#the ballast brothers

[nwreric]

WOW these were a long time coming.

I turned my no longer recent impulse purchase, BronCo (right) and Craig (left) into Legos.

I've been sitting on these for a while. Thought it was about time to show them off.

Look at my boys!!

And as always, these characters were inspired by @asktrio516 .

[goldleader0]

Season's greetings from the Ballast Brothers! I'm sure those gifts were obtained through perfecty legitimate means.

As always, these little gremlins were based on the A.U. by @asktrio516 .

[bilboblogsthings]

Hello world!

Google has failed me and I require assistance. Does anyone know where someone in some form of video media said the words, “are you telling me you used your brother as a ballast?”

I am at a loss and am losing my mind as the source of this phrase eludes me. Please help, you will have all my appreciation, but no worries if you don’t know lol.

[awaylaughing]

Tonight thinking about the rise of True Crime and what that means for more modern vampires and specifically my Night Road couriers. Kinda long and inherently not a happy topic so under a read more.

Echo’s bg keeps shifting minutely but the broad strokes remains the same: single mother died when she was young, dropped out of uni due to funding issues, left a bad relationship very abruptly, ended up with Brian and then “died” about six months later. She didn’t have any blood family to miss her and had wasn’t in contact with anyone from her hometown after her mother’s death. All her friends were her ex-fiance’s friends first: by the time she met Brian there wasn’t anyone missing her. Is she just remembered as a footnote in Brian Lomeyo’s story? I know she has a headstone, I don’t know who put it up or how they got her declared dead if they managed it at all.

Comparatively Amen actually did have living family who loved him. He was a tough person to love, and they frequently disliked him but he showed up to Sunday dinner reliably and was always good to his grandma despite everything. I think though they’re from a rather disenfranchised group and it’s possible they were never reported missing because the family thinks it’s pointless to do so, Denis didn’t have a good relationship with the local PD nor does anyone else in their family. I think they all suspect someone he owed money to finally got tired of waiting which...isn’t even entirely wrong; he just didn’t stay dead.

Leila’s a case where I know for sure she was reported and her family kept looking, but she was an international student and it would have been difficult for her family to navigate the language barrier. I’m sure if any of them get their 15-minutes of missing person fame it’s Leila, on some podcast or other. And her family is still looking for answers, it’s something she purposely doesn’t engage with because it’s really the one thing that makes her feel reliably bad.

Of course, it being WoD all of these character have the minor protection of there probably being more missing people per capita to sort through, but I imagine it’s very likely for 20th and 21st century vampires to have to navigate the ironic threat that is strangers caring about their missing persons status.

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (2)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, angst, sexual tension ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He didn't want to get married. He didn't want ballast in the form of a woman who would require his constant attention, his tenderness and other feelings that he didn't have.

He didn't even hug his own mother, occasionally letting her touch his hand or shoulder; for physical relaxation, a servant or his own hand was enough for him, as a last resort some pretty maid.

He didn't need a wife in his life. Even if he had an heir, he had nothing to leave behind, knowing that he would not be king or inherit Dragonstone.

He knew that without Vhagar he would be nothing, and the thought made him even angrier.

The idea that his drunken brother, wandering around brothels all night was to become king, and that he, a well-read man, experienced in combat, was to watch him destroy the kingdom and their family.

His father and mother, however, insisted that he eventually fly to Storm's End and make the choice, so that the wedding date could be officially set. He had put it off as long as he could, but the time had come and he had to accept that, whether he wanted it or not, one of Lord Baratheon daughters would be his wife.

He decided that he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

When he mounted Vhagar, he prayed for patience, that he would not show his brutality and madness to them even before one of them became his wife.

Vhagar glided through rain and thunder, in the distance he could see the faint outline of Lord Baratheon's stronghold. When he landed on a hill nearby, he was ushered into the great hall by several guards, the whole room lit with torches and large shutters, he heard loud thunder in the distance, shaking the whole castle.

Lord Borros greeted him with a few meaningless sentences that he couldn't concentrate on anyway, his gaze traveled over the faces of his daughters, all of them similarly combed and dressed.

Equally dispassionate, arranged, trained.

He pursed his lips, noticing a frustrating detail that didn't escape his attention.

"I heard, Lord Baratheon, that you couldn't read but I didn't know that you couldn't count either." He said it loudly, coldly, giving him a defiant look, a mischievous smirk on his face that didn't mean that he was pleased at all.

Lord Borros shited restlessly on his lord's throne, swallowing the insult with difficulty, clearly tense, for a moment he didn't know what to say.

“My fifth daughter is too young and inexperienced in the things of life. She wouldn't be…”

"Order to bring her." He commanded, interrupting him mid-sentence, looking around the hall impatiently. Lord Borros motioned to one of the guards, who immediately ran towards the corridor.

He wondered what that might be about.

He didn't believe what the lord was saying, thought that perhaps the girl was defective or disabled and her father wanted to spare her humiliation.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the voice of one of her sisters, the tallest and most mature of them.

He saw her full breasts and looked away at the memory of the whore that Aegon had taken him to when he was only thirteen, riding him and forcing him to knead her enormous assets with his hands.

“Our sister is not prepared for marriage. Please, spare her this humiliation, my prince." She said with an effort for gentleness, a feigned kindness and concern that her own words belied. He stared at her blankly, wondering if she really thought that she was playing her part well.

"Speaking without permission in front of a prince also does not reflect well on your preparation for marriage, my lady." He snarled in such a way that the girl froze, dropping her eyes quickly, all red with humiliation. He looked away from her when he heard loud footsteps and saw her.

He wondered if she was a servant girl or indeed Lord Baratheon's daughter, her large, bright eyes stared at him in horror, dark, wet locks of her hair sticked to her face in such a way that it looked downright endearing. She was breathing rapidly through her mouth, her fleshy, wet lips parted and quivering.

The contrast between her and her sisters struck him, they, standing like statues, dressed in ornate gowns, looked like goods for sale, she, shivering, warm, terrified, was painfully alive, she had a pretty, gentle face and her curves, though not so full and mature, lacked nothing.

Her father's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“This is my youngest daughter, my prince. As I said, I felt that she was not properly prepared to fulfill her responsibilities as your wife." Lord Baratheon said carefully.

He wanted to laugh at the helplessness of his words, the fear that he would take away his hidden treasure.

Apparently there was something about her that made him want to keep her for himself, when he was able to give away his other daughters at the same time.

However, he did not show his amusement, keeping straight face, watching her intensely. He felt surprised that his manhood pulsed in his breeches at the thought of her being unable to look away from him, staring shamelessly straight into his eye.

If she had been his, he would have shown her how to behave around a prince, would explain to her in detail what he expected of her, raise her as he saw fit.

"I will decide that, Lord Baratheon. Wasn't that the deal?” He asked coldly, menacingly, only then looking away from her.

Lord Baratheon shifted restlessly on his throne, desperate, he liked the way he looked, writhing helplessly before him.

He approached the first of the sisters, the one who had dared to speak to him unasked. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her, wanting to see how she tasted like, how her body felt.

He knew that he had no right to do this, but no one could stop him.

No one would dare to oppose him.

The girl sighed softly into his lips, opening her mouth invitingly, shamelessly, he pulled away from her as she wanted to put her tongue in his throat, thinking that she was hopelessly desperate.

The other sister when he kissed her pursed her lips in fear, breathing fast. He released her almost immediately, deciding that he didn't need a woman who would run away from him at the sight of him.

The next two sisters didn't impress him either, pretending that his kiss gave them pleasure, that he was the one that they desired.

He knew it wasn't him they wanted, but their idea of him, his position, his title, they wanted to feel like princesses and be treated as such.

He thought that it was one big misunderstanding.

He turned to their youngest sister and saw that she wasn't looking at him, but at the ceiling.

For some reason, that little detail, that she dared not look at him, ignore him, frustrated him.

He walked over to her and grabbed her cheeks in his hand more brutally than he originally intended, forcing her to look at him.

He saw more than fear in her eyes.

He saw begging.

She begged him not to take her with him.

She begged him not to hurt her.

He felt a pleasant shudder at the thought that she had asked him without words, and he could do what he wanted with that request. He stared at her parted, puffy, pink lips, thinking that he at least wanted to taste her, like a sweet, fresh fruit.

He leaned over her but stopped when he felt her draw in a sharp breath, her whole body quivering, her eyes widening in horror. He ran his thumb across her cheek, wanting her to calm down, to let him do what he wanted.

She looked at him again, softer, more dreamly this time, her soft lips parted sweetly, invitingly. He thought that this is what she might look like lying underneath him and felt his manhood throb painfully once again.

He dug into her lips like a sweet nectar and was delighted to feel that she hadn't pressed her lips, allowing him to enjoy the softness of her fleshy, moist skin.

She smelled of some delicate, feminine, sweet oils, rain and sweat, something primal, exciting. Encouraged, he deepened the kiss, wanting to feel her more, the taste of her saliva spreading across his palate like a fruit flesh.

He shivered as she dared to touch him, her hand pressed against his arm as if she wanted to push him away, yet hold him to her, undecided, he wanted to clamp his free hand in her hair and pull her to him, break her resistance, show her how a prince should be treated.

She was sweet and innocent, untainted, like a blank book that he could fill out as he pleased. He thought that he wanted her eyes, her lips, her hands, her pleas, her tears for himself.

She could give him what he really desired.

He pulled away from her, staring at her flushed, embarrassed face and saw that she looked away from him again.

He decided that when she arrived at King's Landing, this would be where they would start.

That she would never look away when he was standing in front of her.

"Her." He spoke impassively, coldly, decisively.

He felt with satisfaction how a shudder went through her body, how she immediately looked to her father to seek his help and thought, amused, that her father wouldn't help her.

He released her, turning tensely, heading for the main entrance, hearing Lord Baratheon mumble something under his breath, it took all his strength not to laugh in his face.

"I've already made my decision." He spoke loudly, matter-of-factly, as he left the hall.

He made his way to where Vhagar was resting, the storm unleashing around them in earnest, the downpour making him barely able to see anything.

He had not thought flying to Storm's End that he would feel such savage satisfaction returning to King's Landing.

He wanted this girl.

He wanted her for himself.

He wanted her terrified eyes, her untamedness, her softness, her sweetness.

He felt like a finished man, deep down he felt and knew who he was.

A monster inside and out.

All his life he had to take what was due to him by force. He knew that it was the only way − to snatch something from the gods against their will, tip the scales in his favor.

He knew that it would be the same with her, that she will not give him anything from her own free will and everything he would get from her would come from her fear and his superiority, his status, which forced her to submit.

What aroused him the most was knowledge that she wouldn't make this easy for him, that she would fight him, but he would win, he would always win, always his word will be the last, his will will be above hers, every time she will have to humble herself, agree with him, obey him, her husband.

He flew on Vhagar through thunder and rain, sinking into darkness, closing his eye, throwing his head back, soaring into the abyss.

Upon returning to the Red Keep, he informed his mother and father of his choice, but gave them no details.

He wasn't going to explain himself.

He did what he had to do.

When his mother announced to him that a date of their nuptials had been set, he no longer felt the frustration and rage that accompanied him before he chose his future wife and was surprised to find that he was getting impatient now.

He wondered if she was very distressed, did she cry because of him every day, did she think about their wedding night.

He thought of her every evening, as he relieved himself with his hand.

About the fact that he will be able to touch her everywhere.

That her body will belong only to him.

Her every look, sigh, moan.

The thought that she was a maiden made him thirsty even more.

The fact that he will show her everything, that he will open the door for her, the door to the pleasure of her own body − if only she will be obedient and polite.

He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, drifting off into his own fantasy world, involuntarily sliding his hand down to the material of his breeches, untying them.

When his mother informed him that Lady Baratheon would be arriving in King's Landing in a few days, he could barely suppress a smirk of satisfaction from her. The truth was that he was growing impatient, wanting to have her with him now to see what he could do with her.

He wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his hands to himself until their wedding and thought that nothing bad would have happened if he had taken her sooner.

She was going to be his wife anyway.

On the day of her arrival he had fought hard with himself and with the temptation to welcome her with Ser Criston on the port, however, he gave up on this idea.

He didn't want her to think that he had any kind of affection for her, that she can soften him, change him, put him in order like a dog.

No, he thought, he would never allow that.

He waited in his mother-queen's chamber for her arrival, his heart pounding hard in anticipation.

He wondered would she look even more beautiful in a gown like the one her sisters were wearing, all pale, scared, sweet.

His.

He shuddered and twisted in his chair, crossing his legs as their servant entered the chamber, bowing low, not daring to look at them.

"Your Grace, Lady Baratheon has arrived."

_____

Thank you for such a warm welcome to the first part. 💖

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @slainey @letmeloveyouuuu

Others: @dreamymoomin @thedamewithabook @dc-marvel-girl96 @zillahvathek @helaenaluvr @tssf-imagines

[coffeeandbatboys]

Hello! This is Carol (@clonethirstingisreal) but I can't send an ask from that account.

Congratulations on your 270 followers!!! Thanks so much for doing this event!

I pick Howzer, the #1 and 😜

Thanks so much!!

Thanks for sending in an ask! I threw everyone’s favorite future rebel and past gremlin child Hera in here for plot 😂

Prompt: sending each other little selfies or pictures throughout the day when they’re apart

Alema: Twi’leki meaning Protector. Nerra means Brother.

Warnings: possible itty bitty innuendo at the end if you squint really hard. Reader is Hera’s babysitter/bodyguard/chaperone. Howzer is a smooth and chivalrous little shit

Girls Day (Howzer x Fem!Reader)

“Alema look! Hera shouted, practically dragging you towards the merchant stall that housed racks of jewelry made with braided twine.

You sighed and trotted along behind her.

“Hera if you want me to take you shopping I need my arm in its socket.”

“Sorry. Got a little excited.”

You both scanned the colorful array of handmade jewelry when your eyes landed in a stack of teal bracelets. Hera must have spotted them too because she looked up at you with wide green eyes.

“It’s the same color as Howzer’s armor!”

You smiled and turned to the woman running the stall.

“How much?” You asked.

The woman peered at the teal bracelets you pointed to and nodded. “Four credits each.”

You took out your little pouch and handed her eight credits, slipping one of the bracelets on Hera’s wrist and one on your own.

“Let’s take a Holo for Howzer.” You said, kneeling next to the girl and holding up your wrist. She did the same and gave the biggest grin she could.

You snapped the pic and stood, taking Hera’s hand again and leading her along as you sent the holo.

“Honorary squad members?” You typed, giggling at your own stupid joke.

A few seconds later your comm pinged. A picture of Ballast and Howzer flickered up.

“Nice try. We’ll defend you fine ladies with our lives though. Having a nice girls day, cyare?”

You blushed, still getting used to the nickname. Every time he used it, your insides turned to mush and you couldn’t help but feel like a giddy child.

Speaking of giddy children, you decided that a something cold and sweet sounded very good at the moment.

“Hera, dear. How do blue milkshakes sound?”

If the girl’s eyes could get any bigger, they wouldn’t fit her face. She nodded. “Yes please, Alema!”

After ordering and receiving the drinks, you both sat down in the shade to enjoy them.

You and Hera chatted about her schooling and about your latest project when another shadow loomed over the both of you. Your eyes followed teal and gray plastoid up until they met that beautiful face.

“Afternoon, m’ladies.”

You smiled. “Afternoon, Howzer.”

Hera beamed. “Hello Nerra!”

Eleni and Cham waved to their daughter from the distance, beckoning her over. She scrambled up to leave, but not before giving both you and your trooper a hug.

Howzer chuckled and sat down next to you. You offered him the rest of your milkshake, which he gladly accepted.

"You know, Mesh'la, I had to think about something today."

"Mm?" You hummed, leaning into his shoulder.

"Holos don't do justice to your beauty. I think I'd much rather see you in person."

You giggled and kissed his jaw, right over the scar that sat there. He gave you a cheeky grin and twisted the straw around the cup with his tongue.

"Oh, I think that can be arranged."

Here’s the bracelet that inspired this 😂 you can buy it on Etsy also

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 30 - Oncoming Storm

The Coastal Run:

Glynn the Coffee Pot watched as the new engine for the branchline bustled about the yard, shunting trucks into place. His regulator sounded wobbly. “My own branchline, the Fat Director says,” huffed Thomas. “And yet there’s you old tin urn here telling me what to do. It’s not mine if there’s another engine!” Glynn could only chuckle. Edward had warned him about Thomas’ cheek and temper, and he was well used to the behaviour of the loaned engines who stormed about the mainline liked they owned the place.

In comparison to them, Thomas was a saint!

Still, there was one thing Glynn had to explain to Thomas before he could get any grumpier. Or before his regulator gave in; he really ought to mention that to Thomas. “It’s only until you’re settled in,” reminded Glynn politely. “Especially with storm season incoming.” “What does some bad weather had to do with anything?” snorted Thomas. “We had storms at Vicarstown and those never stopped trains.” “Oh no,” agreed Glynn. “Trains must get through no matter what. The big issue is the land around here isn’t stable. Knapford, Elsbridge, Dryaw and Toryreck are all built on reclaimed land from the old River Els marsh – it used to be one of the largest north of Liverpool. Rainwater normally drains out via the remaining marsh on the other bank, however during particularly bad weather, there are sometimes floods. It’s your responsibility as this branchline’s engine to look after the line when that happens.”

“Pah!” snorted Thomas, glaring out at the river. “It’s just some stupid water. What’s it going to do to an engine as big as me?” “You should not be so dismissive of heavy rain and flooding,” said Glynn crossly. “It’s very dangerous. You know… the mainline didn’t always go through Knapford tunnel.” Thomas raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Go on…”

“Oh yes,” hummed Glynn. “When we were built, the line only came as far as the abandoned harbour here. But the same company that had dredged the marsh here was invested in building a rail line to get the lead out of the mines. They had us built, and a line built around the headland.”

Glynn rolled forwards, leading Thomas through the yard to a set of points beyond the station. One set of lines continued straight along the mainline while another veered to the left, only continuing a very short distance before dipping down into weed-ridden ballast.

“Today, it’s a set of trap points to keep trains from heading for the tunnel, but back then it was our route to Tidmouth. It was a much longer journey, going right the way around along the craggiest and most difficult cliffs on Sodor. I hated taking my trains along that line; I always felt uneasy when I had to take my lead trains along that line. My siblings felt the same. One day, an oncoming storm had us all scrambling to prepare the line. One of my brothers had to get the last load of lead out to the harbour, and set off just as it began to rain. The rain lashed against the island, unleashing fury upon Sodor and dumping rain down by the lake-full. It was an absolutely horrible storm. Out on the line, my brother was doing his best to struggle against the buffeting rain and howling wind. Or at least… he was.”

Thomas gasped, realisation striking. “He…” “Wiped right off the side of the island with his train and most of the track. It was all swept away in the blink of an eye. Afterwards, a young Mr Topham Hatt helped build a railway through the hills, connecting the two towns and avoiding the cliffs.”

Glynn sighed, going back to his shunting. “I miss him so much. I loved my brother, and now he’d gone.”

Thomas sighed. He didn’t really believe in the idea of sympathy – likely a result of his upbringing. “Well, it’s done now,” he replied. “Let’s just do our best to keep my branchline smoothly. Do you know when that train bound for the Big Station is?” “Half past four,” replied Flynn easily. “But I’d be careful. The wind’s changed – a storm’s inbound.” Thomas scoffed. “Just because you felt some wind, doesn’t mean we’re about to get battered. And if we are, then don’t we have a job to do?”

Glynn couldn’t disagree with that. All through the rest of the day they worked hard, and as Glynn predicted, the weather began to change. Distant thunder rumbled as Thomas made his way up to the mine to collect his lead trucks bound for the Big Harbour. The first few fat raindrops fell as the little blue tank engine entered the mine, cold and wet and leaving dark splotches on the ground.

It only grew heavier as Thomas banged the trucks together. His regulator had begun to play up, leaving him irritable. He finished arranging his train, and set out into the oncoming storm. Rain buffeted the tank engine as he struggled on, each wheel turn struggling for grip against the rails. Wind howled and shrieked around him; branches were ripped off and flung into Thomas’ side tanks while a few stray roofing tiles were dragged from their spots and dropped onto the lineside with a smash.

Thomas was beginning to understand why Glynn hated the bad weather. Worse yet, none of the line were clearly visible, and the signals were barely any help. Thomas was still not used to this part of the island, and he just couldn’t make anything out in the driving rain and fog.

He rumbled through a station, and heard the roar of the sea being whipped up into a frothing monster by the storm. “That must mean we’re near Knapford,” suggested Thomas’ driver; he had to shout to be heard over the rain.

The train rumbled through the junction – or what might have been the junction, Thomas wasn’t sure. At the end of the station, they veered to the left, and the thunderous roar of the sea grew even louder. Thomas wasn’t sure where they’d ended up at all – but he hated it. The train was entirely exposed to the elements here, not even a few trees able to provide the slightest bit of cover. It almost sounded like he was running right on the coast – but that was impossible! The line ran through the tunnel.

Thomas struggled on, wheels slipping furiously as he tried to find at least the tunnel to shelter in. Anything would have been better than where he was. His wheels slipped again, and his driver rushed to stop the train from faltering. He moved too fast. Thomas’ regulator groaned, and with a clunk, slammed shut and jammed.

“Damnit!” groaned Thomas’ driver. “What will we do about the train?” “We have more immediate problems!” yelped the fireman. The two peered out of the cab to see the waves getting higher and higher, sea spray splashing against Thomas. It threatened with every crash against the rocks to rip the line right from the side of the hill!

Thomas felt queasy. “I don’t like this!” he shouted. “Get me out of here! Please!”

Suddenly, a whistle pierced through the roar of rain and sea. An engine bumped into their brakevan; Thomas could have cried in relief. The engine sounded just like Glynn! The engine dug its wheels into the rails and began shoving the train forwards. The minutes felted like an eternity, passing far too slowly. Thomas and his crew held their breath and prayed, both driver and fireman trying desperately to unstick the regulator.

And then, there was a bump. Thomas looked down, and could have whistled in surprise!

“Points?!”

Just behind them was the tunnel. Thomas’ crew did a double take, and fell against the regulator in shock. The bump jarred it back into motion, and Thomas shunted back violently, coming to a stop just inside the tunnel before his regulator gave out again.

Thomas thought he could just make out the shape of a Coffee Pot heading back down the weird coastal route.

A second whistle sounded out, and Glynn appeared in the mouth of the other tunnel bore. “Thomas! Thank goodness I found you! Where have you been?!” “Wait – Glynn? But weren’t you—” Thomas cut off with a gasp. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what had happened.

His suspicions were only confirmed when – to his horror – he found that there was no set of points beyond the tunnel. Glynn watched on, worried. “There were points here!” Thomas spluttered. “And a coastal run! I was nearly swept away!” “Thomas, the coastal run was destroyed nearly two decades ago. I don’t know what you saw,” replied Glynn for the fifth time.

But Thomas just couldn’t believe him. Not when he’d witnessed it for himself.

Back to the Master Post

[helix-enterprises117]

Fred Circle character bio

Name: Fred Ellsworth

Aliases: N/A (though Kelly likes to refer to him as "Freddie" as an affectionate pet-name).

Rank: Lieutenant Junior-Grade

Age & DOB: 24, April 3rd, 25,528

Abilities:

Enhanced strength and speed.

137 IQ and expert in avation, CQC and heavy-weapons.

Multilingual, including alien languages.

Highly-skilled and naturally talented armed and unarmed hand-to-hand combatant and martial-artist.

Expert field-tactian and can think on the fly.

Theatre Kid with a surprisingly good singing voice and an excellent liar (except to his wife, who he cannot lie to).

Personality: Initially an arrogant kid growing up on account of being the S-II Program's Golden Child, Fred is literally everything a Spartan should be and more. In his adult years, he's become a charming and kind-hearted softie who has become a lot more humble since he's grown up. While he, like any Spartan, is incredibly intelligent; he can be a bit lacking in common-sense.

Backstory: Growing up Ballast, Fred is the oldest child in a litter of three; his twin brothers were to join the S-II Program with him, but the youngest was terminally-ill and the middle-child wanted to stay behind to help his younger brother. This left Fred himself, who decided to go on the condition that his recruiters take care of his family AND give his baby-brother treatment, otherwise he wouldn't go; Halsey and the recruiters obliged. At the Spartan Academy, Fred was basically an idol, a natural-born leader with lots of talent, which often put others in his shadow.

Relationships: Kelly Shaddock/Sierra-087 (wife).

Facts: Fred is a tenor.

[spiritundaunted]

The "composition" of George VI always had more ballast. Yet in every respect he had felt himself the inferior. (In fact he was a far better all-round athlete.) The brothers shared many high qualities including concern with youth and industrial welfare. Each could fall into fits of depression or acute irritation. But the younger brother, despite his early ill-health, remained the more stable of the two. King George VI had a useful dash of his father's conservatism together with his mother's interest in things new.

the Reluctant Queen by Elizabeth Longford, "Saturday Review, 30 May 1981

[casualsnickers]

Month of Emmet Quick Write #18

Prompt #18: Dance

Emmet has a tendency to lose himself in his work. Especially if that work involves not having to talk in the slightest. And it just so happens that it's maintenance day for a beaten-up train cab.

Read the whole thing below the cut.

Emmet wiped the sweat from his brow, slowly ensuring that the last bolt was firmly in its position before scooting back to admire his handiwork. The entire day had been spent meticulously pouring over a train cab that had been needing service for some time after suffering an onslaught of ice. And by using his work time to fix the cab, Emmet himself felt well-maintained and ship-shape as though having come fresh off the assembly line himself.

Emmet carefully took a step away from the unfinished cab, laying his tools on the detached cloth seat he’d been sitting on as he carefully stepped through the gutted cab and onto the rocky railyard where the sound of gravel and ballast shifting underfoot quickly lifted his mood. 

Steam and smoke rose in lazy circles from the Anville Railyard. Other locomotive engineers moved back-and-forth across the semi-noisy yard, hearty conversations filtering through the air as they each lugged their toolbags after them. Each worker would stop and raise a welcoming hand to Emmet as he passed them, tipping their hats but without words. After all, Emmet wasn’t a man for words or small talk; he just needed a break before he got back to work.

In the shade of the engine house, Emmet peeled off his backup cap, leaned against the tin wall, and took a deep drink of water, wiping the excess away with an oil-stained sleeve. Today has been a great day. I have been here for hours maintaining the same car. I am making progress! Emmet moved further back into the recess of the engine house, finding a spare chair to sit in as he took off his stained gloves and checked his Xtransceiver, crossing one leg over another.

A message or two from the group chat he shared with Elesa and Skyla. A note from Ingo about his brother potentially departing from his battling line early to buy some sandwiches from a popular deli spot not too far from Nimbasa City. Emails from his subordinates about new paperwork sent in from the mayor of Nimbasa City. Emmet only rolled his eyes and turned off his Xtransceiver, allowing his gaze to rest on the many disconnected freight cars that littered the rail yard.

Things are finally back in order. And. I am not so stressed anymore. Emmet smiled a bit wider when a familiar pokémon lumbered into the engine house, the amber gems studded along its body glowing as the rock-type pokémon clattered over to Emmet and easily lifted him onto its back.

“Boldore. You are not a chair!” Emmet scolded playfully.

Emmet’s Boldore often remained at the railyard and much like its trainer, would spend almost the entire day staring at the trains and studying them when idle. And Boldore, sensing that its trainer had been taking too long of a break, began stumbling out of the engine house with Emmet atop its back. Emmet only rolled his eyes and leaned back, allowing himself to be carried back to the cab he’d been working on without so much as a fuss.

Working with engines and cabs was mindless. Fun, even. Emmet saw the work not like he saw battling. Battling came down to strategy, luck, and power. But assembly and engineering? Those were based on skill. Intellect. Patterns. Emmet knew every tool that could be used to both deconstruct and reassemble the axle and undercarriage of a Knickerbocker. He knew the blueprints of the wirings of a Juniata like he knew the back of his hands. Emmet had memorized the unique coupling mechanisms of the Saluki and he knew exactly what kind of oil worked best for engines like the Shavano and the Steel King.

Emmet usually performed best without talking. And on his days spent at the railyard, he let his hands do all the talking, the way he could seamlessly work and twist and reach, performing intricate but mindless dances with his hands and fingers as Emmet never faltered or forgot the smallest of screws. Each silencing of a creaky joint through the application of oil was like music to his ears. He counted faraway train whistles and nearly skipped when he heard them, listening idly when new beaten up cabs were dragged in and the pistons of the dragging train surged against the metal of the train tracks, audible for miles around.

Metal clacked. Rocks shifted. Emmet turned, his smile widening as he sighted a familiar Klinklang float over to the door of the cab he was situated in. And then came a familiar man.

“Boss Emmet! It’s time to start wrapping things up!” Emmet paused as a familiar face pokéd into the cab he was working in, the depot agent tipping his oil-stained hat to Emmet as the man took a careful step inside. The man then whistled. “Nice job, boss! At this rate, you’ll have this old cab up and running by next week!”

“Thank you verrry much, Josh!” Emmet grunted as he got to his feet, grimacing upon hearing something in his back give. “...Not a word.”

Depot Agent Josh laughed heartily at the notion, reaching down to grab Emmet by the backstrap of his suspenders. “Not to worry. Your secret’s safe with me, bossman. But really. We should get going.” Josh gestured at a clipboard he’d been carrying under his arm, tapping one chewed-up pen at the clipped paper. “It’s almost midday and we’re supposed to be on the car back to Central Unova no later than noon.”

Emmet nodded, setting one hand delicately upon his Klingklang’s sturdy frame. His pokémon shuddered and whirled, giving a hearty clack before retreating back to its pokéball. “I guess. It is time to report back to Gear Station.”

“Good. Nice to know you’re on board for once. Almost thought you had left already,” Josh commented, patting the excess dust from his stained uniform. “Kept calling and calling for you- no response.”

Emmet paused, cocking his head. “Really? I did not hear you.”

“I know.” Josh shrugged. “You tend to get lost in your work whenever you’re here, boss. It’s like you’re completely deaf to the world whenever you’re working with the cars.” Josh then nudged Emmet with his elbow, grinning mischievously. “I sometimes think you’d rather be here with the broken cars than back at the station.”

“That is… not true.” Emmet crossed his arms and turned up his nose, his eyes crinkling when he noticed Josh struggling to keep pace with him. “I simply enjoy the break.”

“Right, right. Says the man that hums and whistles when he’s elbow-deep in months-old oil.”

[nwreric]

Hey kids.

Sorry I've been unalive for the past...uh...man, has it been that long?

Obligatory apology aside,

Lego @asktrio516 Rosie!

I was randomly hit with motivation to throw this together as a flimsy excuse to procrastinate on adulty stuff.

I also "wasted" an ungodly amount of time on this fun callback (ft. my truck bois).

God willing, I'd like to do more of these in the near future, so keep an eye out!

[wafflebloggies]

Interlude

People said, music came from the soul. A melody in the right hands could disclose the secrets of a musician’s heart.

The Captain’s keytar wailed, the sound at once melancholy, petulant, and honestly kind of annoying. In the red room, in the usual corner, he sat keeled over to the side like an abandoned couch cushion, extemporizing a piece that might have been titled Variations on a Snit in B Minor.

It was unfortunate that the keytar, although naturally the super-epic stadium rockstar of the chordophone family, couldn’t exactly pull off the gravitas of its more sensible, more grounded brother, the piano keyboard. It lacked solemnity, even when it wasn’t blazing firetruck red with Atarashii Gakko! stickers all over the back. It was an instrument for big audiences, raucous crowds, slamming out blistering solos and sliding across the stage on your knees. You really didn’t get many aching ballads of loss and regret arranged for keytar, but the Captain was making do with what he had.

Beyond the noodling dirge of electronic lament, the ship was very quiet. Flare was probably shrieking at children in PvP lobbies from a temporary streaming nook somewhere on board, but he was nowhere within earshot. Although he was, in general, profoundly deaf to everything beyond his own scattershot interests, even he had picked up on the Tragic Vibes.

The Captain, clear-headed, eloquent, so skilled at expressing himself when it came to the concepts and stories surrounding the one thing he was supposed to be for, had run out of words. Years, and he was no better at being a person, keeping all the straggling and fragile little threads of a real life together and guarded from the estranging chaos that surrounded the tight-controlled core of his work. Careless, still, because if you cared you had to either understand, or admit you didn't.

Try harder, do more, do better. He kept this mantra close to his chest, significantly less shiny and generally acceptable than love with your heart, etcetera. He had shown his hand once, to everyone, in the really cool and fun way he had of displaying something horribly personal to the world as if it was just a weightless joke.

(I’m sorry! I can do better!)

Nobody had really noticed, because of course they weren’t going to notice when you snuck things that really pained you into a funny monologue about keeping healthy deadlines. Nobody had thought twice about it. Or… nearly nobody. Reading through that part of the script, Alan had looked at him in an odd way; uncertain, wondering, caught between concern and reluctance. That was before, of course, back when Alan still looked at him sometimes, looked at him properly as if he was a person and not some kind of optical trip-mine that would explode if viewed directly.

The other thing about the keytar, as an instrument, was that it did not sound optimal without backup. It sounded weird and thin, without the accompaniment afforded by, say, a keyboard, or bass, or an old black Squier stratocaster with a slightly wonky neck.

Everything was doing fine. The channel was doing fine. Disillusion Industries was doing- fine. And all the time, all the time, he felt as if he was doing worse. He felt as if he was slipping, as if he lived balanced on a tilting floor, watching everything roll away, keeping his place with more and more difficulty as his position became more and more impossible. And the things that fell, dragged away downhill by time and gravity, they weren’t meaningless ballast but the parts of a life, the things that mattered, the people around him- everything, that wasn’t just him, sitting in this red corner, talking to nobody.

The keytar yowled.

Now, Ami had stuff to do. Now, Blair was distant and uninterested- the Dreamfinder, not interested, not even curious no matter what. Now, Ellie wasn’t showing up every Monday morning, wasn’t even picking up her phone. Now-

Now, Alan was at lunch. Funny thing. Alan had been at lunch for two and a half days at this point. The Captain was dealing with it very well, very sensibly and realistically, by pretending it wasn’t happening and not allowing it to register emotionally at all.

Staring with wide glazed eyes right through the ceiling, the Captain played a complex, mournful chord, thumb wavering on the pitch wheel until the notes sobbed and trembled into nothing.

Ellie had been his first friend, the first real friend he’d made on his own. This statement was true, in a childish sort of way, a way that hurt, but not exactly true at the same time. His keen sense of accuracy, of objective truth, refused to let him forget for even a moment that before Ellie- before everyone and everything- he’d found Alan, and Alan had found him.

Alan had always been there. Except for right now, because right now Alan was, well...

At lunch.

[sassenach77yle]

THE YEAR ENDED clear and cold, with a small, brilliant moon that rose high in the violet-black vault of the sky, and flooded the coves and trails of the mountainside with light. A good thing, as people came from all over the Ridge—and some, even farther—to keep Hogmanay at “the Big House.” The men had cleared the new barn and raked the floor clean for the dancing. Jigs and reels and strathspeys—and a number of other dances for which I didn’t know the names, but they looked like fun—were executed under the light of bear-oil lanterns, accompanied by the music of Evan Lindsay’s scratchy fiddle and the squeal of his brother Murdo’s wooden flute, punctuated by the heartbeat thump of Kenny’s bodhran. Thurlo Guthrie’s ancient father had brought his pipes, too—a set of small uilleann pipes that looked nearly as decrepit as did Mr. Guthrie, but produced a sweet drone. The melody of his chanter sometimes agreed with the Lindsays’ notion of a particular tune, and sometimes didn’t, but the overall effect was cheerful, and sufficient whisky and beer had been taken by this point in the festivities that no one minded in the least. After an hour or two of the dancing, I privately decided that I understood why the word “reel” had come to indicate drunkenness; even performed without preliminary lubrication, the dance was enough to make one dizzy. Done under the influence of whisky, it made all the blood in my head whirl round like the water in a washing machine. I staggered off at the end of one such dance, leaned against one of the barn’s uprights, and closed one eye, in hopes of stopping the spinning sensation. A nudge on my blind side caused me to open that eye, revealing Jamie, holding two brimming cups of something. Hot and thirsty as I was, I didn’t mind what it was, so long as it was wet. Fortunately it was cider, and I gulped it. “Drink it like that, and ye’ll founder, Sassenach,” he said, disposing of his own cider in precisely similar fashion. He was flushed and sweating from the dancing, but his eyes sparkled as he grinned at me. “Piffle,” I said. With a bit of cider as ballast, the room had quit spinning, and I felt cheerful, if hot. “How many people are in here, do you think?” “Sixty-eight, last time I counted.” He leaned back beside me, viewing the milling throng with an expression of deep content. “They come in and out, though, so I canna be quite sure. And I didna count the weans,” he added, moving slightly to avoid collision as a trio of small boys caromed through the crowd and shot past us, giggling. Heaps of fresh hay were stacked in the shadows at the sides of the barn; the small bodies of children too wee to stay awake were draped and curled among them like so many barn kittens. The flicker of lantern light caught a gleam of silky red-gold; Jemmy was sound asleep in his blanket, happily lulled by the racket. I saw Bree come out of the dancing and lay her hand briefly on him to check, then turn back. Roger put out a hand to her, dark and smiling, and she took it, laughing as they whirled back into the stamping mass.

Hogmanay ~The fiery cross

[dotthings]

What a shocking surprise, the truth finally comes out about what happened to Amy Pond and Sam is pissed, brothers breakup number...how many has it been on the series so far LOL. They'll be ok.

But it's part of how ruthless S7 is. First Cas went. Then Bobby's house is burned down. Then they can't use the Impala any more. Now Sam has stormed off, for however long that will last, so the brothers aren't together. Bobby will be gone soon.

S7 really was the take absolutely everything away season. That can work for a short time, to test the characters, but in no way is sustainable...and it wasn't.

In a backdoor way, I'm almost grateful for it because it proved how spn's vitality is more than just Sam and Dean alone on backroads, it shows how much energy and cohesiveness and fleshing out on Sam and Dean comes from their extended family who they love. With Cas gone, S7 would've been even harder to watch without Bobby to provide some ballast. A lot of energy left spn when Cas was no longer there.

[evilgirlboob]

short list of characters for my star blazers project

sorry if its a bit short, this is only like a couple, ill add more later

EARTH CHARACTERS Vice Admiral Juzo Okita (沖田十三) M61 Famed hero of the 2nd Battle over Mars. A stern, fearless stoic. Captain of the Yamato (UNS BBY-001) and formerly captain of the battleship Kirishima (UNS BBS-555). His battle strategies are nearly always high risk, high reward, and it miraculously always seems to work out perfectly.

Commander Mamoru Kodai (古代守) M27 Elder brother of Susumu and captain of UNS DDS-117 (JSS Yukikaze). His family was wiped out by an interplanetary bomb that struck the Miura Peninsula. Only he and his brother Susumu survived. He is shot down by the Gamilons while drawing their fire during Operation M so Okita could return home.

Commander-in-Chief Heikuro Todo (藤堂平九郎) M59 CinC of the Earth Defense Force. A calm, collected, reasonable man. Believes in the prioritization of morals over orders.

Admiral Kotetsu Serizawa (芹沢虎鉄) M55 Todo's right hand. A stern, angry, stubborn man. Harsh, immovable, but well intentioned. Reasonably disliked by the general public. Foil to Field Marshal Zöllick.

Lieutenant Commander Yuki Mori (森雪) F21 First mate aboard the Yamato, formerly a staff officer at EDF central command. Highly intelligent. A woman of great forethought and consideration. Kindhearted, consistently collected, fiercely believes in legitimate justice & the invalidity of sheer revenge, no matter how heinous the crime. Closely resembles the beautiful Sasha of Iscändar, who crashed on Mars.

Lieutenant Susumu Kodai (古代進) M19 Chief of the Tactical department. Hotheaded, righteous, brooding when upset. Mamoru's only surviving relative. Main protagonist of this story.

Lieutenant Daisuke Shima (島大介) M19 Friend and compatriot of Susumu. Yamato's Helmsman and Navigation department Chief. An expert navigator with an interest in astronomy. Calmer, more proper and more level-headed than Kodai. The exception being when Kodai is actually around, in which case Shima is even more rash and foolish than he.

Lieutenant JG Hajime Hirata (平田一) M21 An older fellow student at the Space Force academy when Kodai and Shima attended. A sort of "older brother" type friend to them.

Dr. Sakezo Sado (佐渡酒造) M54 A brilliant physician and a confidant of the Captain. Appointed as the ship's Medical department Chief despite no prior astronaval experience. A widely beloved drunkard. Cat person.

Makoto Harada (原田真琴) F21 Medic, officially a civilian.

Analyzer (AU09-Q1309) X3 AI companion of Dr. Sado and improvised autonomous subframe of the Yamato after the original was destroyed. Prefers to be called "Analyzer", as opposed to AU09 or Q1309.

Lieutenant Shiro Sanada (真田志郎) M28 Science and Technologies department Chief. A highly analytical and intellectually gifted man. His mind was designed to create machines. Highly emotionally intelligent, though bad at reading and expressing emotions. The Wave-Motion Gun is his brainchild.

Lieutenant JG Saburo Kato (加藤三郎) M23 Captain of the Yamato's Air Corps. Damn well coulda been born and raised in a cockpit, for the way he flies. Righteous, a little bit of a control freak. Close with Yamamoto.

Lieutenant JG Yasuo "Dash" Nanbu (南部"DASH"康雄) M20 Chief of Gunnery subdepartment of Tactial. Very much envies Kodai's position. About twice as hotheaded as Kodai, and 10 times as pigheaded. Excellent, loyal soldier, even if he disagrees with is commanding officers.

Ensign Yoshikazu Aihara (相原義一) M21 Operations department Chief and Comms officer. Reports to XO Mori. Sort of on-edge a lot of the time. Often overshadowed by those around him.

Ensign Kenjiro Ohta (太田健二郎) M24 Radar officer and Chief of the Space Weather Prediction subdepartment under Navigation. Eager and enthusiastically helpful. Bit of a mild Osaka hillbilly stereotype.

SP3 Haruki Ando (安藤春樹) M18 Wave-Motion Ballast & Shield technician. Brilliant kid, rushed through school with the goal of helping the cause against the Gamilons. Did not intend to be a soldier, merely a scientist, but is overjoyed nonetheless. Follows Kodai around like a duckling.

Kaoru Shintani (新谷かおる) M43 Chief OMCS technician. AKA, shipboard cook.

Lieutenant Commander Hikozaemon Tokugawa (徳川彦左衛門) M62 Chief engineer. Like Sado and Okita, quite brilliant, though quite odd. Former Chief engineer of the Kirishima. Very warm & paternal to all, considered the nice grandpa of the crew.

PO1 Sukeji Yabu (藪助治) M31 Tokugawa's favorite student. Cautious, introverted, kinda weird. Extremely intelligent. Refers to Starsha of Iscändar as a goddess.

Lieutenant JG Sho Yamazaki (山崎奨) M45 Tokugawa's official right hand.

Ensign Akira Yamamoto (山本明) F20 Another prodigy seemingly born to fly. Similarly to Kodai, she and her elder brother Akio were the only survivors of the early planet bombings by the Gamilons. ALSO similarly to Kodai, said elder brother died in Operation M. She and Kodai seem to keep ending up in bleak situations and having to save each other.

Ensign Hiroki Shinohara (篠原弘樹) M24 Deputy Captain of the ship's Air Corps. Quite unserious and smug in general. Very mature and insightful when the time calls for it. Never angry, and excellent mediator.

Lieutenant Akira Nemoto (根本明) M31 Captain of the Yamato's Marine Corps. Cold, quiet. Foolhardy, but a quick learner. Eager to kill Gamilons.

Corporal Kazuhiko Sugiyama (杉山和彦) M18 Deputy Captain of the ship's space Marines. Smug asshole most of the time, but humbles up quick when he deems it necessary. Doesn't like to take things too far. An EXCELLENT shot.

MCPO Isami Enomoto (榎本勇) M36 Boatswain's Mate. Kodai, Shima, and Hirata's former Practical Skills instructor. Simultaneously bubbly and friendly & strict and unforgiving.

PO3 Shinpei Iwata (岩田新平) and SP1 Kiyoshi Toyama (遠山清) M27 and M26 3rd deck operators. Inseparable. Idiots. Simultaneously fully competent and woefully incompetent. Often subjected to Enomoto's wrath.

WO2 Yuria Misaki (岬百合亜) F19 Member of the Supply department and self-proclaimed ESP haver.

WO2 Shigeru Hayashi (林繁) M18 Member of the Navigation department, plagued by visions (suffering from nightmares).

Lieutenant Kaoru Niimi (新見薫) F37 Chief of the Security department. Friend of Serizawa.

Lieutenant JG Shinya Itou (伊東真也) M21 Chief of the Armed Security department. Eerily friendly. Unnervingly polite. Gives of bad vibes.

WO1 Toru Hoshina (星名透) M19 Member of the Armed Security department. Love interest of Misaki.

[yourbelgianthings]

if you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see

a trans man! devo fic, about two pages, tw deadnaming and misgendering, some angst vibes but also hopeful (yes the title is from the end. shhhh)

Devotion. He never wanted to hear that word again. It wasn’t even a proper name, and it certainly wasn’t his name. The water outside the dome of Founder’s Wake was still dark when Devo left. Physically leaving had been easy, the parish did not lock its main door in case anyone needed help or shelter in the night. “Help from the parish” was an oxymoron to Devo. Mentally, it was another story. No matter what had happened to him behind those doors, the Benevolent Parish was the only home he had ever known, and the mysterious expanse of Founder’s Wake before him held its own kind of fear. Now though, the fear of the unknown was preferable to the pain of the familiar.

He knew of only one other person who had left the parish: Brother Seldom. His name came up occasionally, but only in disapproving whispers.

“Who cares if Guidance or Orlean didn’t respect him, though?” Devo thought. “I get to choose now.” That realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. So, Devo eventually managed to find the school in the Ballast after hours of getting lost and wandering. His heavy legs and equally heavy heart collapsed onto the front step and everything went black.

As he slowly came to, he heard muffled concerned voices: “the hand of devotion?” “How did she get here?” “...trouble with the parish...” A kind looking elderly man who Devo could only assume to be Brother Seldom approached him and asked, “Devotion? What are you doing here? Did Guidance send you?” Devo just screamed “NO!” and broke down sobbing. Seldom did not push any further, he waited until Devo’s tears slowed, although they still did not cease, before taking his hand and leading him to a bedroom.

“You just stay here as long as you need, okay? Someone will bring you dinner if you aren’t up for sitting with us yet.”

Devo nodded and closed the door a little harder than was necessary. He flopped down onto the bed and screamed into the pillow until his throat hurt. The pain was grounding, it kept him from drifting away into nothingness. As he rolled over on the bed, a desk in the corner of the room caught his eye, so he got up to look through the drawers and found a pair of scissors. They were delightfully plain, just steel blades with gray handles. The whole room was like that, functional, cozy, but unadorned. It was a sight for sore eyes, Devo needed a break from everything being gold and marble like the parish was.

He picked up the scissors and turned to the mirror, pulling on the blue ribbon that held his bun in place, allowing his dark hair to cascade past his shoulders. Honestly, Devo didn’t mind the idea of having longer hair, maybe like a short ponytail, but he hated how Guidance made him keep it down his shoulder blades and especially when she would style it for holidays or special occasions like he was her fucking doll. Whatever, he just knew he needed to do this now, he had to look like Devo and not Devotion or he would break down even more. Devo hummed a Benevolence hymn unconsciously to himself as he trimmed his hair in the mirror, and then began to cut off longer and longer chunks. For once that day, he did not cry, he smiled. He looked in the mirror and finally saw Devo.

Rummaging through the desk drawer again, he found some parchment and ink, and wrote a note that simply said: “I am a man and my name is Devo. Guidance did not send me and I will never be going back to the Parish” which he slid under the door. Devo was not ready to speak yet, he was still overwhelmed, and from his training as an orator, so often he had been told what to say to accomplish something that was not a goal he chose. The silence filled the room and nestled around Devo, wrapping him in gentle comfort, reassuring him that he could take all the time he needed to find his own voice. Exhausted from the scariest yet most empowering night of his life, Devo drifted into a deep and quiet sleep.

That is how Brother Seldom found him when he arrived with a bowl of fish stew. Upon receiving no response when he knocked, Seldom gently opened the door and picked up the note on the ground. He suddenly understood Devo’s earlier reaction, since he had unknowingly managed to say the two worst possible things. As Seldom looked at the sleeping young man, he was glad that Devo had managed to find the school, since they were the only two people in Founder’s Wake who had ever shared the position of leaving the parish clergy. A sense of responsibility overtook him, he wanted to make sure Devo had what he needed to make his own decisions. Perhaps one day he would find a new cause to devote himself to, but for now, he just needed to rest, and Brother Seldom was not going to wake him up.