#god of steam and machinery

[pegasusgemini]

Official Emblems and Honorific Names of the seven Orthodox Gods

[fictional-gods-tournament]

Prelims

Fandom: Lord of the mysteries

Characters' info under the cut

Evernight Goddesse

Domains: night, darkness, dreams and sleep

Eternal Blazing Sun

Domains: Sun, light, and healing

God of Combat / Twilight Giant

Domain: War

God of Knowledge and Wisdom

Domains: knowledge and wisdom

God of Steam and Machinery

Domains: machinery, mechanics and inventions

Lord of Storms

Domains: storms, wind and sea

Mother Earth

Domains: Earth, plants and fertility

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober (2024) Day 15 - Prostitution

Kink: Prostitution

Pairing: GN!Reader x M!Robot

Other Kinks: Cowgirl Position

Word Count: 1629 Words

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’re so…warm.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can think better of it, eyes wide at the heated metal beneath your splayed palm. Booker’s sleek, black exterior had you thinking he would be chill to the touch, something different from your own fleshy body. But he’s not, the gentle whirr of his processors just beneath his plating generating a pleasant heat. It’s not unlike a laptop that’s running too many programs, though you’re not sure if that’s an appropriate thing to say out loud.

“So are you.” Booker’s modulated voice quips, the deep tone sending a shiver down your spine. He sounds like the sultry narrator of a smut novel, or the bad boy option in a love triangle otome game. I’s built to make you putty in his hands.

No wonder his hourly rate is so high.

A sharp metal finger tils up your jaw, moving your eyes from his jutting plated abdomen to his face, the blank metal screen somehow staring deep into your soul. Red lines pulse in between the juncture where his jaw meets his neck, cabling glowing like neon in the dark bedroom.

“You’re my first human client, you know that?” He chuckles, fingers moving up to pinch your cheeks, watching the way they squish. ���Many of your kind seem too intimidated to consider even looking me in the faceplate, let alone join me in bed.”

You feel your face grow hot, thoughts running back to the first impression you had when saw his page on the scandalous website you cracked open late at night. 

“You’re my first droid.” You mutter, lips still squished together. “So I guess we’re both in for something new”

Booker chuckles, and you bet if he could smirk, he would.

“Cheeky little thing.” Booker pulls you closer, still grabbing you by the jaw. Straddled the way you are on his lap, your hand has to splay on his chest to keep your balance. He leans his face-plate past your face and directly into your ear. “I like that.”

It’s hard not to melt right then there, become a puddle of flesh against his large lap. Especially when he presses another large hand against your lower back, pushing it to arch in his grip. The warm metal is now pressed directly to your bare chest, so hot yet not burning.

Something buzzes underneath your crotch, making you yelp. Booker’s chuckle rumbles in your ear, the hand on your lower back now rubbing circles.

“That’d be my modesty plating, love.” His hand moves down to grip one of your ass cheeks, pushing your lower half down right against the buzzing at the center of his crotch. It’s just as hot as the rest of him, and sends a bolt of lightning straight up your spine. “Looking so cute on top of me, the thing might just malfunction.”

You gulp. Gods, you may be too pent up for all this.

“So that hides your…your-”

“My cock, yes.” Booker brushes the back of his segmented knuckles down the side of your face, stopping to trace the shape of your lips. 

“O-oh.” 

Booker’s thumb prods at your bottom lip and it’s almost embarrassing how eagerly you open your mouth for him, let him run the pad of his thumb against your tongue. 

“So wet.” Booker purrs, the whirring of machinery growing louder as he pushes his thumb all the way down to the knuckle, sees drool spilling over the sides of your mouth.

“Can I shee it?” You sputter around his thumb, mind still preoccupied with the buzzing core beneath you.

Booker spanks you on the ass, sending you forward and gagging on his thumb. But he laughs again, and shimmies himself upward. His modesty plate now sits just before your seated crotch.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Steam bursts from the siding as the buzzing plate pulls back into his black armor, a slippery wet red phallus sliding into place. 

Holy SHIT.

The cock’s head lays on your stomach, some sort of fluid pulsing underneath the silicone skin and making it twitch. Fresh globs of a neon crimson fluid bubble at the top, coating it with a sticky texture. 

“Just as you imagined it?”

“Even better.” You pant, heart pounding in your ear drums as you eye up Booker’s dick. “C-can I touch it?”

Booker nods, thumb still pressing down on your lower palette as you hyper focus on the task at hand.

It’s warmer than the rest of him, much closer to the familiar body heat of humans that you’re used to. The silicon squishes as you grab at the base, still firm even as you squeeze up the shaft. Booker winces, vents opening up on the side of his neck to push out some overheated steam. 

“Is it sensitive?” You sputter, Booker's thumb now pulled out to the very end, letting you speak normally.

“Very.” A string of saliva follows Booker’s thumb as he pulls it out of your mouth completely, connecting the two of you still together. 

A glitchy moan comes when you reach the tapered head, liquid foaming around your fingers as you squeeze the tip. Seems he’s extra sensitive right there, something in common with human men.

You feel your mouth go dry, a desperate want spurring your heart into overdrive. “It’ll feel better inside you, darling.” The hand on your ass shoves you forward, pressing the cock right against your crotch, sending another bolt up your stomach. “I'm craving it, bad.”

So am I.

A bubbling well of pure giddy fills up your chest, has you quickly sitting up and aligning your eager hole with the tip. Booker’s hands move to grip onto your hips, using your love handles as they were intended.

You sink sensuously and slow down, eyes going cross as Booker’s cock stretches you open. The tapered shape helps alleviate any burn from not being prepared beforehand, inching you wide and wider until you finally sit at the base. The shape edges of Booker’s hip plating against your inner thigh sends tiny firecrackers across your skin.

“Damn, you’re even hotter on the inside, baby.”

You nod dumbly, too focused on the feeling of a warm cock deep inside you. Booker takes the opportunity to throw up his hips and legs, stealing the breath right out of your lung and sending you forward and into his chest. The thick wiring of his neck presses right into your nose, mind still wobbling from the quick shift.

“Let Daddy Booker take care of you, sweet cheeks.”

Something like an engine revs in Booker's stomach, the only warning you get of Booker's first thrust. Stars shoot out behind your eyelids, and know immediately that you are getting your money's worth.

Booker bounces on his cock like you weigh nothing, snapping his hips with such power and precision that all senses feel knocked out of your head. 

“You like that baby?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh!” You mutter dumbly, already fucked stupid by his dick. His cock pulses form inside you, streams of that neon lube-like substance dripping down the sides making a squelching sound with each slap against your ass cheeks. Strings of it stick between your thighs and his, catching the light from his cabling and almost sparkling on his black exterior. 

“Taking it so good, baby. Finally getting what you needed.” Booker growls in your ear, thos vents blowing hot air directly onto your face. “Fucked like the animal you are.”

Booker’s hands grip deep into your flesh, making indents on the skin as starts thrusting his hips up with every jolt of your body. It doubles the sensation inside you, and has pelvis tingling. 

“Fuck!”

The bed underneath you rumbles and shakes, Booker’s large metal body putting immense strain on the cheap frame. Everything about him is big, big enough that you originally thought he was a war droid, ideal for busting down walls and snapping necks.

He’s busting something down, that's for sure.

Booker never once slows his pace, the only hint of exhaustion coming from the occasional exhale from his vents and subtle uptick in whirring from his systems. But even then they are  subtle changes, his dick jutting in and out for what feels like hours. Long enough that your whole body almost feels numb, the kind of emptiness when all sensation is too much, when your brain short circuits and is about to burst.

“Can feel you squeezing me, darling. You gonna cum?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” 

“Then cum for me baby, show me how good daddy makes you feel.”

Your entire body quakes as your orgasm hits like a stack of bricks, back arched at an impossible angle as you scream into the night, no care for potential neighbors or bystanders on the busy street below. You almost miss the hot burst of something inside you, a stream of liquid filling up your insides, coming straight from the tapered tip pressed against the very edge of yourself.

Your breath fogs on Booker’s chest palting as you lay there, panting. He may be warm but your body is on fire, overwhelmed by his heat and sweat practically steaming off of you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, or being tucked into bed. You wake up the next morning with a cup of water by your bed, sticking to your sheets from dried sweat overnight.

You guzzle down the water, memories slowly piercing back together, wondering when Booker left.

There’s a note left by the water bottle, written in perfect penmanship and a business card left to the side.

For my new favorite client.

There’s a private comms number written down on the card, the kind droids used to communicate to one another or occasionally with non-robotics.

Guess you made a good impression.

[mjrtaurus]

Okay, I gotta dig out my Society of Tinfoil Hattery credentials from the junk drawer for this one piece business, so strap in and get ready for some flow of conscious yapping.

And just to be clear: ELBAF SPOILERS

Okay. So the triptych(?) mural. I’m gonna be very insufferable about the mural because that feels like THE center point of this arc. Not so much the poems, because as far as I know, the translations are still unofficial and I can give my thoughts on them then.

Okay, so, the first third. The “First World”

We see people- we can assume slaves- coming out of complexes with machinery beneath and steam billowing from above. Is this a refinery? A power plant? A reactor, maybe?

We see these people go down deep, and come back up carrying something starlike that they bring to a crowned figure on top of the hill. Ore? Precious stones and metals? Some sort of fuel source? It looks the same as the stars depicted, so… nuclear energy?

We also see beneath the ground- perhaps hidden?- a winged figure (sky islander?), next to a very large ship with animals trailing towards it (Noah??) pointing skyward (to the moon???).

Above the crowned figure at the top of the hill, we see a ship in the sky sending a lightning bolt to the feet of the crowned figure and towards the roots of the tree centerpiece (Uranus? Something like the Ark Maxim and Enel?)

And the central piece to the first world portion of the mural… this “Serpent of Hell” coming up from beneath the earth where the slaves are going down into getting into a conflict with the bird-like creature at the top of the second world’s tree (Nidhogg and Hraesvelgr imagery? Who would be the Ratatoskr of that?). It seems from the fire the two are spitting at each other, that the whole world has become enveloped in war and- if the bit about the Earth God becoming enraged is translated correctly- rendering it uninhabitable (the reason why the sky islander is taking the animals to Noah? The reason why the sky islanders went to the moon to begin with? Was the land irradiated?)

This one is the most dicey for me, but bear with me.

The Second World is a tree with the Hraesvelgr-esque figure perched at the top, warring with the Nidhogg-esque figure going down into the earth beneath the roots. We might assume, though I’m not exactly certain about it, that this tree could be symbolic of this eight hundred year reign of the world government? Its branches don’t stick out very far from the trunk, so this could just be to keep the image from being cluttered, just something that wasn’t thought about, or because the tree is giving shade to only a select few.

This Hraesvelgr looking beast seems to have won the conflict with the Nidhogg one. So the Nidhogg beast might have been symbolic of a rebellion coming up from where the slaves toiled away? (The x marks on the serpent’s sides do make me think of a certain tattooed someone with a certain ophidic moniker with certain unsavory opinions on the Celestial Dragons…)

And then we see the last portion of the triptych. Nika leading the charge with an army at his back against a winged demon holding the sun.

I see Nika and Imu (or maybe even Teach…) depictions here, obviously. I see a whale with two people on it’s back (Laboon, Crocus, and that one dude who was drinking with him that one cover art (that might be the man marked by flames))? I see a Lunarian (King and/or the Seraphim?). I see Emmet. I see Dogstorm and Catviper. I see Shirahoshi and the Megalodon. I see Leo. I see Loki! We see several ships, too! All of these people fighting against one big demon and one tiny ship with just a handful of people. The world has turned on the powerful few.

In conclusion… I think this is a sort of history-prophecy thing like with Alduin’s Wall in Skyrim. These aren’t “worlds” per se, but Ages. It just gives that illusion because it feels like how humanity speaks of bygone eras as totally different worlds. I think this is the Void Century, Imu’s reign (specifically Imu, because clearly something or someone was calling the shots before them. Perhaps the Nerona were ruling? And Imu formed the alliance of the 20 Kingdoms when the Nerona family was being threatened by this “Serpent of Hell”? Maybe Imu was the only survivor of their line and refused to let go of their power?), and Imu’s downfall respectively.

I… really don’t think Nika brings the end of the world. I think he just brings in a new Age.

I’m going to go on my “Imu is an eternal child” soap box when I say that I think Imu is embodying a sort of foil to Nika (a moon god/dess mythical zoan, maybe?). Both Nika and Imu seem… childish to me. Nika is all the positive things we associate with childhood. Play and laughter and imagination. While Imu… Imu is all the negatives. Selfishness and moodiness and “I’ll break my toy so I don’t have to share it” mentality. You get what I’m saying?

Again, this is by no means a comprehensive thing. This purely just me spitballing things.

Thoughts are absolutely welcome.

[missile-silo]

The Dwemer ruins in morrowind are some of the scariest places I’ve ever visited in the elder scrolls.

Compared to the Skyrim ruins, they are barren. Utilitarian. The outsides are decorated sure, but it’s more like a show of strength than any sort of actual artistry, huge statues bearing spears and ballistas made from dwarven metal.

The ruins are loud, clanging and metal clashing as the ambient sound. Occasional swells of battle music only adding to the tension. Typical orchestral sounds replaced by something far more artificial, more mechanic.

Metal walls, metal floors, odd machinery still working long after the dwarves disappeared. Corpses of long dead adventurers lie in the corners, adventurers much like you.

Sometimes you’ll come across an automata. The spiders are egg like but organic to an uncomfortable degree, their bodies flop and shift when they attack in a way that makes them seem not entirely metal. Spheres suddenly pop to life from the corners, Centurions are large, steam spewing and oddly lifelike in comparison to the art deco feel they have in Skyrim.

Sometimes you’ll be attacked by a Dwemer spirit, souls somehow trapped in the places they dwelled long after their race disappeared. They’re lifelike, looking more natural than the last living dwarf, but still not quite natural.

Compared to the stone halls and grandiose sculptures of the Skyrim Dwarves, I wonder about the cultural differences between these two groups of Dwemer. One carved through the mountains, crafting beds and desks and all sorts of artworks from metal and stone alive. The other clad hallways in almost never ending panels of the same copper-bronze colour, desks spaced meticulously, artwork all but abandoned.

If I have one hope for the next elder scrolls game, it’s a return to the horror of the Vvardenfel Dwemer. And perhaps a return of the Dwemer themselves, an ultimate enemy or an ultimate ally.

You can’t kill a god, after all.

[hulloitsdani]

DAY 11: Resplendent!!!

Thank GOD for that new Reginn alt leaning deeper into that steam punk aesthetic. I saw those googles and immediately knew what I had to do.

I had a very chill time with this one. Felt very in my comfort zone, so once the basic sketch was done I allowed myself to just go off without too much thought. The premise of this alt being less front line fighter and more a mechanic for Niðavellir's machines. I think it could be fun if Kiran picks up on that kind of stuff really quickly due to the inherent similarities it has with their own world's machinery.

[creatureprofessor]

For day 5 of @terroryuriweek - alternate universe

(click for better quality!)

Portrait of arcane navigator Le Vesconte and saint-guided navigator Fitzjames, who were assigned as core navigators for the expedition tasked with mapping out the spatial anomaly known as the "Northwest Passage". Taken in 845 A.C. near the skyport of New Greenhithe, colorized.

More about them and this AU under readmore:

This is the Skyship Navigators or simply Navigators AU, which exists in a universe I created a couple years ago, and just plonked the Terror guys as women in there. Actually, there are 2 stories taking place in this world before this AU which have nothing to do w The Terror, but more on those at another time.

In a nutshell, this universe is somewhat similar to our Earth, yet the rules of magic, science and such are different. No machine more advanced than a steam engine can really exist in there; at least, not in a large scale because of Anomalies.

Centuries ago, an event called the Seven Days of Calamity happened, which then made advanced machinery unusable, and caused pocket disturbances all over the planet (think of the book Roadside Picnic or the Divine Cities trilogy). These Anomalies vary in shape, size and abilities, but they essentially made land travel very risky and travel by sea nearly impossible. This is why humanity uses skyships for trade and travel, and the role of navigators has changed as well.

Because in the aftermath of the Calamity, new powers entered the picture: the fae, the arcane and saints which each existed before, but on a much more obscure scale. Also, there is no Christianity or Catholicism here they way it is in our world, it all works differently as the saints don't pray to God to grant miracles or to save someone, they themselves help their navigator.

There are 4 types of navigators: the Faeguided, arcane navigators (commonly known as ‘conduits’), saint-guided navigators (c.k. as ‘vessels’) and the Comedians, a rogue faction relying on lost then unearthed knowledge. Their job is to ensure the ship takes a safe route through the sky, with some help.

For brevity’s sake, arcane navigation relies on harnessing arcane magic to find safe paths, but it is highly addictive, and prolonged usage will lead to loss of sensation in the limbs and then to gradual paralysis. This can be mitigated by using arcane yet again to regain feeling, but this will make it all worse in the long run. But it’s the most powerful navigation type, as a conduit can also protect the ship itself from outside damage by conjuring shields.

Saint-guided navigators, as the name suggests, rely on the guidance and protection of their patron saint, each navigator having one. It is the “safest bet” of navigation, and the most prestigious. The Aerial Admiralty, who issues out navigators and deals with their training prefers it over the others.

Now for Dundy and Fitzjames:

Henriette Tamsin Dundas Le Vesconte (or Dundy to her friend(s)) is a middle-grade, but competent and reliable arcane navigator, assigned to be the core navigator on HMS Erebus alongside Fitzjames, with HMS Terror having saint-guided navigators Garnet Gore (originally from Erebus, a last-minute change) and Johanna Irving. Dundy is easy-going and easy to like, yet under the surface she can be quite headstrong and selfish, and can sometimes treat people with elegantly disguised impatience. She and Fitzjames have known each other since their early days at the Admiralty, had a thing back then, split while remaining the best of friends, but still land in each other’s arms from time to time.

Now, “She Who Lights the Way”, James or Jaimie Fitzjames (she uses both) is the poster child of the Admiralty, the ideal saint-guided navigator. Her patron saint is Saint James the Unblemished (partly why she decided to stick w James), whose jawbone she keeps sealed inside a compartment in her helmet (many vessels do this with relics). Normally, a prolonged patronage of a saint leads to the loss of individual identity, hallucinations and dissociation, but so far James remained largely unaffected. Graceful, decisive and brave, she is often first in line to protect the ship and has been employed on warships before, earning a gilded reputation. However, she keeps her past battle injuries a secret and her presence can be somewhat of an annoyance with her seemingly endless anecdotes. She never said it out loud, but losing Dundy would be a great tragedy for her, as she remains her best, and perhaps only friend.

But much will change during the course of that fateful expedition…

[thealienfantasy]

Alien Fantasy-File 12: A Human's threshold for heat.

The scorching heat bore down on Caroline's hazmat suit as she strained against the cart's weight. The pieces of Nexorite were pretty, but god. Each push felt like moving a mountain.

"Just... a bit... further." Caroline grunted, her muscles screaming in protest. The cart's wheels groaned against the rocky terrain.

"(Taht htiw pleh em tel ,ereH!)" a deep, gravelly noise rumbled from behind her. Caroline spun around, wiping sweat from her brow as she faced Koh'ro. Their size alone made Caroline feel like a child in comparison. Without waiting for her response, Koh'ro stepped forward and gave the cart a gentle nudge. The heavy load that had Caroline struggling moved without strain.

"(Ti tup ot em tnaw uoy od erehW?)" Koh'ro's rumbled again. Caroline reached up and slapped the side of her ear in frustration. The translator implant crackled with static before dying completely. 

"Damn thing's acting up again." she muttered. One accident is all it took for this to happen. It was gonna be a pain to fix.

 "Over there." she pointed towards the ship's light. Koh'ro grunted in response and moved. The cart glided smoothly under their strength until it reached the designated spot. A blue light enveloped the cargo, and within seconds, the Nexorite crystals materialized inside the ship's hold.

"Thanks for the assist." Caroline said, giving them a thumbs up. Koh'ro responded by thumping their chest with a sound like boulders colliding. Looking at Koh'ro now, She didn't know why she was terrified of them at first. They were pretty friend shaped for what looked like a fusion between a silverback and a boulder. The other aliens seemed surprised at how there wasn't a fight. 

Carol took a moment and unzipped her suit, letting it drop to her waist and allowing her upper body to breathe. The heat was killing her.

Koh'ro suddenly pointed at Caroline's body, making a gesture that mimicked steam rising. Their rocky features twisted into what passed for concern among their species. Caroline looked down at herself, her tank top had a few wet patches. She lifted an arm and took a sniff.

...And immediately regretted the decision. 

The planet's temperature was survivable. but it could be pretty irritating. Multiple active lava flows in this particular region didn't help matters. Pools of molten rock dotted the landscape, making the already hot environment nearly unbearable.

"How long have I been at this?" Caroline wondered aloud, checking her clock. The display showed she'd been working for nearly six standard hours. Koh'ro made a series of grinding sounds that Caroline interpreted as speech, despite her malfunctioning translator. They gestured to indicate they'd seen other humans in similar states of exhaustion and sweat.

The massive alien reached down and patted Caroline's back with surprising gentleness for a being made primarily of living rock. They then lowered themselves slightly, gesturing for her to climb aboard.

"You sure?" Caroline asked, but Koh'ro just patted their own back again. With practiced ease - this wasn't their first such arrangement - Caroline scrambled up onto Koh'ro's broad, crystalline back. She found a comfortable position between two larger mineral protrusions that made for good handholds.

"Lead the way, big guy." she said, settling in for whatever destination Koh'ro had in mind. The massive alien began moving at a brisk pace. The crystalline formations on their back provided points for Caroline to hold onto, though she'd learned early on to wear thick gloves when riding. 

As they traveled, the landscape changed gradually. The rocky terrain remained constant, but the number of lava flows increased. Caroline's sweat-soaked clothes began to steam slightly in the intense heat. Other members of Koh'ro's species could be seen in the distance, some working at mineral extraction sites, others carrying loads that would require heavy machinery for humans to move. 

"You know? when Command first assigned us to this planet, they warned us about potential hostile life forms. Imagine their surprise when our first contact report included piggyback rides." She could feel Koh'ro's vibrating their body, making Caroline grip tighter to maintain her balance. 

They passed by one of the larger mining operations, where several human crew members were working alongside Koh'ro's people. The sight of the two species cooperating had become commonplace over the past few months. Humans operated drilling equipment while their alien partners used their natural abilities to locate the richest mineral deposits.

The heat continued to increase as they moved and Caroline could feel fresh sweat breaking out across her skin. She looked down and saw a massive river of lava. And in it, several of Koh'ro's folks were bathing. They looked up, one of them clanked eagerly and swam closer to the bridge they were walking on.

"(!ecin os sleef tI !su nioj emoC !eniloraC)". They creaked, Swaying their hands in the lava. Splashing some waves upward. Not high enough to reach Carol, but Koh'ro instinctively backed away to protect her. One of the nearby partners slammed their fist into the eager one.

"(!?REH MRAH OT GNIYRT UOY ERA !TAHT POTS)" They crackled their fist. The eager one seemed to realize their mistake. "(.em esucxE .thgir ,hO.)" Carol looked down curiously, slapping her ear one more time. Goddamn it. Still no dice. The duo continue to walk. Caroline tugging at her tank top in an attempt to alleviate some of the heat. She felt the temperature gradually decrease as Koh'ro carried her further from the lava fields. While the change wasn't dramatic, even a slight reprieve from the intense heat was welcome. 

"At least we're moving away from those lava pools." Caroline said, adjusting her grip on Koh'ro's protrusions.  After a few more minutes of walking, they came to a stop. Before them stretched a stunning expanse of seafoam green water, groups of steam rising from its surface.  The hot springs - one of the planet's more hospitable features, at least for humans.

"Oh thank god. This is exactly what I needed." Caroline breathed, already reaching for the rest of zipper of her suit.  She began peeling away the rest of her suit, working it down her legs until it pooled around her ankles. Koh'ro, remembering past interactions with humans, quickly turned around to give her privacy. Caroline couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's okay, big guy. I'm wearing a swimsuit underneath. Standard protocol for water-adjacent missions - you never know when you might need to take a dip."

She kicked the suit aside, adding her damp tank top to the pile. Now standing in nothing but a black one-piece swimsuit. Without hesitation, she took a running leap into the spring, letting out a whoop of joy as she dove beneath the surface. 

The water was exactly the right temperature - hot enough to soothe her aching muscles but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. When she surfaced, she released a long, satisfied sigh.

"This is heaven..." she said, beginning to scrub away the day's grime from her arms and shoulders. She noticed Koh'ro standing at the edge, watching her with what seemed to be curiosity. 

"Don't just stand there! Come on in - the water's perfect!"

Koh'ro carefully entered the spring, their massive form displacing enough water to create small waves. They lowered themselves until they were sitting, the water reaching their midsection.

As Caroline floated nearby, she noticed a patch of dirt on Koh'ro's crystalline arm. Without thinking, she swam closer and began scrubbing at it with her hand.

"You've got some gunk right here." she explained, pointing to the spot. Koh'ro made a low, rumbling sound and lowered their body further, enjoying the attention from the human. Caroline's eyes lit up as an idea struck her. She swam to the edge where her equipment lay.

"Hold on a second." she called out, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a sturdy brush she normally used for cleaning equipment. 

"This should work better than my hands." She said. Returning to Koh'ro, she began methodically cleaning their surface, humming an old Earth tune as she worked. The brush made quick work of the accumulated dirt and debris.

"You know. back on Earth, there are these places called spa days where people go to get cleaned and pampered. Consider this your first alien spa experience." She giggled as she worked. Koh'ro remained perfectly still, occasionally making contented grinding sounds as Carol worked. When she finally finished, she returned to the edge of the spring, letting herself float peacefully in the warm water.

After a moment of contemplating a way to thank her, Koh'ro scooped up a handful of water and playfully dumped it over Caroline's head. They immediately recoiled when she gasped in surprise, worried they'd made a mistake. Caroline wiped the water from her eyes and looked at them with mock outrage. 

"Oh, it's on now!" She sent a massive splash in their direction, her laughter echoing across the spring.

Koh'ro's features shifted into what Caroline recognized as their version of a smile. they returned fire, creating a much bigger splash with their massive hands.

"No fair! You've got an unfair advantage with those giant hands!" Caroline squealed, trying to shield herself from the splash. The air filled with the sound of splashing water and Caroline's laughter, mixed with Koh'ro's grinding chuckles. Their water fight continued, with Caroline doing her best to hold her own against her much larger opponent.

"Man. Where's the rest of the crew? they're missing out!" Caroline asked between splashes. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several of Koh'ro's folks gathered at the entrance of a steaming cave as they observed a peculiar scene. Inside, a group of five humans sat on makeshift benches, seemingly content in the oppressive heat.

"I don't understand how they're still living." one of them rumbled out, their structure vibrating with concern.

"We should get them out of there!" another suggested, taking a step forward before being stopped by their companion.

"They voluntarily went in there." the third one pointed out, gesturing at the humans who were now pouring water over heated rocks, creating more steam.

"Man, this beats the gym back home." One said, leaning back against the cave wall. "Who needs to pay for a spa when you've got a whole planet of natural saunas?" The heat intensified as another poured more water over the rocks. Steam hissed upward, filling the already humid air. Outside, the aliens watched with increasing concern as the vapor thickened.

"I... I can't...I'm dipping, guys. This is too much." One of them suddenly stood up, his face red and dripping. He stumbled toward the entrance, passing by the gathered aliens who quickly moved to help him. Their rocky hands reached out to steady him as he emerged from the steam. but he waved them off with a weak cough.

"I'm good, I'm good." he assured them. The remaining humans in the cave burst into laughter.

"Freakin' Lightweight!" 

"Called it! Pay up, Jimmy! I told you he wouldn't last fifteen minutes!"

The aliens exchanged confused looks, Should they just...leave?

[kharrneth]

I REALLY feel like the Machinery and Engineering aspect of Khornate behavior is severely underutilized in canon material

Like these motherfuckers make war machines, machine beasts, mechanized war contraptions (other gods [save maybe hashut] dont do this!) and all GW can think to give is skulls and blood.

Where's the Khornate Daemons with daemonic steam-punk prosthetic limbs?

We HAD a Khornate Champion who had a full working clockwerk soldier machine army, but since he's so obscure he probably won't even get a LL model in total war.

Where are the steampunk weapons?

WHERE are the Engineering Daemons?????????

Khorne literally GIVES them the knowledge to make these things, so clearly he cares SOMEWHAT. Clearly his ONLY concern isn't war, blood, and skulls. His CHIEF concern, maybe, but not his ONLY one.

So far in the Lore we have:

Classic Khornates who have the basic skill of murder

Khornates who keep orchards and gardens and meadows

Khornates whose skills center around creating armor and weapons

Khornates who create machine-beasts, machines of war (they can read and have books!)

Khornates who are solo killers and hunt down worthy prey Yautja Style

Khornates who have some degree of subtly and dedicate themselves to instigating wars between enemies, if not fighting in those wars themselves

But NOOOOOOOO GW wants to do the same boring stuff over and over and I kinda get thats the point of him being simplistic but give us SOME variety I BEG of you

[writingescapades]

Senses

Geppetto once told his puppet, “You were designed for your role”.

It was true.

Taste. Geppetto had not invested in developing tastebuds for Pinocchio. What use would his special puppet have for a tongue? When designing Pinocchio, he was half tempted to do without a tongue altogether. But it would have hindered Pinocchio’s ability to speak should he require it. And to Geppetto, the master craftsman, it just wouldn’t have made the puppet seem complete. So, Pinocchio was permitted a tongue.

Nose. Pinocchio had fewer smell receptors compared to humans. Krat was a shithole of smells. Certainly not a sense that would benefit being enhanced for a puppet warrior, Geppetto surmised. So Pinocchio was designed to only detect elements that could possibly harm him like the battery leakage of a puppet that was about to explode.

Ears. Pinocchio’s ears were as finely tuned as a rabbit. Though they did not move, they could pick up the subtle ticking of puppets miles away. He always knew where his enemy came from and could fight blindfolded. Understanding the decibels machinery could reach too, Geppetto ensured his puppet would be able to stand the sound of metal against metal. It would not do for his puppet to become deaf to his father’s voice.

Hands. Pinocchio’s hands were large, and they were supported by arms that could lift swords and cleavers the length of his height. His hands could rip open metal bars and swing open closed doors. They had sensors to detect and disperse heat, acid, water, ice, and electricity. They could withstand pressures that could crush most human hands. They were designed to tear puppets apart without causing their bearer any harm.

Eyes. Geppetto designed Pinocchio’s eyes to encompass the advantages of every living creature. His eyes could detect the slightest of movements from a distance and keenly observe his opponents up close, looking for weak points. He could split his vision or rotate his pupils, and had both thermal and hydro vision. The final touch was a thin protective layer wrapped around the eyeball, preventing it to take any damage. Pinocchio’s eyes no doubt cost a fortune, yet Geppetto knew the investment was a wise one as the puppet made lightning quick movements based on what he observed. They missed nothing.

Yes indeed. Pinocchio was a master craft. The magnum opus of a god-like artist. His entrance into Hotel Krat brought the change everyone was waiting for. They were endlessly thankful to the puppet and indulged his curiosity. Geppetto expected curiosity in his puppet. It was merely a side effect of ergo. What he did not expect was that Pinocchio’s curiosity was unsatiable.

Though Pinocchio could not taste anything, that did not stop you from including him during your meals. You noticed he was the only one without a plate. Though it made sense why, you couldn’t help but feel bad at the puppet who sat at the end of the table, doing nothing but watching the others eat. So you sat near him and placed your plate in front of him. Pinocchio glanced at you momentarily before his attention shifted down. He could see different textures and colours and the faint steam that rose above. You would point out all the items and show him how to cut or scoop the food to your mouth. Then you would eat, taking time to explain the taste and texture to him. Though he never ate the food, he would watch you, transfixed on what you were saying. Sometimes he even mimicked the way your jaws would move as you ate.

Though Pinocchio’s nose could only detect a few scents, that did not stop him from the act of smelling objects. He once saw you inhale a cloud of dust from some books and heard the sharp sound that came from you, a sneeze. This sneeze excited him, and he took to smelling things, wondering if such a sound would come out of him one day. Some days this sneeze would turn your nose red and made your voice sound funny. He didn’t like those days. You weren’t yourself on those days and it made him wonder if this sneeze could cause deaths. But it seemed your nose was capable of bringing you both misery and joy as you would bring items like flowers, clothes, and food to your nose and smile. It left him wondering what other smells existed out there.

Though no one could pity Pinocchio’s ears, Pinocchio himself was very dissatisfied. Such ears could not follow with the music he heard. He could not tell what he was playing or whether it was correct. Sometimes he would tug you to the piano and wait for you to explain how the dots on the paper related to the keys on the piano. You would try to explain things, but he would never quite get it. But when he discovered the records and heard how sounds got put together, he was unstoppable. At first, he pressed keys with an oddity that had you running out of the room. But soon, soft notes echoed throughout the hotel and sounded similar to the records Pinocchio brought home. Though he still didn’t quite understand what he was doing, judging by your smile and closed eyes as you listened, he knew he did something right.

Though Pinocchio’s hands could be equated to the might of the gods, his hands had never dared to touch anything that wasn’t intended for destruction. He would watch you play with Spring and was fascinated by the sounds the cat made – a sound very akin to the noises that came from his own build. He wanted to bring out that same noise, but Spring would hiss every time he came close. He would follow you around the Hotel as you worked, carrying whatever items you had recently collected for your library and archives. Then one day he accidentally broke a stained-glass piece you managed to salvage from the ruins of a house. He saw you cover your face and duck as the shards flew. By the time you lifted your face, the glass was cleaned up and he was gone. He stayed away and apart. So imagine his surprise when one day you reached for his hand. You noticed Pinocchio tracing the spines of the books you collected. You noticed the immobile hand he left out for Spring to approach. You saw the numerous attempts he made to fix the things he broke. And now you could see the surprise in his eyes as you reached for his hand. A natural adjustment to the surrounding light, Geppetto would explain.

It was possible that everything you did with Pinocchio was nothing more than engaging with a statue, but what was wrong in taking delight in the behaviour of another creature? So you watched him as he watched you. Though Pinocchio never denied his father’s explanations, sitting near you, holding a piece of twine for Spring play with, feeling her sheathed paws graze his fingers, and hearing your laughter made him doubt his father’s words for the first time.

[journalsouppe]

Professor Layton and the Spectre’s Call!! I actually discovered ordering the game from the UK with shipping was actually cheaper than ordering the American version of the game, there were no major differences that I could tell as they still had the original English voice actors.

I enjoyed this game!! Not my top favorite installment but I still had a great time and loved the new characters. The puzzles were well designed and had nice scaled difficulty and the mini games were really neat too. The Eternal Diva references were so blatant lmfao but I’m excited for Miracle Mask! I was also super exhausted when writing the summary so sorry there’s so many errors and I use the word fun a million times ToT

The Descole and Tea sticker are from JordyDrawsMerch! All other stickers are from Daiso. Writing typed below!

Rating: 8.3

Played: Sp 2024

Port: DS on 3DS

Favorite? Y

Replayable? Y

Recommend? Y

Series: Professor Layton

Comments

Emmy and BABY LUKE!!

OH THANK GOD IT’S CHRISTOPHER ROBIN MILLER

Ngl im so excited to watch the anime, I love the animation sm

Oh Layton is not taking Claire’s death well at all

I love how animated the background now is!!

Beautiful music as always

Does Clark have the same VA as Dmitri lol

THE WORLD WILL END? Damn Luke

The specter looks like one of those little kingdom hearts guys

Luke’s been a LaytonMobile hater since day one lmao

Luke is especially funny in this game

Layton taking Luke to the black market is so wild

THE PUPPET PLAY IS ADORABLE

I’m going to fight aunt taffy

Ooo we get to play as Emmy

Holy shit Emmy

GIRL FROG

Emmy asking if Layton always pokes lamps he sees is making me think he physically touches everything the player taps

The convo with the meowing man???

CHELMEY AND BARTON

Based anti-cop npc

THE DYNAMITE WORKS LMAO

Is Hershel gonna get a cask of amantillado’d T^T

The canals are so pretty i like the design of misthallery

Oh i do not like the police chief

I LOVE YOU EMMYYY

Grosky is very funny

Omg the cliff death police cover up reminds me of killer frequency which i just watched a playthrough of

FUCK JAKES

Where’s phoenix when you need him

JAIL BREAK JAIL BREAK!!!

I love descole’s voice

YAAA LADDER VS STEP LADDER

NESSIE???

The story book stories and animations are so CUTE!!

I wonder if Naiya was added to the game to hit at the Eternal Diva

This kinda reminds me of a pokemon movie but I don’t remember which one it was

^^ it was pokemon heroes when latias and latios were caught ^^;

AN OCARINA!!!

Creepy fucking factory music ToT

Oh dear. I seem to have stepped on a hexagonal spanner

Descole always serving massive cunt

Woah the golden garden is beautiful

Ohh so that’s why Luke was fork life certified in plvspw

ZAMN T^T

THE WAY THE SPRITES WALK KILLS ME LOL

I really like these little episodes from others POVS! ^_^

Summary

This was such a fun origin story for Luke and Layton. Very much a classic Layton game with world ending machinery and gorgeous environment design. I really liked both Emmy and Descole, there’s a more serious undertone than with Don Paolo as the main villain (even though I do love Don Paolo). Emmy is amazing!! I was afraid she would be sidelined like Flora was but I’m glad to she stands her ground and does what she wants to do. I alos like how we got to go on our own adventure as her to London, she’s a character that doesn’t need to rely on Hershel to solve everything. Meeting Luke was great, loved his blank stare. It was fun seeing his origins and how Clark and Hershel knew each other. I’m curious how the prequels will play into the New World of Steam, especially now that Luke’s family have stories and sprites (unlike in the original trilogy). Loved the ACAB story, v nice to play while I’m still so mad at what’s happening to university students currently. Descole was so fun, I am obsessed with his outfit and personality. Unfortunately I was spoiled on who he is but I’m very excited to learn more. I think similar to Ace Attorney, the fourth installment is that last game in the classic 2D style, which is sad but PLvsPW makes me very hopeful about 3D Layton. The overall story was fun, I really liked the sub plot about the Ravens - that was really fun (i was so tired writing this omfg). I wish we got a little more backstory on the rich guy who died, I feel like there’s more to the story. OO I loved the little episodes, especially the one about Chelmey. They added a lot of fun context and gave more life to the NPCs. Such a fun and classic Layton game, I can’t wait to play Miracle Mask! (And read the light novels). This wasn’t my favorite Layton game but I still really loved it and had a great time and loved the puzzles — that’s all I want from PL!

[qibsichan]

Culture of the Destroyed ⛓️‍💥✨

~.*COME TO OUR LAND, OUR LAND OF LOVE*.~

So you’ve been accepted into the Cult of the Destroyed! But what is there to expect once inside?

Origin

Our beloved cult was founded in 1991 by the beautiful, holy and sacred Moon Queen. She breathed her dreamsmoke upon our oppressors and rive them to madness - while granting us the sweetest visions of our lost past. Legends say that the Queen was once a prisoner to the execution grounds… until her illustrious influence inspired a coup in her followers.

Though it began shakily, held on the backs of terrified refugees and convicts, each toy banded together in the name of once-cursed innovation to seek methods of survival. Just when all seemed lost, the Moon Queen discovered something. Seeds. And once food and water were secure, the Cult of the Destroyed began to flourish.

Layout

The Cult resides within Playtime Co.’s recycling plant, colloquially named “Destroy-A-Toy” by humans and toys alike. The warehouse is enormous and stocked with machinery, sorted goods, disposable garbage (ripe for the picking!) and many, many execution methods. Be it crushing from the plant’s crown conveyor belt, incineration from the heat pits, dismemberment from the dangerously whirring fan blades or - God forbid - digestion from the monstrous carnivore who resides inside, the cultists of Destroy-A-Toy have near-infinite ways to deal with intruders and traitors alike.

The plant’s centre is an enormous rectangular prism with an extremely high vaulted roof. In its centre sits the main conveyor belt, which leads to the crushing block. This is a gathering space and where the executions take place. The conveyor is only ever activated when the cult is legitimately in danger; therefore, the space is used for socialising, entertainment and general silly shenanigans.

To the left are the living quarters:

Rooms, tents, blocks etc.

Food court and banquet hall

The medical tent

The nursery

Most ritual activities

And to the right are the more industrial aspects of the facility:

Recycling chute

Incineration, dismemberment and digestion wings

Cell block (repurposed to hold humans)

Water purification systems

Catwalks to the cavern

The cavern leads to an enormous lake of water found under the plant. Destroy-A-Toy is powered electrically so it’s uncertain why such a large body of water exists, but what the cultists DO know is that it contains an underwater tunnel network that could potentially lead outside the toy factory if any were brave enough to dive. This lake is is filled with fish carefully managed by the Queen’s people.

The importance of the lake:

Provides drinking water once purified

Provides cleaning water

Allows crops to grow with the assistance of floodlights

Both recreational and educational fishing

The lake has been decorated with bioluminescence, fairy lights and cave paintings and is a beautiful sight to behold.

Food

Light, water and seeds are required for the cult’s agriculture. They take great delight in their cooking and host weekly banquets to celebrate their achievements. Toys were often starved as convicts and are therefore thoroughly fed under the Moon Queen’s care. Over time and through the assistance of a mysterious supplier, the Destroyed have learned to cook potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, peas, cabbage, spinach and corn. The incineration plants are used to cook, boil, steam and fry food. Most is served with fresh fish from the lake. Delicious!

This is California. The fish are ABUNDANT. And her beloved majesty is a cat, after all. If only she could grab some chicken… sigh.

Style/Aesthetic

Destroy-A-Toy represents freedom. Therefore, it adores:

Bright, pretty colours

Regal and imposing architecture mixed with cutesy little inhabitants

VEGETATION. These guys LOOOOVE their plants. Vines, trellises, leaves - since they’ve never been outside, they’re cherishing what they have. The living quarters particularly are filled with green space.

Gentle, coloured lights and bioluminescence

Celestial bric-a-brac - sun, moon, stars

Bead curtains outside the tents

Jewels/jewellery. Very celestial and goddess-y

Stuffing, coloured clothes patches etc. to fit the “toy” heritage

🌿🌺✨💎👼🌙🍇🪻

Rituals

Many of its rituals are hidden from outsiders… but you’re in the cult now, so you deserve to know!

The most important ones you must know are the Executions, the Campfire and the Cuddle Puddle.

Executions take place when traitors, prisoners or abusers are officially condemned. These are bloodthirsty public ceremonies that are NOT for the faint of heart. Just a casual reminder to never piss Catnap off.

The Campfire is the cult’s local worship ritual. The cult will gather around the conveyor belt, where a ring of fire is constructed. The Queen is seated in the centre. Music is performed and a dance celebration occurs - and, at the song’s climax, Catnap will release her smoke, iniviating worship.

The Cuddle Puddle is everyone’s favourite. According to the Moon Queen, “One cannot be happy when affected by the bad vibes! So we mush squiiiiiiish the bad vibes out! Very cuddly.”

Are you staying? ✨

We hope to see you participating in the Campfire soon… 🐦‍🔥

Oh! And here’s our playlist! For the vibes :)

[elester01]

Traintober Day 14

Screech - When Yon Brakes Just Don' Work The Same No More

James hated trucks. They hated him. It was almost as if the stupid little hunks of wood crates on wheels had minds of their own. He’d taken the job of driving trains to get ladies, not be thrown around his own cab trying his best to control a borderline-runaway steam engine. And also be involved in a fire hazard. That wasn’t in his bucket list at all.

SCREEEEECHHHHHHHHHHHHH

James pulled desperately on the brakes, his screams in perfect harmony with the scraping wheels on the track. He tried his hardest to ignore the sensation of flame at his feet, and the scalding heat that the brakes were giving off. By god, who on earth made brakes from wood? He vaguely saw a blue shadow nearby him, before everything went off the rails. Literally and figuratively.

Next thing he knew, he was on his side in a pile of mud. His shoulder hurt, and it seemed that his engine was on its side in a field. Well that was just great. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been thinking about the state of the paint of his engine when he’d just been in a catastrophic disaster. Groaning, he tried to sit up, before immediately deciding that was a bad idea when his entire left side rejected the idea in an immensely painful manner. That probably wasn’t too good.

Hearing someone clamber over the machinery, he looked to see Thomas. “Ho-how's the paintwork?” he managed, Thomas rolling his eyes.

“James, I’m not sure that your arm is supposed to bend that way. Why are you worrying about the paintwork?”

“Because it’s the paintwork,” James groaned. The older man promptly rolled his eyes, before slipping an arm beneath the ravenette’s uninjured shoulder and pulling him to his feet.

“Ambulance is here. They’ll get your arm back into place and we’ll see where we go from there. For now I’ll go clear up the trucks you crashed and help Judy and Jerome with getting your engine back up.”

Ah, right. James rolled his eyes. God, other people were going to see the state that his engine was in. Absolutely disgusting. He could’ve cried.

[gumnut-logic]

Thunderbird One shuddered as she slid into dock, her whole fuselage groaning as if in relief. As she relaxed, her airframe creaked, losing heat to the cool of the hangar and for a moment everything was still.

Scott let his shoulders loosen, his whole body slumping in his pilot’s chair. One by one, he uncurled his fingers from the controls, his joints stiff from holding them so tight.

His head dropped back against the headrest and his eyes closed.

God, damn.

Breath hissed between his teeth as he let it out as if he had been holding it in all afternoon.

It certainly felt like he had.

They couldn’t save everyone.

They couldn’t.

But god, how he tried.

He drew the breath back in and activated pilot retrieval. One’s main viewing hatch folded back and the platform extended out from the dock as his chair unfolded to meet it.

Even then it took him a long moment to move.

“Scott?” John startled him. “You okay?”

He drew his shoulders up, straightening automatically. “Perfectly fine, Thunderbird Five.”

There was a grunt from orbit. John didn’t believe him.

Scott was not surprised.

A sigh and he pushed himself out of his seat and onto the delivery platform, forcing the correct stance so he didn’t abruptly end his career on the concrete floor far below.

Machinery that had no concept of emotional state hummed smoothly and retrieved him back to solid ground. He took the last step.

Scott stared at his elevator for a solid minute before turning to the stairs and taking them instead.

He needed to move. Needed start his heart beating again. Needed to rescue himself from that vast hole that was sucking him down into its depths. That same empty hole those dead eyes had lured him to once the boy’s life had fluttered away and…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a gloved hand.

It was always the eyes that got him.

These ones had been brown, somewhere between Virgil’s and Gordon’s and…oh god.

Move.

He threw himself up the stairs. Fortunately, there was a lot of them and they made his body work hard. By the time he made it to the locker room, he was panting.

His own breath was harsh in his ears and had a helplessness to it he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He shed uniform. His gloves hit the bench, followed by his baldric, his boots skidding across the floor. Struggling not to think, he unzipped his flight suit and shed the thick material, barely acknowledging the cool air as it hit the bare skin of his arms.

Another moment and he flung off his undershirt and shorts and padded over to a shower cubicle naked as the day he was born.

Goose pimples raised on his arms.

The shower was as hot as he could get it. But not hot enough to wash away the bruises he had no doubt Virgil would be targeting the moment he laid eyes on his eldest brother.

Scott’s sigh couldn’t be heard above the water spray.

Body scrubbed clean…ever so clean…red raw in places…the Commander of International Rescue stood under the steaming shower and closed his eyes.

You can’t save everyone.

It was his father’s voice. The same voice that came to him in all difficult moments. Grey eyes, reassuring smile and a strength Scott wished daily that he had. Jeff Tracy was a legend, bigger than life. Jeff Tracy was his father.

Jeff Tracy was a voice that guided him, that saved him, held him tight and prevented him from falling into that pit of despair that sometimes just loomed.

He turned the water off and let the remains drip off his body.

His left thigh was turning an ugly purple.

Damn.

Another sigh and he pushed aside the cubicle door and grabbed a towel.

It was big, extra fluffy, sky blue and all Virgil’s idea. He could still see his brother making his case for luxury towels in the locker room where they were needed. Mental health, he claimed.

Scott, Air Force to the core, had used abrasive cardboard squares masquerading as towels enough times to acknowledge the difference and how right his little brother was. It wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity.

Scott buried his face in deep cotton as the cool air wrapped around him. Another moment and he was rubbing himself dry, his thigh, left ribcage and arm complained. The ache was creeping up on him. He hadn’t really noticed other than the sharp collision when he had initially fallen.

But he hadn’t had time. Arms full of dying rescuee with a building on its way down…he did what he had to do.

Still, it hadn’t been enough.

First John and then Virgil yelling at him over comms. He was fine. The teenage boy was dead, but Scott Tracy was fine.

Just fine.

He scrubbed his hair dry, trying his best to ignore the fact his left arm hated being lifted above his shoulders.

Hair hung in his eyes and he brushed it aside, irritably.

Somewhere outside the rock walls of the locker room a familiar roar swelled and he knew Thunderbird Two and his three brothers were moments away from invading this quiet space.

Scott straightened. It was inevitable. Virgil would not let him escape again, but there might be a few more minutes alone if he got his shit together.

One of the advantages of flying the fast ‘bird. First dibs at the showers and that moment to gather himself before his brothers cornered him.

Digging through his locker, he found some underwear, loose pants and an old t-shirt. His usual casual wear beckoned, but even he knew he wasn’t fit to go out again, even if Virgil hadn’t grounded him yet.

He wasn’t stupid.

Tomorrow, yes. Today? He needed a stiff drink and time to himself.

So that is exactly what he did. Detouring to the drinks cabinet, he nabbed himself a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. Two, because he was a realist.

Hair still a damp mess, he skipped up to his rooms, grabbed his tablet, and hid on his own private balcony. From here, he could see the Island, the villa below and the sky to the south. Mateo had birds hovering over it like it always did in the early evening as the day started winding down.

His eyes randomly tracked a lone bird, different from the others, coasting past high above the Island.

He threw himself into an overly plush lounger. Again, a sky blue and Virgil-instigated. Scott had returned from a mission several years ago to find it sitting on his balcony. Not a word had been said, but he knew it was Virgil. Just like the towels, it wasn’t extravagance, it was mental health and Scott had to admit to curling up in the contraption on many an occasion since.

The tablet, bottle of whisky and tumblers landed with a thud on the wooden table beside it.

His body creaked as he folded into the chair and he was reminded that he would likely have a medic brother on his ass sometime soon.

He lay back and closed his eyes and forced every to muscle relax.

And tried to ignore the eyes etched into his mind.

Only to be startled awake as someone loomed over him.

“Hey, hey, it’s only me.” Familiar, soft baritone and deep brown eyes, Virgil was crouched down beside him. His brother’s hair was still curly damp from the shower and he was frowning…at the bruises on Scott’s arm. “Just chasing you up after that fall.”

Scott shifted on the lounger and his whole body protested. Damnit. “I’m fine, Virgil.”

“I’ll decide that.” That prompted the ghastly yellow scanner light to flicker across his body.

“Virgil!”

His brother’s lips thinned to a line as he read the scanner’s readout. “You’re off rota at least twenty-four hours, possibly more.”

“I know that.”

“I’ll note that against your diagnosis of ‘fine’.”

Scott glared at his brother.

Virgil rolled back on his heels, eyes assessing in that damned medical way of his.

“Virgil, I’m okay. A few bruises. I’ll live. Stop worrying.” He hated being the source of anxiety.

Still, his brother stared, his frown emphasizing that scar between his eyebrows.

“What?!”

Virgil’s eyes didn’t waver. “Sit up.”

“Why?”

“Scott…”

Fine. He pushed himself up out of the lounger and sat on its side, frustrated as all hell as to why his brother was being such a pain.

Virgil rolled onto his knees and before Scott could do anything, he found himself wrapped in a massive hug.

His brother’s arms, ever so strong, built for heavy lifting, held him tight, but gently, Virgil’s damp hair brushing his cheek as his head rested on Scott’s shoulder.

Startled, it took Scott a blink to return the gesture, his longer arms flailing for just that moment of surprise before curling around red flannel. “Virgil? You okay?”

His brother’s only answer was to tighten his hold a little more.

Scott frowned, unsure what the hell was going on, but Virgil didn’t let go and Scott could only stay tensed up for so long before he was forced to relax into his brother’s embrace.

“What are you doing?” It was asked against flannel and his own breath was warm against his lips.

Virgil still didn’t answer, but one large hand crept onto the back of Scott’s head, fingers stroking hair.

What?

But somehow the question never made it to his lips. Somehow, his body began to melt, each muscle falling limp, those strong arms taking the place of the tension in his body.

Fingers carded through his hair.

“Virg…” But it was little more than breath and he found himself blinking rapidly.

No.

Still, Virgil didn’t stop. Scott could feel his brother’s steady pulse, thrumming against his neck, his chest moving with each breath.

Scott closed his eyes.

Ever so warm.

He could have struggled, fought, pushed his brother away. But…

Brown eyes vacant and hollow. The image had him flinching and the arms around him reacted, shifting just a little. His brother’s baritone rumbled a reassurance he didn’t quite hear.

But still Virgil held him.

Held him.

Scott had no resistance left.

That baritone rumbled again and his brother’s free hand began stroking his back.

Nonsense words. His brother was spouting nonsense words.

But Scott’s eyes were closed and his body spent. He wilted into his brother’s arms and found himself breaking on the inside.

Vacant, hollow eyes.

So young.

So like a little brother.

Scott scrunched up his face, fighting his own reaction. But Virgil was still rumbling, still stroking his hair.

A single tear escaped to dampen red flannel.

No.

No.

He let the wave of grief wash over him, but refused to react, waiting for it to wane away.

His heart beat too fast and it left him exhausted.

And still Virgil held him.

He lost time for a bit there. Eyes closed. Warm flannel. His brother’s voice. A small part of him resisted it. Virgil was a little brother despite their closeness in age. Scott should be the comforter, always…

But the little boy who had lost his mom, the young man who had lost his dad…the commander who lost a young teenager in his arms today…took that moment, grabbing it like a life line and accepting what his brother was trying to give him.

He sat there, he didn’t know how long, just existing, warm and safe.

Perhaps he would have fallen asleep right there in his brother’s arms, whether he would be embarrassed to admit it or not, but there were bruises and aches and eventually he was forced to gently pull away.

Warm brown eyes peered up at him, still worried. Virgil’s hand was on Scott’s knee as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Thanks, Virg.”

That hand squeezed his knee in acknowledgement. “Lie down and get some rest.” His little brother stood up and walked out of sight a moment, only to return hauling another lounger, this one in a deep green. “John’s coming down in the morning. We can debrief then.” Virgil grunted as he put the lounge down. “Grandma has an eye on Gordon and Alan, but the Fish has a new Buddy and Ellie series and Alan is hip deep in that latest game of his. I think they’re good.” He threw himself onto the lounge and the structure creaked under his weight. He lay back, crossed his feet at his ankles and closed his eyes. Virgil was obviously here for the long haul.

Scott wasn’t surprised.

The scanner lay discarded on the table.

A sigh and he lay back just like his brother. The sky was beginning to pink in the east, the echoes of a sunset he couldn’t see lighting up Mateo.

He felt far more relaxed than he had earlier. A tension had been eased, while not entirely, that would take time, lessened considerably.

He eyed his medic brother. The man looked like he was going to fall asleep. The sight of him had Scott yawning.

Damn him.

But it was thought with fondness and with a sudden urge to reach out and hug his brother again.

“Go to sleep, Scott.”

Virgil didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Scott sighed and looked back up at the sky. It had been a shit day. Not the first. Probably not the last. Vacant eyes still haunted him and probably would for some time, but a pair of rich, brown eyes full of life and not a little love had somehow managed to take the edge off. His brother had filled that cold vacuum of a hole with warmth.

Virgil began to snore and Scott was forced to smile.

The snoring was probably fake, but it was lulling nonetheless. Safe and home.

Loved.

Scott closed his eyes.

And let himself drift away.

-o-o-o-

[waywardsalt]

rough rough draft of chapter 1 of the bellum x linebeck fic

Though the storm had passed and the sun finally shown upon the sea again, Linebeck felt gloomy. He leaned against his ship’s rope railings and stared at the horizon. The night before, the pounding of the rain had put him at ease. Now, the bright afternoon had brought back that familiar anxiety. After some thinking, Linebeck pushed himself away from the railing and resolved to begin his morning chores.

                As the only person on his ship, it was up to Linebeck to take care of it- and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He knew his beloved steamship like the back of his hand, and he collected a bucket as he blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes. Firstly, he gathered seawater to dump into the engine’s storage tank. The ship was drifting at the moment, but once Linebeck would turn it on, the heat would build up in the engine and the water would boil and evaporate and build up steam to get the wheels moving.

Linebeck knelt at the lowest edge of the deck and dunked the bucket into the water for the ninth- tenth? - time. He’d have to do some extra engine maintenance before he got moving. He’d been traveling during the entire storm, likely pushing the engine to its limits. But after the water gathering, Linebeck checked the hull for barnacles and scratches, checked the railings for damaged rope, checked his food and water supplies, barely giving himself a moment of rest while he went through the familiar motions.

Since he began sailing, Linebeck’s life had been altogether monotonous and unpredictable. His ship was one he had designed himself, and knew better than anyone else how to take care of and operate it. He had no desire to take on a crew, and knew from experience that they’d only hold him back- trying to teach new people how to work his ship was incredibly tedious and often led to them making mistakes and doing more harm than good. The last bastard he’d temporarily hired and bothered to teach about his ship- Linebeck scowled and shook his head. Not even worth thinking about, now.

The storm had replenished his fresh water supply. It had been bad enough to obscure visibility across the sea, so Linebeck had done some fishing. If he cared for gods, he would have thanked one that he made it through without getting sick.

He didn’t need a crew. Linebeck hadn’t had a long-term crew member for what- seven years now? They just made him feel uneasy and he could never muster up the patience to put up with them.

Or maybe he kept finding the wrong people. That had certainly happened before. He was never particularly good with other people. Linebeck was almost certain that he’d made a good few new enemies just in the last month. His eyes scanned the horizon as he walked back out onto the deck. Linebeck tightened his grip on his mop’s handle. He was totally alone. And yet his skin prickled with unease.

“…No point worrying,” he mumbled to himself. He started mopping the deck, forcing himself to keep his eyes trained on the wood. His last chore of the morning was always the most soothing. He moved slowly and rhythmically, beginning at the prow and slowly making his way back to the cabin. His ship was small, though large enough to be comfortable for him. The deck sloped upwards a few feet from the cabin and plateaued, about a foot higher and better to accommodate the rooms and machinery beneath.

The air was warm and humid; Linebeck brushed his hair out of his face and behind his shoulders. He considered removing his coat, but he was nearly done mopping- no point in wasting the time. The heat was never a big issue for him. He was perfectly suited to the sea, and Linebeck felt more than confidant handling every aspect of this life on his own. No problems whatsoever. No good reason for the anxiety that refused to leave his mind.

Maybe there was a good reason, the same reason why he kept scanning the horizon.

Finished mopping the deck, Linebeck turned to admire it. The storm had cleaned it well enough, but now that the sky was clear he wasn’t just going to cut out part of his morning routine.

With everything done for the morning, Linebeck gathered up his mop and the bucket and moved to put them away. The bucket would be dumped out and left with other containers in the storage room, the mop left in the engine room… and then the engine would need to be started up. The nearest inhabited island was two days away (with good conditions), so while Linebeck had no need to get going right that moment, he felt safer with the engine running.

To get the engine started, Linebeck pulled a lever by the wheel up and waited a moment as he heard the hissing of steam start, and then stop. He knelt down in front of the storage tank. Enough water for the day, that was for sure. He withdrew his matchbox from a pocket in his coat and struck a match, humming idly to himself as he tossed it in the space below the water. It would only be a few minutes before the ship could get going; over the years, Linebeck had gone back and forth on the design of the engine, and managed to make it especially efficient with different materials and methods, and was quite proud of it. While the water heated up, he shut the tank door and sat back, resting a moment.

He’d gotten… some sleep last night. He’d dreamed briefly, and didn’t feel as terrible as he usually did. Some sleep. Better than no sleep at all. Linebeck laid down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. He stared at the winding pipes at the tops of the walls and then shut his eyes. If he was lucky, he could perhaps find a few minutes to nap. Just a few minutes…

The ticking of the machinery around him slowly faded in as the engine properly started up. The sound melted into with the noise of the ocean outside, and Linebeck felt his anxieties ease. The familiarity of his daily routine eased his mind like nothing else.

The next island was north of his position… Linebeck let out a long breath. He’d have to at least position his ship facing north, and get started within the hour. He sat up and stretched. If he got started now, he could reach the island by late tomorrow. The engine was ready to go, and Linebeck smiled to himself as he fiddled with some of the smaller levers and switches, listening to the subtle changes in the ticking and clicking around him.

He paused when he heard up an unfamiliar noise. Linebeck stilled his hands, suddenly feeling cold.

Without thinking, Linebeck kicked the engine into proper operation and after a moment, the wheels on either side of the ship started turning and he quickly steered the ship in the opposite direction of that odd sound. He heard it again, from outside his ship- the unmistakable sound of cannon fire, and Linebeck was not brave enough to stop and check to see if it was aimed at him.

It was usually aimed at him, anyways.

Linebeck steered his ship away and locked the wheel in place; he felt his heart pounding in his chest as more muffled canon fire reached his ears. One sounded closer than the rest, and he managed to tear himself away from the wheel and run up to deck. Running away was nice, but he needed to know where to run away to.

It seemed like he was getting chased more and more. Linebeck figured he ought to start a list of the crews that had it out for him; that was something to do once he was safe. He stumbled out onto the deck and leaned over the rope railing, staring at the southern horizon. Sure enough, he could see a pirate ship in the distance heading his way, and the wind was in their favor.

Linebeck gripped the railings until the rope started to dig into his skin. The hell did he do to them? He recognized the decorated sails as the sails of the ship that’d been pursuing him before the storm. Their captain was one he’d cheated out of several hundred rupees in poker- or was that a different crew? No time to think it over while they got closer and closer. More cannon fire rang out, and Linebeck jumped back as the cannonball splashed into the water dangerously close to his ship.

Sailing in a straight line was a terrible idea. Better to leverage his steamship’s advantages and focus on disrupting their aim. Linebeck wildly looked around. No rocks or islands in sight. His best hope was to run for it and hope that either they’d run out of cannonballs or the wind would die down. He raced back inside.

He was just one man; why did all of these pirates decide that being slighted by him once marked him as the biggest threat to them on the entire Great Sea? Pirates were so petty. He flinched when he heard a muffled splash and felt the ship rock. Linebeck gripped the wheel tightly and started turning the ship west, his sweaty hands almost slipping off. He gritted his teeth as the cannon fire sounded closer and the ship rocked again.

The last time he’d been pursued like this, a cannonball had burnt his hull and cost him several days of sleep. Linebeck turned the ship far enough around to spy the pursuing pirates again; the moment he heard the cannon fire again, he spun the wheel to sail in the opposite direction. Turning was slow, but his ship never stopped moving. He’d had nightmares about one of the wheels being damage, and Linebeck felt weak in the knees just thinking about it.

As the pirate ship slipped out of view, the waters around his ship were more violently disrupted, and Linebeck yelped as his ship was more violently rocked by the waves. There was no cannon fire, no sound of a cannonball hitting the waves- and the water was clearly churning too violently for it to have been a cannonball. He clung to the steering wheel for dear life, his knees nearly buckling underneath him, and the cacophonous sound of an especially large wave made him wince. The ship rocked again, but still no cannon fire. Instead, Linebeck picked up a new muffled noise.

…Splintering wood?

The wood of his own ship was fine, there was no motion asides from the violent waves rocking his ship, but the distant splintering continued, and with it, faraway screams. For the second time in barely five minutes, Linebeck’s curiosity prevailed over his fear. On shaky legs he stumbled up onto his deck- slick with water that had poured onboard, and nearly fell over the railings when he reached them.

The pursuing pirate ship was being torn apart by something. Something had pulled the main mast down and split it in half, tearing through the sails and ripping the vessel in half. Linebeck squinted, hardly seeing anything that could be causing it, then caught a glimpse of what looked like a thick black rope curled around the prow, tearing it clean off and dragging it into the sea. The way those ‘ropes’ moved; Linebeck slowly slid down into a crouch as he realized that a sea monster was what was attacking that ship.

One pirate jumped from where the prow had been, likely trying to escape and swim away, but a black tentacle shot out of the water and grabbed them midair and yanked them below the water. Linebeck felt frozen to the spot, more than grateful that he wasn’t the creature’s target, but he feared that if he took advantage of the chaos and sailed away, he would be attacked next.

The pursuing ship began to sink, and the sharp cracking of wood was piercing as it reached Linebeck’s ears. The hull was torn in two, more tentacles appearing to crush them into unsalvageable wreckages. The fear that shot through Linebeck urged him to straighten back up. He started to hurry back into the engine room, but stopped in his tracks as the tentacles withdrew back into the water.

The pirate ship’s remains slowly sank, survivors clinging to any floating pieces. Linebeck stared at the water around his ship. That… thing had stopped. That sea monster that he and those pirates had the misfortune to disturb.

That sea monster- Linebeck had researched every possible hostile creature that had been seen on the Great Sea, and that certainly had to have been one of them. He grabbed onto his railing again, feeling too sick to move his gaze from the sinking ship down to the waters just below him. He stood at the end of the railing, steady on the sloping deck despite the way his limbs shook and his heart hammered in his chest.

There was a sea monster in these waters. It had just wiped out an entire pirate crew in hardly a minute. From what Linebeck could recall, that pirate crew was rather prepared and experienced, and their ship certainly wasn’t some glorified piece of driftwood. This wasn’t just an overgrown gyorg or some other typical sea monster- he was at the mercy of the kind of sea monster that had stories passed around. The kinds that endured for decades or even centuries and were either worshipped or feared. He’d never seen a regular sea monster that had those kinds of tentacles and was that quick and deadly.

One of the stranded pirates was suddenly and violently pulled under water. Linebeck lowered himself back down to a crouch, staring at the now-empty patch of water. After a few moments, a faint red hue bloomed from deep under the surface.

I’m going to die.

The thought seemed to echo in Linebeck’s head. It wasn’t a thought he was unfamiliar with, but it was much, much more frantic now than ever. He was going to drown or be eaten. Even if he got out unscathed, his ship likely wouldn’t, and that sounded just as bad as if he got injured. Linebeck shakily stared down at the water mere feet from him. Every tiny wave and ripple in the water heightened his anxiety, and his mind raced. Another pirate was pulled under the water, eaten, and the waters were still for a moment. Then, there was a subtle ripple further away from the wreckage and closer to Linebeck’s ship.

How do I get out of this?

Linebeck’s terror forced him to his feet, and he raced into his ship’s cabin. That monster was more than capable of catching up with that pirate ship, and Linebeck stumbled on his way down the stairs as his ship rocked slightly.

This monster was capable of killing and catching him with ease, and it tore apart that pirate ship with ease, and it was eating the survivors, and Linebeck was up next if he didn’t think fast. His feet brought him into his ship’s cramped kitchen, and he stood still in the doorway for a moment. His fear and quick-thinking seemed to crash into each other, and his mind went blank as he stared around. Linebeck switched his attention from his utensils to the fish he’d recently caught and had yet to clean to the cupboards. Why the hell had he run here?

The sea monster killed all of the pirates. It was probably chasing after him now. It tore apart the ship, and… ate the pirates. Ate the pirates. Linebeck stared at his recently-caught fish. There were a pair of smaller amberjacks he’d picked up during the storm, a seabass he had a few different plans for, and then a large loovar he’d been planning to sell. He suddenly felt itchy looking at that loovar. He was going to sell it. It was a large, pristine loovar, with sleek, undamaged scales and was over five feet long and took up the entire counter that fit in the narrow kitchen. It was valuable and would net him a good sum of rupees at the next island he docked at.

Linebeck’s ship rocked again, violently enough to knock him off balance. The terror finally mixed with his quick thinking and he grabbed and yanked the loovar off the counter, stumbling a moment under its weight. He slung it over his shoulder and hauled it up the stairs, his shoulder aching before he was even in the engine room. Goddesses, his coat was going to reek if he made it out of this alive.

He paused to grab his mop and tuck it into the crook of his elbow and stumbled a bit, stubbornly keeping the fish from touching the floor. The ship rocked under his feet again, and Linebeck shuddered and hurried out onto the deck. The water around his ship’s hull ripped every few moments, and Linebeck didn’t hesitate in letting the loovar drop onto the wood. He kicked it off the deck, and it fell unceremoniously into the water and floated barely a few inches from the hull- too close.

With the mop he prodded at it and sent it floating slowly away from his ship. And so, Linebeck huddled at the edge of his deck, leaning against his mop for support. For just a moment, the waters were still. The loovar bobbed on the water’s surface and the sunlight glinted off its scales. Linebeck exhaled slowly. For all he knew, the monster could have already left. He could probably grab the loovar if he was careful.

Linebeck started to reach back out with the mop, but drew it back as the water around the loovar suddenly started to ripple. The rippling grew more furious, and the water began to bubble and small waves started rushing out from around the fish- a dark shape was just barely visible deep in the water. The shape rushed to the surface, and Linebeck only got the quickest glimpse before falling backwards onto the deck as the largest waves yet set his ship violently rocking.

It was huge, easily half the size of his ship, and a stunning yellow. For the split second he saw it, Linebeck couldn’t discern any detail, but he didn’t miss the mouth full of sharp teeth that engulfed the loovar. Linebeck had fallen onto his back and didn’t dare move as the sea calmed down, the blurry image of the beast burnt into his mind. He stared up at the sky and realized that the fear in his chest had eased. Had he appeased the creature? The rocking of his ship slowly stopped, and he felt he was in no hurry to get up.

There was a slight splashing, and Linebeck jolted upright. He stared off the edge of the deck, at where the loovar had been floating. It stared back at him. The sunlight glinted off its yellow body, greenish in some spots, and golden in others. Under the water, the rest of it was just a murky shadow. In its mouth, encircled by those teeth, was an eye that stared back at him, the tiny pupil within a burning yellow and orange, surrounded by deep black. A monstrous eye, and one that Linebeck could’ve sworn he’d seen somewhere. Something about the thing’s unblinking gaze made a sense of visceral horror return to Linebeck, and before he could think it through, he scrambled to his feet.

The creature didn’t move in the water, but its eye followed his movements. Despite the hammering of his heart, Linebeck couldn’t tear his gaze away from that eye. His limbs felt locked in place, and his breathing came in in ragged gasps and he realized just how bad his situation had gotten. There was no way that loovar was enough to save him. He’d seen the way the creature had torn apart that pirate ship. He’d seen the way it had grabbed and killed those pirates. There was nothing keeping it from killing him next.

Then, without any sound but the sounds of the water, the creature sank down into the ocean and out of sight.

Linebeck immediately hurried back into his cabin, just barely remembering to snatch up his mop.

He wasted no time in getting his ship up and running again, and set a course for the island before even thinking of relaxing. Linebeck anxiously surveyed the sea as he steered the ship away, but spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

…Maybe the loovar had satisfied that… thing. Linebeck tried not to think much about it. But his nerves were still shot by the encounter, and he stiffly steered until the sun began to set.

He didn’t anchor the ship until stars glittered in the sky. Linebeck moved gingerly around his ship, half expecting that monster to return. But the evening was quiet, and Linebeck eventually felt relaxed enough after doing his rounds. He collected every book he had that mentioned sea monsters and went out on deck to read and rest.

Linebeck rested against the prow. He set the books in his lap and started flipping through each one, quickly skipping through what turned out to be a catalogue of common seafaring enemies, and finding a short collection of short stories based on powerful creatures around the world. As the sun dipped further below the horizon, Linebeck finally reached a much more informative book- one that had been gathering dust at the edge of the shelf- and flipped through more slowly, inspecting each illustration. Dragons, sentient plants, fish creatures, and Linebeck slowed down upon reaching the chapter reserved for deities. It didn’t take long for him to turn a page and find a familiar illustration.

It was little more than a collection of sketches, but that eye was unmistakable. Linebeck leaned over the book with a small spark of triumph in his heart. He was right- it was one he’d heard of before, a creature named ‘Bellum’. Apparently a powerful, demonic sea monster.

Linebeck felt a faint shiver down his spine and he sat up and stared off across the sea. He shut the book and gathered up the rest. Back in the cabin, he locked the door out, and hesitated with his hand on the knob. That nearby island was his destination, a small island with a small town that he’d been for. He needed supplies, needed to restock on food and parts and whatever else eluded him at the moment.

He double-checked the lock and silently headed down into the storage room. Linebeck left the volume with the information on Bellum on the table, and put the rest back on the bookshelf behind the thin bar that kept them from falling out.

Bellum.

Linebeck turned and stared at the book on the table. In the dim light of the few lit lanterns in the room, the book seemed almost ominous with its dark cover and elaborate spine. Where had he picked this one up? Was it one from home, or something he’d bought on a whim a while ago? Either way, it was worth reading through and taking notes on- even if the information he wanted seemed to only take up two pages.

Linebeck idly rubbed his hands together. The only indication of his lingering anxiety was the thin layer of sweat on his palms. Most sea monsters were known through shared stories and rumored sightings. Once he got all he could from the book, he could start asking around at islands. With any luck, though, he wouldn’t have to see that thing again.

[trainalt22]

Tidbits and bobs#1

Essentially my version of a lore dump

- All sentient machines, regardless of where they are built or their origin, believe in a singular deity named Lady. She is the station pilot for the Grand Terminus, the last stop for all sentient machines. Lady is seen as equal parts God and grim reaper and can appear in a multitude of forms, from locomotive to tug boat. She claims all sentient machines as her children and is believed to be very kind and gentle. This belief system has aspects of reincarnation, as it is believed that the soul of the machines shall be forged anew and come to incarnate a new form of vehicle or machine.

- Lady may choose a "guardian" to help with more earthly affairs on her behalf. It is unclear what they stand guard over, however.

- It is believed that Lady watches over the Isle of Sodor, as machinery built there seems to have a higher chance of sentience. However, this is both unproven and unconfirmed.

Ok enough lady stuff I just wanted to talk about her (she's neat)

- Thomas's route takes him all the way to Tidmouth and he often brings the townsfolk to their big city jobs.

- The official NWR freight engine livery is the green and red stripes, as worn by Henry and Percy.

- Percy has been requested as a guest of honor for at least 52 weddings and he has attended 34.

- The original Ulfstead Castle was destroyed in a landslide in 1991. The new Ulfstead Castle was built in 2000 and is part estate, railway, and museum, all orchestrated by the Earl of Sodor, Sir Robert Norramby.

- May 11th is Sodor Day, which marks the end of a week-long festival for all things Sudrian. Also, May 11th and Christmas Day are the only times the NWR intentionally reduces its services.

- In 2000, Sodor's Council passed a law allowing the marriage of sentient machines.

- The volunteers on the Talyllyn railway often send gag jokes or pranks to the workers of the SKR. The biggest prank yet was when they swapped Sir Handel with Sir Haydn (with permission from both the Thin Controller and the Talyllyn Preservation Society) and waited to see how long it would take someone to notice. Sir Haydn was on Sodor for 2 weeks and was found out by Duncan, who was suspicious as to why "Handel" was being so polite to him.

- Out of all the famous eight engines, Gordon is the one who dislikes his TV theme song the most. He claims that "it wasn't grand enough."

- Thomas's favorite TV episode is "Thomas and the Jet Engine." On multiple occasions, he has begged the Fat Controller to let him recreate the episode, just so he can say he is the fastest engine on Sodor.

- Edward is the unofficial father of Thomas, Bill, Ben, Rosie, Philip, and Ryan.

- Gordon is surprisingly good at giving advice. He has even given Edward some kind words.

- Boco is the official secondary for the Wild Nor'wester.

- Sodor is a sanctuary for sentient machines, and as such, Crovan's Gate Works can fix just about any type of machine in the world, whether it's diesel, steam, electric, gasoline, kerosene, or hydrogen. Bring them any type of motive power, and they can fix it in no time flat.

- During the purge of steam, Henry and later Murdoch often smuggled engines onto Sodor, attached to the ends of their freight trains.