#Southern Rail

[i-am-worm]

Inktober 52 2024 - Week 47 - 'Train'

SOUTHERN RAIL TRAIN MONSTER. IT RETURNS.

The train monster was something I made aaaages ago to vent about taking the train, and I also made (and utterly failed omg) to make this creature in 3D for my animation studies back in the day. I'll post old art down below.

The pink fuzzy critter is something @scifer and I came up with when we used to take the tube in London and how we'd clean it. We ended up imaging this big fuzzy worm that bred to think it's being chased, so it runs around the underground network, collecting all the soot, rubbish and mice in its fur which it absorbs. It runs itself to sleep. When they're retired; they're finally given a mirror to see they're not being chased.

Bonus underground cleaner worm. Maybe that's what's chasing it.

OLD ART and actual train below the cut:

[uomminecraftsociety]

Part 10 of shipping railway companies.

Ok, I think this one may be a long one so any relationships will be saved until next post.

GWR is enby and one of the older folk, along with LNER and Southern (about age, not gender). Like it's fellow older generation, they are not quite what they used to be.

However GWR has always been and still is the cool outsider, they were built different and they have had its own unique style which they have kept since a child.

[insidecroydon]

Week-long disruption to rail services across south London

It is half-term week, which for rail passengers means a whole load of disruption to their regular services across south London. Just the ticket: Adrian Lee has been passing on the information about this week’s engineering works on south London’s rail lines Signalling upgrade work started at the weekend and is due to continue until this Friday, November 1, “which will result in major changes to…

[selencallisto]

BOOTHILL WANTERS WILL BE BOOTHILL HAVERS

(he's not even out yet)

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

November in northeast china: daily life of chinese college students on campus

[maroonless]

i hate cowboys with long gorgeous white and black hair and stunning red accents

[mayopocket]

the outlaw and her belle on a date at the local town

[venusandsaturnsrings]

boothill is many things. a gunslinging outlaw, a ninety percent metal man, someone who’s attitude definitely reflects in his appearance, but most importantly; a nuisance. a thorn in your side. an ear grating bother. he knows this and he takes advantage of it, especially when your hands are tied up with plenty other business. unfortunately, things took a more literal sense.

you had been sipping a glass of something at a table in a small saloon, celebrating a coworkers birthday who you couldn’t even remember the name of but it was an excuse to get out and, besides, they said they’d pay for the first round of drinks so who were you to decline? people had been dancing in front of you and perhaps your chosen activity of observing had gotten too meticulous as you hadn’t noticed the slinking shadow drift past, nimble fingers dropping a pill of god knows what into your drink. the sweet and citrus flavour of the cocktail masking whatever taste could’ve been left as you continued drinking with your head in your hand. as you got to the bottom of the glass, your eyelids felt heavy and thus did you take the cue to get going home. after bidding a couple farewells and good wishes to the birthday person who’s face was a blur, you stepped out into the cold breeze feeling sluggish; as if you’d had ten drinks and not just one. squinting, you steadied your breath before walking, neglecting to notice that same figure sauntering up behind you. it was the smell of gunpowder and musk that alerted you, spinning around faster than you should have and nearly hitting the ground if he hadn’t caught you in time with a half-hearted chuckle. bubbles clouding your vision, you could only internally groan at the smatter of white, black, and red before you were out cold.

coming to, the first thing you noticed were the tight bindings keeping your body uncomfortably still. thick rope wrapped around your torso and wrists, forbidding you from moving even and inch. wherever he had taken you, it was dark and damp with only the sound of your breathing to keep you company up until the telltale ‘click’ of his shoes and the concurrent ‘ting’ of his spurs. a cold metal finger slid across your chin and only then did you notice how blazingly hot you felt all over. you sucked in a breath, waiting for him, boothill, to say something but he uttered no more than a low hum as his fingers drew icy patterns down your neck and chest. a shudder wracked your body and he moved in front of you, his eyes holding some sort of emotion you weren’t quite familiar with on his face; somewhere between his ‘hand it over’ greed and ‘nice shot’ dry praise. he settled between your now untied, when did he do that you wondered, legs with his metal frame pressed firm into you. never before had you considered the intricacies of his body but with him so close and a different kind of pressure against your crotch, you figured he had some sort of… attachment. fear whipping through your chest, it was then you realized what exactly this evenings plans were for him and they were punctuated with his usual tacky speech.

“c’mon, darlin’, let’s play a bit. this cowboys gotta bullet special for ya’.”

[haliaiii]

Boothill

[uomminecraftsociety]

Part 16 of shipping different Train Operating Companies together, final shippings for phase 1.

Southern and Southwest Trains work hard but play harder. They work hard in their London offices and make an excellent team together, thanks to a nest egg left by their ancestors in “Clapham”.

Both do like to be beside the seaside, whether it is Poole, Brighton, beyond or inbetween, they are a couple of beach Belles.

[insidecroydon]

Railway lines closed across south London for signalling works

Lines closed: Southern, Thameslink and London Overground services across south London are to be affected by engineering works over the next week There will be significant disruption to rail services across south London, starting this weekend and continuing through to November 1, for engineering works. There will be no Southern, Thameslink or London Overground trains in the Peckham Rye, Tulse…

[british-rail-official]

@southern-rail its you

some railway photography for you guys

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine with a fem reader who has a strong sense of justice and short temper? Which gets her into fights often (both verbal and physical). I can imagine her fuming at seeing how Aventurine is talked down to sometimes and talking constant smack about the IPC. Oh and what if she had Boothill's accent—

Reckless, but Right

Summary: Aventurine dazzles the casino crowd with his skillful gameplay and effortless charm. When an opponent lashes out after losing, you, Aventurine's fiery and fiercely protective partner, step in, shutting down the tension with your no-nonsense attitude and southern sass. Despite Aventurine’s insistence that he can handle himself, your unwavering defense and genuine belief in his worth leave him momentarily disarmed. As you walk out together, Aventurine reflects on how your love and support anchor him in a cutthroat world, making him feel like the true winner in life.

Tags: Aventurine x Female!Reader, Romance, Fluff, Southern Accent, Protective Reader, Verbal Sparring, IPC Criticism, Gambling Themes, Banter.

Warnings: Mild profanity, References to gambling and manipulation, Mentions of corporate corruption and disrespect.

A/N: this reminded me of my Madea fic 🫣

The dimly lit casino hall hummed with the murmur of voices and the soft chime of slot machines. At the center of the floor, Aventurine stood at a card table, the faint smirk on his lips betraying his confidence as he laid his cards down. His signature hat rested jauntily on his hair, and his eyes gleamed behind rose-tinted glasses. Every move he made seemed effortless, calculated—a dance of precision and charm.

Across the table, his opponent scowled, their loss evident by the pile of chips Aventurine had neatly collected.

“Better luck next time.” he said, his voice smooth, laced with just enough sarcasm to make his opponent flush with anger.

But before the tension could escalate, your voice cut through the air like a whip.

“That’s what ya get for underestimatin’ him, ya overgrown buffoon!” you said, stepping up behind Aventurine with all the fire of a Southern storm.

Heads turned at your arrival. Dressed simply but with an undeniable presence, you didn’t care much for the glitz and glamor of the casino. Your fiery personality was your true calling card.

Aventurine turned, his smirk widening at the sight of you. “Darlin’, I thought I told you to behave while I worked.”

You crossed your arms, your piercing gaze flickering to the man at the table. “I was behavin’, sugar. Until I saw this here jackass actin’ like you weren’t worth his time. Now, I don’t take kindly to folks disrespectin’ my man.”

The man bristled, but one look at your steely glare—and your clenched fists—made him think twice about opening his mouth. He muttered something under his breath before stalking off, and the crowd that had gathered quickly dissipated.

Aventurine chuckled, gathering his winnings. “You know, my dear, there’s something terribly poetic about you charging into my defense, especially when I hardly need it.”

You huffed, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t care if ya need it or not. Ain’t nobody gonna talk down to ya while I’m around. IPC or not.”

His eyes softened, the playful mask slipping for a brief moment. “You truly are one of a kind.”

“Damn straight,” you said with a wink, though your tone quickly turned serious. “But let’s talk ‘bout the IPC. You’re too good for them vultures, sugar. All they care about is profits. They don’t see the man behind the mask.”

Aventurine tilted his head, intrigued. “And what do you see?”

You leaned closer, your accent thick as molasses. “I see a man who’s brilliant, who’s got more guts and brains than those pencil-pushers could ever dream of. I see someone who don’t need to play by their rules to win.”

For once, Aventurine was rendered speechless, his normally quick wit failing him. Your unshakable belief in him had a way of disarming him like nothing else.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours in a gesture both intimate and grounding. “And here I thought I was the gambler in this relationship. But it seems you’ve already gone all in on me.”

You grinned, the fiery spark in your eyes never dimming. “Damn right I have. And don’t you forget it.”

As you both left the casino, Aventurine couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man alive. In a world where high stakes ruled and facades were currency, you were the rare, unyielding force that reminded him of who he truly was—and who he wanted to be.

[unfortunatebrainfarts]

After working with your friendly neighborhood intergalactic space cowboy for quite some time, you've managed to become pretty damn good at understanding the gist of what he means to say

Boothill x reader

A/n: OK SO, first fanfic in like 6 years and it's for an intergalactic space cowboy

Tbh I have no idea why I wrote this, my ipad apps are constantly monitored by the teacher and I really have nothing better to do than go on my notes app and pretend I'm writing notes

HAVE AN AMAZING DAY = I HOPE YOU GET FUCKED BY THE IPC AND ROLL IN YOUR OWN DEBT AND SUFFERING (or something like that)

BLESS YOUR HEART = FUCK YOU

PRAY FOR ME = FUCK ME

LOVELY = FUCK

YOU WONDERFUL PERSON = YOU BITCH

Well ain't you just a sweetheart? = Well you're just a little bitchboy aren'tcha?

God love him = He was fuckin' underdeveloped as a fetus wasn't he (Something along the lines of 'he's dumb as shit')

"Hm. Seems about right."

To others, your furrowed brows, tense posture, and concentrated gaze at just one singular page of your notebook may make it seem as if whatever was on that page was something life changing. And honestly, they might as well have been right since you were one step closer to understanding what the hell Boothill was spitting out more than half the time.

You recall the first time you were assigned a mission with him — "BLESS YOUR HEART YOU WONDERFUL PERSON," cue you snapping your head towards the gruff voice seeing the cowboy in all his glory easily decimating the dozens of grunts in his vicinity with a toothy grin no less, which you note are very, very sharp.

His long, flowy hair caught your attention. How was it so white and clean even with all the fights you know gets into? Does it ever get yanked? What shampoo does he use?

"Now I don' mind some ooglin', but wouldn't ya say we should keep our eyes on our enemies darlin'?"

His voice snaps you out of your trance and you come to to a shovel nearing your head. You instinctively cover your face with your hands anticipating the pain, the pain which never came since when you put them down, you see that Boohill had already left a bullet in his head.

"Spacin' out at a space cowboy? Ain't that rich."

.

Ignoring the fact that he saved you from having to get facial reconstruction surgery, the reason you almost got a face full of shovel in the first place was because of the ridiculous curse on his synesthesia beacon.

That's why you've been devoted to trying to decode the albeit hilarious, rather inconvenient in a battle things he says. You've tried asking Boothill to write them down, but his handwriting could have him assigned as a doctor in no time so you gave up on that idea quite quickly.

"Whatcha starin' at so intently darlin'?

Your train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the man of the hour mindlessly snatching your notebook right out of your hands. "Aren't you supposed to stop thieves, not act like one," you ask half heartedly. It was nothing less of what you'd expect from Boothill of all people — no, cyborgs??

"Heh, this ain't thievery 's sharin'! Er, what's that one sayin' again... share to care, care to share, sharin' to carin'? Eh whatever ya get what I mean don'tcha sugar?" He retorted, you roll your eyes mentally as he put his focus back onto the notebook. To be honest you were surprised he could even read considering his handwriting was that bad.

As Boothill read each and every one of your 'translations', his grin only grew wider and wider showing the spiky teeth you don't know how are natural but have grown accustomed to seeing. Just then, a burst of unhinged laughter randomly filled the entire lounge room you were sitting in. The weird glances and whispering were already starting but Boothill didn't care, he was Boothill.

Not wanting to be associated with the man at that very moment, you stand up to leave him comically rolling on the floor. However, you couldn't even do that because the moment you stood up, Boothill snatched your leg and dragged it so that you would fall back down. This time, onto the floor with him. "Well ain't you something sweetcheeks, ya got me alll figured out huh?"
.

.

It's been two months. Ever since Boothill realized that you had actually tried to figure out the true meaning behind his words — and actually got them relatively right — he's been using you to spew out insults overtime. Honestly it was like you had become a pokemon, you could just picture it in your head.

BOOTHILL BROUGHT OUT ____

____ USED SWEAR! IT WAS SUPER EFFECTIVE

Either way, it wasn't that bad since though you might be imagining things, it feels as if you've grown ever so slightly closer to the eccentric space cowboy.

You continue to observe boothill and add more and more onto your list of translations, but apparently you fail to notice that he no longer uses any casual pet names like 'darling' or 'sweetcheeks' anymore. At least, not for anyone but you.

[stone-cold-groove]

Southern Pacific’s new daylight route travel poster - 1937.

[probablyasocialecologist]