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lilfriezatyrant · 1 month

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Deer Nighttime Peace 🌙🌟

Several weeks have passed since you landed in hell. Although you wanted to understand the real reason why you ended up in such a place at all, although you are still human and cannot remember whether you actually died... this mental quest is becoming more and more forgotten with each passing hour.

The more time you spend with one of the strongest regents, the less important this thought becomes.

Alastor, he was the being who gave you refuge in this hotel.

Your safe haven. Protected from the other demons outside the building.

Your protection is also maintained by a pact made by the elegant scarlet demon in deer form.

"If you continue to entertain me well, you will stand in my favor."

Actually a very fragile offer, at least for your part in this convenant. After all, it also means that if you no longer bring him that certain amusement, there's no place for you here anymore.

But would that really be the case? After all, the other demons here, who are also guests and hosts have grown so fond of you and they seem to like you too!

Even the tall grumpy black owl cat, who shunned you at first, secretly enjoys your frequent little caresses on his ears. A cat's purr, however quiet it may be, still sends out vibrations that you can clearly feel under the palm of your hand.

There is almost never an evening when you don't end the day with Alastor. Whether it's just with a cup of tea or one or more glasses of whiskey before you are led back to your room by his shadow or, if the tiredness or the alcohol effect has been too great, even personally by him.

On this night, however, it should be an unusual event...

Your hand grips more of the pillow you are lying on, while your other hand grips a soft surface...it feels even softer than the pillow...you clutch the outline a little tighter...it feels furry. Yet you don't exert any great force, as if you want to feel every detail, every hair.

You sleepily open one eye and only now realize that there is some weight on your chest. You just can't make anything out in the darkness.

Perhaps you were half asleep when you brought the little radio back to bed that Alastor gave you as a gift?

But...the device doesn't feel so fluffy. No, not at all. It should feel metallic, hard and a bit warm...right? Only the warmth of the fur shares a commonality with the little vintage medium...

As you carefully slide your petite hand over it, you now feel something of a hard material and it emanates coolness in contrast to the previous texture. You feel your way upwards and the material ends in a sharp point, but even in your sleepiness you remain careful not to hurt yourself.

Suddenly your eyes widen as you hear a noise. A strange noise, it sounded like a hoot of an owl...? Why would there be a forest dweller here when you're in your room in a hotel? Right In the middle of hell?

But your confusion is now turning into fear. Panic, to be precise, because right in front of you huge, monstrous eyes glowing in an eerie red flickering. The ebony pupils amidst the bright red, deformed into dials that rotate clockwise every second.

Your hand instinctively loosens and although you want to sit up, startled, you are prevented from doing so by the weight on your body.

"Waking up so early?" bright yellow teeth glare out of the darkness. A hellish, distorted grin so unholy, that reaches up to the two scarlet saucers.

"Unusual for you, little doe."

Your heartbeat, which you could still hear pounding so clearly in your body, vibrates along with the static radio sound lacing the voice.

Your own voice almost catches in your throat as you try to name the now familiar creature that caused you such panic before.

"Al-Alastor...!"

The eldritch eyes now swing counterclockwise and return to normal size, his chin perched now right on your collarbone, his eyes, still seeming so huge now due to the lack of distance, focusing only on you.

"Yes, why! Did you expect someone else?" The voice seems amused and cheerful, and you can even hear the audience laughing in the background. It's an amplification that he likes to use to make fun of something, which even you notice after a short time.

And yet... as close as the radio demon is to you right now, he has never been so close to you.

Your face blushes more and you only give a non-verbal, slight shake of your head in response. Right now you are completely overwhelmed as to what is actually going on...is this just a dream?

You slowly look around yourself in the darkness to avoid the demon's hypnotic gaze and the faint sounds of animals and the leaves blowing in the wind through the trees...you must be in his room. In the personal realm of this overlord.

"Your heartbeat...what a harmonious rhythm it makes...lovely." He props his cheek with one hand while he briefly tugs playfully at your pajama with the index finger of his other hand before tapping the spot above your heart in unison.

In response, you only let out an embarrassed giggle and you recognize the outline of Alastor better now that your eyes have adjusted to the darkness and your surroundings and he is indeed actually lying on top of you with his weight.

It doesn't feel oppressive, but it's still impossible to get away from him.

The question is...do you even want to?

"You should go back to sleep, my dear. After all, you have to get up very early in the morning to listen to my first broadcast, don't you?" His asking is more of a rhetorical question, since you take it for granted. You've never missed one of his broadcasts before.

His finger continues to tap gently to the sound of your pounding heart, but slower and calmer. In a way, you feel safe with him, this...protective gentleman. Whenever you have left the hotel, he has always been with you and nothing has ever happened to you...even his shadow seems to feel comfortable in your presence and strokes now your hair for a brief moment.

"Hmm..." the radio demon seems to muse, stopping the contact of his finger and rubbing his chin instead, before finally resting his head fully on your chest again.

"I could create a melody based on your delicious heart beat, what do you think?" his voice sounds static, with a recognizable, smug undertone.

Your face remains red, but with a slight, very sincere smile.

"That would be very flattering, Mr. Alastor."

The noble patron morphs his grin into a much wider and crooked one. He seems more than delighted with the answer, nestling his head more against the pajama, now listening with one ear to your once again uncontrolled tune of your heart.

"Then it's a done deal! Very good!" The cheerful echo in his voice is clearly audible, but his next sentence makes you now puzzled.

"You may continue, you know?." He purrs these words and they sound honest. Unfiltered. They are not in the usual voice that sounds through a radio.

But what does he mean...?

Before you could ask your question, a cool breath grips your palm and Alastor's shadowy image directs your hand to his head.

It is the first touch you have experienced with him, which he allows and tolerates. At that precise moment, time stands still for you and every quiet ambient noise is completely muted.

It was his ears and hair that you felt in your sleepy state. His inconspicuous antlers that you felt towards... the warmth and closeness emanated from him...

You silently thank the shadow with a smile before you start stroking its very soft texture again. Your ministrations remain delicate and almost reverent, as you don't want to ruffle any of his hair. Your eyes slowly close and you can hear a very soft static purring sound that goes through your body like a gentle wave.

It feels so real, it can't be a dream.

#so for everyone who wants to read a fluff little oneshot with Alastor uvu #I needed that comfort tbh and it helped c:#alastor x reader #my writing #oneshot #I did not really count the words I just write uvu #soft #Alastor #Alastor the radio demon #comfortable scene and I guess it is still in character 🤔#have a soft radio demon here ✨#based on a rp with reptile--queen <3 #hazbin hotel oneshot

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oleanderfox · 8 months

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Palia Tips

Some things I have learned that might help others. 🩵

Game Controls

You can put away your tool by pressing X.

If you get stuck, type /unstuck in the chat window and you’ll be teleported to the nearest stable surface.

Right clicking with a tool equipped will let you switch between different types of ammo (for bug catching and hunting).

You can cancel without wasting ammo after entering "aim" mode by pressing the Shift key or right mouse button (h/t @sharky857 ).

You can climb ivy in addition to cliffs. (Like inside the lighthouse..!)

You can cancel climbing/drop from a cliff face by clicking X. (h/t @lazyadmiral )

You can jump (space bar) while climbing cliffs to climb faster.

You can hold down the mouse key when mining, tilling, and chopping down trees rather than clicking for each chop.

Camera & Photos

Press K to enter camera mode.

There’s a 🔁 button in the corner if you want to swap to a front-facing camera/“selfie mode”.

If you want to see your photos while in the game, you have to save them to the album. However all photos taken, even if you don’t do that step, will be saved to your computer’s hard drive.

To find your photos, open Windows Explorer and enter %appdata% in the location bar. From there navigate to %AppData%/Local/Palia/Saved/Screenshots. You should be able to pin this folder to your quick nav/favorites to find it again easily.

Time

One hour of real time = one entire day in Palia. That means an hour in Palia passes in only 2.5 minutes of play.

You only get "credit" (for building friendships) for chatting with villagers once per villager per day.

Many bugs, fish, and plants can only be found at certain times. Time in Palia is divided into: ‣ Morning: 3-6am (rooster crows at 3) ‣ Day: 6am-6pm ‣ Evening: 6pm-9pm ‣ Night: 9pm-3am (owl hoots at 9)

Time in Palia is the same across all servers. Midnight (a new day) will always be on the hour in real world time, so 6am in Palia is at X:15, noon is at X:30, and 6pm is at X:45.

6am is a "new day" for crops, but midnight is a "new day" for chatting with villagers. Midnight also seems to be when the furniture in Tish’s shop refreshes.

Gifting runs on real world time, not Palia time. You can only give a villager one gift every 24 hours in the real world, and "Weekly Wants" are valid for one real world week. The week currently resets on Mondays at 12am Eastern.

Once you get a villager's key, you can talk to and visit them even when they are "asleep".

Mail is delivered and picked up (shipping bin sales) at 6am and 6pm.

To find rare spawns, arrive in the area 15-30 Palia minutes before the start of its catch period and clear all the common critters/plants. This will make it more likely your rare will spawn when the clock chimes.

Inventory & House

Furniture does not take up inventory space!!

A gold star on an item's icon means it's "star quality." Starred items fetch higher sales prices and are required for some quests.

Starred items will not stack with normal items.

Only star quality food can be placed in your house/lot.

More storage chests = more storage slots, but you are capped at 8.

You can hang items on the exterior walls of your home - including wallpaper!!

When in placement mode, you can rotate items using Q and E. You can turn off “grid mode” by pressing z, which allows more flexible item placement.

Leveling

Your character level is a combination of your level in each of your skills.

Eating food increases your "focus," which applies a percentage bonus that will make you level faster.

You can increase that bonus by visiting the Dragon and Phoenix shrines and spending Renown to increase the percentage (Phoenix Shrine) and the amount of focus you can accumulate.

You can only "carry" 1,000 Renown at any time. If you're not spending it, you're throwing away Exp.

Renown is also needed to expand your housing plot (by buying "Writs").

Event

You can get "displayable" food from Reth and Delaila, but it's based on RNG. Just keep buying the item until you get a star quality one.

The quickest way to get Chapaa Chase tickets is by completing the Achievements; some require you to party with others.

The drums are not obvious, but you only need to go back and forth between a pair of them interacting as they light up. Eventually the big fireworks will trigger and you will get the achievement and reward. (Do this 2 more times for the second achievement!)

The event achievements are on the Event tab, not the achievements one.

Skill-Specific Tips

Fishing: If you don’t click in time and the fish disappears, don’t panic — the same fish will keep trying again! And if you change your mind, you can pull your line in/cancel and you won’t spend any bait. This means you can wait to be sure you’ve hooked the fish you want before reeling it in so you don’t waste all your precious glow worms! The one caveat is that sparkle pools (and the guaranty of a star quality catch) disappear if you don’t catch the fish on the first nibble.

Hunting: The Proudhorn Sernuk can teleport and the Azure Chapaa can make an illusion of copies of itself that disappear when shot. They're both very difficult to hunt until you learn to make Dispel arrows. If you’re still struggling to have enough resources for everything, learn the lowest quality arrow that can kill something in one shot and hunt with those. (Kilima chapaa can be killed with a makeshift arrow while regular Kilima sernuk require a standard arrow. Bahari chapaa need at least a standard arrow while elder sernuk in Bahari will cost you several fine arrows.)

Looting: For hunting, mining, and chopping down trees, everyone who gets one "hit" in gets loot, and the loot is not diminished by sharing. So working together to find pallium nodes or hunt rare critters rewards everyone. :) (Note that you need to have the required equipment quality to be able to share, though - if you get a message saying “sorry, you need to upgrade your equipment” then you won’t get any loot.)

Mining: On the topic of Palium, it’s not as rare as you think. It has very specific spawn points, which it only shares with stone - you’ll never find palium where you found iron before. This means you should mine all the stone sharing those points to encourage palium to spawn for your next visit. Palium can be found in the caves hidden around the perimeter of Bahari and in the Pavel mines.

Foraging: Purple glowing trees are flow trees, and require more than one player to chop them down. Again, everyone gets "full" loot, no matter how many people get a swing in. For small trees, let them heal after each hit if needed to make sure everyone present can get a hit. If you’re looking for a specific resource, say, sweet leaf, look up what it shares spawn points with (in this case, morels) and pick three as well so sweet leaf has a chance to spawn. Also, brightshrooms are typically found in ruins right up against the structures so they can be easy to overlook or mistake for glowing bugs at night.

Cooking: You can find recipes in villager's homes, by fishing them up in bottles, lying around the wilderness, and completing quests or bundles in addition to buying them from Reth.

Cooking together: Like with looting, everyone gets the full reward, even if you don't contribute any ingredients.

Lore & Fun Stuff

There is a mysterious beast in the Elderwoods.

The mine's haunted.

Sooo much queer rep: All the romanceable characters don’t care about the player’s “body type.” Sifuu, the Duchess (Kenyara), and Eshe are canonically wlw. Chayne was raised by two dads. The former lighthouse keepers in Bahari Bay were a gay couple. 🏳️‍🌈

Critters that have been mentioned but don't have in-game models or released concept art yet so we just have to speculate: ‣ Kitsuu: Sacred companions, according to Hassian. There is a kitsuu constellation which has "floppy ears" and horns. Possibly the "fennec fox with antlers" creature drawn in the Vault of the Waves? (Confirmed by the official Discord emotes!) No longer unreleased as of 0.3.6. :) ‣ Peki: Palian version of chickens, or at least they lay eggs and have feathers, and according to Nai’o “there are at least 72 unique color and pattern combinations for peki breeds.” ‣ Riffroc: Palian mounts. Nai'o has a beloved one named Sugarfoot; Kenyatta’s is named Sundrop.

Bug Reporting, Suggestions, and Help

Report problems here.

Give feedback and request/suggest features here.

If you're stuck on a quest or where to find an item, there's an "Official" wiki and an "unofficial" wiki.

#palia #palia open beta #palia tips #hey s6 please please please please please let me romance hodaddy okay thank you

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hufflegruff · 11 months

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Chapter 3: A Knowing Look

Pairing: Sebastian x F!Reader Summary: In which Sebastian is whipped and literally everyone can see from a mile away that this is more than friendship.

“I have it on good authority that Andrew Larson is after your girl.” Sebastian wanted to laugh, because he must have misheard. And if not, surely that was just a jest. Also, his girl? Hearing it (even out of Leander’s slimy mouth) was both thrilling and petrifying. But before he could reply, Leander continued. “Made a big scene about how he’s going to ask her out today.” Sebastian swore he could feel the Earth’s rotation come to a halt and his head spin. “But I guess if she’s not your girl - it’s no bother, is it?”

Chapter 3: Leander

“Distracted Sallow? Never took you for a bumbling love sick fool.”

Sebastian couldn’t help the groan that crawled out his throat.

Sebastian had his suspicions, but Leander’s snivelling face confirmed it.

The universe was out to destroy him.

His day had already been bad enough. Leander had bested him in a duel in Defence Against the Dark Arts— which only fed his gargantuan ego. Even Professor Hecat was surprised at how atrocious Sebastian’s form had been. Every misstep and poorly spellcast, she made sure to let him know.

So it was safe to say that Sebastian did not have the patience nor the energy to humour any of Leander’s buffoonery.

He didn’t even really know how it happened. It was all a blur once he stepped onto the duelling platform. Then all of a sudden he was face flat on the ground. His robes haphazardly flung over his head. His legs strewn across the floor.

Merlin, how atrociously humiliating.

Especially when he was still trying to recover from his last humiliating incident in the library.

His last conversation with Poppy had made a total and utter mess of him. He felt like mush. All sentimental flesh and no bones. His mind and heart was still in disarray from their last conversation. When she had so brazenly implied that it was only obvious to assume he was courting the Hero of Hogwarts, the thought of actually courting her was the only thing that ran laps around his cluttered mind.

That was probably why he lost to Leander in the first place.

Ever since their encounter in the library, his eyes felt like they were moving constantly in conflict. Half of the time, they couldn’t stop searching every hallway and every nook and every corner of the castle in search of her. The other half of the time (when they finally found her), his eyes could never quite meet hers.

How did he end up becoming this silly bundle of nerves and contradictions?

That was how Sebastian found himself moping in the Transfiguration courtyard, with only the idle castle pigeons in his company. He had spent the past hour glaring daggers at any mythical statues that deigned to throw pitiful looks his way. He even ignored Ominis’ owls. He had been perfectly content brooding by his lonesome.

That was until Leander-the-knobhead-Prewett showed up.

“Piss off Prewett,” a migraine brewed above the bridge of Sebastian’s nose, “Go spew your nonsense to someone who cares.”

Leander ignored his protests, and perched himself comfortably on the bench next to Sebastian instead. All Sebastian had wanted today was a quiet afternoon to sulk in peace. He wanted to claw his hair out at how he had even been robbed of that. By Leander of all people. He was probably the last person on the bloody planet Sebastian wanted to share this afternoon in the courtyard with.

“Shame. It seems without your girlfriend around, your duelling skills turn poorly.”

“What are you on about?” Sebastian bristled.

Poorly? How dare he.

Tough talk from a glorified overgrown ginger twig.

Also, not this again. Not today. It was one thing from Ominis and Poppy. But Leander? If even one other nosy Gryffindor came up to him to imply that he was courting the girl wonder, Sebastian was going to throw himself off the edge of the Astronomy tower.

(But complicated feelings aside... Sebastian was grateful that she hadn’t been around to see his sorry arse get obliterated in class.)

“Come on. No need to be shy about it, Sallow. The whole school knows you’re soft on the new girl.”

Leander gave him a terribly patronising pat on the back. Instinctually, Sebastian shoved him off.

Him? Soft? That was utterly ridiculous. Softness was for babies. For defenceless maidens. And Sebastian Sallow was not any of those things. He was smart as a whip. Tough as nails. Sharp as a blade. Softness was not in his repertoire.

“Well then, you’re even dumber than you look, cause I’m not soft on anyone.” Sebastian replied snarkily.

Leander snorted, “Half of the year’s got bets on when you’ll finally be caught snogging in the hallways.”

Great. Just fucking wonderful. Of all the things Sebastian needed today, he definitely did not need the mental picture of him snogging his friend senseless wreaking havoc in his restless mind. And fuck off. Snogging in the hallways? Give him a little more credit. Sebastian was a raging flirt, but he wasn’t an exhibitionist. He was more romantic than that. If he was going to snog her it sure as hell wouldn’t be in plain view for the entire student body to see.

Not that he was going to snog her of course. Not that he wanted to snog her.

It was just hypothetical. Scientific even.

But bets? Snogging? God this was probably karmic justice. For that one time in fourth year when he had spread a rumour that Duncan Hobhouse and Constance Dagworth had a romantic tryst in the broom closet in the clock tower. It wasn’t true of course. Which is why Constance was furious, and why Duncan (unsurprisingly) loved it.

“It’s all good and well if other people want to waste their own money. Doesn’t bother me.” Sebastian replied, trying his best to sound aloof.

“Really?” Leander asked coyly, “Come on. We’ve all seen the sappy looks you give her.”

Sebastian was itching to hex the arrogant look off his face.

Genuinely, Sebastian couldn’t believe how many times he had to defend the status of their friendship this week alone. What business was it of others to speculate on such things anyway? Had Hogwarts, with its endless puzzles and mysteries, become so boring that Sebastian’s private life was now the talk of the town?

“Oh relax. Don’t get your knickers in a twist Sallow,” Leander snickered, elated by Sebastian’s foul mood, “I was trying to do you a favour. I have information that might be of interest to you.”

Sebastian leant back further on the bench as his posture gave up. He was tired. He’d spent the better half of the week overthinking. He didn’t want to talk to Leander. He just wanted to laze in the sun and wallow.

“I can’t for the life of me imagine you telling me anything of use.”

He was positive that Leander had not a single wisdom to impart onto him.

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two.” Leander said, as if he’d just said something utterly hilarious but he wouldn’t say why.

“I’d be surprised if you could even string a sentence that could impress me.” Sebastian retorted. He might’ve lost their duel, but he wasn’t about to lose this battle of words.

But then Leander pulled a fast one on him and said her name.

“It’s about her.”

Of course it was about her. How could it not be about her? But simultaneously, how could it be about her? There was nothing that Leander could know about her that Sebastian already didn’t. The Gryffindor was more than likely baiting him, trying to rile him up.

Which is why he should’ve obviously left it — curiosity never did no cats any good. (But Sebastian wasn’t a cat. And never knowing would’ve likely killed him just the same.)

“Enlighten me,” Sebastian said dryly.

He could tell that pleased Leander immensely.

Haughtily, Leander leaned towards Sebastian and whispered, “I have it on good authority that Andrew Larson is after your girl.”

Sebastian wanted to laugh, because he must have misheard. And if not, surely that was just a jest. Also, his girl? Hearing it (even out of Leander’s slimy mouth) was both thrilling and petrifying.

But before he could reply, Leander continued.

“Made a big scene about how he’s going to ask her out today.”

Sebastian swore he could feel the Earth’s rotation come to a halt and his head spin.

Predictably, Leander was looking at Sebastian awfully smug. Like he had spent years since their first day at Hogwarts mining into the depths of Sebastian’s subconscious with cheap insults and backhanded duelling tactics and finally struck gold. He had found the thing that unnerved him most. Unravelled him into a mess of emotions.

Her.

“But I guess if she’s not your girl - it’s no bother, is it?”

It was no bother. Logically, emotionally, in actuality — no bother at all. Not a single fucking one.

So why did it feel like someone had just flung him mercilessly into the black lake? Tied to an anchor pulling him down into a cavern of endless despair? Like someone had grabbed him by the throat and was choking him with intent to kill? And why did he have this sudden, insatiable urge to beat Andrew Larson into a miserable pulp?

She was not his girl, by any means or definition. And as Sebastian had previously clarified, he was not soft on her either. So logically, if some guy wanted to throw their hat into the ring to court her, there was no issue.

But when Sebastian genuinely tried to picture it: Larson making her laugh; putting his gangly arms around her shoulders; staring deeply into her eyes - it just felt wrong. It felt unnatural. It felt like the ground was flipped on its head. It flooded bile in the back of his throat. It didn’t make sense. None of it. And what could a simpleton like Andrew Larson even offer the girl wonder anyways?

Sebastian had never thought much of Andrew Larson before. And that was exactly it. He wasn’t much to think about at all. No redeeming qualities of note. So what made him think that he was worthy of her? She was the Hero of Hogwarts for Merlin’s sake. She was strong and lovely and unyielding and a tempest and way out of his league.

Sebastian was definitely angrier than rationality called for. But even just the thought of Larson’s weasley little hands touching her made his blood boil.

And when blood boiled, it eviscerated everything.

“It’s none of my business.” Sebastian practically spat with his fists clenched.

The words came out more brusquely than he intended (but less than he truly felt).

To his credit, Leander was surprised, “What? Don’t you want to know where and when he’s going to do it?”

“What fucking for?”

Leander looked at him condescendingly, “Well I don’t know, to save her from Larson’s grubby hands or something?”

“You and I both know she doesn’t need saving,” Sebastian affirmed with an eye roll.

“Come on Sallow. You’re having me on. I know you’re just dying to put that Ravenclaw in his place.”

Sebastian would love nothing more. But he didn’t want to give Leander the upper hand.

Leander scoffed, “Fine whatever. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. I was trying to help you out of the goodness of my heart. Don’t come crying to me when you find out that she’s decided to try going out with Larson.”

Almost dramatically, Leander made his move to stand up and go. But it was all for show of course. He just wanted Sebastian to beg for his help.

But Sebastian wasn’t paying him any mind. Too busy caught in the storm of his own emotions.

Because the more he thought about it — the more he took a mental magnifying glass and really, really scrutinised the damn feeling — the more he was inclined to believe that perhaps he was soft on her.

For starters, he was always worrying about her. Whether she was safe on her adventures. Whether she’d eaten breakfast. Whether she was tired from the weight of being so depended on. Was that softness? Whenever she looked at him, he felt terrified. Like his heart would race out of his chest from the sight of her. Was that softness?

Was softness meant to feel this anxious? That didn’t sound right.

It didn’t sound at all like the romances that maidens sang in their folk songs. They made it sound so easy. Nothing about his feelings for her ever felt easy to understand. For Sebastian, there were no butterflies or angel songs or clouds parting or hippogriff rides off into sunset. It was nothing like that. It always felt urgent. It always felt like endless running and scalding fire and falling off the edge of the universe all at once.

Like she was her own blinding force of magnetism pulling him towards her, off the edge of an unknown precipice. And Sebastian didn’t mind at all. Hell, even if she didn’t tug him, even if she protested — he would’ve marched right up to her, grabbed her hand and jumped off the edge with her without a second thought.

Maybe… in its own complex and twisted way, that meant that he was soft on her.

(And maybe that was the most terrifying thing about it all.)

God. That meant that he couldn’t let Andrew anywhere near her.

With renowned vigour, Sebastian pulled Leander by his robe and demanded.

“Tell me.” Sebastian finally.

Leander stopped his pacing. Check and mate. Hook, line and sinker. He knew that he would cave; Leander had him right where he wanted him — and the fucker had never looked so delighted with himself.

“I knew that you’d need my help.”

Like they had a mind of his own, his legs moved first.

First they walked briskly, and then suddenly they were sprinting at reckless speeds towards her. God knows why, because he surely didn’t. Sebastian was so single-minded in his run that he didn’t hear the complaints of the castles sleepy paintings, nor Imelda Reyes yells to slow the fuck down, nor the screeches from the gaggle of first years running from the madman he must have appeared to be.

He was running headfirst into … god knows what. On the precarious word of Leander Prewett. On the word that some other guy had thought he was foolishly worthy to ask for even a slither of her attention.

The running was endless. It was stairs and narrow arches and stretches of hallways. But he wasn’t going to stop. Not even a radical force of nature could stop him in his path. Tunnel vision would get him to that greenhouse; Sebastian’s blind faith would make sure of it.

Because now that he finally could admit to himself that maybe he was soft on her. That maybe their friendship was dearer to him than most other friendships. That maybe all of this was (at most) a crush — he couldn’t let Andrew Larson derail everything before he even started.

Not that he had a solid plan or anything.

Which was abundantly clear to him now that he found himself standing in front of the towering doors that led into the greenhouse. He was out of breath and logical reasoning. If he did see them... What would he do about it?

What could he do about it?

But with no time to waste, Sebastian guessed he would just have to find out.

So he pushed open the doors.

And once he stepped into the greenhouse, Sebastian couldn’t help but grimace. Of course someone as mediocre as Andrew Larson would pick somewhere as basic as the Greenhouse to try to court the girl wonder. He probably thought that he could woo her with a flower or two. That if she didn’t have any feelings for him to begin with, she was a simple enough girl that a bouquet was enough to sway her with his affection.

But he would be wrong. Because she wasn’t the kind of girl that would go on a romantic dalliance with a boy she hardly knew. With a Ravenclaw no less. She was too smart, too witty, too compelling to be wasted on someone like him.

She had always been better suited with Slytherins anyway. At least they had the cunningness to match her endless ferocity.

(Or — as Sebastian tried his best to avoid saying — she was better suited with him.)

From a distance, he could hear quiet chatter.

And when he looked, between the restricted view of foliage, Sebastian felt a pang in his heart at the sight of them.

They were standing in a secluded alcove of the greenhouse light. She was drenched in sunlight and surrounded by all things flora — and even in these distressing times, he couldn’t help but think that she looked bewitching.

… And beside her was Andrew.

All he wanted to do was run up to her and pull her out of his orbit. The itch in his fingers to reach out to touch her was stronger than ever; her gravitational pull was overwhelming. But she would’ve probably hated him for it. The girl wonder would never fancy herself a damsel in distress.

But maybe she would forgive him if he said that he was saving himself. From the grief of watching someone try to claim her as their own.

Nevertheless, Sebastian refrained and casted a quick disillusionment charm. Staying stealthily behind this fern planter would have to suffice.

As he tip-toed closer, Sebastian heard Andrew’s pompous voice ring out:

“... I mean, it’s no secret. I think you’re absolutely incredible. And stunning. So I was wondering if you would do me the honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade next weekend?”

When he heard Andrew speak, all Sebastian could see was blinding red. Gone were the lacewing flies in his chest. They were replaced with a feeling more feral and bitter and grotesque.

In the air sat a thick, heavy pause. It was silent. With fear and anticipation frothing at the base of his throat, Sebastian gripped his own hands in wait. So hard that bruises were probably blooming.

Surely she was going to reject him… Right?

“I’m…” She began tentatively.

Just as Andrew leaned in expectantly (patronisingly even), Sebastian leaned in uneasiness. The tension was palpable. Sebastian could taste it in the air, weighing on the crease of his brow, splitting cuts into the skin of his lips.

Surely she was going to say no… Right?

Finally, she replied, “That’s a very lovely offer Andrew, but I’m afraid that I can’t take you up on it. Thank you for thinking of me though.”

After she had spoken, Sebastian let go of the shaky breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding in.

The world wasn’t in peril anymore, he wasn’t seeing red. Her words were like oxygen to his battered lungs; he could finally breathe again.

Her voice had sounded perfectly diplomatic. Polite and wonderfully neutral. No hint of derision, with just the right amount of compassion. And Sebastian couldn’t thank the heavens enough for it.

Thank Merlin. Thank Salazar. Thank any and all of the Gods that looked down upon him.

But almost comically, Andrew’s face quickly sour. Just a second ago, the Ravenclaw had been brimming with bravado. Now he looked like an embittered spoiled child who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. Sebastian could tell that this was clearly not the way that Andrew had hoped that this would go — and he had never been more ecstatic for someone’s flagrant misery.

Sebastian had a feeling that he wouldn’t take the rejection with grace, but he hoped that the Ravenclaw would have the sense to not make a scene.

“Come on. It’s just one butterbeer. Can’t hurt, can it?” Andrew sounded almost annoyed.

From his hiding spot, Sebastian almost laughed. What nerve did this dunce have to be annoyed? It seemed that the girl wonder felt the same.

She forgoed diplomacy, and raised her brow disapprovingly.

“Well, I’m sorry. But I’m simply not interested.”

“Well you’re not taken are you?” Andrew had the gall to retort.

She hesitated. Only for a brief moment, but significant enough for Sebastian to catch it. He couldn’t help but wonder — why did she stop?

“No. I’m not.”

Andrew went to grab her wrist, “Well then the least you could do is not reject a man’s kind offer to take you out.”

Sebastian bristled through gritted teeth. Watching Andrew touch her was the last straw. He never thought twice about him until today, and now Sebastian hated him with every agitated fibre in his being. The nerve of this idiot. How dare he. Adrenaline spiked into his veins and before his brain had time to think, he was ready to punch the living daylights out of him—

But then she wrung her hand out of his grasp, and raises her wand at the ready as an act of defiance. When she glared at him, her eyes were ice cold and pure venom. Sebastian had never seen her so furious, it was almost impressive what Andrew managed to incite out of her.

“I don’t need to do anything. I don’t owe anyone anything. Especially boys who refuse to take a lady’s refusal with grace,” She snapped back.

Sebastian retreated, and stood down. She was comfortably standing her ground and he wanted to jump for joy. He had never been more enthralled by her than in this moment.

Andrew snorted. Which Sebastian could tell displeased the girl wonder even more.

“I think I should go.” She said brusquely.

But before she could, Andrew rudely brushed past her shoulders, and muttered indignantly, “Whatever. Don’t bother. I’ll leave.”

When Andrew began to storm off, she was left in the lurch to watch the belligerent boy walk off in bewilderment. She stared agape, as if she was unsure whether or not to dignify his rude behaviour with a response.

But Sebastian wasn’t about to let him off this easily.

Just as Andrew started to stomp his way up the steps past the pond garden. A wicked idea struck Sebastian. As quickly as the idea came to him, he lifted his wand and pointed at the Ravenclaw’s feet.

“Impedimenta,” Sebastian whispered.

And almost as if he was moving in slow motion, Sebastian savoured every delectably humiliating expression that flickered on Andrew Larson’s face as he fell off the cobbled staircase; face first into the depths of the greenhouse pond.

Splash!

In less than five hours, the entire school had heard all about Andrew Larson’s failed attempt to court the girl wonder. The highlight of the tale was of course, his ungraceful dive head-first into the greenhouse pond.

The rumours first started when the Ravenclaw was seen storming out of the greenhouse annex drenched silly, with a nest of foliage poking out of his unruly hair. He had left a squelchy trail of footsteps behind him, and a flock of Gryffindors girls in speculating hushed whispers.

But then the details became public knowledge; and how that came to be would forever be a mystery.

When Ominis had first found out, he asked Sebastian if had heard the news. Ominis eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing more when Sebastian shrugged in response. He clearly suspected that Sebastian knew more than he was letting on.

At the dinner table, Ominis mused, “I wonder how they found out.”

Sebastian replied, “Yeah. I wonder.”

After expertly deflecting all of Ominis’ questions. He excused and made his way On his way back to the Slytherin common room, just on a corner leading up towards the grand staircase, he bumped into her.

“Oh, Sebastian!” She said warmly.

Hearing his own name come out of her mouth, Sebastian felt his heart literally skip a beat. Which was preposterous, because what business did hearts have skipping at all? Vital functions shouldn’t malfunction at the mere mention of a name.

Sebastian had thought about nothing but her in the last five hours; it felt like he had experienced a lifetime of emotions in that short span of time alone. There were so many words and feelings that he wanted to say to her. So many revelations and just as many answered questions.

“Hi.” Sebastian said.

But that was the only thing that he managed to get out.

“I feel like… I haven’t seen you in a while,” She said.

It had been ages, Sebastian wanted to scream. It had been a week since they had properly spent any time together; since the last time they were in the library. It had been disgustingly too long — but how could he tell her that without sounding like an utter desperate fool?

“It has been a while. I imagine you’ve been busy.”

“Mmhm,” She said absentmindedly.

Her eyes briefly glazed over, as if she was contemplating saying more to him. Sebastian had a feeling he already knew what was weighing on her conscience.

“I heard about Larson.” Sebastian said.

A light blush dusted on her cheeks.

“Oh… You heard about that?” She chucked slightly nervously. In an attempt to hide her discomfort, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, which stubbornly kept falling loose. Sebastian had to tell himself not to reach out and tuck it out of the way for her.

“It’s all anyone can talk about.” Sebastian conveniently left out the part that he had actually been there to witness it all.

She grimaced.

“Oh, it’s nothing newsworthy, I just told him that I wasn’t interested—”

“Good.” Sebastian interrupted (much too) abruptly.

Her eyes shot up to his, startled by the suddenness of his reply. Like a deer in headlights, he looked just as bewildered by the sound of his own voice. Fuck, did he really just say good? He cursed himself for how overly eager that must have sounded, and hoped that she didn’t read too much into it.

“I mean… it’s good you spoke your mind.” Sebastian clarified quickly.

She looked at him dubiously, with inquisitive eyes. Sebastian felt a chill run down his spine. He must have said too much with so little, because she was looking at him rather intensely. He couldn't help but wonder if she could now see through him, peering into his mess of his thoughts and emotions.

Was she looking for an answer to something in particular? And did she find it?

But if she did, she didn’t reveal it.

“Right.” She finally said.

Then slowly, but surely, a smile grew on the edges of her lips. Like a soft patch of shade on a blistering summer day, it soothed his temperamental chest.

When Sebastian had tried to picture her and Andrew together, it all felt wrong. But right here, in this moment just between them, when she was looking straight at him, all felt right in the world. Like peace was at his footbed. Like his contentment was in the palm of her delicate hands.

Sebastian couldn’t believe that he ever denied being soft on her.

And he couldn’t believe it took so many people — including Leander for fucks sake — to see it.

“Join me tomorrow at dinner?” Sebastian said, before hurriedly adding, “And Ominis of course. Feels like it’s been a while”

She smiled and said, “Sure.”

This time, Sebastian didn’t fight the smile on his face, “Great.”

And in that moment, Sebastian did genuinely believe all was great. ——

Notes

This chapter was so fun to write but also it took me WAY longer than I thought it was going to. It's also wayyyy longer than chapter 1 and 2, so I hope you guys enjoyed it.

I apologise for the Leander slander. But tbh in some ways he's team SebxMc! So maybe we're all actually pro Leander

I also apologise for the Andrew Larson slander. tbh don't know a thing about him, so he probs doesn't deserve such hate. But oh well, the things we do for romance.

Shoutout to @wt-fxck @ithinkweallsing @mysticrose1210 @eleanorstaghart @deliciouslyferal @oliviajdjarin @80strashbag @radical-ghostface @tlnyjoong @fall727 @lololpiz @ssimpy for all your lovely comments and reblogs!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!!!

#Sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow imagines #hogwarts legacy

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elvensorceress · 1 month

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wip wednesday

tagged by @diazsdimples @hoodie-buck @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @daffi-990 (though I think these were mostly for Tuesday so consider this me also tagging you for Wednesday 😘💕) tagging @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @ebdaydreamer @shortsighted-owl @messyhairdiaz @wh0re-behavi0r @rogerzsteven @loveyouanyway @bekkachaos @giddyupbuck @tizniz @disasterbuckdiaz @epicbuddieficrecs @transboybuckley @spaceprincessem @confetti-cupcake @heartshapedvows @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz more Unless firefam silliness that directly follows this scene 💕

“Okay, enough stalling,” Chim waves a hand to redirect their attention. “So far we have heard nothing about what happened after the party and what came of our intervention and what is going on with the two of you?” He points at both Buck and Eddie for emphasis. Like he means business.

Eddie just turns to look at Buck. “Intervention?”

Buck makes a face and waves it off. “It was— I’ll tell you later,” he says to Eddie and then addresses Hen and Chim. “What do you want to know about our private personal lives that are private and personal and none of your business?”

Hen and Chim make identical groaning noises.

“Oh, suddenly you’re not going to say anything?”

“It’s personal and private now but not when we have to hear about infamous firehose escapades?”

“You go on about the reporter and the dispatcher—”

“—and snake lady and all the yoga teachers and bartenders and dancers and surfers and cowboys and cowgirls and poor, unfairly slandered Lucy—”

“But not about this?”

“We have to hear disturbing details for weeks, months, years but now you want to plead the fifth?”

“We have to suffer through that and you won’t even tell us what we want to know?”

“We’re your squad goals family!”

From where he’s sitting, Eddie can clearly see Bobby rubbing at his forehead and possibly contemplating prayer. If that is a thing that can be ascertained by an expression. Eddie’s pretty sure it is. At least where Bobby is concerned.

“It’s only fair,” Hen says. “If you’ve finally realized you’re both epically in love with each other in a way that puts all tales of fictional love to shame because the both of you—”

“Buck mostly,” Chim clarifies and then says to Eddie. “We had to intervene because red alert reporter demon and questionable 2.0 decisions and did you know he went and broke poor Ravi? Ravi couldn’t take it anymore. He went back to B shift. That’s where he went.”

Bobby chimes in to very patiently say, “Ravi chose to switch a few shifts because Eddie is back and we still have to figure out a good schedule for everyone while Harper is on maternity leave and Jackson is recovering from a broken arm and Bailey is out on her national guard rotation.”

“Nuh uh,” Chim eloquently argues. “You were there. You saw it. Buck and the red alert reporter broke him.”

“Both of you,” Hen persists as if there has been no interruptions. “Are driving us insane with this oblivious, ‘he doesn’t love me, we can’t be together’ thing. So, I think you owe us some information.”

“I swear if you two haven’t figured out something here,” Chim gives them a frazzled, frantic, desperate look. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.” He turns in his seat and leans around the edge toward the front. “Cap, what are we going to do?”

Bobby glances back at them, and he could easily disclose that they both signed certain paperwork already only moments ago. Because he knew even without them saying anything. But Bobby just shrugs and nonchalantly turns and faces forward. And probably prays for peace and quiet for them all.

Leaving the choice to them.

read on to part 3

#buddie #wip wednesday #buddie wip #jenwyn wip #fic: unless you ask me to #911fic #yes I have been watching the rookie what of it shhhh

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olderthannetfic · 8 months

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/724781513472868352 I resonate with this on a deep level. I get told at college all the time that I don't look LGBT+ (they refuse to say queer, respectability politics is a helleva drug), I don't act it, no queer person is into my major or my hobbies, and it's weird that I'm queer but not into astrology or dressing more aesthetically ("are you a cottagecore or a dark academia gay?" I'm neither I'm a me) or playing Pokemon because outgrowing Pokemon is for cishets. People talk about gays/LGBT+ not being able to drive or do math or sit normally and then act like I'm some kind of ridiculous weirdo for not laughing at what they assure me is a true statement that does not apply to them or to me. People encourage me to experiment with my style or hair and "come out of your shell". I am informed I need to listen to certain musicians because all LGBT+ people are into them. It's weird that I'm not. It's even weirder I don't like The Owl House or hate Steven Universe or keep up with Heartstopper like the good queers do.

Basically it all boils down to, "Why can't you be more normal? Why can't you be like us?"

Because I'm not. My dad is a Pashtun Muslim and my mother is a Bukharan Jew. I have lived in the Deep South half my life and Wyoming the other half. My media interests are unrelated to queer rep and wholly based on liking the plots of things. I grew up on oldies and TV shows like Starsky and Hutch that my parents loved, pirated and played on repeat. I don't believe in astrology, I'm not a witch and I'm not an atheist with a Christocentric worldview who assumes all religions are Christianity Lite. I don't listen to the correct musicians mostly because I discover music entirely by accident and have a mishmash of genres and bands in rotation. Pokemon fell off and I'm not into it. I would sooner die than dye my Pashtun red hair that people made fun of me for as a kid. I like wearing button downs, clean shirts, nice jeans and my Magen David. None of this is incompatible with being queer. No one is going to kick me out of a gay club for not having played Pokemon Violet or listening to Tracy Chapman or trusting in science over crystals for healing.

And I really hate that after years of being avoided and pitied in high school by jackass backwards rednecks for being weird, I got to my dream university, the university in the most liberal city in Montana, and get the same fucking treatment.

Commenters like the one anon mentioned remind me of all the people who act like I'm doing it wrong. What is 'it', in that sentence? Living my life. Being queer. And when it crops in fandom - and I've gotten it sometimes for writing queer characters who are like me, Southern and into uncool shit and not sharp dressers and religious - it just makes me want to start screaming.

I am queer. I am not incorrectly queer. I am who I am and therefore, because I am queer, that is a correct way to do queerness.

Some gripes about Gen Z are overblown but this weirdly narrow view of what queerness is allowed to look like or be is 100% as awful as other generations say it is and it's fucking exhausting to live through. I don't have to sit differently in order to be doing queerness right or be unable to drive. I exist and I am queer and that is all I need to do and be.

I wish fandom was different from real life. I wish it was more open to the reality that queer people have a multitude of backgrounds and lived experiences. We're facing enough shit IRL, can't we just have one place where we're NICE to each other?

As a 40+ queer, I'm laughing myself sick at the current crop of "required" queer interests.

In my day, it was oldschool cis gay male culture for the men (think being obsessed with Bette Davis) and But I'm a Cheerleader and Dykes to Watch Out For for the women or something.

Not that you have to like any of those things either. It's just hilarious how clueless people are about what's a temporary trend that will probably be different in 5 years.

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maniculum · 10 days

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Bestiaryposting Results -- Hreksong

Slightly awkward timing on this one: the animal in question happened to come up on a recent episode of our podcast (We literally quoted a line from the Bodley MS 764 entry, because it was relevant to the story we were reading). So any of the artists who listen may have gotten spoilers. (I say "may", but I've already seen one art post that references the episode.) Sorry about that, artists. Kind of a bizarre coincidence, actually -- it's pretty rare that we happen across bestiary material in a narrative text, and the fact that we did so shortly before the relevant entry came up in the rotation... well, the odds are against it.

Anyway, anyone who doesn't know what this is about should check out https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. You can also check the "maniculum bestiaryposting" tag to see what beast is the current prompt. The entry for this week's drawings can be found here:

Art below the cut, roughly chronological, as always.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) decided that the best interpretation of the information given was that this was a sort of arboreal mongoose that practiced mouthbrooding. If you want to know what the reasoning was there, you should read the linked post -- it all makes sense there. I absolutely love that the one in the picture is opening its mouth to show the baby riding inside. Silverhart indicates that this is a quicker sketch than usual, but frankly their animal-drawing skills are so good that even a quick sketch is impressive from my perspective.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) did separate drawings for the large outdoor version (upper image, carrying its young) and the small indoor version (lower image, stealing someone's food). The linked post, which explains the design in some detail, indicates that CheapSweets was thinking along similar lines as Silverhart -- i.e., what kind of animal is known for hunting snakes? I like the pose in the first image, and I really like the scene depicted in the second one. On one hand, I'm sure having little creatures live in your roof and steal food literally out of your hands is quite frustrating, but on the other hand, it's very funny. Look at that little guy just brazenly stealing some chicken (or whatever type of bird). The idea of them using their back legs to grip rafters for exactly this purpose is excellent.

@strixcattus (link to post here) decided these could be birds, and has drawn these owl-like creatures for us. They look a bit surly, but that could just be the feather pattern on their faces. As always, I strongly recommend checking out that linked post, as Strixcattus writes brilliant interpretations of these entries in the register of a modern naturalist to accompany the illustrations.

@pomrania (link to post here) has noted that cats live in houses and eat mice, and given us this charming domestic scene. They also note the issues with this interpretation in the linked post, which of course you should read. I think the poses of the cats are very well done here; one of those kittens looks like it wants to paw at the monk's belt but can very much not reach.

And now for the Aberdeen Bestiary:

I'm not sure about the head proportions -- I'd suggest that the flattened snout is because the artist ran out of space, if it weren't for the fact that they were fine letting the back foot extend into the border -- but that is recognizably a weasel.

A few things to note from this:

1. Medieval people apparently had not only mice in their homes, but weasels, which I'd never really thought about. I'm not sure what the distinction they're drawing between the type you find in your home and the type you find in the woods is about, though.

2. The weasel's healing magic crops up in multiple texts, including the Lais of Marie de France and Volsungasaga. It's less common than you might think to find overlap between bestiary-weirdness and narrative-weirdness, so that's pretty notable.

3. I have no friggin' idea why anyone thought they gave birth through their ears. Baffling.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #hreksong

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notyourprof · 4 months

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F1 Explains – 9 November 2023 – Notes/Summary

When Em @powerful-owl first put out her call for primers (what feels like a hundred years ago now), I swore I had just recently listened to a description of what a race weekend was like for drivers on one of my podcasts, almost certainly F1 Explains. I listened back to the two episodes I thought it might be on, and figured I’d go ahead and take and share some notes on everything, in case there is some useful info in there for others. It turns out I had mis-remembered, because the discussion was about what a race weekend is like for media folks, not drivers, but I think it’s still useful because it does give information about what the drivers’ media obligations are.

In general, I highly recommend the F1 Explains podcast (previously called Formula Why), especially to new F1 fans who want to learn more details about the sport. Katie Osborne and Christian Hewgill co-host it, and on most episodes they pick a single topic (e.g. racing in the rain, street circuits, driver training regimens, etc.) and do a deep dive with a few different experts. But they also do semi-regular “quick-fire” episodes where they cover a bunch of questions that maybe don’t need a full episode to answer. Former Aston Martin strategist and current F1 + Sky Sports strategy analyst Bernie (Bernadette) Collins is a regular guest expert on the quick-fire episodes. (She’s also a regular in MY HEART, because she is amazing and wonderful and has the best Irish accent.) There are a few other rotating experts as well, usually from the F1/Sky Sports family.

Anyways, here is my write-up of the answer to the question about what a race weekend is like for media, which was on the episode from 9 November 2023:

Q: What are race weekends like for media and broadcasters? Are there dedicated times the media can speak to drivers? A: F1 is one of the sports where media actually get the most availability of drivers for the media. Thursday is Media Day. Each team puts out a list of times, usually a 5-20 minute window, where TV or print media can come along and ask questions. For TV it’s called a “scrum” where the media are in a sort of arc around the driver with all of their cameras pointed at the driver and they take turns asking questions. Written media is similar. If the driver misses that time for whatever reason, there usually aren’t any backup times. Media can also request one-to-one interviews at a separate time, but that is negotiated and set weeks and weeks in advance. Each team puts aside one hour for media time on a Thursday that includes the TV and written media scrums as well as any one-to-one interviews. Additionally, every weekend there are two press conferences held by the FIA on Media Day. Ten drivers do the press conference with written media where the drivers are all sat together at a desk or on couches answering questions. The other ten drivers do the TV pen, which is a U-shape with all of the TV crews standing around the outside and each driver works their way around the U talking to each TV crew. Each crew gets a maximum of two questions per driver. After each practice session, qualifying, and the race itself, the drivers will do the TV pen again and speak to written media. The top three finishers also do the post-race press conference.

So feel free to use this information when writing fic, but also remember that you don’t have to have all of your facts absolutely perfectly correct! It’s called fiction for a reason!

There were a lot of other interesting questions and answers in the episode, which I also took notes on, and I will put those below the cut. (Read on to find out which driver has Strong Feelings about the roundabouts near Milton Keynes, and which world champions have accidentally pulled into the wrong pit boxes before, LOL.)

Is this the kind of thing that is interesting and useful? I have a summary written up already for the 2 November 2023 episode, because I thought the "what is race weekend like" question might be in that one, but this is already super long. Should I post the notes on that episode in a different post? I can do notes/summaries for other episodes if that's something people are interested in, but I have a bad history of spending a lot of time documenting things in fandom that no one else ever uses or looks at, so I'm trying to...better allocate my limited spare time.

F1 Explains – 9 November 2023 Quick-fire questions with Bernie Collins & Lawrence Barretto

First, a sidenote: Daniel Ricciardo once did a shoey from one of Lawrence Baretto’s shoes. Daniel signed it and Lawrence has it on desk now.

Q: What construction and logistics have to go into a new street circuit, and how to teams prepare for a brand new track?

A: The streets used for the race track have to be re-laid with new tarmac, there has to be coordination with street opening and closing, hotels and other businesses around the circuit, etc. There is a full episode on racetrack design. To prepare for a new track, teams look closely at historical weather data (including temperatures and wind). They’ll load 2D and sometimes 3D scans of the track into their simulators, although often there isn’t full information yet because the final track hasn’t been finished. Lots of simulations and calculations in an attempt to get as much data as they can in advance. There’s also a full episode about how simulators work.

Q: How important is the engine manufacturer? Are they a glorified sponsor that provides an F1-approved generic engine or are there real technical differences between the engines from different suppliers?

A: There are differences between power units from different manufacturers. It also gives them a chance to really stretch themselves and bring in expertise from all around the company (e.g. if they also manufacture jet engines) and to hopefully get some good PR that will lead to more people buying their street cars. In 2023 for the first time, each engine manufacturer showed their engine off to the press to show the differences between each unit. 2023 engine manufacturers were Ferrari, Renault, Mercedes, and Honda. In 2026, Ford and Audi will join as new manufacturers.

Q: Why do drivers and engineers do track walks? Do all teams and drivers do this?

A: Not all drivers do it, some of them will do a run or go out on a scooter. Reasons to do it include looking for changes from last year (new bumps, changes to gravel or curbs (kerbs), etc.) as well as having a bit of uninterrupted time for drivers and their race engineers to talk to each other. Also can be helpful to the commentators/presenters. Helps everyone build/remember their muscle memory of the track if they’ve been there before.

Q: Is F1 using AI? Could it be used for race strategy?

A: Yes, most teams are already doing machine learning in calculations and simulations, but for now human input is still required (and probably always will be).

(Repeating this here because this is where it was in the episode) Q: What are race weekends like for media and broadcasters? Are there dedicated times the media can speak to drivers?

A: F1 is one of the sports where media actually get the most availability of drivers for the media. Thursday is Media Day. Each team puts out a list of times, usually a 5-20 minute window, where TV or print media can come along and ask questions. For TV it’s called a “scrum” where the media are in a sort of arc around the driver with all of their cameras pointed at the driver and they take turns asking questions. Written media is similar. If the driver misses that time for whatever reason, there usually aren’t any backup times. Media can also request one-to-one interviews at a separate time, but that is negotiated and set weeks and weeks in advance. Each team puts aside one hour for media time on a Thursday that includes the TV and written media scrums as well as any one-to-one interviews. Additionally, every weekend there are two press conferences held by the FIA on Media Day. Ten drivers do the press conference with written media where the drivers are all sat together at a desk or on couches answering questions. The other ten drivers do the TV pen, which is a U-shape with all of the TV crews standing around the outside and each driver works their way around the U talking to each TV crew. Each crew gets a maximum of two questions per driver. After each practice session, qualifying, and the race itself, the drivers will do the TV pen again and speak to written media. The top three finishers also do the post-race press conference.

Q: How much interaction is there between broadcasting teams from different countries?

A: A lot. They all see each other regularly so they get to know each other, and they often chat amongst themselves to communicate about what drivers have said to their home broadcasters, because they usually give longer/more detailed answers when they’re speaking in their native language.

Q: How does breaking news get shared with everyone?

A: Press releases used to be printed out on paper and handed out in the Media Center. Now each F1 team has a WhatsApp group specifically for media so they send info that way (e.g. about driver availability for interviews or problems with the cars) in addition to email and social media.

Q: Is there a dedicated space for journalists to write up their race reports?

A: Yes, it’s called the Media Center, there are desks, TV screens, food, and drinks (especially coffee!). The press conference room is in the Media Center as well, adjacent to the work area where journalists can sit and write.

Q: Has Bernie ever had a debrief delayed [when she was a team strategist] due to media interviews running long?

A: Many of the debriefs have been delayed by drivers, and blaming it on the media is an easy out when maybe it was actually the driver who stopped to get a coffee or whatever. Each F1 driver has their own press officer who helps them meet all of their press responsibilities. Often the drivers will talk longer than they are supposed to; Alex Albon and Oscar Piastri are specifically named as drivers who are very good at going off on tangents and talking to the media for too long. One time, Alex spent a good amount of time ranting about the roundabouts in Milton Keynes near the Red Bull factory is based.

Q: How is the order of the garages in the pit lane decided? Are there advantages to being in certain positions and does it play into race strategy?

A: At most tracks, the garages are in order based on how the teams finished in the constructor’s championship the previous year, so over a given season, the garages on either side of your teams don’t change. Sometimes the previous champions are right at the pit lane entry, sometimes near the exit, that depends on the track. If you’re right at the entry, it’s easier to come in and pit (i.e. there aren’t any other team’s mechanics in your way), but more difficult to get back out on track. Near the pit exit, the opposite is true (harder to get in, easier to get out). Depending on the track, it can be helpful to be right near the pit exit (e.g. if you want to get right out on track with clear air in front of you, Bernie mentions Monaco) or further back (e.g. if it’s better to have some other cars go first in qualifying, Bernie mentions Monza). The only exception to the rule of “garages are in order of last year’s championship standings” is Silverstone, where the pit lane is at about the same height as the track in the middle but at either end the pit lane is lower than the track so visibility is impaired. Because of this, the garages in the center (with a good view of the track) are considered most desirable and are thus taken by the top teams.

Christian Hewgill points out how surprising/impressive it is that drivers don’t pull into the wrong pit box more often. For example, at the 2011 Chinese Grand Prix, Jenson Button accidentally parked in the wrong garage and it cost him the lead in the race to Sebastian Vettel. Bernie points out that teams have done a lot of things to help drivers get to the correct pit lanes. It often happens when drivers switch teams (e.g. Lewis Hamilton once went into the McLaren pit when he had just moved to Mercedes, Sebastian Vettel went to the Ferrari pit once after he had switched to Aston Martin).

Q: What is parc fermé? What are the restrictions? How are they enforced?

A: Parc fermé is a period of time in which teams are not allowed to touch their cars or make any changes related to performance, however they can make changes related to safety. It promotes sustainability and rewards teams that do well in practice figuring out what works best for that track. During sprint weekends, teams only have one practice before the cars go into parc fermé, which makes it particularly difficult to adjust the cars to the track. Cars do often get taken apart and reassembled while in parc fermé to check components, clean things, etc., but the F1/FIA scrutineers will put stickers on the car parts to make sure the same parts are used when reassembling the car.

Q: What is an anti-stall? How is it different from a regular stall?

A: (Note that I am basically quoting Bernie verbatim here because I’ve never driven a manual/stick-shift car and don’t understand the details of how they work!) An anti-stall is very similar to a normal stall, but F1 have come up with clever ways to make sure the car engines don’t actually stall. In a regular manual car, if you were to let the clutch out too much or not give it enough throttle and the car stalled, the engine would cut out. At the starting grid, the driver might do the same thing (e.g. not give it enough throttle) and the car might stall, but the engine doesn’t actually cut out. (Another note: it’s not explicitly stated, but I think this is a safety thing so that even if the car stalls and doesn’t get a super fast start, the driver will be able to accelerate pretty quickly after, instead of sitting on the grid unable to move while the cars behind start crashing into the stalled car.)

Q: Why do F1 teams change names?

A: OK I started writing this in a way that makes sense beyond the short answers given on the podcast, but it really needs to be a separate post. The short answer to “why do teams change names?” is money. (Shocker!)

Sometimes a team that also makes something else wants to promote one of their brands, e.g. Renault rebranding to Alpine, which is Renault’s sports car brand, or Toro Rosso rebranding to AlphaTauri, which is Red Bull’s clothing line.

Sometimes a team will have a sponsor who pays enough money to be a title sponsor, e.g. Oracle Red Bull Racing or the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team, where Oracle and Petronas are completely separate companies that pay a lot of money in addition to providing relevant expertise to their teams.

(In the other post, I’ll get into Sauber/Alfa Romeo/Stake/Kick, don’t worry. 😂)

Q: How is the number of laps in a Grand Prix determined?

A: The number of laps for a given circuit is however many laps are needed to get to a 305 km (~190 mi) race distance. The exception is Monaco where the distance is 260 km (~162 mi).

#f1 primer #f1 fandom primer #f1blr

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kkpwnall · 6 months

Text

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

part one | rated t | 1270 words | cw: parental death

all my thanks and love to my beloved @fragilecapric0rnn for beta-reading 💜 you're a rockstar and your feedback was so so helpful

Eddie was born under a bad sign. That’s what his momma always used to say. Friday the 13th, and in October? He never really stood a chance and neither did anyone else he got close to. He was like a black cat walking across their path.

[ keep reading below, or read on ao3 ]

His momma was first, of course. Cursed by the fate of Eddie’s birth from the very beginning. And if he hadn’t dawdled on the way home from school that day, if he had gone straight home just like he’d promised, if he hadn’t stopped to pick a bouquet of ditch weed wildflowers for her and got distracted by caterpillars and rollie-pollies— Well, maybe he would’ve been able to tell the 911 operator she was still breathing when he found her.

His daddy was next, not much long after. Eddie worshiped him like a hero in one of his fantasy stories, the charming, devil-may-care, down on his luck protagonist who stole from the rich and gave to the needy. But the first time Floyd brought him out on a real job, just the two of them, when all Eddie had to do was hot wire the getaway car after he heard the signal (three hoots like a barn owl), Eddie panicked. Did he say barn owl or barred owl? Was that two hoots or three? Why did the wires all look the same in the dark?

When the police cars painted him in their flashing red and blue lights, he dropped the wire cutters and ran. Floyd went down in a hail of bullets behind the car Eddie had been trying to steal, and Wayne got his own life sentence when the State dropped Eddie on his doorstep.

Uncle Wayne got the worst of it, obviously. Working himself to the bone, nights and weekends, to put Eddie through school. Not to mention senior year for a second and third goddamn time.

It was too late by the time young Eddie figured it out. By the time he decided to keep everyone at arm’s length.

It’s safer that way, for everyone.

Chrissy was just the latest in a long line. And he’d only lowered his guard an inch, a millimeter, when he saw someone just as lonely and desperate for a friend. He’d only barely started to let himself have an inkling of what an actual friendship with her might be like when—

This is exactly why Eddie doesn’t have friends. He has minions. He has little lost sheepies, he has twerps and shrimps. And that’s it. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

But all that changes the day he dies.

Or maybe it’s the day he finally wakes up. His new birthday, welcomed to the world once again in a cold, bright, sterile hospital room.

And really, the way he sees it, it’s all Henderson’s fault.

The little shit wanders in every day at visiting hours and makes himself right at home. He props his cast up on Eddie’s bed, and steals the remote to change the channel on the ancient, minuscule tv over to cartoons, and then he just… camps out! All day!

The kid will not leave him alone, no matter how cold a shoulder Eddie tries to give him. He even broke down and explained everything to him. How he’s bad luck, he’s bad news. And people who get too close to him end up dead.

But maybe the painkillers they’ve got him on scrambled his brain as bad as the bats scrambled his guts, because Dustin steamrolls right over him.

“If curses were real, which they aren’t,” he posits in his professor voice, “Your dumb curse can’t try to kill me again. It already took a shot and it missed, and the worst I got was a busted ankle.”

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Dustin that’s not how curses work but—

“And what was its goal anyway? To get you alone and friendless, dead in a ditch? Well then, mission accomplished!”

Which is… weirdly comforting when he puts it like that.

Dustin brings with him a rotating cast of the rest of the fellowship. Eddie finally gets to meet Baby Byers and finds out he’s already been recruited to Hellfire before Eddie can even say hello.

More often than not, Steve tags along too since he’s already ferrying them all between the hospital and home. Usually after he’s spent some time with Red and the other kids in her room, he’ll drop by. To check on Dustin of course.

It’s not because he likes Eddie. Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t even know him.

All that… before… it was just some harmless flirting to keep himself from completely losing it while he was on the run from homicidal bible-thumpers. And Steve was just humoring him.

So he hides behind stupid flirtatious remarks, easy to brush off when it’s always undercut with sly winks and salacious expressions. Enough to keep everything surface level. Keep him at arms length.

It doesn’t matter that his eyes still seem to linger on Eddie, even when he hasn’t said anything for a while. Or that he brings Eddie extra pudding cups from the cafeteria. It doesn’t mean anything when he stands in the doorway trying to finish one last story or joke, until the kids almost literally have to drag him out when visiting hours are over.

Because it turns out Steve is an incorrigible gossip. And Eddie’s not about to be the one to corrige him. Not when he brings an extra dr. pepper for Eddie every time he stops by the vending machine for a coke and gleefully tells Eddie which of the doctors, nurses, and shady government agents are sleeping together.

A can of coke he taps on the lid with a peculiar rhythm before he cracks it, every time.

“What’s up with that?” Eddie finally has to ask one day, when it’s just the two of them and the Price is Right.

Steve hums this confused little sound at him, tilting his head with furrowed brows as he takes the first sip.

Eddie repeats the pattern, tapping it out on his own can.

Steve blinks a few times, first at Eddie, then at the can in his hand.

“I didn’t even realize I did that,” he huffs out a laugh. “It’s uh… something my grandpa taught me when I was a kid. Y’know just for luck.”

The blood in Eddie’s veins freezes and he’s stuck like that for a painfully long moment. Propped up against the lumpy hospital pillows with his mouth half open, staring at Steve.

“For luck.” he says flatly.

“Yeah, so the fizz doesn’t explode when you open it.”

“And has that ever happened to you?” Aiming for flirty, aiming for scathing, aiming for anything that’s not desperation.

“Well no,” Steve says with an easy shrug and a conspiratorial smile, “that’s why it’s lucky. It’s like picking up a coin that’s face-down on the sidewalk.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s face-up, darlin,” Eddie says coyly, like every alarm bell in his head isn’t ringing a deafening cacophony.

“Nah see, you gotta leave those ones for someone who really needs the luck.”

“But then you get the bad luck.”

“Nah, doesn’t work that way,” Steve says, and fucking winks at him.

Eddie wants to shake him. What is wrong with him? He’s got it all backwards and it’s dangerous. How is he walking around like this?

Whatever, it’s not his problem. Steve can do whatever Steve wants. Eddie doesn’t need to protect him from himself. It’s not like they’re friends. And really, that’s the best way to protect him.

[ part two ]

[ also on ao3 ]

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missfinefeather · 2 years

Text

Hahahaha, Hooty would be proud of that xD

#owlhouse15 #Owl House #Missfinefeather Liveblogs #the owl house #toh #Missfinefeather watches Owl house #rotate your owl #Owl House liveblog #liveblog #Disney #blacklist Missfinefeather

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shesjustanothergeek · 11 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Fourteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the late update. Life has been pretty stressful these past three weeks, but not as bad as before. I finally finished all the required exams to become licensed in what I do, and now I have to wait for the results. I'll probably be starting a job in the coming months, so I might have to go back to uploading every two weeks like before. I'll keep y'all updated. Also, while researching, I realized this story has a cannon time frame. It's 127 AC to 129 AC, so everyone has a definite age. You're welcome. :)

Chapter Warnings: Period accurate sexism.

"He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand." - Richard Silken, The Worm King's Lullaby.

It was two days before you woke. The stars were sparkling in an endless sea of the night sky, the waning moon reflecting a mirror image of itself over Blackwater Bay. You were surprised no one had come to wake you. It was rude for a guest to sleep the days away in someone's home, but you were exhausted.

So much had happened when you arrived at Kings Landing, resurfacing old memories you desperately pushed down. The pain was too great to sift through, tears heating your eyes whenever you thought of them. It was easier to ignore your hurt and squash it into a hardened cluster of untouched emotions, constantly pushing it deeper and deeper until it cracked from the pressure, exposing it raw.

You went to the great wardrobe on the other side of the guest chambers, wrapping a robe around your shoulders as you headed to the balcony. The small ship with your belongings arrived a few hours after you did, and everything was neatly organized into its designated place as if you had lived there your whole life. You supposed a part of you did, a piece never entirely leaving the haunting red rock walls.

There was a thickness in the air. The heavy humidity clung to your skin, making you feel sticky and damp, sweat accumulating in the warmer parts of your body even with your thin nightgown. Your room was on the upper levels of the palace, overlooking the never-ending labyrinth of sandstone and mudbrick houses. The ones closest to the Keep had tile roofing. Thoughtfully crafted peaks sloped down to let water drain on the rare occasion it rained, but the further you looked, the more you saw that foresight was lost. Straw and flat stones comprised the cupolas as timber support beams stuck out of the foundation, built for longevity and not fashion.

You were mainly awake now, although sleep still clung to your eyelids. A leaf had snuck its way onto the railing before you, a crispy tan color with holes in its body, a sign of the changing seasons. You watched it drag across the intricately crafted banister before being swept away as quickly as it landed. A strong breeze brushed your bare legs, feeling it weave through your long gown; you pulled your silken robe tighter.

Your limbs controlled themselves as you moved to your chamber doors, slowly opening them as you peeked out. As you suspected, the guard was slumped over, the hour of the owl upon him as you slipped out. You still recalled your time in the guest wing, traversing the long hallways to your intended destination.

The leaf reminded you of your brief moments spent at the Godswood. Your fleeting moments had you longing for a genuine opportunity to appreciate the acre of land it stretched on. You never had enough time to truly understand the beauty of it while you were here, caught up in the constant rotation of lessons and duties before your legitimization.

Elm, alder, and black cottonwood grew there, looking over the Blackwater Rush. Your old Septa Mariam had explained the history of a Godswood. You could remember her lecture as you sat in the lesson room, staring longingly out of the pane-glass windows.

When the First Men converted to faith in the Old Gods, after the Pact between the Children of The Forest, they created Godswoods. They were groves within their castles and villages where a single Weirwood, also known as a Heart Tree, would be planted so the Gods could be worshipped. Each tree was carved with a face, said to have been done by The Children during the dawn, centuries before the First Men. Before the treaty was made, while the war was waged between the Children of The Forest and the First Men, they cut down every Weirwood they found. They thought the greenseers of the Children, who could influence plant life and have prophetic dreams, could see through the faces.

The most severe oaths and vows are said before the Heart Trees, believing you are standing before the Old Gods when you do. To break a promise that was noted in the presence of the Gods was a means to a fate worse than death. Septa Mariam did not believe that to be true, going as far as to demonize the unpopular faith for believing in what she said were false idols. The dedication of the Seven was the only truth to her.

You didn't care or know much about religion before being found, only knowing the Seven as that was the most common belief and what the people of Kings Landing practiced. You didn't believe something so transcendent could reside in such a lecherous place, but when you stepped into the Godswood for the first time in years, the wind blowing through your ebony hair, you couldn't help but feel everything was true.

Even in the heart of a secular city, you could feel the Old Gods watching with their unseen eyes, hidden within the rocks and the trees, settled into the blades of grass and dirt under your shoes. Their stares did not frighten you. Strangely, within their watchful gaze, you felt comforted. It felt mystical, a blanket of infinity enveloping your flesh in something otherworldly. You were welcomed in a place full of people who did not want you.

You walked to the Weirwood tree that stood ghastly in the darkness. Its bark was as pale as bone, its leafs as red as the blood coursing through your veins. The slender white branches shook in the autumn wind, the crimson foliage floating onto the sod beneath it.

You traced the tips of your fingers delicately across the truck, feeling its rough texture as you placed your forehead upon it. It had only been a short period in which you resided at the Red Keep, but your mind felt like it had been an eternity. You longed for the smell of brimstone and salt, a sulfuric scent no one besides Aegon the Conqueror was thought to enjoy. That scent was home to you, a place full of family, where you had fond memories of love and belonging. Your heart ached to see them again even though you had barely left.

You wished to ruffle your digits in Luke's curly brown hair, grab Jace by the scruff of his neck, rub your knuckles on his scalp, and pinch Joffrey's cherubic face until he swatted your hands away with his much smaller ones. You yearned to see your kin again. The people here that called themselves were anything but.

Peace had finally set into your limbs as you sighed through your parted lips, the isolation sinking into nothingness. You lowered yourself to the damp ground as you nestled between two winding roots and peered through the gaps of leaves above you, looking into the vast amounts of stars that twinkled in the darkness.

You thought about nothing anymore, staring into the sky as you heard the faint scraping of shoes. Assuming it was just a servant or perhaps a guard, you ignored them, breathing deep into your chest. The clatter of metal against stone rang through the night, disturbing your harmony. Barely audible sounds of dissatisfied rumblings caused you to sit up with a scowl, squinting to see the disturbance.

Almost imperceptibly, you saw the silhouette of a man bent over as he gathered a pitcher off the ground. You knew without a second thought who it was, debating with yourself if you should lend a hand. He seemed well enough as he scooped it up, stumbling to gather his footing. You settled back into your spot, sighing as you nestled your head back onto a pale root.

Just as your body had begun to slip into a relaxed state, the same piercing metal sound happened again, and you opened one unamused eye, sighing.

"Having difficulty?" you questioned with a snark into the night, not moving.

"Fuck," you heard him mumble, a dull thud following.

At that, you finally moved, propping yourself up on your elbows as you glared at him with a hooded gaze.

"Aegon, must I fetch your Mother?" you taunted, a wicked grin burning your cheeks.

Aegon snapped his head from his place on the ground towards you, a surprised look on his face. He believed you were in his mind at first. The cups he had lost himself in filled his head with thoughts of your gentle touch, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whispered his name. He now knew it was the Arbor Red talking.

"I..." He staggered upwards, brushing his palms on his trousers, recovering quickly, much to your chagrin, "am perfectly well, dear heart."

Your stomach flipped for a reason you did not know. You didn't like how he spoke, uncomfortable with what they made you feel. It reminded you of something Rhaenyra would say, an intimate person you longed to be with again, as your eyes looked anywhere but at the drunken prince.

"You certainly appear so," you commented sarcastically, leaning more weight onto your elbows as you sighed. "Why are you awake, my Prince?" He did not indicate if he had heard you, only gazing into the vast acre of the Godswood.

Despite your voice's calm, almost emotionless tone, the flesh of your bottom lip found its way between your teeth as you sat up, pressing your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. A short silence fell as Aegon gathered his bearings, stumbling over to you as you pulled your legs closer.

He stopped beside your slippered feet, staring at the shaking leaves above, some falling onto the soft grass as a cool breeze swept through the grounds. You couldn't understand why your toes curled at his presence, your hands suddenly sticky and uncomfortable and griping the hem of your nightgown. You wondered if he could sense it, your whole body tensing as he grew bored of the leaves and plopped next to you. You hoped he was too drunk to notice.

You swallowed thickly, the sound loud and audible as you picked at the blades of grass. Aegon didn't hear the loud clicking in your throat, focused on flipping the metal pitcher upside down as the last few drops of Arbor Red dripped onto his pink tongue. Unlike you, he seemed comfortable in the silence, quietly humming to himself as he wiped the excess drink with the back of his hand.

The guilt from how you treated Aegon when you found him crept up your spine, stinging your ears as your face burned at the memory. He was kind to you, albeit obstinate at times, but nothing terrible. He defended you before his mother, the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms! On the other hand, you had spat such vile insults—words he did not deserve within such a vulnerable state. You regretted them deeply, but your pride refused to admit it aloud, your mouth opening and closing with slight intakes of breath as you fought to apologize.

"Why did you not return my letters?" Aegon abruptly asked, distracting you from your inner turmoil.

"I did not receive any."

And that was the truth. No raven from the Red Keep was ever directly for you until Queen Alicent. They were all intended for your mother, father, and the few Lords that spent their time at Dragonstone.

"Do not think me a fool," he spat without warning. "I sent you a letter every moon for a year, and even then, when you did not respond, I sent one to my half-sister, begging her for you to write to me." You stared at him bewildered, your mouth slightly agape as your heart sank. "I just..." he began, cutting himself off as his mouth became wet, "I only wanted to know if you were well. After everything that happened all those years ago, I would expect one to feel a need for comfort and companionship."

Aegon had no intention of belittling you; he only wanted to show you the compassion which you had been neglected of. Your instinct was to deny any need for sympathy, feeling offended that he thought you could not handle yourself, but you realized that was not the truth. The bitterness you harbored for his mother and grandfather had muddled together into a mess of resentment and rage for all who surrounded them, even those who had no part in it.

The moonlight reflected in his glassy eyes as you touched his cheek. You had never realized how pink and plump his lips were until they trembled in the silver lighting.

"I swear to you, Aegon, on the Seven, upon my late mother's grave, that I had no knowledge of the letters you sent me." You had to bite your tongue not to add that even if you did, you wouldn't have written to him anyways. The blinders of anger kept you from reason back then.

You saw how his face fell from the contorted pain your supposed rejection gave him to one of sad relief. "I must extend my apologies then," he said, attempting to move his cheek from your hold. You did not let him, leaning closer to him as you brought the other one to keep him in place.

"No, Aegon. It is I who must apologize." He stared at you in confusion, his light brown eyebrows furrowing together. Rubbing your thumb over the creases between them came naturally to you. You had done it with your brothers when they were upset, tracing over the lines and structure to calm them.

"Despite my lack of patience and disregard for you, you have continually shown your heart bare, and I..." you paused, willing your voice not to crack, "cannot thank you enough. You have only showered me with kindness and hospitality since I have stepped foot in Kings Landing. Even when I did not deserve it, you defended my honor so valiantly it would put my brothers to shame." You smiled, picturing Jace and Luke's faces as if they had heard the Queen call you a bastard. "Although I must admit my confusion surrounding your ravens. I never received any word from you, and I cannot fathom who would bar them from me."

You did have some ideas of who it was and why they did it, but it still upset you, even if you would have burned the letters anyway.

The tension in Aegon's brow loosened at the delicate swipes of your thumbs, shutting his bloodshot eyes in appreciation. He still looked the same boy you left for Dragonstone, though the dark circles on his porcelain skin were more prominent, and his hair was shorter. You watched him tuck his lower lip in his mouth, still quaking. You couldn't stop the way your hands slid back down his face, cupping his jaw in your palms as you tugged his wet lip from between the confines of his teeth, the dry pad of your finger sticking to the soft skin.

He opened his eyes at the movement, his violet irises nearly black to focus in the darkness. You gave a small smile, not fully stretching your face as you dropped your hands, finding his clenching the loose fabric of his trousers; his knuckles blanched as you took them in your own. You inhaled sharply to speak but thought better of it as you shuffled closer to Aegon, the fine hairs on your arm tickling his.

***

You weren't sure when you had fallen asleep within the Godswood, the birds chirping as the morning sun rose above the trees. Your back ached as you attempted to stretch your body, only to find the silver-haired head of a prince on your lap. You didn't remember inviting him to rest there, but you didn't wake him, his pouty lips slightly parted as he softly snored.

Aegon looked so sweet like this, like an innocent child who had yet to discover the atrocities of the world. Your fingers itched to run through his hair, to scrap his scalp until he purred into your touch. This was wrong, and you knew it, having the notoriously hedonistic prince lying like a babe on your plush thighs. You wondered what your father would do if he caught you.

The most obvious answer was that he would be furious, most likely at Aegon, and pull him by the short locks attached to his head and onto the ground. Deamon would spit pure venom from his lips, a fit of anger you had only ever seen him display once before, and then he would turn to you. He wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't need to. You could see everything he wanted to convey in his eyes. There would be a mix of frustration, confusion, and disappointment. You would explain what had happened and try to convince him his wrath was directed at the wrong person.

Aegon was just a byproduct of the people he hated, the green bitch and her cunt of a father, Daemon called them. You would explain that Aegon had no desire to rule nor the capability, even though he had not said that himself. Your father would argue that no man will turn away the opportunity to be the most powerful being in all the realm. Once Aegon understood he could have everything he desired, there would be no refusal. Would a man lost in the desert refuse a drink of water simply because it was not from the springs?

You would agree with your father. He was right, after all. He was always right. Daemon knew of the darkest wants everyone had. He could read people and bait them to reveal whatever he wanted them to. You admired him for that. It was a trait you hoped to possess eventually. You realized then that you needed to find something Aegon would covet more than unlimited power. You had to make him crave something more intoxicating.

A lump formed in your throat as you gazed down at the sleeping prince who had not stirred during your dissociation. You knew that only one thing could sway him from saying yes to the crown, and your eyes burned with tears at the thought.

You inhaled a shuttering breath, willing the water not to spill as you brought a shaking hand to Aegon's frizzy hair, running your fingers on his scalp.

"It is time to wake up, my Prince," you leaned into his ear, gently whispering. "The sun has risen, and there is much to do."

Aegon still refused to open his eyes. He groaned, rolling onto his side and shoving his face below your navel. You grinned, quietly laughing as you lifted his chin to meet your gaze.

The angle you moved him to caused his neck strain, a bright blue vein popping on his milky skin. You could almost see it throbbing as the flesh thinned. Your finger found its way to it, tracing the turquoise line that expanded from his jaw to his clavicle to where it joined the rest of his body. You caught his twinkling lilac eyes in your brown ones, the vessels within them no longer prominent as he blinked sleep away. Aegon sat up, shifting his body weight onto his palm as your finger stopped its movements on the stained undershirt he wore.

He said nothing as he moved to his knees, his free hand cupping the underside of your jaw in the juncture between his thumb and index. His touch was not quite as tender as yours was, squeezing the area tightly, almost as if he was afraid you would turn away. You felt your heart rate quicken, your lungs suddenly telling you to fill them with more air as his thumb stroked your chin, extending to expose the raw flesh from your nervous habit.

You didn't register that Aegon had moved, his face closer than what you would deem appropriate, as your lips quivered.

"You are shaking, little one," he stated, the gravel of his tired voice rumbling in your chest.

"I am?" you breathed, your body feeling powerless.

You wanted to be strong, as you were taught to be. Yank your face out of his grasp and dust off your dress as you left, but you couldn't. He made you weak. One look at his angelic face and your limbs were putty. Your eyes began to heat with tears again, your stomach fluttering with unfelt emotions.

"Princess," a man called from the entrance to the castle.

You jerked away faster than you thought possible, wobbling to your feet, lightheaded. It was only because you stood so quickly, nothing else.

"My Lady," one of the Cargyll twins stood, bowing his head stiffy as you approached him. "I was altered by her Grace Queen Alicent that there is to be a Council meeting at high noon. She wishes for you to attend."

"Thank you, Ser Erryk." A self-satisfied smirk curved your lips as you spoke, partially because you knew what Alicent had to do for you to be invited and the other because you had guessed to twin correctly based on how his blue eyes widened at the correct name. "If you have time, alter my maids that I wished to have a bath drawn. The air here is not what I am accustomed to."

"Why does Mother want her at a Council meeting Erryk," Aegon questioned too late, you already walking underneath the stone covering of the Keep.

You bristled at the informal way he addressed the knight, raising your eyebrows as you turned to watch the pair.

Ser Erryk was stiffer than you when you had spoken to Ser Criston Cole a few nights prior, tensing as Aegon came closer. "I am not certain of the reason, my Prince. It is not my place to question the Queen's decisions."

Aegon scoffed, stuffing his loose shirt into his pants to seem somewhat put together. He turned to you, his face asking if you wanted to spend hours deliberating with a bunch of stuffy, rich old Lords and his mother.

You made no protest like he had expected you would, remembering how much you disliked the small meetings you had to attend for your legitimization. He frowned deeply, childishly stomping as he sat on a wooden bench against a pale red rock wall.

"Do not sulk, Prince Aegon. It is unbecoming. I would hate for you to be in such a sour mood when we meet again." Your face and voice were stoic, but there was a light behind your eyes, only one that Aegon could see.

He crossed his arms, flipping his hair out of his vision as he continued to pout, though you swore you saw a hint of his smile ghost his lips as he turned away.

***

Once your maids of the Keep had brushed and washed your tangled hair, smoothing lavender and clary sage oils into the long strands and on your skin, they put the black tresses into a braided style similar to the one Visenya wore. It was simple yet regal, and when paired with the deep crimson of your dress, a golden three-headed dragon curling around the expanse of your breasts and wide neckline, it was sure to conjure the image you wanted—a fierce Targaryen princess born and bred of fire and blood.

The Small Council had to respect you in the sense of your rank, bowing and calling you a lady of the realm, but that was all pointless, nothing but supercilious words inside the Chamber. Lords would not adhere to the opinions of a woman, no matter if she was queen or not, and with Rhaenyra residing in her self-imposed isolation for the past years, neglecting her courtly duties, it only made things more arduous.

Your father had mentioned Grandsire appointing him to the Small Council in times past, but the positions always bored him. He felt the call to act while the other members sat and only wanted to debate. The world was moving faster than the Lords could discuss, and with how lawless Kings Landing was at the time, Daemon knew only action would fix it. He had created the Gold Cloaks, and after the night of bloodshed and savagery you had heard about when young, he was never allowed a chair again.

A guard had come for you when you were ready, leading you to the Council Chambers.

The doors were already open, and a few men sat discussing amongst themselves. You recognized one, heart-stopping and body freezing, his image forever seared into your memory. Ser Otto Hightower had greyed some, his hair was still the same wiry brown, curly beard brushed neatly as allowed, and hair slicked back with oil. The bronze hand pin poked proudly through his lapel's embroidered deep green fabric.

You felt your lungs shrink, refusing to let you inhale. Your chest began to hurt, your mouth becoming thick and your jaw quivering as you stood in the doorway, your presence so unimportant as not to go announced.

You couldn't think. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't move. All you could do was stare at the man who sentenced your loved ones to death. He shoved their heads on spikes and placed them on the battlements of the Red Keep for all to gawk and ogle. A punishment that was only served to those who betrayed the crown.

Everything seemed to move slower, your eyes focusing and unfocusing on the Lords surrounding the table. One laughed, a man with golden hair lifting his head back lightly to bellow one out. Another sniffled, wiping his nostril with his forefinger and running a hand through his thick beard before continuing his conversation with the nearly dying man beside him.

You were terrified, a fawn left alone in the woods, helpless to watch as a pack of wolves feasting on its mother's corpse. Your instinct was to run from the danger, run as far and as fast as your legs could carry you until all you could see was the top of the Tower of the Hand. You wanted your mother. You wanted your father. You wanted your brothers... You wanted your family. Why couldn't they be here with you? It was high time Rhaenyra took her place as the heir and ran the kingdom instead of the Hand, but she wasn't. She wouldn't. She felt her place was with her family on Dragonstone, eating candied lemon cakes and fish as she taught Jace High Valyrian, uncaring of her future simply because some Houses swore allegiance to her.

Daemon was wise to send you here without telling her. If he had, you were sure she would have attempted to impose her self-ideology and keep you on the volcanic island while Otto Hightower and his daughter continued to run the Seven Kingdoms in their vision.

"Her Grace, Queen Alicent of House Hightower."

Ser Harold Westerling's voice caused you to jump in fright, moving nearly three paces away from the door just in time for Alicent to make her entrance, her hands clasped together.

The Council members all stood from their chairs in respect for her title, but they couldn't help but wander away from the Green Queen and onto the Black Princess, dressed in rich Targaryen red and adorned with golden jewels. You caught the gaze of the black-bearded man, averting your eyes as you bowed to Queen Alicent. She only regarded you with a frown, like you were a frayed string on the seams of her emerald gowns.

She walked further into the Chamber, her back like an iron rod, as she sat at the farthest end of the table. The one meant for the King or the Hand, not the Queen. Her place conveyed a message to the entire room without words, and you made a small expression of disgust as you understood the meaning.

How many doubts for Rhaenyra's claim were planted by Alicent Hightower and not her father?

You finally comprehended how much you had underestimated her sway in the line of succession. You had thought Alicent still had some honor and sense of duty to do what was right, remembering how she could not stand Ser Otto's decision regarding Lyra and Sara. You were wrong. She was just as wicked and conniving as her father, a product of his greed and lust for power. The slight warmth you regarded for Alicent was gone.

During your displeased state of being, you realized that you had not taken the empty seat across from her at the other end of the table. The Lords stared at you, expecting you not to be told what to do as it was apparent. You brushed off their looks as you rolled your shoulders, straightening your posture and taking your place in the oversized wooden chair. A ball was already in its designed hole, reflecting a deep obsidian color as Queen Alicent began to speak.

"I am sure, my Lords, you are all curious about the presence of a new member," she paused, perched on the edge of her wooden seat as she placed her hands on the table. "Upon the orders of Princess Rhaenyra," Alicent lied as you narrowed your eyes at her, "she has sent her daughter as a ward to sit in her stead as the heir." The men all stared at her with wide eyes but kept their mouths shut, knowing it was not their place to question the child of the King.

She nodded to you, signaling she was finished with her short introduction and was allowing you to speak. You flashed a smile at the shocked looks of the grown men, and they all stiffened, a bolt of fear running through them as they saw Daemon sitting before them.

"My mother does send her sincerest regards for neglecting her duty for so long. As many of you know, she has been with child consistently these past years and has felt it unsafe to travel for her and a babe. Most of you sitting here are fathers yourself and I am certain you can understand how tumultuous childbirth can be." You placed your hands on your womb, looking down at the mahogany table with a slightly sad but wistful look, pretending to swallow tears back as you discreetly glanced up to see their reactions.

You had to hold back a snort as they all shared solemn looks, no doubt remembering how the former Queen had lost her life. All men were the same when it came to it, hypocrites and easy to fool with a few sighs and batting of lashes.

"As her Grace mentioned, I am here in her place, and the Princess expects you to extend the same treatment as you would to the heir of the Iron Throne. She has entrusted me with upholding her opinions and desires on matters of the realm." You raised your head, the sorrowful look you had passed now gone as you met each pair of eyes surrounding you. "And I intend to uphold them with unwavering devotion."

Leaning back in your seat, you signaled that you were finished with the introduction, resting your fingers on the shiny obsidian ball before you, but you were not done with your words.

"I realize that it has been some time since our King has set foot in these chambers," you traced the cool orb with your digits. "I, regretfully, have only heard on parchment of his health and wish to be informed of his most recent state."

It felt like all the men could do was stare at you, unable to form coherent thoughts with the upheaval in the order of things. The hand was the first to speak, unsurprisingly.

"The King is well and sends his regards for being unable to attend today. His health has continued steady progress." You kept your eyes down, waiting for the lies to ensue. "Now, I wish to speak on the matters we discussed yesterday of the outdated infrastructure of the Royal Sept. The benches are-"

A scoff left your mouth before you could catch it, interrupting Lord Hightower. "The well-being of the King is not as important as remodeling a sept?" You asked rhetorically, looking at Otto incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Princess," he spoke to you condescendingly, as if you were a fool, "if you wish to inquire about the King's health, I suggest you visit him yourself. We have matters to discuss that you are unaware of due to your sudden attendance."

Otto had practically just told you to silence yourself in much more elegant words. You could barely contain the rage that shook your bones at his rudeness, wanting to jump across the table and strangle him until he turned blue. Instead, you clenched your jaw, settling him with a stare that would kill.

"The King's health is a matter of continued discussion. Should he not be here today? Sitting across from me with his golden crown? Our utmost desire should be to bring King Viserys back to his former self. I believe that takes precedent over the benches in the Royal Sept."

"Your Grace," the frail man spoke, his voice shaking from use during his decades of life. "I am Grand Maester Mellos. I see to the Kings in matters of his health." You nodded to him, waiting for him to continue, his words slow. "I can say with certainty that our King only proceeds to regain more strength and vigor that he had only possessed in his youth." You saw Alicent shift her hands into her lap, focusing on them instead of the old man. "You need not trouble yourself with handled matters."

"Good," you replied with a polite smile, quickly replacing your irritated demeanor as you looked over to Ser Otto. "I will be sure to see him attending the meetings soon, then."

Alicent twitched, her lips tightly pursing as she inhaled deeply. You relaxed lazily in your seat, the wood creaking as you become comfortable in her discomfort. Her anxiety only solidified your conclusion as you saw her pick her nails. They were lying.

You were silent the rest of the two hours the boring lords spoke. Your father's opinion was correct about the dullness of things. It was all frivolous discussion about updating the castle and Sept, replacing the "out dated" tapestries with more modern ones to showcase the future and wealth of House Targaryen. No action. Just talk. You knew that now more than ever, you were needed. If not for the sake of your family's claim, then for the sake of the realm.

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Thank y'all so much for your support!! I'm so grateful for all the likes and reblogs. I hope everyone who has been with me since the beginning knows that you have a special place in my heart, and to anyone who just now tuned in, make sure to leave a comment so I can tag you! I would hate for you to search for your likes or reblogs for the story. I only say that because I hate doing that myself. XD Also, check out the Spotify playlist because I've added new songs and changed stuff around. I am trying to decide which is my current fav. It's either Little Red Riding Hood by Aeseaes or Fairwell Wanderlust by The Amazing Devil, or maybe even Souls on Fire by Mad Gallica. I seriously can't make up my mind!

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son1c · 1 year

Text

what lies beneath

falling stars fic masterpost

The manta ray battleship was a prototype. It was easy to forget that fact while lounging in the cabin, but down on the lower deck, it was impossible to ignore. It was stuffier, for one thing. And it reeked of budget cuts.

Eggman was a man with very clear priorities. He would allot as much time and money to things as he thought they deserved. And when it came to something that was never supposed to leave the garage, he skipped out on lights for the underbelly.

It wasn't like he was going to answer the door if the Federal Aviation Administration came knocking for a safety inspection.

The oppressive darkness of the lower deck was assuaged only by Omega's eyes. Twin red beams cut through the blackness, revealing a space cluttered with walkways and skinny guardrails. Thick metal tubes snaked around the space as well, and far off, beyond the reach of Omega's eyes, the three Team Dark members could hear the pulsing sound of the engine as it kept the manta ray airborne.

Rouge stretched her hands above her head. "Well, boys," she said. "Let's get to work."

Omega, being a robot, had no problems seeing in the dark. And Rouge, being a bat, also didn't have much trouble. Shadow, however, was cursed by his hedgehog genes to struggle, so he let the two of them lead the way as they explored the lower deck.

Shadow kept his ears standing straight up, listening for anything that might sound out of the ordinary. What he heard was a lot of whirring mechanisms and hissing pipes. The heavy clanking of Omega's footsteps also filled his ears as they descended deeper down the outer staircases. And as they approached the engine, the sound of its roars nearly drowned out everything else.

But not entirely.

Shadow's ears swivelled. He stopped in his tracks, his hands clenching the guardrail as he stared out into the darkness. But the black wall didn't move. There was nothing there. He let go of the guardrail, only to stop for a second time, his finger catching on a nick in the metal.

"Omega," Shadow called. "I need your eyes."

Omega rotated his head like he was an owl, illuminating the guardrail that Shadow was still standing in front of. Now bathed in red light, the metal revealed a secret: two sets of five lines gouged into the metal. They were thin and straight, almost like someone had dragged their fingernails across the guardrail. But even the toughest claws would need to apply a lot of pressure to dent metal.

Rouge walked up to Shadow. When she saw what he was looking at, she muttered, "How kind of the Doctor to put together this surprise for us…"

"Be on your guard," Shadow said. His ears twitched again. "We're not alone down here."

Beneath them, the landing gear shuddered. Omega looked down at it, and through the lattice of the staircase, everyone could see a dark shape dart across the wheel. Shadow lost sight of it when it left the scope of Omega's gaze, however.

Omega started to get excited. But before he could draw his weapons, Shadow said seriously, "Hand-to-hand only. We can't afford to damage the engine with stray projectiles."

Omega's shoulders slumped. If he had a mouth, he'd be using it to pout right now. "FUN LEVELS DROPPING," he said. "EXCITEMENT DECREASED TO 'BELOW AVERAGE.'"

"Oh, please," Rouge said. "Aren't you forgetting about something? Or were you being too generous before, and those hands of yours can't really crush cars between them?"

This reminder perked the robot up. With newfound excitement, he scanned the space below them, but whatever had been there before was gone now. The only things caught in the red beams of light were dust particles and the dirt stuck to the landing gear.

A sudden bang made everyone turn to look at the engine. Standing on top of it was the figure from before. It glared menacingly at Team Dark, its black body glinting when the red light from Omega's eye beams hit it. It focused its orange gaze on Shadow. Even from this far away, Shadow could feel the coldness of its stare.

It was the Shadow Android.

Upon closer inspection, it became clear that the claw marks weren't just on the guardrail. They were all over the landing gear too. The fake hedgehog must've clung to it when the ship had taken off, and made itself a stowaway within the bowels of the manta ray.

And now it was raising its hand up, preparing to smash down on the engine.

"Omega!" Rouge said, her eyes wide with alarm as she realized what the Shadow Android was planning. "Throw me!"

"QUERY: WOULD YOU NOT COUNT AS A PROJECTILE?"

Rouge stomped her foot. "Oh, for the love of--"

Shadow intervened. "I won't miss," he said as he picked her up. Then, he threw her at the Android. With his superior accuracy, he managed a direct hit, and Rouge knocked the fake hedgehog off the engine right as it was about to ram its fist into the power core.

The two of them disappeared over the side of the large engine, locked in an intense struggle.

Shadow and Omega leapt over the guardrail and chased after them a moment later. They landed on the landing gear, and the mechanism shuddered from their sudden weight. But Shadow ignored the creaking metal--his eyes scanned the darkness, his ears held as high as they could go.

Then, he heard it. The faint sounds of someone choking.

Shadow didn't hesitate. He raced toward the far end of the lower deck, where the noise was coming from. As he got closer, he could begin to make out the orange glow of the Shadow Android's eyes. It illuminated Rouge's face as well as the pinched expression she wore. The Android had her pinned up against the wall with its hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing.

Rouge's fingers weren't strong enough to pry the Android's metal ones off of her. Thankfully, Shadow's were, and he wrenched them free before the bat's lungs could start to burn from a lack of oxygen. She gasped, her heels clicking when they reunited with the floor.

The Android swung around to face Shadow. In the low light, it almost appeared to be glowering at him, the darkness creating the illusion of a vitriolic expression. Shadow matched it with one of his own, his heart clenching painfully as he stared back at his own face.

Why should this thing exist? Shadow still wasn't sure who he was, or who he was supposed to be. To create an imitation of him was to paint a picture of nothing.

But this Android wasn't nothing. Unlike Shadow, it knew its purpose. The machine was comfortable in the knowledge that it was a pawn. Shadow, meanwhile, despised the thought of bending to Doctor Eggman's will.

And yet, the Shadow Android still had something that Shadow didn't.

And it made Shadow sick.

The dark hedgehog slammed the fake into the floor. The force of the impact dented the ship, but the Android remained unharmed. It attempted to break free of Shadow's grasp with a kick to his stomach, but Shadow wouldn't be shaken off so easily. He held firm to the Android's neck with one hand, and drove a punch into its jaw with the other.

But again, the Android was unharmed. Its head whipped to the side, but there was no dent left in its cheek, and when its eyes returned to meet Shadow's, it was as if to say, Is that all? Pathetic.

The Android's stripes began to glow. Its body grew hot, too hot to touch, and Shadow was forced to let go, his glove smoking from where it had been grasping its neck. Then, the Android slid back before jumping onto its feet, its whole body shimmering like the hood of a car that had been left out in the summer heat.

Shadow got back to his feet and balled his hands into fists. He wondered how long the Android could keep up this impression of an oven before it started to melt.

The fake hedgehog surged forward, still radiating heat. It raked its claws at Shadow and managed to graze his cheek, the superheated metal slicing through his skin like it was wet tissue paper. With a hiss of pain, Shadow backed further away, realizing he wouldn't be able to rely on the Android self-destructing. He needed a new plan, and fast.

Omega chose that moment to rejoin the fight. The large robot grabbed the Shadow Android with his big mechanical hands, unfazed by the extreme temperature the Android was letting off. He then tore one of the Android's arms off, and the detached limb sparked hideously when it hit the floor.

"HOSTILE HAS BEEN DISARMED. LIMBS PENDING REMOVAL: 3."

A second later, the Shadow Android slammed a kick into Omega's chest, and the subsequent clang rattled the robot enough that the Android was able to wriggle free from his hands' iron grasp. Now on the floor, the Android grabbed its detached arm with its one good hand before hurling the broken limb at Rouge's head.

The bat easily avoided the arm. But the Android hadn't actually been aiming for her--instead, it was trying to hit the button behind her on the wall. And when its detached arm smacked into it, the mechanism holding landing gear in place released, and the floor of the manta ray ship suddenly had a great big hole in it.

Wind rushed up from the gap in the floor, and the air inside the engine room was pulled out, toward the hole. With nothing to hold onto, the four combatants struggled to retain their footing as they were all dragged across the deck by the wind.

And then the Shadow Android grabbed Shadow's shoe. Taking advantage of the hazardous conditions it had just created, the Android kicked itself up off the floor, and flung Shadow at the landing gear. But Shadow wouldn't go without a fight, and he snagged the Android's wrist at the last second.

The two of them sailed through the air, the suction from the outside of the ship drawing them in like water to a drain.

"Shadow!" Rouge cried, but her voice was drowned out by the wind.

Thinking fast, Rouge reached into her pocket and pulled out a big green gem. How something that large had managed to fit inside of her pencil skirt's pocket was anyone's guess. Maybe she had picked up a trick or two from Amy, and developed her own sort of hammer space. Or maybe it was just a really good pocket.

Regardless, she now had the gem in her hand. With a pained expression, she thought, He owes me big time for this.

Then, Rouge threw the gem to Shadow, hoping it would reach him in time, and that he would catch it. Thankfully, he saw the flash of green over the Android's head and reached up at just the right moment.

The Chaos Emerald smacked into Shadow's burned hands like an oversized baseball. And he could feel it--that mystical, familiar energy. Unlike the kind his own body generated though, the energy emanating from the Emerald was soft and warm. He knew it wouldn't hurt him to use even before he tapped into it.

And as the gem hummed between his fingers, he remembered something.

A phrase.

He said it now.

“Chaos Control!”

The Android attempted to knock the Chaos Emerald out of his hands with a kick, but Shadow was faster. He let the Emerald's Chaos Energy fill his heart, and he kneed the Android in the chest with a javelin of green energy. It pierced the Android's metal chest plate and short circuited the imposter, its orange eyes flickering out instantly.

Dead.

The sight of it unnerved Shadow. He hoped he would never have to fight another fake of himself again.

And then the wind pulled Shadow and the corpse of the Android out over the gap in the floor. Shadow kicked the Android downward, where it was taken by the wind and presumably fell to the desert far below.

Before Shadow could meet that same fate, Rouge grabbed his arm. With her other hand, she held onto one of Omega's fingers. The robot had torn a hole in the floor with his other hand, keeping them all anchored.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Rouge said to Shadow, "but I've had enough of your dramatic exits for one lifetime!" A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face, but she still managed to wink.

It gave Shadow pause.

Rouge’s words. Her actions.

Because Shadow didn't need her or Omega to save him. With the Emerald, Shadow could've easily teleported himself back onto the ship if he fell. And yet, it was only because of Rouge that he now had the Emerald in the first place. And that meant something to Shadow.

It meant that when she held his arm, he didn't try to wrestle himself free, and instead he allowed her to hold him there, dangling precariously over the ten thousand foot drop.

Then, the landing gear groaned as it pulled itself back up into the ship, and the three Team Dark members quickly followed suit. They all turned to look at the wall where the button was, and Omega's eye beams revealed Sonic standing there with a buzzy bomber hooked under his arm. Once the wind was no longer ripping through the lower deck, he released the buzzy bomber, and it hovered by his shoulder.

The blue hedgehog waved at his friends. "Not too shabby," he said. After speeding over to them, he knocked Rouge on the shoulder. "Maybe there's somethin' to this 'team' thing after all. You ain't half bad, Rouge."

Rouge puffed up, a little indignant. "Obviously!"

Shadow asked, "If you're here, then who…?"

"Don't sweat it! My copilot's the best there is." Sonic snickered at the stares he received. "What? You guys were takin' awhile, so I figured I'd teach Buggy the ropes. And it's a good thing I did, too, cuz Mr. Ivo forgot to install the switch for autopilot!"

#falling stars au #the. The. THE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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