there’s this resentment (That’s Fine I’ve Been Suffering For Ten Years Because Of Him) and lack of communication that especially shows through for him.

while in p2 andrey completely crumbles if peter dies, peter doesn’t seem to care...... at all....?? which hopefully is elaborated upon in p2. he’s willing to talk to aspity about worrying if andrey is angry with him but he can’t bring it up with andrey himself. when he asks how andrey is doing he stops and says andrey is a “tough man” and can handle anything. in general, while it’s definitely there for andrey, themes of dependency are really glaringly obvious for peter.

one of my favorite peter things i’ve talked about before is still his ego!!! peter has a gigantic ego!!! he really does think that even though he’s hit the ceiling and can’t go any further he is still “a true architect” and “the rock upon which is built the stairway to tomorrow”. he has a blunt edge to him and he doesn’t ever tell you more than he thinks he needs to which i love. if he doesn’t want to tell you something he isn’t gonna do it. this is a character trait i think ppl miss which is sad because it’s so good and adds another layer of depth to him!

it really does hurt me how he’s valued for his mind alone (AHEM AHEM AHEM. GEORGIY) but it’s the thing nobody understands about him. i’m nowhere near as smart as peter lol but i do know that pain of feeling like none of your ideas can be understood because you just can’t express them the way you’d like, and then feeling like you’ll never be able to make it happen.

also, here’s a little thing  i’ve picked up on. this connection probably doesn’t exist but i’m making it because the stamatins make me lose my mind and start becoming one of those people who looks for connections in everything i guess. peter standing in the theatre of death, andrey below him. peter’s loft being at a high point in the town, the broken heart being underground. peter’s loft is also higher north on the map but the broken heart is lower south. just smth interesting

i have more thoughts on them of course! but this is all getting awfully long. i feel like i’ve only just gotten to the tip of the iceberg  even though i’ve written so much skfjskfjs this just feels quite surface level or. at least what is surface level for me who thinks about the stamatins so hard.

anyways i’ll keep my answers to the other two parts of this question quick! peter and andrey’s more creative vs practical mindsets are rly neat. especially because i would actually argue peter is a little more grounded in reality in certain aspects. not all, but certain ones...... their take on the utopian ideology is interesting. hot take: peter’s version of utopianism leans a tad towards humility. and andrey /does/ feel “straightforward utopian” but i think in certain regards? this man has a bit of a termite streak..... (hi al if you’re reading this). but i won’t get into that right now i’ve already gone on so long. saving that for later.

i think all of the factions kinda suck in their own way sometimes, honestly? although all of them are well written and have their pros and cons. were i in pathologic and i had to choose one i’d probably be a termite but everyone around me seems to think i’m a utopian. is it bc i love peter so much

10. What would you be like as a Pathologic character?

this question is a hard one! i did make a self insert once, mile-a-minute, but they’ve become their own oc by now. i think i’d be very...... very afraid...... probably isolating myself why does every pathologic character break quarantine???? also you could trade beetles with me :) thats about all i’ve got sorry this is real short

11. What is something you would change, writing-wise, about either game?

UGH i’ve been gushing about pathologic because. obviously i love this game so much. but the way it handles racism & such (in both games!) leaves much to be desired :/

i see a lot of the points it’s trying to make but i think the way they’re handled can be very messy. there are moments that work very well but. a lot that don’t. (i am aware that dybowski writes partially from his own experiences)

all too often the game “validates” the kin’s oppression and... at times paints them as oddly antagonistic? i don’t like how often as artemy you’re able to be like “i’m not one of those beasts” and i think there are better ways to touch on his internalized racism. in general the constant comparisons to animals is weird. you get big vlad who is obviously explicitly racist comparing them to animals, but then sometimes it’s like “ACTUALLY calling them animals is fine :)”

i think the herb brides are kind of. Hm. in their portrayal. also using parts of the buryat alphabet to denote an accent is weird. making odongh and herb brides inhuman is weird. connecting the kin to Magic is weird.

and, listen, i’d really like to not be playing Artemy Burakh Experiences a Microaggression Simulator every time i’m playing the haruspex route. hate that you either can’t call ppl out on their shit or if you can it ends the conversation/bars you from getting necessary information. glad you at least get to drag the vlads, i guess?

i also was talking about this but wrt peter specifically, and this issue is present throughout the game but it’s especially visible with peter, i don’t like how often you can mock him for his addiction.

he’s obviously in an extremely rough patch! being able to be just so plain cruel to him about the dependency on alcohol (and iirc in p1 hallucinogens, bc aglaya mentions it) he’s formed to cope with his mental illness & trauma just feels bad. especially because yes it is not a healthy coping mechanism at all but... it still is a coping mechanism, if that makes sense?

the way you’re able to constantly rub it in his face feels awful. peter is fully aware that it isn’t good for him and shows a desire to quit. even if he didn’t it would still be awful to say because. it’s just insensitive. like you don’t just go up to someone and keep being like HEY YOU DRINK A LOT YOU SHOULD STOP DOING THAT DO YOU KNOW WHAT WATER IS? feels really bad to keep harping on something that causes him pain and that he struggles with every single day.

however peter does have moments where he tells you Not to say that, or if you pry into why he drinks he’ll outright say he doesn’t remember you being his friend, which is better than nothing.

in p1 moreso than p2 i hate how you can be like oh he’s craaaazy he’s off his rocker he’s delusional!!!! that “why, i never... an architect of schizophrenia!” comment sticks in my mind because it’s just... so genuinely mean. especially because if i remember correctly that line is from when he’s planning on LITERALLY FUCKING BURNING HIMSELF ALIVE

i think if they were going to have all of this they should have gone more in depth on how it’s really. not good that he’s treated so poorly. and i do believe that’s what they were going for, a la the art book w/ the whole “not to be made into a drunken clown, this is a tragic character”, etc. but it just doesn’t land. i’m holding out for the bachelor and changeling routes in p2 to see if they expand upon any of it but i highly doubt i’ll be satisfied in this regard.

i stand by the One time it was really fucking funny to clown on peter being the time you can tell him little girls eat raspberries and earthworms and he just believes you

[artycreaty]

Emogust 2019 - 13.08 Misunderstanding

[kelvintimeline]

i havent seen it 2 & haven't read the book, what happens?

i’m just gonna list everything bad about it here because i need to vent again, lmao

it spoilers, obvioously, but also triggering talk about a LOT of content like seuxal abuse, gaybashing, domestic violence, fatphobia, and suicide

movie starts with some flashbacks and then goes into an extreme gaybashing scene where a man has his face literally beat in while his lover is pinned down by teenagers, forced to watch, and then is thrown into a river. he is eaten/dismembered by pennywise. i’m assuming his lover is too after he discovers his body

all implied and/or canonically gay characters are ~sassy and ~witty and that’s like... their main trait. in 2019 the gaybashing victim makes a meg ryan joke.

bill hader’s character never actually says he’s gay, he just writes R+E into the wood which YES is confirming he’s gay but that’s literally only revealed after eddie dies on top of him. and after he’s called a f*g and mocked for being gay and told his “secret” is ugly NUMEROUS times. eddie is never implied to be gay, they just mock him for having a fat wife

fatphobia is EXTREME in this movie--ben loses weight but pennywise mocks him for still beig fat and unlovable. eddie’s mom and wife are mocked for being fat. everyone mocks ben for the fact that he used to be fat but “he’s hot now.” i feel bad for his child actor tbh

stanley, the jewish character, commits suicide early in the film beore reuniting with the others. the cast COMPLETELY forgets about him for large swaths of the film and drops him to just be sad about eddie being dead even though stanley only died two days earlier.

he commits suicide and writes a letter about it to the losers and it’s basically “i killed myself to protect you! i was weak and too afraid to confront pennywise and would just be a burden on you! it’s actually good that i died” and this narration plays over the happy ending montage of eveyrone moving on with their life.

bev talks about how she had visions of everyone dying and she knew stanley would die and it’s revealed that if they don’t defeat pennywise, tehy’ll all die. which bascially means stanley’s suicide was inevitable, fate, and couldn’t be helped. while they sob and hold each other about eddie, they just have a couple scenes where it’s liek ‘damn this sucks’ about stanley and then use his dead body for body horror

also, i don’t know what it’s called, but when stanley was giving a speech about becoming a man in jewish ritual, he uses it to just talk about being a loser and it felt...... like a really ugly use of jewish tradition? i can’t go in detail about it because i’m not jewish but it was uncomfortable and used for comedy and it felt inappropriate??

mike literally only exists in the film to bring the group back together and to introduce native american brand mysticism. like he’s literally just the magiacl black man trope. no one ever expresses ANY fondness towards him at like... any point in teh film, most of the time they’re just pissed at him and it feels really ugly. i couldn’t tell you what his personality was besides “obsessed with stopping pennywise” and “on ~magical hallucinogens from the natives who only exist as backdrop to explain why a clwon demon exists”

there’s lots of flashbacks of each character bonding with each other and ZERO flashbacks of anyone bonding with mike. despite being the reason the movie exists, the movie doesn’t care about him literally at all

bev experiences domestic violence and an attempted rape and like... for no reasons besides to demonstrate she never escaped her abusive father. she is flung at both bill and ben and kisses both and has no reason to exist besides being both a sort ~inspirational pixie girl AND being a damsel in distress. she’s victimized to make ben seem less pathetic for still having a crush on her 27 years later.

bev has lots of hallucinations of her abusive father and it’s all framed around her still being her ‘little girl’ and ben’s crush on her is framed as missing her as a teenager still (as that’s all he knows of her) and it’s just... a bad parallel but he “wins” her in the end so

but not until bill cheats on his wife with her? but it’s okay because... his wife is a bad woman for uhhhhhh not liking his book ending. women who dont support their men are bad :S this is never touched on, just like bev’s domestic violence is never brought up again besides to torture her

also the cgi was fucking garbage and while it WAS funny and WAS scary and outright enjoyable a lot o the time, these flaws drag it down. the movie literally ends with the reading of the suicide note being celebrated a a good thing and it literally made my stomach drop and i felt sick to my stomach :S anything good that happened int he movie was nullified to me

[lj-writes]

I’m curious on your opinion of LoK. What’s your issue with it?

Book 1 was so ineptly written that it was fully possible to dismiss non-bender oppression as a thing that never existed and was made up to wipe out benders–and that’s how large sections of the fandom took it, in fact.

And look, Fantastic Racism in general is very easy to get wrong (looking at you, X-Men, Zootopia, too many others to name…) but LoK is particularly egregious in implying that movements for equality are essentially largescale frauds, especially when the writing is inconsistent enough to imply in places that discrimination against non-benders is in fact a problem that exists.

Abrupt fix-it at the last moment in Book 1. We’re not even allowed to experience the full tragedy of lost bending (and like, bending isn’t real so why are we supposed to care again?), that consequence has to be taken away by divine intervention because Korra was sad.

Speaking of Korra, we don’t get to watch her struggle and work her ass off the way we saw Aang or even Roku do in the brief flashbacks we got. She comes pre-equipped with water, earth, and fire at the age of five, and never even has to grow into the spiritual values of Airbending. She had her other three elements taken away and Airbending abruptly came to her because she needed it in her desperate hour. She doesn’t grow through work or by trying, but by being put in danger and pain. Looking back, this substitution of female suffering for hard work and organic development foreshadowed her end of Book 3-Book 4 trauma storyline.

As a tangent, and because I need more people to piss off apparently, this replacement of suffering for work is strongly reminiscent of Rey in the new Star Wars. Both Korra and Rey are willing to work hard, but that’s not how they actually make the most dramatic gains. Either they’re born with their prodigious talents or the work they did put in happens off screen. Their most meaningful gains come from being violated in some way by male characters, by being kidnapped, having their powers stripped, being poisoned, tied up…

I mean this is just a thinly veiled version of rape as a heroine origin story, where the thing that makes a woman truly powerful is not the hard work she puts in but the fact that some man treated her like an object.

Why are creators afraid to let women struggle? Why do we have to be born prodigies who are violated into our destinies? Yes, trauma and the way we face up to it can make us stronger, and I don’t want to take away from anyone who felt empowered by Korra’s or Rey’s stories. But when I see three seasons dedicated lovingly to Aang working to master the four elements, then Korra just getting it within a season because she had her bending stripped after being physically held down, I’m going to be just a little salty at the different ways male and female protagonists are treated.

Raava and Batu were bullshit concepts that used the trappings of yin and yang to express a stark good-evil duality. If you don’t understand what yin and yang are then stop distorting the fuck out of the imagery. And for that matter it’s pretty iffy to impose a very Christian struggle between cosmic good and evil on a universe built on Asian cultures and mythologies.

This show doesn’t even know what it wants to be. Book 2 took a complex and interesting story of a civil war between literal brothers and a moral/political debate about military interventionism, and made it into a kaiju slugfest. While the slugfest was entertaining, what the hell happened to that earlier story? It’s like Book 1 all over again, they avoided actually dealing with the political storyline they set up early in the season by shunting it aside to magic punching.

Bolin’s abuse was played for laughs. I will never not be mad about this. Because male victims of abuse are not already ridiculed enough in real life, right? Fuck whoever thought this was a good or okay idea.

Speaking of abuse, the Water Tribe brothers from Book 1 (not to be confused with the Water Tribe brothers from Book 2) dying by murder-suicide was horrifying. Hey it’s not like victims of parental abuse already feel broken and unworthy to live, let’s totally validate that by endorsing the position that the only way they have to go is death.

The brothers’ fate is such a far cry from the empowering storylines Zuko and even more minor characters like Mai and Ty Lee got escaping and recovering from their own abuse, it’s insulting for them to even exist in the same franchise.

And yeah, lots of abuse victims are assholes! But Azula was 10,000x more memorable and better written than the asshole brothers ever were, and what’s more, hers was not the only abuse victim narrative in her show–she worked as another perspective of abuse victims precisely because Zuko and the others had very different stories. LoK doesn’t have any such nuance. Just blow them up because that’s all they’re good for and we shall never mention them again.

Asami, Bolin, and Mako could have been replaced by sock puppets for all the development they got in the show. They had potential but were so massively underused while the story spent all its energy changing tracks mid-season and lurching all over the place trying to be everything. Why not do something with the characters you already have.

This show has a really big fucking underlying problem with class. The supposedly good people, Korra, Tenzin, Lin, Su-yin, Iroh II and so on are essentially aristocrats, sons and daughters of heroes and world leaders who, in the case of Korra and Tenzin, have entire organizations dedicated to serving and helping them. Their servants and the orphans they graciously take in, on the other hand, are either invisible or become traitors and Big Bads.

I mean while I squeed at Korrasami, I get cynical about it at times and wonder if what really made Asami the endgame mate for Korra and not Mako was that Asami is the daughter of a rich industrialist who inherited everything from her dickish dad, while Mako is an orphan who grew up on the streets.

Even among the underdeveloped trio of Asami, Mako, and Bolin, it’s clearly Asami who did the best in terms of character development at least toward the end, reconciling with her asshole would-be murderer dad, while Mako and Bolin’s far more interesting mixed heritage family was swept under the rug.

Speaking of which, MAKO WAS TOTALLY IN THE RIGHT FOR SNITCHING KORRA’S AWFUL INTERVENTIONIST PLAN TO THE PRESIDENT AND YOU CAN FIGHT ME ON THIS. Both Korra and Iroh II can get fucked for acting like the New Republic was their fucking property and casually trying to plunge it into war. Fuck that noise and fuck those entitled brats.

Too bad the showrunners were too cowardly to follow up on this actually interesting political and interpersonal conflict, but inconsistency and lack of follow-through are pretty much LoK’s calling cards so what else is new.

[lilacskyent-blog]

Breakfast with The Wicked Lady

Every day we see social media influencers, as well as anyone with a social media account, talk about how fake everything is. They rant about how everything is curated, modified with photoshop or facetune, and how no one is showing who they really are. This stance has always frustrated me because the way we present ourselves on social media is often times the same way we present ourselves in the real world when we want to make a good impression. This idea of trying to be our best selves, or even something as ill-conceived as “fake it ‘till you make it” was not born on social media, it’s something nearly everyone on the world does, while simultaneously craving something real. Michelle, a.k.a thewickedlady is one of the most real influencers I’ve ever encountered. Sitting with her via video chat, I feel immediately at ease because she’s normal. There’s no performance, no hyped up mess, just a really cool girl.

 Where did Wicked Lady come from?

Growing up watching Anime and Sailor Moon, I felt like I related very closely to the character Chibiusa, who is Usagi’s daughter who comes to visit Usagi from the Future. There’s a part in Sailor Moon R, where Chibiusa is convinced she is unloved by her friends and family, and she’s told that she is alone. This puts her in a really dark place and Wise Man turns her into the Wicked Lady. Growing up, I had a hard time finding myself and feeling very alone. I felt really unloved and I was in a dark place. But light was shed on me eventually and I realized that all these negative thoughts were not necessary and I should live my life to the fullest and be happy, and that’s also what helped Chibiusa return to her small lady self.

What got you into modeling?

It really wasn’t my initial plan to get into modeling, but I started when I was 18 and got serious when I was 20. I just started taking pictures when I had my pink hair, and my favorite hair dying brands started working with me. I started taking more pictures with my friends who were photographers and I grew from there. I did not do this on my own, I had a lot of help from my friends who helped me grow as an influencer and as a model and a person. I wouldn’t be anywhere without them.

Despite her modesty, Michelle is an amazing model. From the outfits she puts together to the poses the photographers capture there is pure magic in every image, even the silly ones that may or may not have been accidents. In my own personal modeling career, I pull inspiration from her work, because it’s not only beautiful but also carry an oddly perfect balance of elegance along with badass. Though from what I’ve gathered I’d say greatness with modesty is a fairly accurate way to describe Michelle. She’s absolutely incredible but doesn’t use her energy demanding you to tell her, or even acknowledge it. She’s just herself, just a girl with dreams, goals, and gifts like every other human being.

So along with everything else you have going on, you’re also a college student, what are you studying?

Currently studying Psychology, on route to receiving my bachelors, and eventually my PH.D. PSY.D in Industrial-Organizational Psychology.  Psychology has always been my favorite subject, especially growing up in an unstable home environment, I felt it would be best to learn more about mental health to help myself and my loved ones. People tend to forget that mental health is extremely important in living a healthy, and happy life. But because we can’t physically “cure” mental illness as we do with the common flu, I feel like it’s left unattended, or not taken seriously. We’ve all heard the term, “It’s a phase”, and in some cases, it really isn’t and leaves us more bruised and broken.

Mental health is one of the number one things we’re dealing with in today’s world. From loud, known cases like Kanye West, to the closed-off kids in the back of hundreds of classrooms who are feeling overwhelmed with anxiety, depression, or anything else. However despite overwhelming evidence of this challenge people still act like it doesn’t exist. People poke fun, or minimize the importance of mental health, but scream about mental health every time someone is taken from the world. It needs to be taken seriously, and taken care of.

What is the goal for you?

My main goal is to figure out myself, and create a path for myself in a way that is healthy and happy for my family and I. I don’t want to live a life dependent on money but I do want to live comfortably. In general, I would love to be able to make a difference and help people when they are feeling alone or in the dark. I know at times people feel really hopeless and let down and I want to set a reminder that people feel the same way and we should all be there for each other as a support system. (Enough serious time I also want to be the greatest pokemon master ever YAAAGGAA)

 The minute she makes this joke I break and can’t stop laughing. The fact that she can go from completely serious to completely ridiculous is so comforting. I find myself laughing not only at the joke, but at how nervous I felt when I was preparing for this interview. I’m laughing at myself for being nervous, for worrying that the real person would be different from the person on instagram, or from the Twitch streamer who will randomly stop playing a game and instead let her audience watch her bake cookies at 2am. We’ve become so used to the endless performance of content creators, that seeing someone who, it seems, is completely herself, is honestly disarming at first.

3 Breakfast must haves?

PANCAKES WITH CHOCOLATE CHIPS. (All time favorite food), Roasted Potatoes or anything with potatoes, and blueberry muffins!

Describe your perfect day

Honestly, waking up on a rainy day with my significant other and Goku(my cat) . A full 8 hours of sleep.  Not having to worry about drama or struggles. Staying in binge-watching the LOTR/ Hobbit Trilogy, drinking Hot Cocoa, eating everything and anything that I can that has potatoes and corn. (I’m a mess but I'm a SLOOT for Elote). and not having to worry about work/homework assignments in college. I’m a simple lass.

Rave or mosh pit?

Considering I used to go to a lot of concerts and got used to being swiftly kicked in the head in mosh pits, now I would prefer raves mainly because it’s a more loving and sweet environment and it’s a lot more affectionate.

Top 10 songs on your playlist right now?

Sunflower- Post Malone

IDWK - Dvbbs

Girls - The 1975

Kamikaze - MO

Take me As You Please - Story So Far

In Bloom - Neck Deep

From the Outside - Real Friends

Disrespectin’ - 88Rising

Bright Pink Tims - BlackBear

Ocean - Martin Garrix / Khalid

This playlist is available through Google Play on our blog!

 What advice would you give up and coming models to help avoid scam businesses/shady photographers? - Be cautious for red flags, pay attention to their “creative” ideas such as import/lude/ implied. If they don’t allow you to bring a friend during shoots. Check in with others who may have shot with them to get their input with their experience. Also - always meet in a public area and do not shoot with them in a private area. Try to shoot outdoors first, to see how they vibe during the shoot, and FOLLOW YOUR GUT FEELING. If something is off about them, cut the shoot short.

What got you into Twitch streaming and what do you enjoy most about it?

I used to work for a shady ass stream house with 10 other girls, and those girls turned to be the sweetest and most loving girls I’ve met. Although the work itself was garbage, it was the people who worked with me who motivated and inspired me to continue twitch streaming. I met such amazing and wonderful people within that house. <3 I love being able to get personal and talk to my viewers one on one, and I love making them laugh. If you’ve watched my twitch streams, I do dance parties in onesies because I know as much as it makes me look like a fool, it makes my viewers laugh and happy, and that’s all I want for them <3

If you could live in any Studio Ghibli movie which one would you pick?

Kiki’s Delivery Service or Mary and the Witch’s Flower <3

You're very open about mental health and your struggles with it. Was that always something you were open to sharing or was there a moment where you decided to do that?

I used to shut everyone out. I bottled up all of my emotions because I grew up being afraid of them. I was told to keep my head held high and never let my guard down. Showing sadness meant a sign of weakness to me growing up, but it just felt so inhuman to me knowing people feel the same way too and I couldn’t express it. I had a really bad experience back in middle school that completely destroyed me and my mindset. It was all because of social media. It tore me down and turned me into this monster who couldn’t learn to love herself. It stressed me out and brought so much anxiety. I figured, if ever I came back to social media, it would be to help others who felt the way I did. I don’t want anyone to feel like they were alone in life. I get it, suicide hotlines and phone numbers and therapists are provided for those who feel like they want to talk to someone. But in all honesty, it’s hard to find it within myself/yourself to talk to a complete stranger about your problems. It’s better to even talk to someone who you feel like you can trust. As a young adult, I feel like it would be better if I had open arms to those who need it.

 So I have to include at least one question about FBE and I have just one, important question: when they finish filming Try Not to Eat do they give you free rein? NOPE, WE CAN’T EAT JACK SHIT AND IT MAKES ME UPSET BECAUSE IT’S THE ULTIMATE TEASE. ( I love me some honey glazed HAM)

 If you haven’t watched the Try Not To Eat Challenge videos from FBE I highly recommend them. They’re hilarious, and Michelle is in most of them.

 Do you know how dope you are?

God No. I honestly think I’m way too dorky sometimes. I like having this persona on Instagram but being able to be myself and be goofy and fun as well. I don’t like to be serious, I really don’t. But I do have a feisty side when I see something I’m not okay with. I’m not really afraid to snap back if something doesn’t feel right.

Whether she becomes a therapist, psychologist, model, or anything else Michelle is destined for even greater and more amazing heights than she’s already reached. The world could benefit from someone not only as amazing as she is, but as honest and she is. I’m excited to see what’s next for her!

-Strawberry Smirk

[usumhujantaliris]

'What caring for my mum taught me about caring for my son'

At age 13, Penny Wincer was her mother's carer. Today she cares for her autistic son. Both experiences have convinced her society must do much more for those with the responsibility of looking after others.

I was around 30 years old, years past my mother's death, when I first heard the term "young carer". I had spent much of my teenage years supporting her while she struggled with severe depression and alcoholism. She died by suicide when I was 22. Like many people, I thought the term "carer" only applied to those who provided intensive personal care - lifting in and out of bed, bathing and feeding the elderly or dying. I hadn't realised those long evenings spent by her bedside listening to her worries, the extra household duties I took on and all those times I crept into her bedroom after returning from school to check if she was still breathing, were considered caring.

After my son Arthur was diagnosed as autistic when he was three years old, the full weight of my responsibilities as his carer hit me. I was 35 by then. As I lay awake at night, trying to adjust to the reality of this life-changing diagnosis, I was afraid, because I had been here before. Though on the surface the challenges facing my mother and my son couldn't have been more different, I knew what it was to hold someone else's life in my hands. The responsibility can be overwhelming. And yet, I had done it before.

Many unpaid family carers struggle with the word "carer". Some have told me that the word makes them feel as though they are the rescuer and their loved one a victim, which is not reflective of their relationship at all. The word itself often conjures up images of parents and children, or the very elderly. One woman in her 30s told me that it felt as though describing her husband as her carer eclipsed their relationship as husband and wife. The way the word is used often implies that it is uni-directional, as though the care only goes from carer to the person needing support - when in reality care very often goes both ways.

We as a society still largely portray disability to be a sad and bad thing. Stories about it are told through the lens of non-disabled writers and artists, who imagine being disabled to be the worst thing that could happen to you. It's a narrative that still looms large across the media, in personal family histories and in the whispered "I'm so sorry" and pitying looks when a disability is disclosed. In this world, where disabled people must still fight for even the most basic of rights, to be a carer is not a high-status position. And just like so much of the work that has traditionally been seen as feminine, care work is either low-paid or unpaid, and low-status.

As I adjusted to my son's diagnosis and the unknown future for both him and me, I realised that contrary to my initial fears, we were living a very happy life. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that I am as happy as anyone I know.

Our family life can be complicated and challenging. Everyday things that are quite straightforward for many families - play dates, family gatherings, a summer holiday, accessing education - these can often be extremely difficult for us. But somewhere along the way, I came to realise that our challenges (of which there are many) do not prevent us from having a full life. It turns out, you don't need fluent speech to have loving relationships, and far from making our lives miserable, some of the restrictions we live with mean a simplicity that many modern families crave and struggle to achieve.

It was in this realisation that I knew that my initial fears were partly due to a mismatch between expectations and reality. As humans, we often have a lot of expectations and they are not always conscious. I had no idea that I expected I would have a child who could speak until I had one who could not. This expectation, that our reality should be other than it is, was a large part of the reason why I found the diagnosis hard at first. When I was able to let go of those expectations, I was freed from many of those worries.

There were, however, other very tangible reasons for my concerns about raising a disabled child. We live in a society that still treats people with learning disabilities appallingly. Their stories are rarely told and shared, their lives often very hidden. Some of my fears for my son were well-founded. According to recent research, his life is likely to be up to 20 years shorter than the lives of his non-disabled peers, simply because he has a moderate learning disability.

I have had to fight hard for an appropriate education for him. I am constantly struggling to get him access to things like occupational therapy, which improves his life enormously. And like most families that look like ours, getting enough respite to ensure that I am rested and I can earn a living to support my family is a constant fight. Unlike parents of non-disabled children, I am truly in this for the long haul and I will need to be well enough, and financially stable enough, to support my son indefinitely.

If I separated out these very real fears from the imagined, what I saw was that it was largely society that was the problem, not my son's disability. And as his carer, the same is true for me. When the support is right, carers and the people they support can thrive. Of all the carers I have spoken with, not one of them told me they wished someone else would do it instead of them. But most of them said they needed more help, more breaks, more co-operation and less fighting for their loved one's basic rights.

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[fadingintoastoria]

Natasha Rostova and Borderline Personality Disorder

I’m halfway through reading War and Peace and also a big fan of Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812 and I’m convinced that Natasha has BPD.

To be diagnosed with BPD you have to meet at least 5 of 9 of the following signs/symptoms, which I will list and explain. Since Great Comet is what most people are familiar with right now, I’ll try to give examples from that section of War and Peace, but some examples will be from earlier in the book.

Also, all spellings of character names will be from the Signet Version of War and Peace, which is the version I will be quoting from.

Now let’s get into this.

1. Frantic attempts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

Personally, I think the word choice of “frantic” is a little bit odd, but really the point of this criteria is that a person reacts in extreme ways to the possibility of being abandoned. Natasha does this by saying extreme things at the mere thought of being abandoned. For context, this scene happens just after Prince Andrei proposes to Natasha and then tells her that it will be a year before they can actually get married:

“It’s awful! Oh it’s awful, awful!” Natasha cried suddenly, and again broke into sobs. “I shall die if I have to wait a year! It’s impossible, it’s dreadful!”

She looked into his face and saw his look of compassion and perplexity.

“No, no, I’ll do anything,” she said, instantly checking her tears. “I am so happy!”

And a bit earlier in the chapter - before that scene - when she hasn’t seen Prince Andrei in a while and assumes that she’s been abandoned by him, she also says much more that she clearly doesn’t mean:

At first Natasha listened to her mother, but all at once she interrupted her.

“Stop, Mamma! I’m not even thinking about it, and I don’t want to. He came and then just left off... just left off....”

Her voice trembled and she almost cried again, but recovered herself and went on.

“And I don’t at all want to get married. I’m afraid of him, and anyway, I’ve quite, quite got over it now.”

Maybe this isn’t quite what one might call “frantic,” but there is no denying that she is saying extreme things and showing a definite fear of being abandoned.

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

To be fair, the examples I put above could technically fit into this as well. However, I’m going to use a much more specific situation that Great Comet fans are definitely familiar with.

Natasha and her cousin Sonya are extremely close and have been through the entire book up to this point. The point in question being where Sonya, out of concern, reads the letter that Anatol wrote to Natasha. Natasha isn’t even upset when she finds this out. In fact, she “smiled ecstatically” and told Sonya that she couldn’t hide it from her any longer. Throughout their conversation, Natasha shows herself to be affectionate toward her, both verbally and physically.

However, when Sonya expresses doubt at Anatol’s love for Natasha, then Natasha starts to get upset, but not extremely upset, even though she does say that if Sonya were to tell anyone that she would be her enemy. Eventually, the discussion ends in tears.

Later on, Sonya and Natasha go to a dinner party that Anatol is at. Sonya sees the two interact and brings up the subject again to Natasha, showing even more concern this time:

“Natasha, I’m afraid for you!”

“Afraid of what?”

“I’m afraid you are going to your ruin,” said Sonya resolutely, and was herself horrified at what she had said.

Natasha’s face grew angry again.

“Then I’ll go to my ruin. I’ll go to it, and the sooner the better! It’s none of your business. It won’t be you who’ll suffer, but I! Leave me alone, leave me alone. I hate you!”

“Natasha!” gasped Sonya.

“I hate you, hate you! You’re my enemy forever!” And Natasha ran out of the room.

What I think is happening here is something referred to as black-and-white thinking or “splitting.” Basically, someone with this specific symptom of BPD has a hard time seeing people as a whole person with good traits and bad traits, but instead, sees someone as all good or all bad depending on the situation. 

I’ll even argue that her convincing herself that she’s in love with Anatol after only having seen him three times is another thing that points to her having this symptom of BPD.

3. Markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

This is something that I don’t see that strongly in Natasha. She’s described as “full of life” and through the idealistic way she views people (for the most part) and her dramatic word choices, she doesn’t stray from this description too terribly much.

What I will say about this though is that Natasha seems to love people to a fault. She even tells Sonya about Anatol: “The moment I set eyes on him I felt that he was my master and I his slave, and that I could not help loving him. Whatever he bids me to do, I shall do.”

However, this is the exception, not the rule, and I would say that this isn’t a symptom that she has. While the example given could make sense for this criterion, it’s much better explained by the one listed prior to this.

4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging.

Impulsive behavior is at the very core of Natasha’s entire being.

First off, let’s state the obvious. Trying to elope with someone that she had only seen four times at this point and known for about a week (or even less) is extremely impulsive and definitely could have ended horribly for her.

She says impulsive things too. Things that could easily ruin her relationships with people she truly does care about. She says these things to Sonya, to Pierre, to Marya, to Andrei, to her mother... need I go on?

5. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior.

One suicide attempt is not enough to meet this criterion, and as we know, Natasha attempts to poison herself with arsenic after she finds out that Anatol is married.

However, besides this very obvious example, Natasha mentions dying and says she “shall die” very frequently.

She said it to Prince Andrei earlier, in an example already stated.

After her elopement with Anatol is intercepted, Natasha tells Marya Dmitrievena: “Leave me be... what do I... I shall... die.”

Also - after she has already attempted suicide - when talking to Pierre she implies it again saying that “For me all is over,” after Pierre says she has her whole life before her.

These are just a few of the times that she mentions that she shall die or is suicidal. I suppose Tolstoy was the only one who would ever truly know how serious those threats are, but with one suicide attempt and many mentions of death under her belt, I’d say this criterion is definitely met.

6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (eg intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually only lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).

I will consider this criterion not met for the sake of my lack of examples of something definitive to point to for this.

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness.

I don’t think she has this either. She does, in conversation with her brother Nikolai, mention that she feels like this occasionally, her exact words being: “Does it ever happen to you? Do you ever feel as if nothing will ever happen - nothing; that everything good is past? And you feel not so much bored as sad?”

Since that’s the only thing I can definitively point to her implying that she feels empty, I’d say this is more of a passing feeling than a common feeling for her.

8. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger.

Well, she blows up at Sonya for one.

Another example that comes to mind for this is this:

Before Natasha had finished singing, fourteen-year-old Petya rushed into the room in great excitement to announce that some mummers had arrived.

Natasha stopped abruptly. 

“Idiot!” she screamed at her brother, and running to a chair, she flung herself into it and broke into such violent sobbing that it was a long while before she could stop.

“It’s nothing, Mamma, really it’s nothing. Only Petya startled me,” she said, trying to smile, but her tears continued to flow, and she was choked by sobs.

Neither Natasha’s anger nor her reactions to events ever really seem to be in proportion to the situation at hand.

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

Natasha goes into states of “intoxication” at the opera and elsewhere in the book, where she is described as having no idea where or who she is. These states of intoxication describe the state of dissociation so well that I’d say I’m completely confident that this is what she’s experiencing.

So in conclusion, she definitely has at least 5 of the 9 symptoms of borderline personality disorder required for a diagnosis. Let me know what you think of this or if you have any other examples that I haven’t thought of.

[sinagbuhi-blog]

Positive Education in the Spirit of Don Bosco

by Regio L. Sales, MD Introduction        When I hear of incidents like stealing in the classroom, students fighting their teacher, teachers abandoning their students, teachers publicly humiliating their students, and students addicted to video games or cigarettes, it makes me wonder why these incidents occur inspite of their parents' and teachers' best efforts, and leads me to reflect on what could be happening in our schools which could have resulted to these problems. I believe these are just symptoms of some deeper ailment in our schools and educational system. There could be lots of probable causes of these, but one which insidiously affects some students (even some teachers) and causing them to disengage from school is depression and the lack of meaning in life. Depression in Boys       In 2011, the WHO showed that "the Philippines has the highest incidence of depression in Southeast Asia with 93 suicides for every 100,000 Filipinos." Some have speculated that these could be due to feelings of helplessness and overall frustration over the lack of progress in their personal lives associated with the lack of inclusive growth in the country which should benefit all sectors of the society.       Our concern, however, is the rising incidence of suicide among the young which is usually a result of depression. In the WHO Student Health Survey in the Philippines (2003-2004), 17.1% had seriously considered committing suicide in the year previous to the study and 16.7 % had made a plan about how they would commit suicide. Among all youth, females were more than twice as likely as males to have had suicidal thoughts. However, males were slightly more likely to carry out a suicidal act than females  (for ages 15 to 19 males and females had both 22.4% attempted suicide incidence; for the 20 to 24 year olds 33.3% males and 29.6% females).       According to Dr. Elizabeth E. Rondain, a psychiatrist at Makati Medical Center, suicide is always an offshoot of severe depression or profound sadness. She also said that among teenagers, depression could also manifest itself in rebellious behavior such as stealing, using drugs or alcohol, anger, confusion, or marked changes in behavior. During adolescence, when there is a constant seeking for approval among the young as well as the need to discover who they are and where they belong, family and school issues could contribute to a feeling of rejection and add to a teenagers' sense of grief.       Furthermore, William Pollack, a clinical psychologist at the Center for Men at McLean Hospital/Harvard Medical School, suggests that in order to diagnose depression among boys the following symptoms should be watched carefully : 1. Increased withdrawal from relationships and problems in friendships. 2. Depleted or impulsive mood. 3. Increase in intensity or frequency of angry outbursts. 4. Denial of pain. 5. Increasing rigid demands for autonomy or acting out. 6. Concentration, sleep, eating, or eight disorders, or other physical symptoms    ( such as stomachaches, headaches, or fatigue). 7. The inability to cry. 8. Low self-esteem and harsh self-criticism. 9. Academic difficulties. 10. Overinvolvement with academic work or sports. 11. Increased aggressiveness. 12. Increased silliness. 13. Avoiding the help of others. 14. New or renewed interest in alcohol or drugs. 15. Shift in the interest level of sexual encounters. 16. Increased risk-taking behavior. 17. Discussion of death, dying, or suicide.        Dr. Pollack adds that it would be extremely rare for any boy who is depressed to exhibit all the above symptoms, but recommends to take immediate steps to help the boy as soon as any of these symptoms are detected.        In order to prevent our boys from drifting away from us Dr. Pollack proposes some proactive steps : - Be alert about the boys' friendships and relationships. - Be watchful for signs of depression and intervene early. - Don't be afraid to consult with a therapist. - If a boy's depression is severe, medical intervention may be necessary. - Try to address the big picture. What their lives are at home, at school, and in society in general. Is he being    bullied? Is he struggling with his subjects? Are his friendships working out well? Is there any family history of depression? - Stay on top of the facts about depression and talk about them openly. Since some (if not most) boys tend to put on a mask about their real feelings, having honest talks about how tough and disappointing things can get in life or how society can be unfair,  we set the stage for honesty and open the door for sharing emotions without embarrassment or shame. What Would  Don Bosco Do       Faced with the problems of boys in our time it would be wise to go back to the ideas and methods that St. John Bosco have applied to his boys in the Oratory. But before we go further, it would be nice to remember the "continuing presence" of the Father of the Youth in his work for the boys, aiming for their happiness.       While reflecting on how Don Bosco could have handled the pressing problems of our boys and our schools, I started with the three tools that our founder have left us : his prophetic dream of the Blessed Mother which pointed out how he should deal with boys while was nine years of age ("Not with blows but with gentleness and charity must you win over these friends of yours."); his version of the Preventive System based on Loving-kindness, Reason, and Religion; and his idea of the Four-fold Balance between the lives of the boys in the Church, in the School, in the Home, and in the Playground.        However, in the course of my quest to find solutions to our present predicament through the writings of Don Bosco, I  serendipitously stumbled upon an inspirational letter of Fr. Carlo Maria Martini the Archbishop of Milan in which he was inspired by a vision of St. John Bosco while he was pondering the same problems in 1988. The following are some notes and excerpts from that letter.      The concept of the Oratory as a center "where young people feel as if they are at home, can express themselves, discover happiness, many friends and that absolutely necessary help to grow up well and become, like he used to say, ‘honest citizens and good Christians’ " is a model of an institution which safeguards the mental, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing of the boys. And in the Oratory, the Preventive System was the method which Don Bosco followed to set young people "so happily on the path to virtue".      "The practice of the Preventive System is based entirely on the words of St. Paul: 'Charity is patient....suffers everything, hopes in everything, puts up with everything.'...Loving-kindness is expressed in words, gestures, and even in facial expressions, glances. And it is also important that young people are not only loved but that they themselves are aware that they are being loved."      In the vision Fr. Martini quotes Don Bosco as saying : "Loving-kindness implies an awareness which is not superficial but deep-down, not only intellectual but also felt...  And yes, it is not so easy to understand a person well. In fact, I would say that it's impossible if we don't love the person, if our starting point is our prejudices towards the person or if we have no trust in or esteem for the person."      Don Bosco also recalled that when the assistant at the Oratory, Fr. Fontana, shouted at a rowdy youngster:  "You appalling, ignorant little ratbag... you won't end up too good, let me tell you!", Don Bosco was quick to correct him by saying: "No, don't say that." "You have to tell youngsters what they can do well in life, not what they do badly."      Another suggestion of Don Bosco is to "let the young people accept greater responsibility." He also added, "It seems to me that the young person who earns or constructs life for him or herself is much happier and more satisfied than the one who, contrariwise, finds everything easy and at hand without a need to think, plan, sweat and get down to things."...."a person becomes responsible where there is appropriate self-respect and esteem for one’s capabilities and where daily experience offers the feeling of being truly useful to others as well." That's why Don Bosco gave responsibilities to his older boys (14 to 18 years of age) to to teach younger students math, counsel those with problems, teach catechism, and do volunteer service. Furthermore, our founder said, "It is difficult for them (the boys) to do it alone, even if it is their will which ultimately has to make the decision. They need an environment which is naturally rich and optimistic, where there are accepting families, religious motivations, people consecrated to them."        With regards to the second foundation of the Preventive System - Reason, this is what Don Bosco in the vision said, "Let yourselves be guided by reason and not by passion. Use it with the littlest ones also. Orders, programmes, even punishments have to be motivated by reason. Offer reasonable goals, goals which are possible and understandable to them. And teach them to do the same. Teach young people to think, to have a good critical sense, to develop a capacity for discernment, for formulating objective judgments and discovering the true meaning of life and this world. Reason will help them to know reality, to understand situations and problems, to foresee the consequences of their choices and actions, to discover the Truth."       Lastly Don Bosco spoke about Authentic Religious Instruction, the third foundation of his pedagogy, as follows: "The second means I have found effective in educating well is religion. I know that not everyone agrees with this because they cannot understand its value, sometimes because some educators have interpreted and practiced it badly. The Christian religion is above all a filial relationship of adoration and love, uniting us to God our Father, through Jesus Christ the Saviour of all. This gives rise to close relationships with all human beings....Through religious instruction and frequenting the sacraments you will develop a love for yourself and for their neighbour in your young people."       Thus, even though the Preventive System of St. John Bosco was penned during the later part of the nineteenth century, the wisdom it imparts still applies to the problems of our youth and our educational institutions today. Positive Psychology in Education      St. Dominic Savio, one of Don Bosco's pupils, expressed that "holiness consists of being cheerful" as an outpouring of the joy he had experienced in the Oratory. It was only in 1998 that science had caught on with the wisdom conveyed by this saintly boy in the new field of Positive Psychology.      Unlike the traditional practice of psychology which deals with diseases and human weaknesses as well as how to treat mental disorders, the new field of Positive Psychology ( or Psychology of Happiness ) initiated by Dr. Martin Seligman in 1998 expands the scope of psychology to include the study of positive emotions, human strengths, and "what makes life worth living." Dr. Seligman has also defined happiness as "the experience of positive emotions - pleasure combined with deeper feelings of meaning and purpose...it consists of three measurable components: pleasure, engagement, and meaning."       The framework that Positive Psychology wants to emphasise is "an empirical research endeavour and not mere grandmotherly common sense." The following are just some of its surprising research findings: ● Optimistic people are much less likely to die of heart attacks than pessimists, controlling for all known physical risk factors (Giltay et al., 2004). ● Women who display genuine (Duchenne) smile to the photographer at age eighteen go on to have fewer divorces and more marital satisfaction than those who display fake smiles (Keltner et al., 1999). ● Externalities (e.g., weather, money, health, marriage, religion) added together account for no more than 15% of the variance in life satisfaction (Diener et al., 1999). ● The pursuit of meaning and engagement are much more predictive of life satisfaction than the pursuit of pleasure (Peterson et al., 2005). ● Economically flourishing corporate teams have a ratio of at least 2.9:1 of positive statements to negative statements in business meetings, whereas stagnating teams have a much lower ratio; flourishing marriages, however, require a ratio of at least 5:1 (Gottman & Levenson, 1999; Fredrickson & Losada, 2005). ● Self-discipline is twice as good a predictor of high school grades as IQ (Duckworth& Seligman, 2005). ● Happy teenagers go on to earn very substantially more income 15 years later than less happy teenagers, equating for income, grades and other obvious factors (Diener et al., 2002).       On the other hand, Positive Education is defined as "education for both traditional skills and for happiness." It also involves the application  of Positive Psychology in the school setting and can form the basis of preventive practices within the school. Positive Education is based on the discovery that "our brains are literally hard-wired to perform at their best not when they are negative or even neutral, but when they are positive."      With the high prevalence worldwide of depression among the young, teaching the skills for happiness and well-being has been found to fight depression (Seligman et al., 2005), they engender more life satisfaction (Peterson, Park, & Seligman, 2005; Seligman et al., 2005), and they promote learning, particularly creative learning (Fredrickson, 1998).      Psychologist Natasha Trent of the University of Birmingham states that "the foundations of positive education stem from four principles in order to bring out the HERO out in all students. HERO is explained below: Hope – a positive motivational state that is based on a sense of success. Efficacy – self-efficacy is the belief that one has the capabilities to execute the course of actions required, to manage prospective situations. Resiliency – the capacity to bounce back from adversity, conflict, fear of increased responsibility, etc. which can be learnt. Optimism- the expectancy of positive outcomes."      Ms. Trent further recommends some tips for teachers in the application of Positive Psychology which are as follows: • Environment is important- so use displays and positive messages around the classroom to stimulate and engage your students’ minds. • Integrate wellbeing into your lesson plans wherever possible, i.e. deep breathing activities to relax learners after lunchtime will hardly cut into your teaching time and requires minimal preparation. • Lead by example- if you demonstrate that you are taking action to develop your own well-being, your students will follow. • Encourage students to develop their character strengths. Character strengths or signature strengths can be determined by answering a free questionnaire at: www.viame.org or www.authentichappiness.sas.upenn.edu/questionnaires.aspx. • Introduce wellbeing activities (such as fun exercises, meditation, laughing therapy, practice gratitude, positive scents and music, gardening).      For the optimal effects, parents should also apply some Positive Psychology interventions at home too. Below are some things that Ms. Trent suggests parents can do at home: • Put up positive messages around the house and/or in your children’s bedrooms, so their spirits are constantly being lifted and nurtured. • Encourage your children to have five minutes quiet time to reflect, at the beginning or end of the day. • Make sure you know what your children are passionate about and take a keen interest, by asking them questions and spending time with them doing this. For example, if your children are passionate about dancing, then go with them to a dance show. • Tell your children regularly that they are great and that they can do whatever they put their minds to. • Monitor what your children watch and listen to. Your children’s thoughts affect the way they feel, and ultimately how they will behave. In the Salesian school system for boys which takes its inspiration from the "free, creative, and exuberant" environment of St. John Bosco's Oratory, one unique feature is the Don Bosco Youth Center which is basically a game room with no computer games. Aside from being a place of wholesome indoor games and recreational reading, this could also serve some deeper purposes : - Infuse more happiness for the boys which could enhance their mental health and wellbeing. - Improve the reading skills of the boys while they pore over books, comic books, and magazines which boys like. - This could serve as a venue for teachers and Salesians to engage in the informal educational method of play, which is an integral part of St. John Bosco's pedagogy. - This could serve as a healthy alternative to video games for those who are already addicted to the computer games which are disengaging our boys from school. Conclusion    Happiness, both on earth and in heaven, has been the aim of Don Bosco's educational principles as they are expressed in his version of the Preventive System. This is congruent with the scientific perspective of Positive Psychology. But in order for the three basic principles of Don Bosco's pedagogy (Loving-kindness, Reason, and Religion) and the interventions of Positive Education to be truly lived out with the students, the "presence" of the teacher is indispensable. This kind of presence should not just be physical but, as the educationist John Parankimalil, SDB describes, should be "qualitative". He further expounds that this type of presence should have the following characteristics : 1. A motivating presence - one that infuses enthusiasm, encouragement, and is optimistic. The presence of the educator infuses in the child a thirst for knowledge. 2. A personal presence - The presence of the teacher is such that each child feels known, loved, and accepted. 3. An incarnational presence - Loving what your students love or 'getting under their skin' has an important purpose: seeing the world through their eyes will make them want to experience the world and the values you live by. 4. A creative presence - Being open to the joy of discovery which means being ready to try new ways, new solutions, and new ideas. 5. A preventive and corrective presence - Being there with them to be respectful reminders about rules and in order to prevent exposure to harm. Faults are best corrected by being reasonable, polite, factual, firm, and to the point.   Finally, Fr. P.D. Johny (Parankimalil), SDB concludes that "the system of education of Don Bosco serves as a wise and time-tested framework for every teacher. It is intensively challenging while at the same time amply rewarding. Indeed, teaching – according to the educational method of Don Bosco – is the delicate art of growing with your students." References: ILDA. Reports say Filipinos are sad and depressed in the Philippines. Get Real Post. Martini, Cardinal Carlo Maria. Don Bosco Writes To Us. Milan, 1988. Morrison, John and Fedrigotti, Lanfranco. The Educational Philosophy of St. John Bosco and the Twentieth Century's Conversation about Education. Hong Kong. Parankimalil, John. Preventive System: A System of Presence and Expression. Pollack, William. Real Boys. New York, 1998. Seligman, Martin, et.al..Positive Education: Positive Psychology and Classroom Interventions. Philadelphia, USA,2009. Snyder,C.R. and Lopez, Shane J.. Handbook of Positive Psychology. New York,2002. Terjesen, Mark, et.al.. Integrating Positive Psychology into Schools: Implications for Practice. New York, 2004. Trent, Natasha. Positive Psychology in Schools. 2013. WHO. The Health of Adolescents in the Philippines.