#if any of these exist I do apologise but I've not come across them

[traumagenic-positivity]

Here's a thing, I wanted to ask abt this

I apologise if it comes across as rude, or if it isn't the right place for me to talk about this, feel free to delete this ask if you want to.

I used to be pro endo, key term here is "used to be". I thought I was an endogenic system too, lol.

Now, I'm almost certain I'm a singlet, despite a somewhat weird sense of self and occasionally disassociating, I do have trauma, but I genuinely do not believe I'm a system. But, after reading quite a lot and actually researching systems, I can't believe endos exist anymore.

However, I am friends with a few endos, or rather, they say they're traumagenic now, but I can't help but believe they're faking it. They seem to switch whenever they want and talk to eachother through discord chat and their headmates are in multiple relationships with their partner systems headmates. They split alters of all their ocs at seemingly random times.

I do care about them, but I don't know how to deal with thinking they're faking.

Especially since while I no longer think I'm a system, I'm stuck still saying I'm one because a few of their headmates are "in love" with my "headmates", and recently when I stopped talking about my headmates, which I have realised don't actually exist, their headmates start talking about being depressed, and they panic and say their headmates disappeared or are trying to kill themselves.

I wanted advice about this, i.e, how to talk to them about not actually being a system without them getting upset.

oh nonnie :< well, I want to say first that I'm proud of you for this!!

switching is different for every system, but it can be an easier and more fluid thing! we don't personally use discord, but writing/texting can make communication easier!

the relationships thing I've found to be decently common when people have a partner system!

and the splitting is hard! some systems are more prone to splitting than others! so it may seem like it is seemingly random, but they could've gotten triggered or stressed out and split! [we've also hyperfixated on too many ocs and then split them </3]

now, headmates cannot die. loud and clear. they can't die. but they can go dormant, which is a common things in systems! I suppose it can be distressing for your headmates to go dormant, or not to front as much, but it's decently normal!

i think you should have the conversation with them! if they truly get upset, you should consider maybe ending the friendship.

I think fakeclaiming can be harmful, as well, but ultimately everything is up to you!

[sorry for any mistakes! it's around 4:30 am </3]

[deadbeatbirdmom]

Feel free to resort to 4 if I'm getting annoying, but I'm curious about 8, 10, 12, 17 & 22 for that ask game.

Not at all annoying! Thanks for the ask game questions. I hope you mean this one, it is the one I reblogged most recently.

I'll answer 4 as well anyway, and I certainly don't feel the need to resort to it with you.

On to the questions, under a read more cut because this is likely to get a bit long:

4. what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

It doesn't take much to make me block someone. All they need to do is hate on Yang or Bumbleby, and they're on thin ice if they hate on any of team RWBY. Or quite possibly if they hate on RWBY as a whole at the moment. To be clear, just criticism that doesn't actually come across as hate is fine. I'm well aware none of the above are perfect, and that makes them more realistic. No one is perfect.

Blocking also doesn't mean I hate someone. It just means I don't want to see the hate they say about something I love.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Okay, so I'm not sure how common this is, and this is my opinion and it doesn't actually make everyone else wrong: Yang and her self sacrificial thing. I don't think she can stop trying to save her loved ones and even people she doesn't even like if she sees them in danger. It's a core part of her character. It's what she does. It also isn't like any of her team would do any differently in her shoes.

10. worst part of fanon

Jaune harem fics. They don't really affect me because of my firm belief in don't like; don't read, but even coming across their summaries on AO3 is enough to make me consider muting the author. As for here on tumblr, there's a reason I have Jaune's tag on my filtered list. And it's not because I hate him. I don't. He's not one of my favs, but I think he's a great support character, and Weiss would be dead without him. And she is one of my favs.

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

I don't actually know how unpopular she is for sure, I've just come across hate for her, and the way she can be depicted in fics doesn't always tally with how she actually is in canon: Raven Branwen.

Raven is a mess. She's the deadbeat birdmom. She contributed to Yang's abandonment issues. Sure, hurting Yang should be reason enough for me to hate her, but I don't. Raven is complicated, and I'm sure we don't know exactly why she did what she did yet.

Why more people should like her: she's a complicated mess who still cares about her daughter. Yes, she did let Yang take the Relic of Knowledge and put a target on Yang's back instead of her own. But she also apologised and cried, and that isn't the sort of thing I can believe Raven would do if she didn't care. I'd be surprised if she's apologised much in her life.

Raven is also a badass and good in a fight, one of the best in the RWBY cast of characters, and that's when she isn't even using her Maiden powers.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

There can never be enough Yang. Granted that's with the caveat that there's some ships I have no interest in seeing, such as Dragonslayer (Jaune and Yang), but I don't mind that it exists. I just avoid it.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Hm. I don't know that everyone ignores it, as I'll be amazed if there's no fics at all about it, but I guess it's that Yang punched and blew up Salem's tits without facing any real consequences. That may be because it was temporary and Salem was more annoyed with others present, and it may also be because Yang's team as yet have no idea. They might have something to say about her doing that if they knew.

[pissodeluxe]

Money is so insidious.

Never before have I wished to be wealthy like I do right now. My heart is bleeding every time I see another post, another face, another please do not scroll. I empty everything I can find into fundraisers and sim cards and organisations feeding the hungry.

I've never been wealthy. In all the ways possible in a Scandinavian welfare state, I've been poor. I've grown up hungry and without proper clothes. I've been homeless several times. But I've never wanted to be wealthy. What would I do with money, I always thought. Buy a car I don't wish to drive? Buy a house that I probably won't know how to live in? I once was gifted a lottery scratcher that was a single, final digit away from being the winner and all I remember is the feeling of stress. I don't like money. I was relieved when it wasn't there.

Rock stars fly around in private jets, rich men build rockets and force their workers to piss themselves on the line, my country's subreddits are full of people advising each other on how to become wealthier through becoming shareholders, the famous and the aristocrats waltz around in pointless fashions giving pointless interviews and here we all are on Silly, Pointless Tumblr, half of us are already begging each other for help, for just a single dollar, just anything at all, just enough to feed my dog, just enough to buy my medication, someone please save my cat.

And we're apparently the only place where the cries for help from Gaza and Sudan are even heard anymore. Across the street the owners of the new, fancy apartments with the rooftop gardens whose gentrification has caused five new dog grooming salons to open up in an area that used to be only run down mechanics and car parks, they come here to my government apartment blocks and park their expensive cars, because our parking was always too far away from any place useful to be used like this.

Those people, I see them around. Talking about terrorism and complications, talking about their political views of fiscal responsibility and moral conservatism like they know anything at all about what life is like. They look at me sideways because I'm a filthy homo. They could help but they would never. They need that money, how else would they have their next date night at that Michelin restaurant. How else would they book their next vacation and buy a second Mercedes.

I'd key their disgusting cars except I'm pretty sure they have surveillance built in, and I'm a single parent and I'm already doing my best to find any leftover cash to donate it. I can't afford a fine. But I wish I could hurt them even just a little. Make them think twice before telling anyone who'd listen about how great they're doing. We're not even allowed to have dogs here. Not that I know anyone who would have their dog groomed. We don't even go to the human hair dressers. Five dig grooming shops in an area that I can walk across in twenty minutes.

I hate it.

I want the wealthy to suffer poverty. To feel hunger at night. To be afraid of the end of the month. I want them to feel what it is like to have their rent go up further than their income reaches. I want them to know the desolation having nowhere to go. No home and no family.

I want politicians to become powerless. I want them to become as irrelevant as the victims of their ruthless campaigning. I want them to yell in vain at a world that no longer listens.

I want open borders. I want all of us to weather the coming climate together, I want us to share what we have.

I want Palestine to be free. I want it's people to be compensated and apologised to somehow. I want their olive trees to grow back. I want Zionists to become a ridiculed minority again. I want Jews to be allowed to exist outside of some political nightmare state that claims to speak for them.

I want corporations to become illegal. I want previous metals and whatever else is causing people to be murdered and tortured to be respected and reused. We have enough smart phones, we have enough. I'm ashamed to admit I don't even know what the rest of the current conflicts are really about, because I'm so heartbroken all the time that I'm afraid for my health if I keep reading. I want the world to be safe for Muslims. I want us to get over the stupid, evil racism that's been driving us to murder and maim and torture and starve and kidnap and

I want it to stop. I can't accept that wanting it to stop is "too naive" or "too utopian." I don't care. Let me be childish then, and say that I want it to end. The suffering, the cruelty. I want a just world where everyone is given food and shelter. I want a world where no one gets to just claim the right to hurt their fellow humans.

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that so many have already been killed for pointless reasons and unfair wars. I'm sorry that the protests aren't listed to (yet!) I'm sorry that people feel allowed to turn a blind eye. I feel sick to see my country folk pretend like they don't know anything. I'm sorry I don't have the money to help everyone reach their needs, and I'm sorry I'm centering myself in this rant that my one follower will see. Like my heartbreak matters. Like my exhaustion is worth mentioning.

But I refuse to believe that this is how it will be. I refuse a future where not everyone is allowed to have a happy, safe life. I refuse it. There is too much good in this world. We will be heard. Our childish dreams will be made more and more real until the selfish forget that they ever denied them. We will keep fighting and building and sharing until everyone is cared for, until justice is done. We will learn to take care of each other and the ground that carries us. We will learn to become what we want. We will have clean air, clean water, clean food.

There's been enough pain. Something's gotta give. It's been paid for a thousand times already. This planet is too mathematically unlikely to just end up empty. Injustice is a losers game. Because I said so.

[wetcatspellcaster]

For companion!tav asks; General 7, Story 9 and 15?

7. Do they have their own personal quest that spans the course of the game? Can it take different branching paths depending on the choices the Player Character makes?

Hahaha, so in my fanfic, I've just put my selfish hands all over House of Hope - I think that Rosalie would see a woman called Hope trapped in a house, and the agoraphobic in her Would Take That Personally and insist on her being saved. So I guess her personal quest is sort of... Halsin levels of involvement (a mission that already exists becoming outcome relevant to her).

Her branching pathway across the game would be a conflict of emotion vs. reason - in a good playthrough, I think she would take the role of mum friend, and approve of good choices. The end of her quest is just her hosting a fun night for everyone in the Elfsong a la Varric in Inquisition, just bc I think the game sorely needs that kind of social scene, and it would culminate in her admitting her illness! In an evil playthrough, you can get her to stay with your party by continually appealing to her to be logical and ruthless as a means of survival through persuasion checks - this would result in her volunteering to become the mindflayer for the final battle, as she will believe this will be the only way to self-medicate after the tadpoles are gone, and she doesn't mind the sacrifice.

9. Do they have a unique dialogue if the Player Character lets them die when they steal the Blood of Lathander?

Lmao, is it bad that I think the unique dialogue is if the Player Character lets Astarion die? "You really should apologise to Astarion, you know. That's like... the one thing he's sensitive about!!!"

15. How do they react when the Dark Urge first reveals their amnesia and murderous thoughts to them?

I genuinely think (as a companion using the tadpole to medicate their mental illness) that they would be The Most Sympathetic Companion. Like I say that with my full chest. She would be heartbroken that someone is suffering while she is thriving, and would explicitly ask if the tadpole helps at all and be even more sad when she hears that is not the case.

At the end of the conversation, she would say, "if you ever need anything, or want to talk through any of these thoughts, please come to me. I'm not an expert, but I... understand. And a burden shared, is a burden halved." (she also just... isn't scared lmao. Obviously. So if the Durge does fucked up shit she'd still be their ride-or-die.)

Companion!Tav ask list

[hphmmatthewluther]

June: Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests

I've finally found time to do a prompt for @hp-12monthsofmagic !! I took a somewhat unorthodox approach to the prompt, but either way I hope everyone likes it!!

All ocs involved are my own, but there's a lil reference to @the-al-chemist 's Hexley Saga in there too!

(a cute picrew of a sleepy matt i made a while back as a bonus)

Oftentimes in Wizarding Education, certain students will come across their own ancestors within the school curriculum, or perhaps the precise spell or potion required for them to surpass a problem they are facing at the time. We therefore give leniency whenever said students decide to be a little snarky when it comes to things that appear in their N.E.W.T. exam which may have either helped them in their school years, or perhaps tried to kill them. Some examples from both recent years and in the past are shown below to show examiners what sort of sarcastic jabs to accept (after all, it is technically a form of showing your working.) - Professor Tofty

Defence against the Dark Arts : True or False: All forms a Boggart can take can be transformed into something to be laughed at with Riddikulus or defeated at all. Explain your answer.

“False - sometimes the fears they show are too traumatic or inescapable to be changed by Riddikulus. However, the statement also says that they cannot be defeated at all, which according to conventional magic is true but recent developments in wandless magic mean that boggarts can be transformed into things that provide hope with the spell Gratia Salutaris (If this has not been recognised by the curriculum yet, I apologise)” - Matthew Luther, 1991 (he would make several more apologies in his answers throughout the exams)

Herbology: Outline and Evaluate the use of flesh-eating slugs to clear weeds of magical and non-magical varieties.

“To use flesh-eating slugs would be a disastrous idea for a variety of reasons, for instance the possible damage they could do to the magic of the natural area if they are allowed to graze freely much like miniature cattle, the fact that they are unable to discriminate between what qualifies as a weed and what is a desired plant, that the use of the word “weed” is fundamentally flawed as it removes any possible uses the plant might have; as a matter of fact these slugs might accidentally destroy a weed which holds the cure for dragon pox within, just because some fool thought it didn’t fit with his lawn. The flesh-eating may also be a problem, I suppose.” - Atticus Doherty, 1890’s (this is one of 19 examples of snark within Mr Doherty’s Herbology N.E.W.T. answers)

Care of Magical Creatures: Explain why Acromantula in Britain have been deemed unapproachable despite them being sentient creatures.

“Because they’re all, pardon my French, assholes. In a place like New York, an acromantula’s gonna be all too willing to help you out if a sorcerer gets lost in that brilliant, sprawling city. In Britain, meanwhile, they wouldn’t even lift a leg to help a student out who got trapped in a Forest, even if they’d been cursed with sleepwalking and unable to wake up until some crystal in a Vault got broken. The Acromantula just thinks that all that means a free meal, and until they stop seeing humans in need as free meals, they’re not gonna get to join the cool spiders in New York, who actually contribute to society, like how they inspired Spider-Man.” - Mayson Kowalski, 1992 (MACUSA recently asked if they could use Mr Kowalski’s answers to help inform their travel brochures to the magical part of New York City.)

Potions: “Amortentia should be made illegal.” To what extent do you agree, using evidence from your knowledge of potion-making?

“Amortentia is quite possibly one of the most dangerous potions in existence and yet it is still often sold very freely from joke shops. While I understand that their use is something of a tradition, it is one that needs to be halted as soon as possible. While the moral reasons for limiting the use of the potion are obvious, in terms of potion-making there is no general consensus in the potioneering community on just how powerful Amortentia can be, what the long-term effects of its use are, or if it can have a negative impact during pregnancy (trialling of which would be very much unethical, even by Wizarding standards). Furthermore, when brewed incorrectly the potion can gather something of an intelligence in order to create hallucinations and entice nearby people to drink from it, which directly contravenes ethical guidelines on trust towards intelligent magical items that lack an obvious physical brain. If I were to list the moral reasons too, I would be here all day.” - Joseph J. Luther, 1991 (examiners reported twice as much “unprofessional” language from this question than any other question)

Divination: Predict how many marks you will receive for your answer to this question based on your own chosen method of divining future events.

“From my predictions, I foresee that I will get full marks, on this question at least. Of course, this is partially influenced by how much I want to get a good score, as well as the general loopiness of this question. Furthermore, it lets me do something rather interesting to demonstrate my divinatory power, namely that every time someone reads over this answer, a bird will fly just outside the window. If I’m right, you can give me full marks!” - Jane Luther, 2015 (Ms. Luther’s exams are to be held in the Department of Mysteries once they have been marked and whatever magic her answers have caused has been cleaned up, and you are asked to scorch out her questions on this example sheet when you are done with it, not only for the sake of our understanding of magic, but so that you do not have a flock of birds outside your window - something Professor Tofty discovered the hard way.)

Charms: Explain why the use of chronomancy is so limited for sorcerers.

“The main reason is that human reflexes aren’t capable of the constant exact rhythm needed to perform time magic. Sort of like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time, a sorcerer would need to perform so many movements at such precise times that it is likely that they would never get more than a few seconds backwards or forwards on their own, barring freak accidents. To combat this though, I think that the use of non-magical technologies such as clockwork could be vital in solving this. With something like a pocket watch a person could use the precise rhythms created by gears and mechanisms to complete that part of the spell and hey presto, chronomancy is far easier!” -Frederick Graham, 1890s. (While this was marked harshly at the time, when Mr. Graham helped to invent the time turner soon after leaving school his grade was retroactively raised from a P to an E, and that marker was fired for incompetence and a general lack of creativity.)

History of Magic: Why was there a degree of resistance to the creation of Hogwarts in the 10th century?

“Simply put, the many lords and nobles of the British Isles at the time all had something of a temper tantrum when it was suggested that the mages they relied on should be treated with a modicum of respect and privacy. They tried their hardest to convince sorcerers working for them to actively combat any attempt to make Hogwarts a reality, helped in part by the Silver Kingdom of the Changelings. However, it could be argued that this was more a hindrance than a help as it soon tied the nobles to the fate of the Silver Kingdom, but because the question only asked “why” I can simply leave my answer here.” - Trinity Reynolds, 1999 (History of Magic has seen a remarkable increase of snark in recent years after the sucking off (the technical term for a ghost moving on to the afterlife) of Professor Binns.)

These examples form a common trend of trying to cope with the immense pressure that N.E.W.T.s bring to students of Hogwarts. While it is certainly true that they must revise a great deal of content and write it in a way that is understandable, the manner of how they present that information is mostly up to them; thus, being teenagers almost finished with schooling and likely in a swelteringly hot room, showing one’s work through snark becomes a desirable option, and one that we have grown to accommodate for. - Professor Tofty.

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

I know I just sent an ask telling you to rest but since you'll answer these later anyway I couldn't resist sending this in because of something that happened sjsjsj

What happened is irrelevant, it just made me come on here- and I apologize in advance because this will be kinda long

I'm honestly so tired of people defending bakugou's (no capital B for you mf) actions, comparing it to their own and making it sound as though it's okay (baby you make yourself look even worse) and making absurd theories about his reasons for bullying Izuku that I didn't even know existed until I came across this blog and as a former bully (who deeply regrets it and hates bullying of any sort) I'm here to give my two cents. Forgive me if it's horribly structured and/or incoherent because I'm exhausted as well. I'll also be comparing him to me, and while I know everyone's different, this is mostly just to show what could have happened

To the people who say bakugou's changed for the better, you're entitled to your opinion so here's mine- no he hasn't. He really hasn't. He hasn't even tried. If I could half ass an effort with half an ass of half an ass it wouldn't come near the fraction of an assed effort he's made, if he's made any at all. He's just a bit mellower if you can even call it that, and he's been told he's a bitch with a garbage personality. Nobody told me that, I saw what I was because I met people that set a better example for me- I compared their behaviour to my own and got over myself. I realised what I was doing to the people I loved- if it could even be called love- and I consciously mended my behaviour, for months, because I had to. My vocabulary changed, my body language changed, the way I spoke changed, my tone changed, my texting style changed, my perspective changed and (most importantly) my reactions changed. And I'm honestly much happier now. I'm terrified of relapses even though it was years ago. I'm a pretty sunshiny person tbh, I shit glitter and everything, I'm your free therapist but yeah, that was me and I hate it. And if I'd been told my personality was garbage the way bakugou has been, I'd have taken at least a moment to reflect.

After I decided to mend myself, I'd recoil whenever I did something harsh, or said something harsh, no matter how lighthearted. Seeing my friends turn nervous or prepare themselves for an argument broke my heart because I caused it. I apologised multiple times, with long paragraphs, because I wanted to let them know in any way I could that I really am trying and I really did love them.

And you know what? At first it was so tempting to relapse when things got hard. I knew what to do to manipulate them. I knew what to do to scare them. I know how to do it all and I loathe myself for not being a person of comfort.

At first it was tempting, because it was so much easier. It would have been so lazy to do it. bakugou is so, so lazy for not even trying. I felt as though I could control anything. I thought I could always keep them the way I wanted. The amount of control you can have over people frankly gets to your head- and for the people who argue that Bakugou was abused, I've been abused and bullied as well and it is not. An. Excuse.

For the people who like to think he did it to protect Izuku- please. Please. Even you can't think that's true. You're entitled to what you think, but for me and the bullies I know that was never the reason. A friend once told me he was mean to me to rein in my behaviour because I'd just get bullied again, that he was doing it to protect me and I laughed in his face because both of us know that both of us know it's not true.

bakugou liked the kick he got out of feeling superior, smarter, faster, more influential, more confident and that was it. bakugou enjoyed it because it was easy. It was easy to not feel like crap when all he had to do was bully some kid to assure himself and that was it. He's lazy.

And honestly- being a nice person is a discipline. *That* is not easy. Izuki is amazing for what he does. It's hard for me to know what to say. It's hard for me to manage my time to I have enough to help others. It's hard for me to see others in pain. I've caused so much suffering and suffered so much I can't stand to say any more of it. It sucks because my empathy causes troubles for me- but I'd rather deal with that than being an asshole

And change is entirely possible y'know? I mean yeah, if Izuku wants bakugou out of his life he should absolutely cut him off, but if he wishes to allow bakugou to remain with him he absolutely can. And bakugou (I'm getting tired of spelling his name out, I feel very petty sjsjsjs) can change so much more than this. I went from being a bkg to being the complete opposite and it didn't take as long as you'd think tbh. It's just that bkg does not regret his actions enough, if he regrets them at all. I've cried and tried and come out a very different person and it's frustrating to see someone so stagnant- and worse, so loved.

I have a massive migraine so I can't go on much further, my apologies :'). I also won't proofread this and I have a lot more to say, but I can't recollect it all. It's just so goddamn frustrating to see this guy pop up onscreen eVERYWHERE. He is so loved, Hori spoils him djsjjs

I just want to watch the anime for the sassy blond, not the blond bully sheesh 😩

Anyway, drink lots of water and rest. I hope you feel way better <33

100% agree on all of this. Also, it may not mean much coming from a faceless stranger, but I’m proud of you for your growth 😊. I’m glad you’ve taken the time to really reflect on yourself and your relationships. I hope you continue down this path because great things will happen to you.

[not-poignant]

I know you said Ash uses compulsions and glamour with humans so sex with them borders on non-con but is that because of the natural power imbalance between human and fae or has he actually used it to have sex with someone who wasn't willing / enthusiastic about the prospect of sleeping with him? Like has he actually ever raped a human? I know the glashtyn has and that Ash goes out of his way to limit the glashtyn's opportunities to do that, but has Ash ever done it when he's Ash?

I'm just curious because Ash from a reader's perspective seems to be very different from the Ash from your perspective (as the writer). Obviously you have more insight because you created him and I'm kind of getting the feeling that Ash is a lot darker than is actually shown on screen and that he would probably come across as *very* different if you ever choose to write him as a main character in the future instead of a secondary character.

Lol sorry for the ted talk. Honestly you write characters that I just love and wanna know more about.

he would probably come across as very different if you ever choose to write him as a main character in the future instead of a secondary character.

You must have missed the part where I said I've already written him as a main POV character in the last response/ask! Particularly Strange Sights (which is a slightly darker Ash) and The Wildness Within (which is a slightly less dark Ash lol). There's even canonical chapters from Ash's perspective, in the Ash and Gwyn Interludes.

I have already written him as a main character in more than one fic, so you can see for yourself exactly what he'd be like.

As for Ash in the canon (I'm assuming this is all you've read based on your ask and the fact that you don't seem to have read any of the AUs with Ash as a main character):

He admits himself that he's come close to raping humans and that he's broken at least one person's arm.

He tries to organise to get Gwyn killed and it nearly succeeds, and as a result, he is semi-responsible for the subsequent deaths and imprisonment of multiple fae.

He abuses Gwyn throughout The Court of Five Thrones physically, verbally, and through his glamour. (And hints of that start quite obviously in Game Theory - which makes it over a million words of Ash being the antagonist and then Gwyn's villain before he like...changes his mind and finally apologises).

He - as the Glashtyn - repeatedly talks about raping the most vulnerable fae in the party in The Ice Plague. And multiple fae talk about how this is what lurks behind Ash's general upbeat demeanour (and Ash has admitted this too).

Ash uses his glamour to interrogate Mosk in The Ice Plague, and removes Mosk's ability to resist him, to the point that Mosk collapses more than once.

Anyone who uses their glamour to keep sex going, would be guilty in a human court of rape, even if we call it dubcon in fiction. Also, consenting to Ash in the human realm is not an ongoing yes, and he takes that power away from them with his glamour. That's also rape. Do humans remember it that way? No. Has he brainwashed them? Yes. Ash isn't out there trying to physically harm or torture people, but he is a power-hungry sadist who is literally trying to sublimate his hunting instinct through promiscuity, so he's not looking to have soft and gentle sex every time he goes into the human world. He can choose to be soft and gentle, but that doesn't mean it happens every time, and it doesn't mean - with his glamour - that he's still not taking away a person's ability to offer ongoing consent.

Like no, Ash isn't out here having sex with people who are screaming no at him, but almost no one has the capacity to scream no at him because of the force of his glamour. He exists in a very morally grey space because of it, and he knows it.

Ash can be very caring and very loving. We also know he can abuse people in the name of that love (Ash through the entirety of The Court of Five Thrones).

Ash isn't even like, all sunshine and light in the canon. I think it's easy to miss the things he's doing because other fae love him, and because you know, he smiles, he laughs, he has a sense of humour, and he does do very kind things. But none of those things erase that these are the actions he's taken in the canon, and has felt comfortable enough to take -> verbal abuse, physical abuse, the removal of people's consent, interrogation to the point of collapse, acting in ways to organise an entire mutiny against the King, etc.

It helps that he's sometimes able to apologise, and sometimes changes his behaviour. But these are not the actions of someone who never does these things in the first place, for months.

You say from a reader's perspective things are different to my perspective, but I think it's probably better to be clear that it's your perspective, since there are actually a bunch of people who don't love Ash, and think of him as a villain because of how he's behaved in the canon.

He's a loved character by some readers, a hated character for some, and a 'meh' character for the rest. It just depends on what you were focusing on while you read him, and how he felt to you! And that isn't the same for everyone.

To the people who hate him, he feels like an abuser (particularly of Gwyn) who uses his charm to get away with it, because he...did that. The Court of Five Thrones solidified quite a few Ash haters. Ash's apologies don't change the fact that he did real and lasting harm to Gwyn's psyche, and that it takes years to mend.

To the people who love him, he seems like someone who is just trying his best to be nice and fun and compassionate despite the Glashtyn's influence. And hey, he apologised to Gwyn and has tried to change in a very genuine manner, and was a rock for many of the characters in The Ice Plague. That's also true. Also he's charming.

As the writer, I think all of those things are valid and true alongside each other. Canon Ash is polarising (i.e. he has got people on both extremes who either really love him, or really hate him), and it depends on what you're focusing on and what you're excluding in the process.

You don't have to read any of the stories where he's the main character, to see the dark and harmful actions that he's taken as Ash, and not the Glashtyn specifically. But if someone loves him, you might make excuses for those things, or may not even see them for what they are, which is also fine! None of these characters are wholly good, and are meant to be morally messy, except for maybe Julvia, lol.

[ohsweetcarrot]

okay, so here is all the information i found about the third rabbit school movie. i found out about its existence while looking up the director of the other two films.

it began production on the second half of this year, and according to a website it's coming out on 2027 (which is when i assumed it'd be released anyways). i've seen two different titles, "die häschenschule: legende vom goldenen ei" and "die häschenschule: macht der legenden", which roughly translate to "rabbit school: the legend of the golden egg" and "rabbit school: power of legends" respectively.

here are the translated synopsises and the links to where i got them from. i used google translate because i don't know german, so i apologise if they're not correct (ich spreche spanisch, catalan und englisch).

"The young bunny student Emmi is appointed guardian of the magical golden egg when a group of badgers suddenly storm the bunny school and drive the bunnies away - just before Easter of all days! Together with her friends Max and Ferdi, Emmi sets out to protect the Golden Egg. They discover a well-kept secret that turns the rabbits' world view upside down."

https://www.filmstarts.de/kritiken/315208.html

"Just as bunny student Emmi is declared the new keeper of the Golden Egg, badgers break into the bunny school and throw the bunnies out the door. Emmi, Max and Ferdi set out to save the Golden Egg and uncover an unimaginable secret."

https://filminstitut.at/filme/die-haeschenschule-legende-vom-goldenen-ei

"In The Bunny School - The Legend of the Golden Egg there is big trouble just before Easter when the bunnies are expelled from school and the friends discover a big secret.

A lot has happened at the bunny school since the friends Max, Emmi and Ferdi came together there. In The Bunny School - The Legend of the Golden Egg, Emmi is now given the honorable task of guarding the Golden Egg for the other bunnies. But just before Easter, everything suddenly goes haywire. A group of badgers simply takes over the school and the bunnies suddenly find themselves without a roof over their heads - and without a plan for Easter. But Emmi, Max and Ferdi are not going to let that happen. They decide to bring the Golden Egg to safety. In doing so, they not only come across a new adventure, but also a big secret about the world of bunnies."

https://www.moviepilot.de/movies/die-haschenschule-die-legende-vom-goldenen-ei

these websites also have information on the crew. the director is the same as in the previous movies. the writers are different, although one of them wrote additional dialogue in rabbit academy.

for further proof that this movie is, in fact, real, on the linkedin of one of the crew members of the previous film, he's credited as working for a third rabbit school movie since october.

that's all i know for now. if i find any news, i'll post them.

[puellafuriadarkmagica]

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A Tree in the Storm Like the Breath of a Child

I remember this title is from something by the Bee Gees, but honestly I don't care about them enough to remind myself which track it actually is. My very own father attests that the Bee Gees are the greatest disco band of all time, and frankly, I think he's nuts for it.

"Beauty endures only for as long as it can be seen; / Goodness, beautiful today, will remain so tomorrow." - Sappho of Lesbos

This was about Thalia, obviously, but now I'm not even sure if I'd call her strictly "good" either. If I had to sum up where she's at in a word, it would probably be more like "bewildered".

I'm getting into reading the chapter proper now, and it feels a little strange to do so. I want to stress that I consider chapters 1-3 one "episode" of PFDM, if you will, so to do this days apart from when I read the first two feels quite unlike the intended experience. Yes, I released it weeks after chapters 1 and 2 in real time as well, but that's because (as I hope is obvious by now) PFDM really has a target audience of one, and that one is me. Your collective experience doesn't matter to me at all, and in fact, doesn't exist.

That's the sickest twist of all! PFDM is stored entirely on my computer! I never at any point actually published any of this, and you're all just vividly dreaming up what I would have posted. Your dream sucks, by the way. You think that's the best I could write? I promise you, the real PFDM, which you will never see, is actually much better.

wait where was i going with this

Right, so chapters 1-3 are one whole sort of thingy to me, and I actually wrote all three simultaneously. I would have roped chapter 4 into the mix, but this was the best I could do before New Year's/ In a sense, this was the pilot. So I really had to refine the tone and style. I think I missed on some of the finer details, but there were a lot of jokes these chapters had originally that ended up cut because I didn't think they really felt like PFDM, you know?

Thalia winced beneath the hood of her jacket as yet another firework let out a deafening flash too directly overhead for her liking. She wasn't the type to fit in.

Completely forgot how long I kept her physical appearance under wraps for. Not long in the grand scheme of things, mind you, but back when the chapter count was still knocking single digits it felt like an eternity. I guess you had to be there. Now every chapter individually feels pretty minor, all things being what they are. Well, in hindsight. When it comes to forthcoming chapters I'm kind of raving madly at how to arrange them, especially since part 3 is nearly [REDACTED] of the way done, and there are only [REDACTED] chapters left after that!

Thalia shivered when she locked eyes (or eye, in her own case) with the girl who had just tapped her shoulder.

I've gradually come to imagine Hope as a fair way shorter than I originally did, which makes this more difficult to imagine. Is Thalia slouching? Are they going down some stairs? Is Hope actually tall? I don't know. Send your answers to 4 Mianga Avenue, Engadine, New South Wales, C/O puellafuriadarkmagica.tumblr.com.

The Incubator took this as an opportunity to butt in with an explanation. "Phoebe stepped in to stop two enemy magical girls from killing each other. She wanted them to understand each other's point of view. To make a long story short, all three girls share the same body, gem, and for the sake of convenience, name now." "…Wow. What's that like?" Phoebe laughed. "I suppose it depends on which one of me you ask!"

So I'm pretty sure I plural-coded a character here without actually intending to do that, understanding that this was what I was doing, or being aware of the ramifications of doing so. If she comes across as pretty two-dimensional rep for that, I apologise. That straight-up wasn't even my plan.

"It's cool, it's so cool you could hold it on a swollen eye and numb it,"

This line I can mark up to the fact that I think I was showing my partner Hitchhiker's at the time, and it ended up coming out like one of Zaphod's chronically uncool quips. That's probably good, actually. I don't think Phoebe is very cool very often.

I also want to point out that the name Deckard is an obvious hat-tip to Do Androids Dream and Blade Runner. The Attendants all calling each other by last name but the citadel residents being on a first name basis is also very Blade Runner-y, but I don't remember the book well enough to be able to say that they do that in there too.

Though it was growing late and he found himself accosted by the looming inevitability of sleep, Bill stayed as awake as he could. He was an artist, as it happened, and though she couldn't muster a single cent, the attentive looming of his biggest fan spurred him on to make manifest the visual abstractions of his thoughts and feelings he had set out to make. This, he believed, was his duty as an artist. This was his raison d'être, and even if he was only doing it for a penniless, quiet teenage girl with a tattered coat and a face only a mother who was looking at something else could love, then he was doing it nonetheless!

No joke, Bill Campbell was introduced here because I originally planned for him to have a part in a climactic moment in part 4. I've since decided that that's pretty fucking stupid. He might be another one-off character, I'm afraid.

Unbeknownst to Bill, this was the second time a complete stranger had shouted this at his sole fan in the last twenty minutes, and the second time that stranger had been a magical girl. It was, perhaps, just as well that he didn't know, because learning this would have had no bearing on his life whatsoever and completely wasted his time.

Where did the early-game jokes like this go? I kind of miss them. They don't feel like they're around so often anymore. Maybe they are and I just don't notice.

"Her?" He spluttered. "She wouldn't hurt a fly!" "I'd be impressed if she could, though." "How's that?" "Insects don't feel pain, sir."

Genuine contender for a top ten spot in a list of PFDM jokes, I think.

I don't think Phoebe's transformation sequence is very strong, because I hadn't got my bearings yet. I'm glad if anyone got the dud one, it was her.

Thalia crept out from behind a concrete pillar. She wished she knew some curses so that she could whisper them to herself. She had been hunting the collector witch, and along came these happy-go-lucky hotshots and claimed the battle for themselves? How despicable.

Once all this is over, I might post all the witch names and titles somewhere. They probably won't all fit in the story (the important ones still have so far, and will continue to, however).

I've said it before, but the labyrinth sequences are based on the mid- and late-career works of the playwright Sarah Kane. Those are definitely worth a read if you've got the fortitude for them, but they get heavy like nothing else I've seen. Particularly 4:48, for reasons which I hope are obvious.

Now that I think about it, I guess I can't let that one sequence from Evangelion episode 22 not crack a mention. Best episode of the show, quite frankly. One of my beta readers is going to very very strongly disagree with me for this, but it's better than End of Evangelion. But what would they know? They're not writing PFDM.

Crucial addendum: I am being tormented.

A smile on her face and the usual dose of nightmare fuel in her mind, Marie turned and left at what happened to be precisely 11:59:50 P.M.

This sequence is a bit cliché, but it's still a personal favourite of mine. It was really meant to be one big sign off to this kinda-sorta pilot, and I wanted that to be a grand cross-section of where PFDM has the potential to go. I hope it works?

Ruth sat forward in her armchair, as if sheer force of will could clear the picture quality on her television. She cast her mind back to this day twenty-two years prior, before Sarah had wound up in that fight that left her in her current state. Before Graham - the right proper piece of shit - had announced that he couldn't love his own daughter anymore and run away. For sixteen years, New Year's Day had cemented itself in her mind as a family occasion, and it had never quite stopped feeling that way. Then again, her daughter sitting silently by her side had always been the only family she ever needed.

Take for instance our first look at Ruth here. You get next to nothing about her, and were it not for the narration's mention of her in chapter 2, you might be forgiven for thinking she has nothing to do with the rest of this story. But I've established that (very tenuous) link already, so it should be pretty obvious that all of these are interconnected. Again, I don't know how effective this actually is, because I already know everything that's going to happen. But I remember being pretty shitting pleased with myself at the time, and I pretty much still am.

Lara stood up the back of the crowd by the Harbour Bridge, still grinning with relief. The countdown had been timed perfectly. Her sister had just asked her why the back of the jacket had said what it did, and she was mortified by the possibility - the All-Permeating Abyss in all its infinite dark majesty forbid! - that she would have had to provide an answer! Life wasn't about answers, in her opinion. Life was about a black leather jacket with "Do Not Resuscitate" stitched on the back. Life was also all about flirting with Madeleine, she supposed, but at least Sisyphus took breaks to let his boulder roll down the hill. She could wait.

I'm really rapid-firing these nods to characters you haven't met yet, and there's so much for you to chew on. You already get mentions of Lara's thoughts falling to Sinead Macquarie and Madeleine Whitman, without - and this is crucial - ever once exposing the fact that Lara is the Macquarie that Marie was thinking about in chapter 1. Then I go ahead and name drop the Abyss for funsies. I'm on a roll here.

Hours later, on the other side of the world, Margaret leaned back in her diner chair whose creak in response suggested that it was the elder of the two. The look on the face of the girl across from her said she would really rather be anywhere else, but if she had any intention of speaking as much aloud, it was cancelled out by her embarrassment at the absurdity of her situation. Besides, the two of them had a very important job in the days ahead, and work only became more pressing in the festive season. "You could at least get your feet off the table," she telepathized. Margaret pretended not to hear.

I don't think anyone picked up on the fact that this scene probably takes place in the United States as given by the fact that it uses American spelling rules, but it was there. Wait maybe Americans say "canceled"? I don't understand how they treat double Ls.

Wai-Fong braced herself a mere fraction of a second before she burst shoulder-first through the seventh-storey window and hurtled toward the street below in a shower of glass and blood (mostly not even hers!). Time slowed in freefall, and a jet of flame from the explosion spewed forth from her impromptu escape, very narrowly missing her head. As she turned to look, three enormous, bony arms clawed their way out of the building's exit wound. She winced. No doubt the witch that used to be the girl she was just fighting. As she readied her weapon, she felt a small degree miffed at forgetting until now that she said she would be studying for her finals tonight.

And back to British spelling rules! Plus a character with a Cantonese name. I really don't think guessing where this one was set was anything resembling a challenge. Also Wai-Fong was a character I really didn't have any direction for at this stage: I kind of winged her early chapters. Which honestly surprised me, because now she is, in my opinion, one of the characters with the biggest personality in the story.

Hüriye's eyes snapped open. She stumbled backward into her turntables and stopped them silent. Instantly, all eyes in the room were upon her. She grinned. Her mind swam with the infinite possibilities self-realization brought. She knew the way to a joyous and fulfilling life. She loved herself, and she knew that the corner of the universe she called a self loved her back. She knew that when she woke up tomorrow, it would be to the first dawn on a perfect life, one where she could- Huh? Oh, shit. The music.

I think Hüriye's pronouns here versus in the rest of the story serve as a pretty big hint for what their realisation might have entailed before they outright say it soon after their proper introduction. Honestly, if I were you and I hadn't figured this out, I'd be kicking myself a little. Just saying. Not even to be rude or anything, I'm just saying.

The youngest daughter of an eons-ancient force of destruction stirred from her sleep, woken by the counting down of the humans ignorant enough to believe themselves her parents. For a moment, she thought she saw a shadow by her doorway - poised like a cat, but with longer ears and a bigger tail - but when she rubbed her eyes and blinked, it was gone. She was hungry. Hungry in a way she didn't know other people weren't. She didn't understand what the urge really meant she wanted. This feeling was normal to her, but she had never quite satisfied it, and she assumed it was something that would come and go as a standard part of growing up. In a sense, it was. Every child on the path to becoming a teenager wanted to destroy the universe. What made her so special was that she could actually pull it off.

Now you're probably wondering, "Hey, DARKMAGIC313, why are we seeing this kid whose relevance still hasn't come into play, and not a character I actually care about, like Adia Musyoki?" Well, first of all, that's not my real name, but it would be sick as hell if it was (were?). Second, patience. You'll like this kid, I promise. Third, as I hope is obvious by now BUT IF IT ISN'T DON'T READ THIS BIT, STOP READING THIS PARAGRAPH AND SKIP AHEAD TO THE NEXT ONE, countdown numbers six through three are all showcasing a tangentially relevant character introduced in parts one through four respectively. And fourth, and perhaps most embarrassingly, I hadn't come up with Adia at the time. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. This is a self-parodying, over-the-top political thriller, and I didn't even plan for it to have a hacker character from the very beginning. Shame on mother fucking me.

Beyond the limits of the universe as all of the above understand it, untouched by the white lies called time and space, a brilliant deity draped in a flowing black cloak writes by the deep blue light of her soul gem. Her words are inert as she pens them, but their meaning is alive and dynamic, shifting into the shape of a cosmos. This cosmos, too, is filled with life where she wills it - or does it will her to write? Which one informs the other? - life which understands itself through the words she builds them from. She is the speaker-god, and her words and the universe are one and the same. And she's mighty humble, too.

I do like how quickly we dropped the title of speaker-god. I've been doing a lot of this thing where the narration strips a character of their titles when it becomes apparent that they're undeserved. Maybe I'm not doing that as much as I think I am, actually. I can't think of any other example except for the bit in the most recent chapter where the narration takes to calling Whitman "Madeleine" when Marie starts humiliating her. Still, even if that's only two points of data, that's something.

PART 1: UNTIL THE DARK

The part names are also lyrical quotations, and in fact, all are connected to the titles of their first chapters - part 1 shares an artist, part 2 an album, and part 3 an actual song. The logical conclusion is that part 4 would be exactly the same as the title of the first chapter in it, but for some reason I'm a little doubtful I want to do that. I have a much better name for it in my head anyway. Maybe even a few much better names.

PRETTY OBLIQUE SPOILER ALERT: I also want to point out something I deliberately kept hidden in my part retrospectives - PFDM actually draws a lot of parallels to Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (for more or less the same reason PMMM proper draws a lot of parallels to Goethe's Faust - it's pretty emblematic of an entire artistic movement whose vibes PMMM is jacking). The first that I make apparent (to my recollection, anyway - I may have missed something) is the part titles loosely paralleling those of Gravity's Rainbow. Until the Dark : Beyond the Zero The Champs-Élysées is a Busy Street : Une Perm au Casino Hermann Goering (really naming a location in French is the only connection here, but I only had so much to work with to keep the part title-chapter title connection working. I did say the connections were loose.) A World of Twenty Thousand Girls : In the Zone (this one pretty much only makes sense on top of how otherworldly Gravity's Rainbow's Zone actually actually is.) I feel like me telling you all this is maybe a pretty hefty giveaway about the trajectory of certain narrative threads and framing devices, but I don't know how much you guys actually investigate this kind of thing. Maybe I can say all this and get away with it just fine. Maybe I was overly cautious in neglecting to point any of this out in the part writeups, and/or maybe where this plot differentiates from that one is enough to keep you thrown off the tail, and/or(!) maybe even if I give you this hint, theorising about where I'm taking things will be no less, or maybe even more rewarding! Again, the curse of actually writing this is I have no way of knowing for sure how the audience feels.

Dark magic has been a phenomenon observed among magical girls since before the evolution of the modern magical girl (Puella Furia)

I am pretty sure that this was a hell of a bombshell to drop though. I think we're still dealing with the ramifications of these magical girls being further along the evolutionary chain than their counterparts in the source material.

Dark magic, true to its name, does not interact electromagnetically, and thus cannot be observed by an individual who is incapable of perceiving their surroundings without a body's sensory organs. Typically, this restricts observation to magical girls (in the various stages of their life cycle) and those similarly aware of their souls as in, for instance, the Incubator.

I deliberately avoided also saying wraiths here, even though I'm pretty sure that this early on I knew that they were going to be showing up in part 2.

As advances in the understanding of dark magic continue, the phenomenon's discovery is misattributed to significant contributors to the study of magic. These include Penelope of Skyros (310 BCE - 291 BCE), for her use of it in elaborating on the Aristotelian conception of a "fifth element", Aisha bint Hassan (703 - 739), the first person to write the equations for dark magic stability and its relation to emotional energy usage when her trail of thought became derailed while she was trying to figure out how to fit a rolled-up rug through the front door of her house, Anneliese Holzknecht (1828 - 1871), whose extensive writing on the matter had resulted in the SI unit for dark magic being named the Holzknecht (abbreviated as Hk), and who had invented both the time paradox and being found dead 7000 kilometres from the last place you were seen, and Rachel R. Parker (1981 - 2002), who had actually coined the term.

The saddest part of writing PFDM is how short I have to make everyone's lifespans. Except Anneliese Holzknecht, who I hope is pretty obviously a pet favourite of mine at this point. Actually, a very VERY early version of the story plan (i.e. before Macquarie and all that) was going to have her be part of the main gang, and also immortal. I since decided that was patently ridiculous, and that I ended up finding her more interesting long-dead than alive (although she did live for quite some time!), so I kinda-sorta moved her immortality across to Whitman, and changed it more to an immunity-type power. More recently, I've started reading You Bright and Risen Angels by William T. Vollmann, which incorporates centuries-old immortals into its main cast much funnier than I would have anyway.

Parker's coinage of the phrase came about in 1998, in response to the discovery of "dark energy" named to suit the nomenclature established by dark matter. She had come up with it during a game of table tennis, wherein she had joked that if the name ended up sticking, the entities whose bodies were comprised of dark magic would have to be renamed to "witches" and "familiars" and was shocked to discover the following week that this was exactly what had happened. What she was not shocked to discover, however, since neither she nor anybody else ever knew this, was that mere days after she made this joke, a woman in another country altogether was giving birth to an immaculately conceived child. Had she known, her entire understanding of consciousness and free will would have been thrown into question and it's entirely possible that this would have made her feel less bad about the joke in comparison.

I have no doubt in my mind that the name "witch" only being a decade old has caused hella plot holes in the historical sections. If it has, I'll probably patch these up. Not entirely sure if I care enough to, though? We'll see.

Anyway, that's all for now. See you next time for chapter 4, the first chapter I wrote live as we were updating!

[hoshi9zoe]

hi,

(if you dont wanna read all this thats fair in that case i just hope you have a good day)

i dont know you and i dont wanna bother you, but i saw your reblog of the post about being scared of trans women, and i just wanted to say that its not always gonna be like that. im younger than you and i dont wanna be lecturing a person with more experience than i have, but reading what you wrote made me concerned. at the same time it is exactly what goes through my head sometimes.

i know i cant fully understand your struggles, because im trans in the other direction, but im starting to think its unfortunately true for all the people who are seen as something theyre not - right now we really have to accept there are our kinds of people and we cant change the rest. you absolutely deserve a better world in which people dont see you as dangerous just because you exist but in the meantime you need to remember your whole life isnt defined only by the people who hate you or are scared of you. it still absolutely sucks that people are intimidated by you just existing, and it shouldnt be like this and i can only imagine how lonely it could make someone feel. none of it is fair, but you can and should try to be happy anyways.

i try to think about it like we got the short end of the stick, but that doesnt mean we should break it and throw it away. it really is shit but (as cheesy as it sounds) we only get one chance at living, and as much as itd be understandable to do so, we cant spend it thinking about how unfair it is.

remember that there will be people who will see you as a person and not as a danger. it might feel like theres few of them, or they dont exist, but they do, and hopefully you get to spend more time with them than you ever will have to spend with the people who are transphobic.

i personally still cant accept it but its the advice a friend of mine gave me (though it was in the context of me being autistic) and i do think its smart even if not groundbreaking. i have trouble applying it to myself, so i might be hypocritical and/or projecting, i apologise for that. still i wanted to share it because i dont think theres any better option for us. im really sorry you feel that way and i hope we both get better at focusing on the people who can see us as people

ps well this is bible length im sorry and also sorry if its rude? i really didnt want to come off as condescending or like i was assuming you dont know any of this so i hope i at least managed that (and i sincerely apologise for my punctuation. )

I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that because of my depressive ass comments on a post people are trying to comfort me and cheer me up. I've done nothing to deserve this kindness and while I think that this kindness and your time is wasted on me, i'm grateful non the less. don't worry about coming across as lecturing me. you're just sharing your thoughts and feelings on that matter and I don't mind. even tho i may be older than you, I absolutely do not have more experience than others. less even probably... and I did not want to make you or anyone else concerned about me. as i said that's absolutely wasted on me. it's just me trying to somehow vent my depression so that I don't do something more harmful. it is just irrevocably true that trans women that are not thin, white, effeminate, with clear skin and no body hair will be seen as dangerous and intimidating by afab people and especially cis women. But i'm grateful that you with for a better world where that isn't happening. It's admirable. And I don't want to spoil your positive message but it's gonna be hard to keep my depression about that in check and I wanna apologize in advance for probably still being very negative about that. You are correct that my life isn't defined by those that are scared of me, but they still can affect it in a profound way even if I try to ignore them. And yes it is incredibly lonely, but I've already been lonely before I came out so there's not much of a difference. Just maybe a new flavor.

I'm just gonna skip the next paragraph with the short end of the stick so that I don't let my depression speak my mind and just rip all of that to shreds. You've got a nice mentality there and I don't wanna take that from you especially since you went out of your way to try and cheer me up. I know there are people that aren't scared. I'd like to meet some one day. But all deprecating jokes aside, I will always get reminded of it when I see how the trans community and especially trans women have their own separate isolated corner from the wider LGBTQ+ community. I'm not faulting you for struggling to apply the advice your give yourself. I really know a thing or twenty about that... Realistically I know that it's not as bad as my insecurities, depression, anxieties ect make it out to be. But acting on that; confronting your fears is exponentially harder. Especially if you have to do it alone because you're shit at meeting new people and making friends and very good at driving existing ones away. And please don't worry about grammar or punctuation or all that jazz. School makes a way bigger deal out of it than I feel is should be on the internet in casual situations. It's your intent and your feelings that matter not punctuation ^^'

[xiii-e]

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

XIII▸ Oh, that's- it's very considerate. I apologise for the extra hassle, but considering the legal debacle my mere existance has managed to inspire I... well. I've been watching my words more carefully than I usually would. I didn't really think that bar could rise but, every day sheds new light I guess. Regardless, it's much easier to speak and ask my questions openly, without the lingering suspicion that someone is watching over my shoulder. Thank you !

XIII▸ It's good to meet you all properly! I'll keep all preferences regarding terms of address in mind whenever lines of communication are open- I am generally encouraged not to go out of my way to be shot :}c I am refered to by they/them pronouns and have been for as long as I can recall. I don't have strong preferences regarding being gendered, but neutrality suits me well. Signature denotations are something I'm a little more familiar with! Myself and Lio use a similar system to help distinguish between one another, since half the time I'm using his datapad. I sign with my numerical designation, and he has... triangles? I'm not sure why, but he likes them.

XIII▸ I'll be completely honest, it's a little fascinating to hear how drastically your experiences with combat and deployment differ from anything I'm familiar with- you choose, every time? Every mission you go on was offered to you, with the door open to decline... it's a little alien to me. I can understand logistically how it would function, but that many choices with such a potential weight behind them, every time you go on-duty sounds- well, overwhelming. Perhaps that's more to do with my design, though; I'm a pretty strict specialist when it comes to what I'm good at, and I do best when pointed at a problem. Snap decisions I excell at, but longer term consequences are a little more... they're more.

XIII▸ The fact you manage this predominantly without handlers either, is- I can't imagine it. I hope that comes across as intended to, tonaly. I honestly think it's sort of impressive that you manage so well with only each others support. I know I'm only able to maintain direction under fire because I have my perameters, orders to serve as guidelines. I suppose I have seen people chafe under those kinds of things before but, I didn't know some genuinely thrived like that...

XIII▸ I do find the concept of this Command a little more familiar though! Not- what I'm used to is much less of an opt-in situation of course. If I had to make the call on whether or not I'd have a handler every time I went into the field, I'd struggle to keep my focus. But, it is a different person every time for me. Usually someone's on-site as asset management, and I'll be transfered to them for the duration of my post. When I'm at base, I usually have a minder moreso than a handler-

XIII▸ I'm getting distracted, apologies. It's... really interesting actually, how much you all do even when off the field, you sound like busy people :} I always try to keep busy when not on deployment, but considering I'm usually only back on-base for medical leave I'm not usually capable of much. Oh, I do upkeep on M1 Leatherback though! It's important for me to be intimately familiar with the systems I use, so I know what I can rely on. Though... I don't get deployed with her as much as I do without. Infantry usually need me more, and I- it's my job to be where the worst of it is. Still, I'm trained to be capable and prepared on any scale of combat so that's what I try to be- there are still the odd occasions where I get the order to deploy from the hanger. Besides, I never feel right, stood still.

XIII▸ It... it sounds like you're pretty close-knit, as a company. You've mentioned a lot of talking to each other, communication between groups, trusting each other- and it sounds like whatever differences arise from your differing backgrounds have made that more prominent, rather than less. I wonder if that's because definitionally, every member of MSMC made a choice to come to you? I know for people, choices matter a great deal.

XIII▸ And I will certainly be keeping your glowing description of your legal services in mind, thank you Phoenix :} while I doubt my case is something anyone would particularly want to dig into willingly, I may come forward sometime in the future if I need some impartial advice. I'm fairly familiar with how to keep HA content with my bearing, but Union- they're an unknown quantity. I don't want to cause trouble via ignorance, for either party. I'm really not worth causing a diplomatic incident over.

XIII▸ Thank you, for your answers. It seems I'm more unfamiliar with the way things can be than I ever imagined- but, there's only one solution to that isn't there? I'm sure I'll be in contact again soon--

XIII▸ oh, I have to go- I'm being called for. Hope to speak more soon; Signing off.

//

XIII▸ Hello. This is Thirteen-E of user account @xiii-e ; Helios has agreed to fascilitate my sending of messages at the moment, so I am fairly certain this should come through. He knows more about this kind of communication that I do.

XIII▸ We have spoken briefly, but I wanted to reach out of my own accord as well; I will admit to knowing precious little about mercenary companies, bar that I have occasionally been across the field from them. However I want to stress up-front; I have no interest in cultivating any kind of antagonism. I'm much more interested in learning, to be honest.

XIII▸ I haven't had time, or permission, to spend any time outside of Purview space; frankly, I've spent precious little time socialising even within the Purview. There's a lot that I don't know, and- I think I would benefit from getting to know more of what's out there. I have also been advised that you may have a deeper understanding of Union law and its policies than I do; not a high bar to clear I will admit. But while I may approach you with specific queries in that field later considering my general situation, for now-

XIII▸ Hello Kennedi :} Is that the name you would prefer be used? Actually, for you and the rest of your squadmates as well- would you rather I address you by name, or callsign? I use my name, personally. I think my callsign is a little... unweildy. Lio summarised your message for me; It's good to meet you properly. For what it's worth, I'm glad you managed to escape and find a meaningful life outside of Purview space; citizenship should be a choice, not a cage. For my part, I hope to do what I can for everyone who still serves under HA, by fulfiling my directive and keeping all they face from killing them- part of why I asked I be allowed to keep working, as my case drags on. I'm on a provisionary deployment right now actually. I do hope my signal holds.

XIII▸ I don't think I have a lot of... specific questions, right now. It's a little overwhelming, to suddenly have so many people within reach. I suppose- I would like to hear anything you'd like me to hear. Or, anything about what your life looks like outside the cockpit. You all have spare time, right? What do you do with it? It sounds so strange, the idea of just- not having anything you have to do. What directs you? How do you decide?

XIII▸ Apologies if those are personal. Garbled, or, nonesense maybe- I don't know. I'm a little at a loss but... I think, the main thing I really wanted to say with all of this was just- Hello. Who are you? :}

[ XIII-E ]

hold on just a sec kiddo, lemme get things booted...

[INITIALIZING BOOT SEQUENCE: 3CH0-13.EXE]

[PROGRAM RUNNING: 3CH0-13.EXE]

there we go. your friend Lio sent us over a copy of that Echo program you two use; I made my own version and will have it running the entire time we're all speaking. no need to fear the corpo censors here - MSMC couldn't give a rat's ass what we say about the Big 4, so long as it's not legally considered slander, but hey, that's what we have P for ;)

// Very funny, Slipshod. But yes, hello Thirteen! Kennedi informed us that you might reach out - it's a pleasure to get to speak with you more properly. As to the matter of names - we'd prefer you use our real ones, not our callsigns. (We always sign off with our callsigns as a formality, but speaking among friends, we use our names.)

quick note - Slipshod is both my callsign and my chosen name, which K informed me might be... confusing, for someone like you. long story short, my real name is highly confidential information, and the last idiot who called me by that name got shot. just call me Slipshod and you'll be fine :P

> For matters of clarification, we also utilize unique signage at the beginning of our speech blocks to further distinguish ourselves. Phoenix uses a twin slant (//), while I use an arrow (>). Slipshod types in an entirely different font, making them easiest to distinguish.

// That being said, Slipshod is not an NHP, though their chosen font makes them look like one - they've been confused for one before, hence why I bring it up. (If memory serves, it was the newest cast of PR agents employed by HA after Jimbo got promoted who made that mistake. Interesting how that all works out...) Actually, I should just say it outright - our squadron utilizes no NHPs or COMP-CONs whatsoever. You'll only ever be talking with us three.

oh, right, pronouns - I use they/them, P and K both use she/her, but if you wanna refer to us all collectively as "girls" you're technically correct so I'm okay letting that one slide

> I think that's enough of that. About those questions...

// Ah, yes! We here in MSMC-796 actually have quite a bit of downtime between deployments, seeing as we choose for ourselves what missions we undertake - it's part of working under contract. Mercenaries don't have assigned "directives" like a military force such as HA would have; instead, we are sent contract offers from a variety of potential employers across the galaxy, and we get to choose which ones we wish to accept. If something seems fishy (or otherwise not worth it), we simply reject that offer and move on to the next.

that's one of the big perks of going merc - you don't have to answer to anyone if you don't want to. our squad even went a step further and opted not to have any handlers, either. I mean, we still have access to the folks on Command should we feel we need an extra eye on us during a mission, but usually we do just fine alone

> Yes, our squadron is unique to those employed among MSMC in that we do not have an assigned handler to oversee our missions. Seeing as there are only three of us in the squadron, it's much easier for us to keep an open comms line so that we can all communicate as a single entity, rather than having a dedicated handler barking orders at each of us individually. It's a matter of convenience, ultimately.

// Slipshod mentioned Command, so allow me to explain that - here at MSMC, all of our employed handlers make up a conglomerate known as Command. If a squadron has a dedicated handler assigned to them, that's who they'll report to on missions. However, if a squadron opts not to have a dedicated handler (like us, for example), we can choose to call into Command prior to a deployment and have a random, non-assigned handler on call to help us out. Usually we don't need that at all, but for certain more dangerous missions, having that extra eye in the sky can be extremely helpful.

as for downtime - believe it or not, even we mercs have jobs we gotta do when we aren't on deployment. I'm our squadron engineer, so usually I spend most of my off time in the hangar patching up our mechs and installing new software. not that I don't trust the MSMC repair teams to do it right - the boys do a pretty good job if you tell 'em what needs fixing - but with some of the special tech our squad employs, I feel much safer working with it myself

// Most of my downtime these days is spent working in public relations on behalf of MSMC. This can mean anything from assisting new recruits with the sign-on process, answering questions we receive in our Omninet inbox, recording adbroad scripts for future use, connecting people in need with members of MSMC Legal, and several other duties as required. It's a very demanding job at times, but it's also very rewarding, as it means I'm one of the first to meet our new recruits and welcome them to their new life under MSMC.

> Much of my time off of deployment is spent in conversation with other squadron commanders from across MSMC. Not only is it good networking for our squadron, being the face of PR for MSMC, but it also helps disseminate information Phoenix receives from Upper Management throughout the rest of the company. Furthermore, it allows us a chance to see how the new recruits are settling in with their new squadrons - such as a close friend of ours, Gray, who recently joined MSMC after leaving their tutelage under IPS-N.

// Another excellent point, Kennedi - MSMC (as well as many of our sibling mercenary companies, such as our friends over at CORSAIR Mercenary Company) welcomes mercenaries from across all backgrounds, regardless of their prior life circumstances. In our squadron alone, we have someone who grew up in IPS-N airspace (me!), an ex-HORUS member (Slipshod), and - as I'm sure you already know - an ex-HA member (Kennedi).

MSMC is a diverse bunch - we get folks coming in all the time for all manner of reasons. some are trying to escape a shitty contract, some are looking to clear their criminal record, some come here to give freelancing a shot after working corpo, and some just wanna completely reinvent themselves and ditch their old life for good. anything goes, really!

> MSMC is a very welcoming company, especially to those who come from complicated backgrounds - like myself. Many of our legal teams are employed to assist in breaking contracts which might otherwise prevent a would-be mercenary from leaving their current place of employment. It's by far one of our most commonly utilized services, and a unique one that, as far as I know, only MSMC offers.

// I won't bore you with the specifics, Thirteen, but Kennedi is right - MSMC Legal has a fearsome reputation, and for very good reason. Our lawyers are some of the best in the galaxy, and much of their work is dedicated to helping people get out of bad situations. Legal alone makes up over a third of MSMC's corporate presence!

easy on the shill there P, you're starting to sound like Upper Management. we're not trying to recruit the kid; just answer their questions

// Right - sorry about that, Thirteen. I get carried away with the whole PR spiel sometimes. I mean, it is my job (well, one of them, anyways), and I am getting paid to do it, but at the end of the day we're here to help. If you have any more questions, either about MSMC or about any of us, please feel free to ask! Our inbox is always open.

-- Angel, Slipshod, & Lockbreaker

//

@xiii-e

[kiruuuuu]

R6 Ideas I’ll Probably Never Write/Finish But Which I’d Like To Exist Somewhere Other Than My Own Head:

VR bonding: Bandit wakes up in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by hostiles. Somehow he survives the initial onslaught and finds others suffering the same fate as him, and together they set out to solve this mystery. - Essentially a Kobayashi Maru in VR, a test of how the GSG9 perform under pressure as part of the their recruitment into Rainbow, without their knowledge. In the process they turn into a team, with Bandit and Jäger especially getting close to each other. (scrapped due to complexity and I don’t think I could pull off four people being in VR without being aware of it very well)

The Inevitable Battle Royale AU: The Siege ops, in this case normal people from all over the world, get kidnapped and forced to kill each other to ensure their own survival. Feasible with teams or solo, lots of potential for bloodshed, shaky alliances and genuine trust forming - especially tragic if they end up working together to take down whoever is responsible and someone realises that their lover who sacrificed themselves died completely in vain. (best with multiple POVs, converging storylines and a satisfying resolution of them triumphing over evil at the end - way too ambitious)

Dangerous Liaisons, Siege style: With half of Rainbow stuck in an American motel, waiting for action, boredom leads to tragedy: Maestro sets out to corrupt Glaz to get back at Sledge, and Bandit sets out to seduce Monty to prove that he can. Everyone is desperately in love with someone they can’t (and/or shouldn’t) be, and everyone ends up miserable. Full of intrigue, lust, passing whims, contempt and betrayal. (also entirely too ambitious and I’d get smacked by a few people if I wrote something this sad even if I strayed from the source material)

The Hilariously Inappropriate GTA AU: Cue bloodshed and moral/legal ambiguity (read: extremely illegal and extremely reprehensible acts). Imagining which roles the ops would have as criminals is intriguing to me and pitching them against each other even more so. (Ying would make for a fantastic getaway driver and Bandit’s elite already fits in perfectly.) Form a gang, hole them all up in a penthouse and watch the carnage that follows!

Secret Hitler: A few ops play Secret Hitler, Werewolf or any simple enough deception-based party game. Randomly roll both the ops as well as in-game roles and then have some of them turn out to be excellent liars and deceivers. (a bit awkward to write, would be fantastic as a film but my budget is too small - needs carefully dropped hints which make sense in retrospect without being frustratingly obvious or hidden)

[childotkw]

I've been holding of babbling about this, but today I browsed through every ILYWT post and: I absolutely get the hype. God, how I fucking love Barty.

There's this book scene in Goblet of Fire that's so good. Harry's trapped in the staircase, under his invisibilty cloak, has dropped the golden egg clue and the Marauder's Map and is about to be discovered by Filch and Snape, when Barty shows up and goes out of his way to help him out, doing some top notch acting and ridiculing Snape. Love it.

And, opposed to the real Mad Eye, Fake Allastor was exellent not only at reading people but also at interacting with them. Barty's intelligence allowed him to see right through people, but he also had great people skills. Praises, for example, were rare, but always incredibly on point. Like when he made Neville feel proud of his knack for Herbology or when he told Harry that he'd make a good Auror, something Harry actually took to heart, even after the betrayal. Even though every word of Barty was deliberate, it was still always meant, in those moments. And he was terribly engaging, too! No less terrifying than Mad Eye, but much more captivating and inspiring. The real Allastor always lacked that particular energy and he was always rather dry with everyone, which I always found disappointing. Barty nailed his gruffness, but he added the spice. He was a delight because he managed to come across as a real force, even though he was extremely contained, both mentally and physically, when he had to be Mad Eye.

And then there's his past! People would describe him as a nice, young man and would wonder how that could have happened to him. The fact that he actually cried for his mother in the cell, before quieting down and almost dying is still heartbreaking to me. And then: Whole years trapped under an invisibility cloak, with only his father's elf acknowleding his existence and caring for him?  Under the Imperio? That's gut wrenching. The man is evil, but he is almost just as sympathetic. You almost want to see him burning it all down.

Lastly, there must be some sort of PTSD. And yet. What I really don't get is how he managed to stay so sharp. Yes, there is certaintly a fair amount of insanity, but it's so controlled, at least when he wants it to be, when he's performing. He drank polyjuice potion multiple times a day and had to keep up his act 24/7 for an entire school year. With an already fragile mental state. But he kept in complete control the whole time and he fooled everyone. Having to drink the potion and being stuck in Moody's physical form aside, he was even enjoying himself. He's properly scary and I enjoy it so much.

I imagine that you will have a blast writing him. Twisted characters are the best, although I do hope that Harry will have the right influence on Barty, of course. I absolutely adore the idea of them getting tangled up into each other, god. You also mentioned wanting to write an OS about Barty's childhood and youth and I really hope you will. He's a thrill and I feel like you capture him beautifully.

This really was just a really long rambling session with no real value, since I don't have any questions, but it had to get out of my system. Stay safe and healthy, lovely.

Oh, never apologise about rambling to me about Barty! He's one of the most interesting characters to me at the moment, so I'm always excited when I see his name! Having people get so animated in my inbox is so much fun!

You raise so many good points!

Barty, while fucking insane, is someone with such control over himself and everything around him. He's constantly aware of the potential consequences of what he does and says, and he's a master actor.

You mention that Barty-as-Moody being excellent at reading and interacting with people, and it's so true. I like the idea, or the implication at least, that Barty is incredibly empathetic. He could almost instantly clock someone and their wants / weaknesses / insecurities, and then manipulate them with ease. Sure, a part of that can be attributed to the fact that 80% of the people he's having to manipulate are literal children - but he also knows how to play people like Dumbledore, Snape, Minerva, etc. His ability to connect with people just means he's extra effective at getting into their heads and tricking them.

And god yes - Barty's past is 100% both tragic and so, so intriguing. His journey from a regular, if very intelligent, young boy to a trauma-riddled and dangerous man would have been so awesome to see play out. His sheer determination and willpower is terrifying.

I'd say in ILYWT exploring the ways Harry will influence Barty in return will be so much fun. I'm really happy so many people like this AU because it's one of my favourites and I think the potential it has is so so awesome.

Thanks for sending this ask in - I do love these kind of things! You stay safe out there too, darling, and have a wonderful day! 💕💕

[yandere--stuck]

Yandere Megaera x Shade Reader, submitted by @faeleas (idk if i did it right, but hope you like it regardless. and im sorry it's a little long >_<")

~

it had taken so long for you to sneak back into the entrance to Asphodel to catch even a glimpse of the powerful fury without her detection, but now that you had your spot behind on of the pillars far off to the side, you stayed put, kept silent and didn't blink lest you lost one second of Megaera in the fullness of her element.

she was a blaze of glory, her strength vibrating through the air as she snapped out her whip again and again at the prince, slicing the very breath from your lungs as you gazed in awe. how wonderful and powerful she was to behold, and how enthralling it always would be to watch her fight, to see her wicked smile cut into her teal cheek as she overflowed with the desire to cut the Zagreus down and stop his progress.

you could almost feel the faint impression of a thundering heartbeat in your chest, and that sensation only swelled when Megaera caught Zagreus by the ankle with her whip and tossed him high into the air above her. you gaped, eyes on her alone and in your shock, your duty to silence fell away, the quiet suddenly broken with your small gasp.

Megaera was just about to deal a finishing blow to the haughty prince who'd dared challenge her again, who was so proud to believe he could best her in her own domain, when she heard it. she heard you.

time seemed to stutter as her gold eyes darted to every corner of the entrance to Asphodel, searching through the dim glow of flickering firelight for the source of the sound that broken her focused rage. after a second, her brazen gaze locked on you hidden in the shadows in the corner of her arena, hands clasped over your mouth and eyes wide with... something. as far as she knew, it should be fear. no shade had ever gotten this far away from the House of Hades, let alone made it inside this forbidden space, and yet, there you were, trembling as you held her narrowing gaze still.

why? what kind of foolishness mightve brought you to her? what a silly, brazen little shade you must be to even try, but before Megaera could consider any possibilities about what you might be made of, a searing pain tore through her lower back.

a gasp clawed out of her gut, dragging up with it a small splatter of blood that coated her lips. as Megaera tore her eyes from you to her stomach, she found the tip of Zagreus's sword lodged right through her waist.

"y-you... wre-etched... " she choked, then coughed again. with the little time she had left, Megaera looked over her shoulder at the young determined prince and snarled a smile full of bloody teeth before she spat, "next time, i-i will... have you... kneeling before m-me... Za-agreus."

the fury was beginning to fade, but with the very last moments of her current awareness, she threw a burning glare at you, daring you to try anything near her again.

Megaera snarled as she came to and pushed herself to her feet in the resurrection pool of blood, snatching her whip from the shallow beside her and quickly marching out, shaking the sticky blood from her hands and raking it out of her long lilac-blue ponytail. You were all she xould think about: the shade who had snuck in, distracted her, watched her get outmatched by that smart-mouthed prince of Hades. she had to find you and punish you as she saw fit.

blowing off Thanatos before he could say anything to her, not that her blazing rage that licked at the air around her like coughed up sputters of lava from a volcano didn't do enough to stop his attempt anyway, the Fury snapped out her one sharp wing and took off, rushing back to her domain in hopes that you had been petrified where you stood. when she landed with a thunderous crash and found you there still, a bubbling snarl rose to her throat.

"You." Megaera prowled towards you, cutting her whip through the air just to make you flinch, and just as you opened you mouth to apologise and explain, she roared and unleashed her weapon, the force of the wind caused by it's movement alone knocking you back into the very pillar you had been hiding behind. not a moment after you'd caught the breath knocked from your lungs did you find it firmly restricted once again, Megaera's whip binding you securely to the marble pillar itself.

Megaera stood with her arms crossed for a moment, her endless rage sparking under her teal skin, brightened by the gold ornaments that gleamed around her arms and waist and neck. she watched you squirm in the tight coil of her whip, a grin stretching across her rouged lips as your panicked eyes eventually met hers. you knew all she could do, and you could tell from her easy cadance walking close to you that she knew it also.

"Tell me, you impudent shade, why were you in my domain? for what reason would you think you could be here and not be discovered?"

Megaera purred, but her voice was devoid of warmth, promising that the wrong answer would only end in pain. she kept sauntering closer and closer to you until her iron breath caressed your face, then placing her hand beside your head on the pillar, the fury ran her tongue across her teeth, leaned over you and finished, "What made you think you were that clever to enter the arena of a Fury and escape unpunished? Do tell."

now you knew you had a heart, since it thumped hot and hard in every corner of your being. you couldn't pull your eyes from hers even though everything in you screamed to. you swallowed hard, knowing there was no way out of this so with a sigh, gave in and told the truth.

"I-I... I s-saw you once, in the lounge. I'd h-heard about you but... I just wanted to see you- to watch you fight, i mean."

Megaera frowned at your words but inside her, something was turning. "Is that so?"

you nodded quickly, then instantly shivered it when you watched the burning anger in her gaze reduce to a contained simmer, gold winking in the light of the fires around you both.

The Fury watched you, the hot blush in your cheeks, listened to the thundering of your heart in your chest, could almost taste the terrified awe in the air around you, not that she wasn't used to it. But... you thought she was incredible.

Megaera thought back to the fight with Zagreus, the moment she'd met your gaze, how wide and full of.. adoration it had been. it wasnt disgust, or disdain, or fear. it was... shock, awe maybe... something else.

"How long have you been watching me?" she whispered, leaning closer, pulling on the end of the whip and purring a smile when you whimpered.

the leather of her whip burned as it pressed into your throat, the hissing sting snatching every thought from your mind. after finding your breath, you tightly confessed, "I've... seen you fight Prince Z-Zagreus... 13 times. I didn't mean t-to intrude. I just.. wanted to see you fight for myself."

Megaera blinked twice quickly. 13 times. it took at least a week for Zagreus to get through all of Hades and reach the surface, so for 13 weeks you had been watching her, not in disgust, or disdain, something else that made you come back.

"Why?"

again the Fury pulled the whip tighter, and again it dug into your body, making you gasp as you blinked through the stinging pain, but as it subsided, you looked up into her honeyed gaze with desperation and honesty, muttering with embarrassed timidity. "I... think you're... really cool. Incredible, even. T-That's all."

Incredible.

a pulse flickered in Megaera's bottomless core. No one had ever used such a word to describe her in... longer than she knew. those words settled deep in Megaera's heart faster than she could stop them, and once they were there, everything in her clung to them like they were the only thing keeping her alive.

What were you that such simple words could elicit such a profound internal symphony that almost sent her shivering with shock? how could she have not known such power existed? when you looked at her with that pleading gaze, with eyes that were so raw with truth, full of goodness, of... something, it was impossible to lokk away. in your eyes was something that was more than respect, more than fear, more than adoration... love was the only thing more than all three.

yes, that must be the only explanation. You loved watching her, you loved seeing her fight, loved seeing her, loved her. You loved her. how fickle, how very mortal of you... and yet...

Megaera huffed a laugh as she stepped back to look at you, all of you that apparently loved all of her. The Fury couldn't believe it. a simple shade had risked everything to tell her, to show her that they loved her. how enrapturing.

the lilac haired punisher of jealousy was quickly overcome with something that, in the scope of all that had just happened, must felt like love too, but she wanted it for herself alone. this pulse of heat within her because of you and the way you looked at her, it was for her, and it would always be hers. anything that threatened to take it away would be destroyed. it had to be.

with that resolve fluttering inside her, Megaera gently brushed your cheek with the back of her fingers, then lifted your chin with her finger. when you flinched at her cool touch, she grinned and cooed sweetly, "Hm. Oh, my curious little shade. If you love it so much, then you will stay here to watch me. You will be able to witness my greatness for as long as you want, as many times as you want. Yes, you will stay right here, but if you betray this trust, there will be consequences. Have I made myself clear?"

As you nodded, likely out of fear of saying otherwise, Megaera's heart tightened once again. Yes, you loved her, and now, she would fight to show you how much that love meant, to prove that she was the only one you needed to love, to make you love her even more. It wouldn't be hard.

No one else would take your eyes from gazing upon her. Not Zagreus, not her sisters, not even Lord Hades himself. Your endless gaze was hers now, and by extension, so were you.

end

---

I'm so so sorry I only posted this just now but. Oh my Goddddd this is incredible holy shit!!! Thank you so, so much for submitting this I'm 👀👀👀👀👀 Ms. Megaera......

Thank you so so much again, I love your writing and prose, and I'm sorry for only getting to it now, the app doesn't show me notifications for submissions, just asks ;w;

[amiscreations]

Golden Years

(A Def Leppard Crack Fic)

Happy Birthday to the one and only @i-dont-want-your-hysteria ! as a lil gift, I wanted to dedicate my first ever fic to you! Thank you so much for inspiring me to write this, and thank you for answering all of my annoying questions😂 (historical accuracy is key ofc) thanks for everything you do for this amazing lil fandom, you rock!

Notes: This is almost entirely based on the Party episode of the show Black Books, so if you've seen that this will be very familiar! Also this is just a crack fic, so don't take it too seriously, its just a lil bit of fun. It's not an x reader or anything, so the boys are the main characters!

I've proofread this so many times, but I am dyslexic, so I apologise for any errors!

also while I tried my best to make it historically accurate, some facts may not be just for the sake of the story.

Warnings: Alcohol use is a big factor in this story, so if that makes you uncomfy, this might not be the fic for you. (please drink responsibly my loves!) there's also some sex references and language, but everything is PG-13.

Word Count: 11,512 (yes this is a long one! get cosy and bring snacks!)

Setting: The Def Leppard House, Dublin, Ireland, summer 1984

***

Part 1

Since their tour with Billy Squier ended, it had become hard to tell the days apart. Sure the same could be said for the buzz and excitement of waking up in a new city and performing in front of thousands every night, but staying at home, getting drunk looking at the same four walls was a new, burnt out low. The momentum they had built up over the years of rapid recording and touring and more recording and touring was slowly coming to a standstill, and was slowly turning into pressure: pressure to release something bigger, better and louder than anything they'd done before. They dealt with this, of course, like any other sane band would: by getting wasted. Every day. Attempting to use their drunken stupors as a means to generate new lyrics.

Inspiration, however, came few and far between, especially when any semblance of a workday had vanished, each day and night blurring into one endless stream. Though there were some nights, that started just like any other, which would stand out just that little bit more in their hysterical lifestyle.

“Have you come up with anything spectacular yet?” asked Sav tiredly, just as Joe ripped a page out of his notebook. The pair of them were sitting at opposite ends of their worn out sofa with their feet on the cushions. Sav had his acoustic bass across his chest, and was playing random bass lines, new and old.

“What does it look like?” Joe scrunched up the page and hurled it across the room, aiming for the bin, but hitting Rick in the process. The drummer was sitting in an armchair opposite, tapping his hands and feet to non-existent music.

“Oi!” he exclaimed. “I was right in the zone there!” He threw the paper ball back at Joe, but missed. The dreary silence resumed, and was only broken by the sound of Sav’s bass. It was a little out of tune, and despite how much he adjusted the tuning pegs, he never got it to sound quite right.

This seemed to last all afternoon, into the evening. It was only the arrival of the Terror Twins, and yet another one of their shopping hauls, that had any hope of livening up the impending night, which looked like it was going to be a continuation of what they were already doing: sitting around, doing nothing, while getting hammered.

Steve and Phil’s cargo seemed to mostly consist of cheap wine. Joe noticed that Steve looked a little extra happy with himself, and almost immediately after, clocked the cause: the guitarist was sporting a shiny new red leather jacket. The Twin’s cheerful conversation came to a halt when they saw the state of their bandmates. It was not a sight to be proud of, but unfortunately it was one that Phil and Steve were quite used to.

“You're not still trying to write that song are you?” Phil grabbed both of Joe's shoulders from behind. “It's Friday night, you three should have stopped working hours ago!”

“I'd hardly call sitting on a couch writing a single word every few hours ‘working’” Sav sighed, and put his bass down, propping it up beside the sofa.

“Shit it's Friday night?” said Rick, jumping forward in his chair. “Shouldn't we, I dunno, celebrate? What do normal people do on Friday nights?”

“Pretty much the same as we do every night mate: Drink heavily and argue” Joe chuckled. “It was Friday night last week, it will be Friday night next week and every bloody week until the sun explodes. Why is today any different?”

“Always the optimist, aren't ya Joe?” Sav smiled with a hint of sarcasm.

Phil stood in the middle of the room, with his hands on his hips. “Well I think we should do something fun. Let's use that as an excuse to go out. I know of a party we could go to. Either way, if I have to spend another night in this house I'll go crazy.”

“Crazier, you mean!” Steve joined his terror twin in the middle of the room. “Yeah you lot are no fun anymore. Besides, I wanna show off my jacket, it's cool isn't it?” He held out his arms and admired the leather.

“Also,” continued phil. “We need an excuse to open this wine!” He picked up the bag he'd been carrying and took out five bottles, placing them on the coffee table. Steve gestured to them as if they were some sort of ancient artefacts, desperately trying to liven up the mood.

“Since when have you ever needed an excuse to open up a bottle of wine?” Sav examined a bottle. “Especially one I could get for dirt cheap from round the corner whenever I want?”

“Since now! Do I have to remind you that it's Friday night?” The guitarist picked up a bottle and uncorked it, pouring it into the empty glasses that were already on the table.

“I think my jacket deserves a toast!” Steve eagerly picked up a glass.

“To looking cool!” announced Phil, and clincked his glass with Steve’s. The other three mumbled in agreement and took a gulp from their own glasses.

Perhaps it was the boredom, or the monotony of the past few months, but Joe couldn't help but be slightly jealous of Steve, who was still happily admiring his new red jacket. Especially when he had something of his own to show off. Something that he was surprised none of the boys had pointed out before.

“Notice anything different about me?” the singer blurted out. He stood up suddenly, turning round as if he was showing off his outfit, which happened to be nothing unusual. Still the same T-shirt and jeans combo. The others stared at him blankly.

“Your ears are bigger?” joked Rick with a fake genuine interest.

“You showered?” added phil.

“No, I know: you’ve finally run out of sex appeal, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while buddy,” Sav said with a cheeky smile.

Joe cut an icy look at the bassist, and pointed to his head in frustration. “My hair!”

A chorus of “oh” came from his bandmates.

“I got it cut yesterday! I wanted to look just like David Bowie, short on top, long at the back. My old hair just wasn't… rock and roll enough. Maybe feeling like a rockstar will help me write better songs.”

The others just stared at him blankly, having had this exact talk from him when he got rid of his curly perm a few years back.

“Look!” Joe ruffled his fingers through his new hair, fluffing it up. It was clear that he had put more than the usual amount of hairspray in it. “Aren't I just the epitome of a rock god? I can't believe you idiots didn't notice.”

“Yeah you're a vision,” said Phil flatly. “Now! Who's up for some fun tonight then?”

Joe flopped back down onto the sofa. “Well if we do go out somewhere, it would need to be a place where my good looks are actually appreciated. They are wasted on you boys. Though  I'm still all in favour of staying in and getting drunk on this wine.” Joe picked up the open bottle and started sipping it straight.

“Well, I know just the thing!” said Phil excitedly. “The party! it's being hosted by one of Peter’s friends a few blocks away, he mentioned it a few days ago. It's perfect!”

“I can show everyone my new jacket too,” added Steve, twirling it round with a beaming smile.

Rick bounced up from his chair and stood with the twins. “Yeah I'm up for a party, why not? It'll get me out of this shithole for a start.” He seemed to be dressed for the apparent occasion too. His usual attire in the summer months mostly consisted of nothing but shorts, as, being a drummer, excessive clothes proved to be restrictive. Today however, he was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans.

Joe and Sav stayed put. Joe had turned to lie on his front, hiding his face in the sofa.

“Are you sure there's nothing else we can do?” His words muffled through a pillow.

One by one the boys started suggesting different activities. Cinema, bowling, local gig, you name it, they said it. Though, every single suggestion was shot down or laughed at by at least one of them. That was, until joe suggested something completely unexpected:

“We could sit in the garden?”

One by one, the bandmates nodded, grabbed the wine, and headed out to the garden. It was a warm night, and the sound of the water crashing in the nearby bay was always relaxing. As they filed out onto the patio, however, they were instantly hit with memories of the chaos that had taken place there a mere few days ago: they'd hosted what was supposed to be a small gathering of their own for the Fourth of July, but as more and more strangers arrived, it turned out to be a much, much larger party. Fourth of July festivities were few and far between in Dublin, it seemed, so those that did want to celebrate flocked to the nearest gathering without hesitation.

It was common knowledge within the music scene that Def Leppard threw parties that rivalled even those of Mötley Crüe, they were just much more discreet with them. This party was no exception: The garden looked like a bomb had hit it. Random debris strewn over the lawn, any unbroken furniture sported graffiti, countless bottles and cans were dotted about, giving their own stash a run for its money. Not to mention the firepit was an absolute sooty mess, dotted with singed papers and unused bits of cardboard.

They stood there for a minute taking in the scene before them.

“Well who’s cleaning all this up?” Sav shrugged.

“Shit, I forgot that was in our garden,” Joe admitted guiltily.

They trudged back onto the house, leaving the mess as they found it. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

As they sat back down in the living room, it looked like they’d hit a dead end, and would be spending yet another night staying in and getting drunk on their own cheap alcohol.

“Right,” Joe waved his hands assertively. “You don't want to sit in the garden, I'd say we finish these bottles, get wasted and call it a night.” he took a swig from the now half empty bottle from before.

This gave Rick an idea. While Joe was busy necking large gulps of wine, the drummer grabbed the four unopened bottles from the table, and hid them behind his chair. While Sav didn't seem to notice, Steve and Phil caught on, and silently approved of the plan unfolding, looking for any excuse to cause a little terror.

“Which bottles?” Steve tested, with a hint of glee in his voice.

“The ones… wait, I could have sworn…?” Joe eyed the table where the bottles were.

“Bless him he's off his face already,” Phil joked. “You know where there is more wine though? The party! Come on guys, it will be fun.”

Sav looked up, and eyed the guitarist with a quizzical look. “You know, I'm picking up a certain keenness from you about going to this party. There wouldn't be any other reason you want to go, is there?”

“Absolutely not!” argued Phil. Sav raised his eyebrows at him, keeping firm eye contact.

“Ok there might be a girl…” admitted Phil sheepishly. He now had the room's full attention.

“I bloody knew it!” said Joe, who sat up with a sudden eagerness about him.

“Who is this girl then?” Rick smirked, a cheeky smile plastered across his face.

“Rosie,” said Phil, who was now looking at the floor, a kind shyness seemed to have come over him. “I met her a few nights ago in a pub. Peter actually introduced us. That was also when he told me about the party.”

“Oooh Phil has a crush!” his terror twin teased, hugging him from behind.

“Get off!” Phil wriggled out of Steve's arms, while trying and failing to hold back his laughter. His face had turned a light shade of pink.

“Right,” Joe suddenly said. “I'll tell you what, we are going to this party, I need to see who this girl is for myself, and make sure she's not just another groupie who wants to get into the pants of the first rockstar she sees.” dodging Phil’s stuttered protests, he clumsily vaulted over the back of the sofa, grabbed his jacket and stood by the door. It was obvious to everyone that Joe was more than a little jealous now, being the raging extrovert he was, though he was doing his very best to hide it. He gestured for Rick, Steve and Phil to join him.

“What about him?” Rick pointed to Sav, who was peering over the sofa.

“You coming, mate?” Joe asked.

“Nah.” shrugged Sav. his curly mane disappearing back onto the sofa.

“Ok, well have fun freezing to death in your room, and you'll have to babysit us when we all roll in drunk.”

After a few moments of thought, the bassist rolled off the sofa, and reluctantly joined the group, grabbing his own jacket. “Well what are we waiting for?”

Just as Joe went to open the door, Phil ran upstairs, shouting; “hold on!” The rest of them stood there perplexed until he returned with a handful of old guitar pics.

“Explain?” said Joe, who had a look of genuine confusion on his face.

“It's stuff to leave behind!” explained Phil, as if this was common knowledge. “You know, near to Rosie! She'll find them after I've gone, and it would give me a perfect excuse to call her!”

His excitement didn't seem to rub off on the others, and they just looked at him as confused as before. Phil, still proud of his little idea, carefully put his collection of pics into his pockets.

“Alright, lover boy, can we just get going already before I change my mind?” Joe rolled his eyes and opened the door.

“Yup!” Rick exclaimed. “Steve, get the wine!” Steve happily did what he was told, he ran back to the living room and grabbed the bottles of wine Rick had hidden earlier.

“What..? Lies! Sabotage! Betrayal-” Joe shouted while being pushed out of the door by Phil. “I knew we had more wine! You bastards!”

Steve sprinted back, a bottle of wine under each arm, and one in each hand. Phil quickly closed the door behind them.

***

Part 2:

The Leppard house was still and quiet. It had remained that way for the majority of the night, well into the early hours of the morning. That was until the peaceful silence was broken by muffled voices outside, which grew in volume as they approached the house.

These voices were loudly (and very drunkenly) singing Queen’s Somebody to Love, complete with out-of-tune acapella guitars and drums. The discordant chanting was only broken by the sound of a shoe, or possibly a clumsy guitarist, making contact with a metal bin, and a neighbour down the street yelling at the boys to “pack it in for God’s sake!”

This prompted the song to turn into an ensemble of “shut up!”, as one of the voices tried to unlock the door.

“The key won��t… go in the thing..!”

“Joe- Joe you're using your finger.”

“Oh yeah, shit.”

The keys jingled in the lock for a few seconds, before the door to the once peaceful house was opened again, letting five very drunk, very scruffy Leppards stumble in. The cosy, sepia-toned darkness of the once empty house was interrupted by one of them switching on the light, piercing their intoxicated heads.

Joe’s trendy new mullet was an absolute state, and definitely not looking very Bowie-esque. Steve ambled in after Joe. He seemed to have lost anything he’d had on under his red jacket, which of course, he was still proudly wearing. His trousers were replaced by a pair of the small Union Jack shorts. A still-singing Phil had his arm around Steve, somewhat relying on him for balance. His shirt that was once buttoned was now completely open. They were closely followed by Sav, who was sporting a large plaster on his left hand. Rick had red wine all down his front, which could have easily been mistaken for blood from a distance. The band wandered around the living room until they either found a spot to lean on, or, in The Twins case, started dancing on the spot to non existent music.

Each of them was sipping on a different, fancy liquor, taken from the party, the wine bottles from before were long gone, apart from the one that Joe had been drinking before, which had remained on the table.

Phil’s bottle was a tall, thin cuboid containing a bright blue liquid. Joe, Sav and Rick had oval shaped bottles, each containing a slightly different shade of red. Steve had a square bottle, which contained a brown, bitter looking substance. Each drink was incredibly strong, but they were too expensive to pass up, and the boys were too drunk to notice. They each kept a firm grip on their respective beverages.

“My hair…” Joe hiccuped. “Does my hair look ok?” he ran his fingers through it, making it look even messier than before.

“Yeah, yeah sensational, mate,” Phil said, looking in the opposite direction.

“I told ya about ‘Hair Power’,” Joe explained to no one in particular. “Three women asked for my number tonight…” he confidently held up two fingers, before taking another sip of his liquor.

“Joe, your number is our number,” Sav jumped onto the sofa, keeping his bandaged hand elevated. “We only have one phone in this house, remember?”

“Well I guess I'll just have to be the one who answers the phone for the foreseeable!”

“Fine by me, I hate answering the phone.”

“Look at us!” Steve slurred from across the room. “We're dancing!”

Sure enough, he and Phil were doing a dance of sorts. A type of dance you would only do in the late, late hours of a wedding reception. The type of dance that involves you standing in the same spot, moving your arms and hips around aimlessly. Had Joe been sober, he would have laughed in their faces, however it would be a long time until that was a reality, so instead pointed out:

“Ha! But there's no music!”

“Go on then, sing us something!” encouraged Phil. “You are our singer after all.”

Joe toppled down onto the sofa next to Sav. “Sing it yourself!”

“Alright then!” and as if it was living proof that Phil and Steve did in fact share a single brain cell, they both burst out into a very tipsy duet of Honky Cat. It went surprisingly well with their impromptu choreography. Once they got to the chorus, Rick and Joe couldn't help but join in, adding to the amalgamation of voices that always worked so well on stage. Even in their drunkenness, they found a way to harmonise. Sav, meanwhile, grabbed his acoustic bass, which he’d propped up against the sofa before they left, and began strumming out the bassline. The terror twins still dancing like before.

As the song went to repeat, however, Steve stopped singing, which led to the others to quickly fade out as well. Sav put his bass back where he’d found it.

“Why don't we…” Steve burped a little, “have a dancing competition?”

“Yeah yeah!” Phil excitedly agreed. “But… but for that we need proper music…”

Without a second thought, the guitarist knelt down with a thud in front of the case of records, and grabbed the first one he could find, which happened to be a copy of Deep Purple’s Machine Head. He placed it onto the record machine as carefully as the units of alcohol in his system would let him. He turned the speakers right up just as Highway Star began to play. Being musicians, you can bet they had one of the best sound systems money could buy. They could feel the bass drum in their chests and Ian Gillan’s vocals were piercing as ever. If they’d closed their eyes, they might as well have been front row at a concert.

With the building intro now blaring, Phil grabbed Steve by the arm and dragged him into the middle of the room. He happily obliged, and they both started dancing to the music like their lives depended on it. This was no wedding reception two-step now, this was a dance that involved the wild flailing of all four limbs. This was the type of dance you would see in the pit in front of Mötorhead or Iron Maiden. All personal safety abandoned. Just a pure release of energy.

After a verse or so of this, Joe decided that the Terror Twins’ reign on the dance floor had gone on for too long, or maybe it was because, for once, the attention was not on him. “That's rubbish!” Joe announced, through a series of hiccups. “I could do way better than that!”

Despite shouting, his voice was barely audible over the music. Just before he could show off his dancing skills, however, Sav jumped up.

“Nah you're dancing embarrassed us at the party.” he shouted. “I bet you can't do this…”

And just like that, the usually composed bassist joined the Twins. Instead of dancing, Sav opted for jumping and thrashing his limbs about in midair. Rick burst out laughing (it was a ridiculous, and somewhat rare sight, indeed), and accompanied him to the homemade dance floor, copying Sav's jumping.

Joe, now being the only one not dancing, decided he didn't want to be shown up, and wanted to prove to the others that his dancing was not, infact, embarrassing.

“Why- why would I want to do that? Why would I want to do that when I could do this…” and he was off. He took off around the room, jumping about like a gymnast. Except, of course, with much less finesse. He travelled around the ‘dance floor’, skipping and attempting cartwheels, between various floppy jumps. Of course, he had to include his famous air-splits, using the sofa as a launchpad.

And before they knew it, the living room descended into chaos. All five Leppards were flailing about wildly to the roaring Highway Star in the background. It really was a sight to behold. As Ritchie Blackmore’s second iconic guitar solo rang out, the Leppard guitarists couldn't help but headbang along, frantically playing the air guitar. They ‘played’ just like they did on the Pyro tour: leaning on each other's backs. But the constant movement, and the fact that Deep Purple was somewhat heavier than most Leppard tracks, meant this proved to be a challenge and they ended up crashing to the floor in a laughing heap. Only to get right back up again and repeat the process.

They danced right up until Ian Pace’s last drum run, after which Steve turned off the record player, and collapsed face-first onto the sofa, Phil flopping down right on top of him. The others crumpled into the nearest seat available, which for Rick happened to be the floor, on which he laid out like a starfish. For a full minute, all they could do was catch their breath, panting heavily. For just over six minutes, they may as well have been teenagers back on the Sunset Strip, taking in the vivacious excitement of a late night club crawl.

Despite this, as soon as Steve flicked the switch of the record machine, the walls of their Dublin residence swirled quickly back into view, obscured only by the stars in their eyes from the lack of oxygen.

“We…” gasped a very out of breath Joe. “We… are so… out of shape… how we did that every night on tour… I will never know.”

The wheezing continued, and Joe looked for some hydration, which inevitably came in the form of his red liquor. The others seemed to have found theirs again too, and had gone back to sipping them.

“It's not everyday you get to raid a cellar of fancy liquor! Good on Peter for tipping us off,” Joe, still out of breath, took another sip from his bottle. “What is this anyway? It's like… cherry-flavoured antifreeze.” he grimaced as the spirit burned his throat. He gestured to Phil: “What's yours?”

“Ah yes, because stealing expensive alcohol from the fancy houses is the best way to make friends in this neighbourhood.” The guitarist laughed and took a swig from his own bottle, the bright blue liquid in it looked almost fluorescent. “Couldn't tell ya what this is though…” he glanced at the label. “‘S’all in bloody Italian… though, I am getting notes of almond, must be a sort of Amaretto… but blue?”

“You're lucky you didn't have to go into that cellar with us though,” Rick pointed out to Phil, who had snuck off with his mysterious date shortly after they’d arrived. “It was real creepy, there were massive spiders in there too, one even fell on Joe's head! Ha! He screamed like a girl!”

“I did not!” Joe glared at Rick. “It's not like I'm scared of spiders or anything, the bastard just wouldn't come off.” he chuckled nervously. “At least it didn't ruin my hair.”

The others tried not to smile and hummed in agreement. They’d rather not reveal just how much damage the spider (which may have just been made up by a mischievous Terror Twin) had done to Joe’s hair. Or perhaps it was more his frenzied attempts to remove it. Either way, the copious amounts of hairspray held his new ‘style’ firmly in position.

“What about you?” Joe motioned to Sav, who was still very much feeling the effects of their dance competition, but silently satisfied at the sight of Joe's hair.

“Hmmm,” he looked at the label, and took a sip. “Sweet… but nutty, I think it's passion fruit.”

“Ooh, let's try some!” said Joe eagerly. “Go on, pour some out.”

“No!” Sav grumbled, hugging his red bottle. “You’d hate it anyway. You've got your own, I wanna get blind drunk.” and with that he gulped down as much as he could, before the burning in his throat became unbearable, causing him to cough.

“Oh come on,” piped up Rick. “It sounds nice.” The drummer attempted to grab it from Sav’s hands from the floor, however the bassist was adamant on finishing the drink alone, and turned to face the backrest of the sofa, using himself to shield it from the prying hands of Rick. After a few hapless swipes, Rick gave up and returned to laying on the floor.

“You'll regret it tomorrow,” taunted Joe. Sav returned to his original position, and took another sip in response.

“I think we all will, mate,” said Phil. “Aw man, I didn't want to leave that party, I was having fun.”

“Yeah well I wasn't,” said Joe. “It was too crowded, and it was too dark, and the bathroom was too bright. The drinks were shitty and the food was cold. It was everything I expected and less. I told you we should have stayed in. I'm never going outside again unless I need someplace to throw up.”

The others just rolled their eyes at the singer’s speech, having heard a variation of it every time they did something that involved leaving the house. Joe did in fact have fun at the party, much like his friends. At this point, it was common knowledge that he thrived in social settings like that. But the alcohol usually got the better of him afterwards, clouding his judgement and casting a veil of melancholy over what was otherwise a lively, fun night out.

“You had a bad time?” said Sav. “Aren't you going to apologise for my hand?” he sloppily held up his bandaged hand in the air.

“Huh?” Joe mumbled.

“Well,” Sav haphazardly began to recount. “You said the food was cold, but you forget this amazing thing you can do to food to make it, ya know, not cold. See because I actually have some common sense-” the bassist tapped his head, his uninjured hand disappearing into his frizzy hair as he did so. “I had the great idea to put food, get this, in the toaster!”

“I'm sorry, what are you on about?” said Joe. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Let me finish! Anyway don't act like you don't remember,” continued Sav. “Just as I took the delicious warm toast out of the toaster. A certain Mr Elliott-” he widened his eyes at Joe,  “-decides it's a great idea to barge into the kitchen and put me in a headlock, ya know, as ya do. I suppose to show off to all his friends that he is in fact… oh what's the word? Oh yeah, an idiot. ‘Oh yeah pick on the quiet one! What a great and original idea!’ and of course, since there was no way I could have predicted this strange turn of events, my hand slipped, and well…” he waved around his injured hand.

“Well how could I have possibly known that you were making toast?” protested joe.

“You do have these things called eyes, you know,” Sav shot back, using his good hand to pull back the lids of his right eye. “Anyway Joe, what happened to your hair?” he smirked.

“What about my hair?” Joe said cautiously.

“Oh nothing, nothing.” It was almost too much fun. Quickly changing the subject, as to not arouse suspicion, Sav reached down and patted Rick on the chest. “What happened to you? Why’d ya look like Carrie?”

“Oh this?” Rick looked down at his wine stained front. “Well, it's funny you say that, because me and this group of girls got talking about films, right, and one of them said how she saw the film Alien, and apparently had nightmares for months about the scene where the creature bursts out of that guy. You guys know the scene right?” the guys murmured in agreement.

“Well, the girl who was with her had no clue what I was on about, and she also happened to have a small dog with her, which I thought looked a bit like an alien, you know the ones with the big eyes that look like they want to murder you? As it jumped out of her handbag - yes it was that small, can you believe it? Anyway, it gave me an idea. I laid down on the floor, kinda like I am now, but pretending to be in pain. Through my fake… pain noises… I picked up the dog, put it in my shirt, and lifted it out again, and perfectly demonstrated the scene. But then I thought of a way to make it even more realistic, so I grabbed the glass of red wine the girl was holding, and poured it on my chest, where the ‘alien’ had come out of!”

“Oh my God, you poured wine on the dog?” said Steve in horror.

“No no of course not,” Rick reassured him. “The girl grabbed him from me before I could do anything else. Kinda glad she did too, as the thing looked like it was gonna kill me.”

“And I don't bloody blame it,” said joe. “So why exactly did you decide to recreate that gruesome scene again?”

“I dunno, made me look cool I guess,” Rick admitted. “Anyway, enough about me, where's all your clothes gone, Clark?”

“Excuse me,” said Steve. “But I think you'll find that this jacket is the only thing I'll ever need to wear again. It's the ultimate piece of clothing, you lot wouldn’t understand. Everything else I was wearing was just a distraction.” He got up from underneath Phil, who was still laying on top of him, and did a very wobbly twirl, once again showing off the jacket. He took a sip of his dark liquor, and flopped back down on the sofa. Phil laid his head in his terror twin’s lap.

“What about the shorts?” pointed out Sav. “I don't remember you bringing them to the party?”

“I must have been wearing them under my jeans, I suppose. Sometimes I like to wear them, ya know, reminds me of being on tour.” A reminiscent look came over Steve's eyes. The others could see where he was coming from.

The sense of routine that they’d had on tour was one of the things they missed most, and one of the reasons they couldn't get anything done in, and almost dreaded these down periods. Tonight was a perfect demonstration of that: no curfew, no alarm, just an endless stream of drunken consciousness with no stage lights or cheering audience to break it. Steve's little statement seemed to have thrown them all even further back into reality. And they fell back into a sullenness. The only noise being the sloshing of liquor bottles being brought to mouths.

Joe was the first to speak: “so, Phil, how’d it go with Rosie?” He raised his eyebrows, emphasising that last word. “You got your chance with her, what’d you talk about?”

“Uh nothing really,” mumbled Phil quickly. Joe immediately sensed there was more to this conversation, having caught glimpses of the pair talking for the duration of the night.

“Come on, I wanna know,” Joe pushed.

“Oh, it doesn't matter.”

Joe had heard this before, and knew exactly what Phil had talked about. “Phillip Collen please tell me you did not bore that poor girl to death about guitars for the whole party?”

“What was I supposed to do?” protested Phil. “It's the only topic I can speak about when I'm nervous. I'm good at guitars. I know guitars. I've dedicated the better part of my life studying them and all the gadgets that go with them, you guys know that. I wanted her to be impressed. Oh I don't know.” he crossed his arms in frustration. Steve patted him on the head in an attempt to comfort his friend.

After a slight pause, Joe pointed out: “So, you were nervous? Wow, you must really like her.”

“Yes!” Phil threw his hands up in admittance. “And, you know, I really think she likes me. That's why I wanted to get everything right.”

“Nevermind,” said Joe. “You probably left her a trail of guitar pics for her to follow you home with. How did your little plan work anyway?”

“No you see, it didn't work,” explained Phil, who was beginning to sound genuinely upset. “Every time I dropped one, she would pick it right back up. My pockets are still full of them.'' Sure enough, he dove his hands into his pockets and took out all of the pics he'd so confidently brought to the party hours ago. Not knowing what to do with them all now, he spilled them from his hands onto the floor.

“She kept following me everywhere. Not that that's a bad thing, mind, but it now means I don't have an excuse to call her. And she doesn't have an excuse to call me! Oh God, I forgot to ask her for her number! Oh I really have messed this one up, the one time I actually make a connection with someone and I blow it.” he went back to sulking. Steve absent-mindedly played with Phil's hair.

“Don't worry, mate,” Joe tried to console his friend. “I'm sure there will be other girls. Besides, we’ll be on tour again before you  know it, they'll be throwing themselves at ya!” Joe reassured him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Despite this, his attempt at cheering him up failed, as his face remained as frigid as ever, as if a storm cloud hung over him.

“I doubt it,” Phil lamented. “Not like Rosie. There was definitely a spark there I'm telling you. She was not just another bird you'd meet backstage and forget about thirty seconds later. I really felt like she could be The One.”

This was another example of a conversation that was often had between the Leppards, but it was one that they treated with sensitivity. Their lifestyle practically guaranteed being surrounded by women who wanted to be with them, whether they liked it or not. But this meant that flames like Phil seemed to have found that night were few and far between. So when they did come across one, they held onto it with all their might. Besides, who were they to say that Rosie wasn't Phil’s ‘One’?

***

Part 3

“Well I'll tell ya what,” said Joe, in a desperate attempt to lighten the rapidly darkening tone of the night. “We dont need girls to keep us going. We have each other.”

“Cheers, Joe,” Phil desperately fought a smile. The others chuckled lightly.

“You know,” Steve started. “We may not be lucky with girls, but I'll tell you the one thing we will always have: music! Seriously, I never believed in love at first sight until I heard Physical Graffiti. I don't know how Page did it, but he really captivated fifteen year old me. I wouldn't be playing onstage with you lot if it wasn't for Zeppelin, that's for sure.”

“Oooh looks like Phils not the only one with a crush,” teased Rick.

“Shut up!” laughed steve. “You can't tell me I'm wrong though, we wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for our love for music. Led Zeppelin was my first love, there I said it. Make fun all you want, but they've done more for me than any girl ever has.”

“He's got a point, you know,” agreed Sav. “If it wasn't for me hearing Queen for the first time, I'd probably still be in that miserable factory, kicking about a football at night just to sweat off the stress of the day. I love you Queen!” Sav blew a kiss to the ceiling.

“Everyones a romantic aren't they?” Rick rolled his eyes with a smile. “Though since we’re confessing our undying love to our heroes, I gotta agree with Steve and say that The Zep is one of my all time favourites. Watching John Bonham do what he does best? Ok maybe I do love that man. But I mean, which young drummer didn't want to be just like John Bonham? Come on Phil, who was your first love? Your real first love?”

Phil took a thoughtful sip of his blue liquor. “Aw man, where do I start? Queen and Zeppelin, obviously, but then you've also got the likes of Van Halen? Man, I wish I could do what Eddie does. Oh but then there's AC/DC? Malcolm and Angus have gotta be one of the best guitar duos out there. No offence Steve…”

“Oh no, I fully agree, mate,” Steve continued to play with Phil's hair.

“Aerosmith, Prince…” Phil went on. “Oh and how could I forget? The Police! Oh and Billy Idol! I- I love them all ok? Call me a slut, but I've had love affairs with so many bands, we’d be here all day. Come on Joe, which bands were your first loves? And don't lecture us about Mott the Hoople again, we know!”

“Well that doesn't mean I can't say Ian Hunters Overnight Angels! Ian Hunter is my one and only.” Joe put his hand on his chest proudly. “Though of course there's T-Rex, Bowie-” he flicked his still messy mullet, “and of course Zep and Queen. Whoever it was that inspired you to be here today, as long as you have a copy of their music, they ain't going anywhere.”

“Cheers to that!” Steve held up his brown liquor bottle. The others happily did the same, mumbling their own cheers.

“Though, I could tell you about my first heartbreak,” Joe reclined back onto the sofa.

Sav eyed him. “Joe, if you mean that girl you met in LA, I told you she-”

“No no I mean in terms of music!” Joe corrected. “I'm well over her. Anyway, my parents got me a copy of The Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks for Christmas back in ‘77, you’d remember, Sav. It was the one album I just could not get my hands on that year. It was sold out everywhere I looked. So opening it that morning was just a great experience. The sleeve was even signed by all the guys. There was a signed poster, and a handwritten note in it too. I have no idea how or where my parents even got it, but lets just say the soundtrack to Christmas ‘77 was just Sex Pistols on repeat. It's just one of my favourite memories, and the album will always be special to me. I remember my dad joked that in ten years time it would be worth a fortune, what with it being signed and everything, but to me, as soon as I opened it, it was already priceless.”

It was now Joe’s turn to sulk. The light in his green eyes dimmed. “But, on the AC/DC tour, I have no idea how, but I lost it, to this day no one knows where it went. I knew I shouldn't have taken it with me. But it was a little piece of home, and at that point we were all pretty new to this touring business. I’d never even really left Sheffield before that. The record even inspired a lot of the stuff we played on that tour. Hell, it inspired stuff we play now. I just needed it with me. Of course I could just get another copy, which I have done. But it's not the same. The copy my parents got me was irreplaceable. It was my copy. Johnny Thunders said ‘you can't put your arms around a memory’ but while I had that record, I sure could. So yeah, I guess that's the story of my first proper breakup.”

He got up from the sofa and sighed. “I need some water.” and with that he wandered into the kitchen, leaning on any available surface for balance. The others remained unmoving in their respective positions.

Phil was the first to break the silence. “Aw man, I never knew about that. I bet the guy was a right state when he lost it, it sounds like it was really important to him.”

“The saddest part is,” Steve took a swig from his bottle, and looked in the direction Joe had headed, and then back at the group. “He didn't actually lose it, me and Pete broke it.”

“Wait… what?” Phil spluttered. “Don't joke about this, Clark, Joe really seemed upset about it.”

“No no, it's true,” Sav slowly nodded. “Tell him Steve.”

“Well, and you gotta hear me out on this, it wasn't entirely my fault,” Steve put his bottle on the table, and began to recount the story. “Like Joe said, it was the AC/DC tour, so you weren't with us yet, so of course you couldn't have known. But, and again I'm not exactly proud of this, one time, Pete had had a little too much to drink, though what's new? Anyway, while we were on the road, I don't remember where to, Pete decided to go through all of the records we had on the bus, and give them one-star reviews. Why? I don't know, I guess he was just in a bad mood, and wanted to provide us with some entertainment.”

“Stop trying to make him seem like the bad guy,” warned Rick. “You were both in the wrong, get on with it.”

Steve paused for a minute, and continued his story. “Ok, ok, well basically, Pete got to Joe’s copy of Nevermind the Bollocks and started chatting shit about it, and Johnny and Sid, as if they weren't some of the most influential Punk musicians? Anyway, the guy was drunk, and on a moving bus, so he was bound to damage the record in some way or another. So I’d had enough of his stupid reviews and tried to take it off him, knowing that Joe would have gone mad if he saw him holding his record so carelessly.”

“Joe was asleep by the way,” said Sav. “Me and Rick were trying to sleep too, but Pete was very obnoxious that day. I'm surprised Joe slept through it if I'm honest. Anyway, Steve, you tried to take it off him?”

The guitarist continued. His voice lowered. “Yeah, so of course, Pete was off his face, so he wouldn't just let the thing go without a fight. I'll admit I'd had a couple too, but I still had some sense. To cut a long story short, we ended up in a sort of tug of war. I promise I didn't mean to, but with Pete being difficult, and a moving bus? The bloody record snapped right in half, bending the sleeve and all.”

“Fuck…” Phil slowly said, after a long pause. “So… what did you do with it?”

“Well this is where I was the stupid one,” admitted Steve. “I know, I know I should have just told him what happened, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it, knowing how much the record meant to him. I felt like there would be less tension if I just… got rid of the evidence. So I opened one of the bus windows and just bloody chucked it out. There wasn't any traffic around or anything, and the road was just surrounded by trees. I couldn't think of anything else to do.”

Phil just laid there motionless, trying to take in Steve’s story. He couldn't quite believe it.

“It’s true mate,” Sav broke the tension. As if he read Phil’s mind. “Me and Rick saw the whole thing. In fact, now that you know, Joe is the only one of us who doesn't. Clark swore us all to secrecy. We told Joe he must have left it at a venue or something as a cover.”

“Please don't tell him,'' Steve sounded serious now. “Please. What he doesn't know can't hurt, and besides, when does find out, I want it to come from me. I'll tell him eventually.”

Phil thought it was highly unethical to keep a secret like this, especially after Joe practically poured his heart out over that record. But, as always, he trusted his Terror Twin.

“Ok, ok I won’t tell him. Don't worry.”

“Cheers mate,” Steve patted Phil’s head affectionately, just as they heard Joe’s clumsy footsteps coming from the kitchen. Steve, Rick and Sav went back to their drinks, as if the huge secret hadn’t just been revealed. Phil, on the other hand, could not get the story out of his head.

Joe, who returned holding a pack of cards, tossed himself back onto the sofa. “Anyone want a game of Poker? I still don't know how to play it properly, but we're all wasted, it makes it more fun. No prizes, just forfeits. And for God’s sake can we get some music on!”

“Sounds good to me!” Sav sat forward. The others followed his lead, and gathered around the table as Joe dealt out the cards. Rick went over to the record player and replaced Machine Head with David Bowie’s Station To Station. Rick made sure to turn the speakers down to a more comfortable level, so as to not blast the room with the full volume from their dance competition.

They played several short games, with surprisingly few arguments considering the amount they’d drunk that night. The opening track of their background music perfectly reflected their changing mood throughout their poker games. A little tense at first, but eventually they let loose and got into the groove of things. A few games in, just as Golden Years began to play, they’d basically abandoned the rules. Not that anyone protested, if anything it made for a more interesting little tournament. In a broad retrospect, the track fit the scene perfectly.

Sav seemed to have a knack for the game, and won three in a row easily. They devised a plan where whoever had the lowest hand at the end had to do a forfeit, instead of betting. This led to some pretty interesting scenes: Rick had to play a round upside down (he opted for the sloppy headstand approach) and Joe had to play two rounds speaking in only Monty Python quotes. As well as this, some new rules were introduced around the house as a result of losing: Phil, having lost the first game, had to answer the door for the next month and Steve had to do all the washing up for a week.

“Ha! I win!” Joe threw down his hand of cards. His sentence of Python quotes had ended a game ago. As well as this, after a few repeats, Station’s A-side had run its course once again. Joe’s hand consisted of three Fives, a Jack and The Chariot.

“Hmm, another Tarot,” Phil observed. They seemed to have been mixed in with the playing cards, and cropped up throughout their games. “But, my friend, that's only Three of a Kind, I'm sitting on a modest Four of a Kind!” He fanned out his cards to reveal four Queens. The others rolled their eyes, their hands clearly not high enough to beat Phil’s.

“Oh bollocks!” Joe put his head in his hands playfully.

“Ha you lost!” Rick teased.

Those two statements suddenly reminded Phil of the story that just unfolded. “I lost my copy of Never Mind the Bollocks” Joe's voice played over in his head. He couldn't help picturing the scene that Steve had just described.

He lost his record just like he lost the game, oh Steve, Phil couldn't help but think.

“What?” Joe shot Phil a puzzled look.

“What?”

“What's me losing my record got to do with Steve?”

Phil’s heart dropped to his stomach. He realised he’d thought that last thought out loud. In his panic, his brain seemed to go into overdrive, and before he knew it he was speaking again:

“Your record… it- it got broken…” the words spilled out before Phil could stop them. “It- it was an accident though…” He desperately tried to save himself.

“SHHHH!” Sav and Rick waved their hands vigorously, despite knowing it was already too late. What with their collective impaired judgement.

“What do you mean my record got broken?” Joe’s voice became hesitant. “No, this lot told me, I must have left it at a venue back on the tour. I can't think of anywhere else I would have left it. And wait, how does Steve fit into this again?”

There was no point denying it now. Despite Phil’s best efforts, the secret was out. “Look, I- I didn’t want you to find out like this, I- I’m sorry…”

Joe cut Phil off, and turned his gaze to Steve, whose face was drained of colour. “What's he on about?”

Steve took a moment to collect his thoughts, a sudden, searing tension grew in those few seconds. “Ok, first of all, I was going to tell you at some point, it just never came up. Second, it wasn't entirely my fault. Please just hear me out on this…” the guitarist then cautiously retold the story he had recounted to Phil moments earlier, desperately avoiding eye contact with Joe, who was sitting with his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor.

“...I'm so sorry Joe I really am,” Steve finished the story. “And I know Pete felt bad about it as well.”

Joe continued to sit there in silence for a bit, unmoving. He then looked at Steve with a straight, yet defeated face. “I don't believe you.” he scoffed.

“He's telling the truth mate,” Sav sighed. “Why would we joke about something like this? Besides, what more proof do you want? To drive back to the exact location Steve chucked it?”

The secret was out. Joe had no reason not to believe his friends, when he spoke, his voice was level, trying to make sense of this revelation. “So you've known this whole time?” He turned his head to Sav.

“I'm afraid so. Rick also knows. Oh and Peter, I told him as well. And Mutt. Oh and it's an anecdote I like to tell when drunk at parties if your name comes up. Which is quite often considering you are our lead singer and frontman.”

“Anyone for another game of cards?” Rick desperately tried to lighten the mood. However, his efforts were ignored entirely. Throughout this entire exchange, Joe remained surprisingly calm.

“Well, maybe I've been holding onto some secrets about you lot,” he boasted. “Maybe I have a few little facts I've collected over the years.”

“Blackjack anyone?” Rick dealt out cards to no avail. Joe continued as if he hadn't heard.

“Steve, I bet you didn't know that Sav here is actually a divorcee,” Joe now had a wicked smile on his face, he was going to enjoy this.

“Wait, no that's not entirely true-” Sav tried to protest, but Joe was on a roll with this already.

“Remember that girl he met in Vegas a few months back? Well, he got married to her that evening! Can you believe it? That's where he disappeared to! Where’s the girl now, you ask? She only bloody married him on a dare didn't she? Of course she divorced him straight after, and sodded right off. But hey! What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”

Sav just sat there, eyes wide, the others staring at him with a similar expression. Joe however, still had more dirt to spill:

“But Sav, I bet you didn't know that Phil once spent all night talking to a girl at the bar. He'd had a few too many, and so had the girl. Your usual stuff right? Well, it turns out that this lovely, lovely girl Phil spent all night chatting up was actually just a bloke with long hair and eyeliner. A Vince Neil, Mike Monroe type, if you will. How he didn't notice the guy's lower voice I will never know.. or maybe… Phil, do you have something to tell us?”

“Oh shut up, sh- he! He was just very quiet!” Phil spluttered. “And it was dark, and loud, and I was drunk. What was I supposed to do?”

“Yeah yeah that's what they all say,” teased Joe, who was enjoying this a little too much. Steve was laughing behind his hand.

“You think that's funny?” Joe continued. “Well Steve once stole all of Rick’s clothes while he was in the shower. The usual terror twin shenanigans. You guys remember our poor drummer running round that venue naked right?”

“That was you?!” Rick exclaimed angrily. “You wanker!” He threw the empty card box at Steve, hitting him square on the head.

“Ow!” Steve was trying to hold back his laughter. “I'm sorry about that alright! Though it was pretty funny.”

“Let's just say it's lucky there wasn't anyone around…” the drummer scowled at Steve. “Anyway,” Rick turned to glare at Joe. “Sav, Roger Taylor did reply to your letter, but Joe here accidentally put it on that bonfire we had on the Fourth of July. in fact, you could probably still see remnants of it out there now.”

Rick kept his eyes fixed on Joe’s, a smug smile crept across his face. Sav also looked at Joe, but with much more ice.

“You what?” he exclaimed. “Did we not just have a conversation about how Roger Taylor is one of my heroes? You don't just burn stuff like that!”

At this point, secrets were being spilled left right and centre, by anyone, about anyone sitting in that room. It turns out, that despite living close together on the road for months at a time, there was a surprising amount that the guys didn't know about each other. And until now, they'd hoped to keep it that way.

According to Sav, it was Phil and Steve secretly taking out Joe’s boat one night that landed it a huge scratch on it’s side. Joe had been under the impression that he must have done it himself without knowing, and was scared to take it out for fear of scratching it further.

Steve revealed that it was Rick who had taken the strings off of every single one of Sav’s basses a few weeks ago. Apparently he got so stoned one night, and needed wire for a sculpture he “just needed” to make. Thick bass strings seemed like the perfect alternative. Rick then revealed that Joe, who was also stoned, threw them in the bin because “the sculptures were rubbish”. It took a good few days for Sav to replace the strings, and tune them to how they were before.

After several long minutes of these back and forth digs, Rick suddenly got up without another word. He walked across the living room, and up the stairs. The others watched him in stunned silence. Had he had enough? Their thoughts were answered when he came back down the stairs after a few strained seconds. As he walked back across the room, they saw he was holding something. It was a hand mirror. Rick turned to stand in front of Joe.

“By the way, you went to the party looking like this:” Rick held up the mirror to Joe, who took one look, and recoiled back into the sofa.

“I what-!? Aah!” the singer gasped, sounding genuinely scared, and frantically adjusted his messy hair, to no avail.

“Ah, vanity was always your one weakness,” Rick smiled proudly to himself, and sat back down in his original position. The silence in the room returned once again, everyone now ruminating over their spilt secrets.

“Well I think that covers everything,” Sav went back to his liquor, and slumped back into the sofa.

***

Part 4

Just as the air seemed to clear, there was a knock at the door. The guys looked at eachother, puzzled over who could possibly be needing them at this hour.

“I guess I'm getting it,” Phil was true to his forfeit from earlier. He slowly made his way to the door, rubbing his face. But his tired body language instantly turned to nerves as he opened the door, and saw who was on the other side.

It was Rosie. She looked tired herself, having probably come straight from the party, but her face was shy and smiley, framed by feathery blonde bangs. She wore a purple cardigan over a faded Aerosmith T-shirt, which was tucked into a light blue midi skirt.

Though the boys had seen her briefly at the party, they only noticed now how Phil was right: she didn't look like the typical type of girl you'd see backstage. Seeing her shy smile, and sparkling brown eyes looking up at Phil made them think that he'd been right about this evening with her.

“Rosie! Hi!” Phil mirrored her shyness, and for once, didn't seem to know what to say.

“Hi…hi!” Rosie chuckled nervously.

“Hi!”

“I- I wanted to return something you left behind.” her nerves seemed to dissipate, and Phil could sense an excitement in her voice. His eyes lit up.

“Really? I- I left something behind?” he thought back to his numerous failed attempts with the guitar pics.

“Yeah,” Rosie reached into her shoulder bag quickly, and pulled out an empty wine bottle. “You brought this bottle to the party! I remember you saying something about you guys keeping all of your bottles. I couldn't find any of the others you brought, though, sorry!” She handed Phil the bottle.

“Oh right, thanks!” Although the others couldn't see from a distance, it was clear that Phil was blushing.

“I thought you could add it to your collection, to, you know, remember tonight. So I asked Peter where you lived, and- oh but I can see you're busy! I’m sorry-” She noticed the rest of the band and their apparent card game.

“No no, it's ok!” Phil gently took her shoulder, encouraging her to come in. “Thanks for bringing the bottle round! It's great that you- you came round… with… it,” they were both nervous, but Phil was letting his nerves get the better of him. Joe was undeniably still slightly jealous, but he also didn't want to see his friend mess this up, so put his pride aside.

“Offer her something, you fool,” Joe said with his back to the pair, the others, however, were watching them like hawks.

“Oh yeah, um,” Phil attempted to sound casual. “Would you like a drink? We have tea, coffee or- or Bailey’s or- or I could make a cocktail, you know like-”

Rosie quickly stood on her tiptoes and kissed Phil on the cheek, cutting him off. “Teas’ fine!” she smiled, sensing Phil’s nerves fade.

“Tea! Coming right up!” Phil practically skipped into the kitchen, which caused Joe to silently cringe. The rest of the guys just smiled.

“I'll help you make it!” Rosie dashed after him. Not two seconds after she disappeared into the kitchen, the pair could be heard giggling together. It made the others suddenly doubt their chances of getting any tea of their own. A few minutes, and no tea later, they heard the pair run quietly upstairs, still giggling.

While Joe sat there with a straight face, Steve was still smiling to himself. “Aww good for Phil, yeah I saw them together at the party, she really likes him.” he finished off the last of his brown liquor, his face turned more serious. “Look, Joe, I really am sorry about your record, I know how much it meant to you, and I should have said something sooner. I'll try and make it up to you somehow.”

Joe smiled and shook his head quickly. “Don't worry about it mate. I still have a copy of the songs, they hold the memories too, just not in a physical form is all. What did I say earlier? ‘Whoever it was that inspired you to be here today, as long as you have a copy of their music, they ain't going anywhere.’”

“Yeah, something like that,” Steve's smile returned.

“Perhaps I could wear a Sex Pistols shirt or something on the next tour, it could be a sort of in-joke,” Joe chuckled. “Anyway, the best present I ever received was the money my parents somehow scraped together for us to record the EP. We can be inspired by as many records as we want, but at the end of the day, where would we be without that?”

“Yeah I guess you're right.”

Without Phil, the room was quiet. But not the good type of quiet, where you could just sit and enjoy the company of others, it was the strained sort of quiet that meant the conversation was beginning to dissolve into ‘right, I'm going to bed’. But for some reason Joe didn't want the night to end, realising only now that perhaps, he didn't take in and enjoy it enough.

“Stay for a drink won't you?” he picked up his liquor bottle, which was down to its last few drops.

“Nah I think I'm going to call it a night,'' Steve said the statement Joe had been dreading. He got up and stretched tiredly. Without another word, he slowly made his way upstairs.

Joe looked at Rick, who turned out to be asleep on the floor. How long he’d been asleep was a mystery.

“Just you and me then,” he nodded to Sav, but knew the response he'd get.

“Nah, I’ve gotta get my beauty sleep,” the bassist put his red liquor on the table, which was still about a quarter full. “I've got a date tomorrow, I've got to look pretty.” he laid himself out on the sofa, using Joe as a footrest.

Joe couldn't help but double take at Sav’s last statement. “You have a date? When did this happen?”

Sav’s eyes were now firmly closed, but he was still conscious, for now. “I got talking to a girl at the party, right before I burned my hand. I never said that the toast was for me, the girl I was with, her name was Joy if you must know, was hungry, but fancied something hot instead of cold party food. I wanted to be all noble for once and make something for her. But we all know how that ended. Anyway, you know I don't eat gluten, it gives me indigestion.”

With that, Sav fell asleep, dead to the world in seconds.

And then there was one. Joe thought he might as well go up to bed, and attempt to get at least a half decent couple of hours of sleep. As he got to his feet, the room began to spin, his alcohol intake of the night finally catching up with him in that moment. Squinting his eyes, he grabbed two blankets from behind the sofa, and put one over Rick, and one over Sav. Just before he left, he noticed Sav’s bottle still had some spirit left in it, and thought back to earlier when he’d wanted to try some. Seeing that Sav was unconscious, Joe picked up the bottle and took a sip, adding yet more fuel to the inevitable hangover he would have the next morning.

As he put the bottle down, he grimaced, the taste sending a shudder through his whole body. This was much stronger stuff than he’d been drinking, and how Sav had been drinking this so casually throughout the night was a mystery, though it was no wonder why he didn't want to share it. He'd done Joe a favour, if anything, by saving him from the inescapable tauntings of “lightweight!”

While Joe made a promise to himself to forgive and forget the incident with the record, he still couldn't help but think that he could have done something to prevent it, and that he shouldn't have been so careless with such a precious item. He went over to the phone and dialled Peter's number. Peter, of course, was either fast asleep, or still at the party, or both, so there was no hope of an answer at this hour. As it went to voicemail, Joe realised he could barely string together a sentence, much less think clear:

“Next time… we go on tour, I- I want a separate bus… just for my records. Oh, and a Sex Pistols shirt, yeah I know what happened witht the record, the boys confessed. Ok, alrighty then, bye bye.” It took him a few tries to hang the receiver up. After he’d done so, he trudged up the stairs to his room.

As he passed Phil’s room, however, he could still hear the pair giggling. Joe could already feel his hangover setting in, and just wanted some sleep after the rollercoaster of a night. He feebly knocked on the door.

“Keep it down will you?” he groaned. And went into his own room. He crashed out on top of the duvet, not even bothering to take off his clothes. Just as he was getting comfy, Phil, who was wearing a grey dressing gown, poked his head around the door.

“Did you want anything Joe?” he asked innocently.

“I just… I just don't want to hear any noises, ok?”

Phil nodded thoughtfully and left, only returning a minute later to silently place something at the end of Joe’s bed, tiptoe out, and close the door behind him.

Joe groggily looked to see what mysterious gift Phil had given him. When he saw what it was, he rolled his eyes for the final time that night. It was a pair of Rick's ear defenders that he used when practising drums. Joe figured that Phil really had struck gold with Rosie.

He was too tired to bother putting them on, or maybe he just didn't want Phil to get the last laugh. He listened to the giggling for a few more seconds, and just before he drifted off he thought to himself: “I'm never partying again,” just as the first beams of day began to break through his window.

The night was already becoming a blur, and most of it would be forgotten by the time he woke up. The series of blotchy images of Steve showing off his new jacket, dancing to Highway Star and conversations about musical heroes would quickly become just another memory of another Friday night. Not a specific Friday night, as there had been many before and would inevitably be more like this to come, which would eventually haze into future nostalgia. This was a  mere footnote that would be lost in the whirlwind of what was on the horizon, but there would always be something so magical about spending these precious, lazy nights with best friends.

***

[jaskiersvalley]

I've been doing nothing but read your fics for three days straight and I am in LOVE with your wolf pack fics. I love me some happy witchers and their bard.

I’m always so humbled when people read my stuff :) Thank you for coming along on this odd ride of who the heck knows what’s going to come next. But I am right there with you on happy witchers and their bard. So have some more :D

To say Jaskier was pissed off was an understatement. Nobody sent him packing with such cruel words. He would prove to Geralt that he was better than that. In fact, he would prove to the whole world! Revenge was a dish best served with a delicious side of “I told you so” and what was the point Jaskier had been trying to prove over the last 22 decades? It was that witchers weren’t the terrible, heartless creatures that the world liked to demonise them into. Well, maybe Geralt was but the others didn’t have to suffer because of his buffoonery. That left Jaskier with only one choice. He returned home to lick his wounds and prove his very own point.

It started, like many things, as an uphill struggle. Gone was Jaskier the bard and his place was taken by Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount de Lettenhove. His parents had wanted him to take a more active role in ruling the lands and that was exactly what he was going to do. But on his own terms. The decree went out that no witcher was to be turned away. Payment was to be prompt and fair and, of course, it would be subsidised by the Pakratz treasury. If word got out that a witcher was shunned or shortchanged, that particular village or town would be paid a personal visit and not a good one either.

Word started trickling back. Witchers were suspicious at first. Some outright refused the offer of a decent bed and a meal, opting to kill the creature in the area and flee with a bigger than expected pouch of coin. However, it seemed that a few more intrepid witchers sniffed out the area and deemed it ripe for the plucking. One corner of the Lettenhove lands even seemed to get a resident witcher. At first, the locals were wary but, it turned out, they could only see a witcher a handful of times doing very human things like fumbling a pouch or staggering back injured before they bonded. And suddenly, a cat witcher found himself a home. Not only that, allegedly he had a friend in the shadows, elusive and rarely seen. A rare sighting or two could confirm he was grumpy, suspicious and more likely to pick a fight than accept any kindness. Jaskier would put money on the fact that it was a wolf.

The fortune of one cat meant another was bound to turn up to try and get in on the good fortune. It was just as well Lettenhove was big enough and this cat took the southernmost corner which also happened to be the warmest. Surely nothing to do with the viper witcher that scouted the area before settling in too. So now Lettenhove had three, possibly four witchers who didn’t seem inclined to move on to other contracts. In fact, the settlements nearest to them seemed to be doing a great job of finding contracts for them - not all monsters but a witcher’s might was definitely needed in the fields when the ox were being stubborn and rumour had it, the wolf was quite impressive if let loose in a forge.

A messenger came pleading for help on a sunny afternoon. The wolf witcher had dragged another one into the village but seemed aggressive to any who came near and tried to help. Even the cat was no use, seemingly preoccupied with tracking down a human companion of the injured wolf. Without hesitation Jaskier jumped onto a horse and rode hard and fast, heart breaking already. Surely Geralt hadn’t found another human companion so quickly. Even worse, he hoped that the companion wasn’t dead, he didn’t want Geralt on his own again.

It was an odd relief to see a mop of dark hair than white. Not that Jaskier ever wanted anyone to be hurting but he still did hold a torch for Geralt despite his cruelty. While he wasn’t allowed near the injured witcher, Jaskier could make an educated guess that they were Lambert and Eskel which earned him a sliver of trust. He was allowed to get things from the local healer and apothecary to help Lambert care for Eskel. Even better, Lambert finally accepted a room at an inn that he could carry Eskel to. If only that had been all the drama. Jaskier didn’t expect the cat to come into the village at a pull gallop, a body slung across the horse’s back. Thankfully the healer got there before Lambert and the human got carted off with worried cat in tow.

Jaskier only left when he was confident everyone was healing and was staying put for the foreseeable future. The little he gleaned of the unusual group had his heart warming up though, glad that even out on the harsh Path, they had each other.

Of course, Jaskier’s act of generosity had consequences. Two more vipers, another cat and allegedly a griffin also took up residence throughout the lands. Which meant that contracts around the continent were being left unfilled. Witchers had plenty of work throughout Lettenhove and were well compensated for it, they had no reason or need to go further afield into harsher conditions. However, it gave Jaskier a business opportunity he just couldn’t resist. Especially when the messengers started trickling in, begging to borrow a witcher. There was no obligation for any of the witchers he considered ‘his’ to step in. But Jaskier made his home the middleman for contracts. He could negotiate pay, accommodation and other sundries for his witchers before they were offered a contract. Funnily enough, cats were the most likely to venture out, needing the change of scenery. While reclusive and prickly, it seemed that Lambert had found himself a new stomping ground he was reluctant to leave. Sometimes Eskel headed out, feeling the need to do good but never again was he chased from a village without pay, food and rest. The one time a viper was run out, Jaskier blacklisted the whole region for contracts until the king himself came to ask for forgiveness. Watching someone regal apologise to a bewildered witcher may have been the inspiration for Jaskier’s next ditty.

A grizzled wolf turned up on Jaskier’s doorstep, assessing and shrewd. He never did leave as Vesemir’s talents were put to good use with negotiations and also information gathering. Overall, Lettenhove was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Crime was at an all time low, the people were happy and witchers were beginning to be treated better throughout the continent. Yet there was no sign of Geralt. Slowly, Jaskier stopped hoping.

“He’s a stubborn ass. Should have started a new school just for him,” Vesemir grumbled one evening. “School of the Mule.”

It had Jaskier snorting a halfhearted laugh but his still pined. Months went by and other regions began to take inspiration from Lettenhove, offering their own versions of protection for resident witchers. It both filled Jaskier with pride and dread because now Geralt could settle somewhere else. The continent was vast and the safe havens were cropping up thick and fast.

Whispers started up. An elusive witcher had been spotted to the north. Nobody quite knew what he looked like, yellow eyes flashed from below the deep hood of a cloak. That was ruined by reports of Lambert tackling the mysterious witcher and Eskel piling in. Vesemir only smiled as he listened to the messenger relay the happenings while Jaskier’s heart thumped hard in his chest.

“Stubborn idiot. But also a loyal wolf.”

There were only four wolves in existence and Jaskier already housed three. Which meant the fourth could only be Geralt. His hopes and dreams were brought to life by the thumping knock on the door. Opening it, Jaskier regarded Geralt coldly.

“I have come to apologise,” he said as a blonde head poked out from behind him curiously.

“Only six years late.”

“My head was stuck so far up my ass, it took this long to get free.”

As much as Jaskier wanted to hold a grudge, he was also relieved Geralt was alive and well. Even better, he had his child surprise in tow.

“You have a lot to be making up for. But come on in.”

The rest, they say, is history.