#1930s train station

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Greta Garbo en route to her native land, Sweden, from Grand Central Station, August 2, 1932. When she arrived in New York, she donned sunglasses, an upturned collar, and a hat with a downturned brim in an effort to go incognita.

Photo: Associated Press

[kafkasapartment]

Elevated Train Station, Lower Broadway and the Battery, 1936. William Sharp. Oil on canvas.

[fawnvelveteen]

Marlene Dietrich arriving at a Parisian train station on May 19, 1933.

[voca1ion]

The New York Central Building was built as the headquarters of the New York Central Railroad and as a companion to Grand Central Terminal. Both sat in the middle of Park Avenue, and looking north from south of 42nd one would see this tower looming over the Beaux-Arts terminal. This view is looking south, so the terminal is out of view. The construction of the Pan-Am building between the terminal and tower has since prevented people from viewing both at the same time as was intended. Today, the tower is called the Helmsley Building.

[semioticapocalypse]

Paul Wolff. Entrance to the train station. Zurich. 1931

Follow my new AI-related project «Collective memories»

[kronika-ilustrowana]

[artdecoandmodernist]

The most beautiful Art Deco train in the world, the Mercury in Chicago Station. 1936.

[emmieexplores2]

Rock Island Depot in Peoria, Illinois was captured in a photograph taken by Charles Medin on May 28, 1930.

[melbmemories]

Princes Bridge Station, Melbourne Victoria circa 1930's.

[aryburn-trains]

CNW train, engine number 1538, engine type 4-6-2 Train #201, the Nightingale; 9 cars. Photographed: Omaha, Nebr., 1930s.

[mjalford98]

Evening photoshoot earlier this year with Great Western Steam Locomotive no 4079 Pendennis Castle, recreating scenes from the heyday of the steam era in the 1920s & 1930s, with all the night photos edited & published - a few more day time shots to receive some attention.

This was my first experience of an organised photoshoot, and great fun combining subject matter of a classic train with crew and passengers in historic costume, recreating the atmosphere of a world which once was so relatively recently, and which, at least in part, I would heartily support bringing back.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Pennsylvania Station, 1930s.

Photo: Moynihan Train Hall

[kafkasapartment]

Train Station in Snow, ca. 1910s-1930s. Hayley Lever. Oil on board.

[camarocarfight]

Alastor's Bloody Valentine

Human Alastor x Reader late Valentine's Day special

Rated very mature with sexual content, murder, blood, and gore. Set in the 1930s with human characters. I suppose you could look at this as being a little Alastor back story.

Maybe there'll be a part deux?

It's kinda edited, but I got lazy and lost interest, and I just wanted to finish it. I hope all of you dear readers enjoy!

New Orleans, 1932

There was a chill in the air, carried in on a breeze that whistled through the old willow trees, and rustled their long, spindle-like branches. The trill of grasshoppers and crickets and the occasional screech of a night owl were customary of the bayou. Only interrupted by the nightly steam train, whose whistle echoed for miles until it faded like a whisper. There was no moon - only an ebony sky accompanied by its thousands of starry hosts. 

As serene as it all seemed, the bayou was one of the most dangerous places to be in 1932. Not just because of the alligators, snakes, and venomous spiders. The neighboring town was full of talk about the Louisiana serial killer, who lured their victims into the darkness of the bayou to slaughter them, leaving no trace or remains. People simply vanished, though it seemed to be mostly men of diverse age and status. Innocent and not so innocent. The most recent being a younger gentleman who had just gotten married. The papers did fail to mention that he'd nearly beaten his new wife within an inch of her life not long after the wedding, but news traveled fast. He was the thirteenth person to go missing.

With Valentine's Day came the fear of who the next victim would be. Mothers and wives kept tight leashes on their sons and husbands, and the police put in place a mandatory curfew. Temporary police sentinels were stationed on street corners, keeping watch over the streets day and night. Which subsequently made it more difficult to get to and from the only speakeasy in town. The police were happy - killing two birds with one stone. 

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, don't let this curfew get you down. Take your gal out on the town for some swing and make the most out of your Valentine's Day. Ladies, keep your gents close, and stay safe-”

“Y’see,” Mimzy turned the cathedral radio off with a huff and crossed her arms over her voluptuous chest. “This curfew is ruinin’ everything!” 

You rolled your eyes and leaned your elbow on the bar and rested your cheek in the palm of your hand. Mimzy had been on a tangent for the last week for having to close the speakeasy. Being that it was in the basement of an old sugar mill, it was too risky to keep it running with the police snooping around. In one night, with the help of Husker, all of the liquor was moved under the cover of darkness to the crawl space of Alastor's hunting cabin deep in the bayou. The liquor would at least be safe if the police felt it necessary to search the sugar mill. The only thing they'd find would be an empty stage and bar. 

With no speakeasy, the regular meet and greet for you and all of your friends was the cabin. It was a comfortable space, at least. Alastor had used the extra money he made from his radio show to install new, polished wood floors, a nice bar, and even a loft with a decent sized bed when he would stay for the first week of hunting. It also had a decent kitchen, which was Alastor's favorite feature. As for you, Alastor made sure to give you your own bit of space. In the corner of the main room was a stone fireplace with book shelves flanking either side. The shelves were filled to the brim with books of every genre. Hanging above the fireplace was Alastor’s prized Stag - previously occupied by Alastor’s portrait from when he was in the service. You never did tell him just how creepy you found the stuffed creature. Alastor loved the hunting sport, but you appreciated wildlife as just that; alive. 

Mimzy sauntered over from the radio and sat herself on a rickety barstool, her brows pinched. “How am I gonna make money? Who knows how long this whole thing will go on for. And where's Alastor? His show ended an hour ago. His ass better not be dead too.”

You sighed and stood from your barstool to round the bar. There was a bottle of, ironic enough, Red Stag that was already open. It wasn't your first choice, but prohibition made everyone less picky. You poured yourself a generous glass, only for Mimzy to swipe it from you, and gulp it down in one swig. Your eye twitched in irritation as you glared at the woman through your lashes. The relationship between the two of you was decent enough, but as of late, she'd been grating your nerves and testing your patience. Mimzy's flamboyant personality didn’t jive well with your own in an enclosed space. You were more reserved, shy, and softly spoken. Not to mention that the cabin had always been an intimate space for you and Alastor. It didn't seem so intimate now - being that it was now shared space with Mimzy and Husker. 

“Would you like another drink before I pour my own,” you asked, your voicing clipped. 

Your head was pounding now, with a migraine blooming behind your eyes. The little grin that slid over Mimzy's lips told you that she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Actually, Doll, I would,” she flashed you a grin with her nose wrinkling as she did so. “You're such a good friend,” Mimzy cooed and thrust her empty glass in your face. 

Your grip on the bottle of Red Stag was white knuckle, and you opened your mouth to give her a piece of your mind, but the words caught in your throat when the cabin door opened. Both you and Mimzy looked over to see Husker coming through the door with Alastor trailing behind him. Your shoulders visibly deflated when your gaze met Alastor's.

Mimzy put her glass down on the bar and threw her arms up in glee. “Alastor! I'm so glad to see you!”

“And I you,” Alastor grinned. “Thanks for holding down the fort and watching over my darling for me.”

“I don't need a babysitter,” you grumbled and nodded your head at Husker when he gave you a sympathetic smile. “Hey, Husk.”

“Cher,” Husk greeted in that deep, baritone voice. 

Alastor laughed boisterously and leaned on the bar in front of you. Upon meeting his gaze, his chocolate brown pools started to melt away all of the tension in your body. It was so easy for you to get lost in his eyes. 

“I jest, my dear. Husker here is going to drive Mimzy home, and we are going to celebrate!”

Mimzy quirked a brow and made a sound akin to a high-pitched scoff. “I ain't ready to leave yet. I want to celebrate too! We could have a round of drinks!”

Husk had noticed that you and Alastor had yet to tear apart your gazes and were seeming lost in each other. Alastor flashed you a dazzling smile and leaned over the bar to press a chaste kiss to your lips. That was enough for your cheeks to flush and become a brilliant crimson. 

“C'mon,” Husk grabbed Mimzy's fur coat off the coat rack and all but threw it into the woman's face. “Before I drag your ass to the car.”

Mimzy put her coat on in a huff, then fussed over her hair, throwing insults at Husker as she did so. 

“Thank you,” you mouthed to Alastor and waved to Mimzy as she was all but pushed out the door by Husker. You could hear her nagging as she walked all the way to the door. “Poor Husker.”

“He'll live,” Alastor hummed and gave you a wink. “Mimzy, however,” he chuckled.

“That would be too good to be true,” you mumbled and grabbed the bottle of Red Stag to pour yourself that long awaited glass. “How was work?”

Alastor set about removing his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress. Your gaze was drawn to the newly exposed, tan flesh of his forearms. “Same as always, my dear. I'm sure you were listening?”

“Until Mimzy turned the radio off,” You walked into the main sitting area and sat in your favorite rocking chair. 

In your left hand was your glass of bourbon that you then took a sip of. From over the brim of the glass, you continued to study your partner as he made himself comfortable. Alastor's bowtie was now untied, and the top button of his dress shirt undone, exposing a delicious expanse of his neck. Being that it was Valentine's Day, you hoped that it meant that Alastor wouldn't mind taking everything farther than usual. The man would tease you here and there, whispering dirty things in your ear, because he knew it riled you up. The act of sex, however, just didn't fit his idealism. Any affection from Alastor would include kissing and touching, maybe heavy petting, but the two of you had only had penetrative sex a handful of times. Each time it happened was mind-blowing, leaving you craving more and waiting on bated breath to feel him the same way again. You could feel yourself beginning to flush just thinking about it - the heat slowly building up in your chest and rising until your cheeks were crimson. At least you could blame it on the bourbon, which you quickly threw back and tore your gaze away from Alastor. 

“So,” Alastor sat down on the couch and crossed his legs, and draped his left arm over the back of the couch. “Quiet evening with a shared drink, my darling?”

Honestly, the man was entirely too distracting. It didn't help either that the bourbon was affecting you far sooner than you anticipated. Your mind blanked, seeing Alastor sitting there - sleeves rolled up, bowtie undone, the red vest that matched his trousers that fit him entirely too well. Alastor was your perfect definition of a sex-god that had a distaste for the very thing that you craved. His smoldering gaze and satisfied, closed-mouth grin told you that he knew exactly what  kind of effect he had on you. 

“Are you alright,” he cocked his head to the side. “You look bothered.”

“You're a tease,” you swallowed. 

Alastor’s brows rose in surprise. “Me? I'm just sitting here,” he laughed and beckoned you over with his finger. “Come here, my darling.”

A bolt of red-hot arousal shot right up your spine, and your body moved automatically, seemingly out of your control and under Alastor’s. Alastor moved to uncross his legs and seized you by the hips with his strong hands. You now stood in between his spread thighs, looking down into his brown eyes as he gazed up at you. His lips quirked in a crooked grin, making him look like the cat who got the cream. 

“Tell me how I'm a tease,” Alastor whispered huskily. 

You brought your hands up to cup his face and ran your left thumb along his bottom lip. “You know what you do to me, Alastor.”

Alastor grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Oh, I'm well aware,” the man's pupils were now blown with his own need. “Would you like me to do something about that?”

Relief flooded you, and you nodded eagerly. By now, the bourbon was really beginning to have an effect on you and how much you needed the man before you. “I've been waiting so long, Alastor.”

“The wait makes it worthwhile,” he growled.

Before your tipsy mind could even comprehend what was happening, Alastor stood, effortlessly hoisting you up by the hips, and bounded towards the spiral staircase of the loft Your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his slim waist. Alastor’s arousal was very noticeable against your own pelvis. The heat from his girth radiated through his slacks. When his lips met yours in a fevered kiss, your mind blanked with arousal. Your senses quickly became overwhelmed by his touch, his scent, and his taste as his tongue coaxed your own in a scorching kiss. Alastor eagerly devoured your mouth and every subsequent moan he drew from you. He broke the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip as he did so. His lips then trailed down to the column of your neck where he sank his teeth into the supple flesh. You hissed from the pain and carded your fingers through his brunette hair until you had a handful and tugged, earning a groan from him. 

“Fuck it,” Alastor growled and sat you on the steps of the spiral staircase. 

Alastor’s hands snaked up your dress to pull your panties down your legs, leaving the silk garment dangling from your left ankle. You gasped when he cupped your dripping sex in his left hand and breathed against the side of your neck. 

“I’ll have you right here,” he growled and claimed your mouth once again. 

You moaned wontanly into his mouth when he penetrated you with two fingers and curled them against your g-spot. Even though sex was a rare occasion, Alastor had memorized your body from the inside out. Knowing every sensitive spot to kiss, lick, or bite. Alastor groaned and pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, ripping the most delicious moans from your throat. Each and every sound you made went straight to his cock that was now straining uncomfortably in his slacks. With a tweak of his fingers, Alastor had you coming with his name falling from your lips like the most beautiful prayer. 

“Alastor,” you were breathless, chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. “I need you inside me.”

Alastor’s eyes darkened, and he carefully withdrew his fingers from your quivering sex. “You’ll have me,” he whispered and kissed you chastly. 

The sound of Alastor’s belt buckle was like music to your ears, as your body was finally getting the attention that it so badly craved. With your left hand, you reached between you and Alastor and took his now freed, sizeable length in your hand. You bit your lip and looked up at Alastor through your eyelashes. Alastor held your gaze as he guided himself into your tight heat, slowly splitting you open and seating himself inside you. Both of you panted, attempting to adjust to the almost foreign sensation. No, you weren’t a virgin, but Alastor had been your first, and since sex wasn’t a regular occurrence, it took both of you longer to adjust. You, more so than Alastor. 

He was thankfully patient, waiting until the pained look on your face was no longer before slowly pulling out and thrusting back into the hilt. The man clenched his teeth painfully and screwed his eyes shut, completely drunk off of the feeling of you fitting around him so perfectly. 

You held onto Alastor tightly, with your nails digging into the flesh of his back, even through his dress shirt. Alastor’s hands had your hips in a death grip, and you hoped that you would have bruises left in their place. You wanted Alastor to claim you - mark you -  so that everyone knew you belonged to him. 

“Come inside me, Alastor,” the words fell from your lips in a pathetic whimper before you even realised what you said.

The look Alastor gave you startled you, and his hips stuttered to a pause. You stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity, Alastor’s eyes searching your own as if looking for truth behind that request. You feared your moment of intimacy with Alastor was ruined until he started moving once more. This time, he moved slower, taking his time pulling all of the way out and sinking back into you. He continued to hold your gaze and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Is that what you want,” Alastor asked, but it was barely above a  whisper. “To be mine, forever?”

Of course it’s what you wanted. Alastor had been your first, and you wanted no one else. It was difficult for you to imagine your life any different. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about starting a family with Alastor. You brought your hands up to Alastor’s face and looked into those chocolate pools.

“Make me yours, forever, Alastor.”

~~~

You awoke the next morning, nestled in the king-sized bed of the loft alone. Alastor was nowhere to be found, with his side of the bed neatly made. Between your legs was an ache and a stickiness in the inside of your thighs that served as a reminder of the previous night's activities. What little bourbon you had, had also left you with a slight headache that settled over your temples. Coffee would be a good fix, and you wondered why you hadn't smelled it perking if Alastor had already been up. 

There was a fire going in the fireplace when you made your way down the staircase, confirming that Alastor was around, but nowhere to be seen. You thought nothing of it and went over to the kitchenette to get coffee perking and breakfast ready for whenever Alastor returned. 

You sat down in your rocking chair by the fireplace when the coffee was ready to enjoy your cup. The chair rocked rhythmically on the hardwood floor, nearly lulling you to sleep until you heard a god awful noise coming from the crawlspace under the cabin. Your first thought was that a stranger or the police had found the liquor stash, and you bolted out of the chair to get the pistol hidden among your books. 

The door to the crawlspace was in the kitchenette and was flung open, revealing a blood covered Alastor. The man looked up at you with blood splattered across his face and chest, staining his white dress shirt. There was enough blood that you couldn't tell if it was coming from Alastor or not. 

You dropped the pistol that was in your hands and rushed over to him, and hooked your arms around his arm. “A-alastor, what the hell? Are you-”

“It's fine!” He laughed and looked down at you with a grin. “It's not mine.”

Your eyes widened, and you took a tentative step away from him and shook your head. “Then, whose is it?”

Alastor ignored your question and casually walked over to the pot of coffee on the stove. He poured himself a mug, all the while humming a song with that same grin on his face. 

“Alastor,” you demanded. “You're scaring the hell out of me.”

“I'm sorry,” he put his coffee mug on the counter and turned back to you. “This,” he pointed to his stained shirt. “Is just the latest victim.”

“The latest…,” you paled, with the details finally coming together. “You're him.”

Alastor flashed you that dazzling grin and opened a drawer next to the stove. Without even looking, Alastor pulled a massive knife out and studied it. 

“Did you know, my darling, that in order to inflict a fatal wound, you need at least fifteen inches of penetration?”

“Please put the knife do-”

You gasped. Before you could even react, Alastor lunged forward, plunging the knife deep in your abdomen. He stood in front of you, holding the blade in place with his smile never faltering. Pain blossomed throughout your body, and you began to choke on the blood that bubbled up through your throat. You coughed and watched the blood mixed sputum splatter across Alastor’s already stained shirt. Tears fell freely from your eyes, staining your cheeks, and your trembling hands grabbed onto Alastor’s arm that still held the knife inside you.

Blinking up at Alastor through your tears, you saw no remorse on his face. Just that twisted grin that you had fallen in love with so many years ago. 

“You should know I'm too much like my father to have children,” Alastor said darkly. “That's a risk I cannot take.”

Alastor pulled the knife out of your abdomen and stepped back as you crumpled to the floor on your knees. The pain was white-hot, but it was nothing compared to that of your broken heart. Your body screamed for his closeness and wanted to hate him for everything. Even after the previous night, after telling you he would be with you forever. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, you held pressure on the wound, but you knew it was no use. You were dying. At the hands of your lover.

“It won't be long, my love,” Alastor got down on one knee and brushed your hair out of your face. “I'm sorry I had to do this.”

“F-fuck you,” you gasped and choked. 

Your vision was beginning to fade in and out, along with your hearing. The weight of your body suddenly became too much and you fell to your side. Before your head hit the floor, Alastor had caught you and laid you down gently. The last sensation you felt, other than the pain, was Alastor kissing you. It was a passionate kiss, similar to that of the kiss you shared while making love. He didn't care about the blood that pooled from your mouth, but seemed to enjoy it more than anything. When he broke the kiss, you met his gaze, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I'll see you in hell,” you spit, using every ounce of energy you had left before going still.

Alastor smiled down at your now lifeless body and ran his fingers through your hair. A single tear ran down his cheek, and his smile grew into a grin.

“It's a date.”

Part Two

[albondiguilla007]

Tomarrymort time travel fix it / Redo

These are not time travel to the 1940s. I have another post for that. These are mostly Harry has a do-over/second chance at life.

✨ Do it Over / 51k / A depressed postwar Harry has taken

Death's hand, reunited with the horcrux he mourned, and traveled into his own past.

Now he wakes up on the morning of his eleventh birthday, ready to do things differently this time. He has no grand plans, just the instinct to be close to the man whose soul he shares.

✨ way down we go / 18k / Harry Potter discovers truths about Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore’s past, and he decides to enlist Ron and Hermione's help in travelling back in time to the 1930s and fixing what was broken before Tom can become the infamous Dark Lord.

But once he goes back in time, he can never return.

✨ The Darkening of Your Soul / 260k / Harry is betrayed. Harry gets a second chance to do it all over again.

There is just one catch. If Harry gets to keep his memories from his previous life, so does Voldemort.

✨ The only sound is the overflow / 53k / It was his second time dying. And soon after, it was his second time coming back to life.

Somehow, he was still alive.

And he was living his life all over again

✨ Harry Potter and the Greatest Show / 177k / The last real thing Harry remembers is standing across from Voldemort and watching the killing curse fly at his face.

Then he visited a fluffy white limbo that somewhat resembles King Cross Station and instead of choosing to move on or go back he does something else entirely.

And wakes up in his cupboard on the morning of Dudley's eleventh birthday.

Because that makes sense.

(No. No it doesn't.)

But Harry is going to roll with it anyway.

✨ Tip of Your Tongue / 78k / Getting grabbed around the ankle at the last second by a screaming Uncle Vernon? Not great.

Kicking Vernon in the face while Fred shouted, "Floor it!", thus resulting in the Dursley patriarch falling out a window?

Genuinely a top 10 moment in Harry's life.

After dying and being thrown back into his 11 year-old body with limited access to his memories from his past life, Harry's had to get by with only his ever-present sense of deja-vu to keep him from making the same choices (and mistakes) as he did before. But now that he's more connected than ever with his sixth-sense, the barriers that kept his past from him are breaking down. Dreams and visions are bombarding him more frequently, and just in time. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and as his deja-vu brain keeps saying, "It's not happening like it did last time.

✨ A Change of Fate / 183k / In which soulmates exist and Harry

Potter takes control of his own destiny, and Tom Riddle gets a chance he doesn't deserve.

Soulmates Time Travel AU that starts off in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows when Harry is at the white train station).

Or, in which Death hated the Epilogue and gives Harry a chance to claim his soulmate and fix this shit.

✨ Resurrect The Living / 100k / Circumstance makes Harry an offer he can't refuse.

"I can get you the Elixir of Life," Harry says. "But I need your help with something else."

"You," says Voldemort, cautious now, wary now that this confrontation hasn't gone at all like he expects, a little incredulous, "need Lord Voldemort to help you?"

Harry looks right past him for a second, jaw tense. "Yeah. You're the only one who can, apparently."

[trainsinanime]

Okay, but let's discuss the important questions here:

Does the train in Wicked make sense?

…well no, of course not, it's Wicked, I'd be disappointed if it made sense. Way too many gears on that damn thing (gears happen to be expensive), but you know, that's on purpose, that's the point of the whole thing.

I will actually say that it makes more sense than you'd expect at first glance. There's an implication that this is a private special purpose rail vehicle, not the train usually used here, specifically to get Elpheba to Oz. See how the station platform is infinitely long, obviously designed for far longer trains. Between the luxurious interior and the dome-car style canopy, this may be the Wizard's own personal train. I don't think he'd actually use it, but it would make sense for him to have one. Like how the Pope in the real world has a rail connection that's completely pointless. This train is definitely the thing to send if you want to impress, well, the only one with actual magical power in the whole kingdom.

And I really love the design of it. It evokes both 1920s and 1930s streamlined locomotives and 1930s streamlined cars like the Bugatti Type 57:

But it also puts its own Art Nouveau spin on it. It's beautiful, intricate, needlessly complicated, the only knock against it is that it doesn't appear to be wheelchair accessible, which is genuinely not great.

There are a lot of questions you could ask about it. Like, why does it appear to have a 2'D2' (that's 4-8-4) wheel arrangement like a tender steam locomotive when it doesn't appear to be one of them, and the rear isn't a tender? Beats me. How is it powered? No clue. Why do the tracks have moving parts? No idea. How does it stay on the tracks, is that why the driving wheels appear to be slanted? Impossible to tell. Isn't this going to be hell on maintenance? Quite possibly. But all of these feel kind of silly to ask in the heightened reality of Wicked.

The important part is that the train is really beautiful and I love it.