#also I heard josh is sick again???? this poor boy I swear he gets sick more than anyone I know 😭

[myfriendtheghost]

heyyyy how y’all doin

[thespiritoflife]

Pairing: Raymond Smith x reader

Summary: Your father finds himself in troubles with the dreaded Mickey and you pay for it.

Warnings: violence, nudity, swearing, mention of character's death, long story, grammatical errors

I don't know if I'll make a series of this. But you know, feedback is always appreciated!

Bloody rose 🥀

"You're doing great, Y / N!"  my friend Tracy said.

I smirked.  I did a Cartwheel for the last time and then I stopped.

"Thank you, hon," I shouted at her.

She handed me a towel.  "Take it. Then we have to go,"  she muttered.

"Where?"  I was in no hurry.  Oh, I loved Fridays.

"At that party, you fool,"  she said.

I sighed.  "Tracy, no. I'm not going to that party."

"Buut ... at least for me."  she threw dog eyes at me.

"No. I don't understand why you want me there, at all. I'm not a party woman. I hate parties. And you'll have a bunch of buddies there. And your boyfriend."

"God, there's no fun with you. Fine. I'll go there alone. But how do you spend Friday night? Staring at the ceiling?"

We started walking to the parking lot.  I laughed.  "No, Tracy. I'll relax. I'll go to the bathtub. I'll open my wine ... relax. I deserve it."

She didn't say anything.  She just turned her head inconspicuously in some direction.  I turned and rolled my eyes.

Josh was there.  My .. what?  Classmate.  And he kept flirting with me, even though I told him a thousand times that I am not interested.

"You should give him a chance, Y / N."

Sweet Tracy. 

Don't get me wrong, Josh is a great guy.  He's nice too.  Funny.  Athlete.

But he didn't attract me. 

I was not interested in the relationship.  I was attracted to guys, yes, but ... I haven't dated anyone yet.  And that was strange, according to other people.

"Y / N! Are you going from gymnastics, aren't you? You look like a goddess. Let's go for coffee!"

I moved to my car, which he was leaning on.

I smiled falsely.  "Josh .. I am.... Not. Interested..."

He waved his hand.  "You're just saying that today."

I told him this every day, but okay.

"But you can change your mind tomorrow, can't she, Tracy?"  he winked at her.

Tracy nodded.  "As Y / N's best friend, I promise Y / N will be only yours for coffee tomorrow."

"Tracy!"  I hissed.

She just shrugged innocently.

"That's great. See you tomorrow, then!"  Josh hugged me and walked away.

"You're great. Not to hold my side, no."  I told her angrily.

"Come on. You need fun. You can't just ... give him a chance at least once. Go on a date with him. Poor boy, he's been trying for you for years."

Her cell phone rang.  I knew immediately who was calling her.  I wanted to roll my eyes.  Really?

"Love!! Yeah! Come after me, we'll meet ... yes, there. Don't wait. What? I love you too. Have a nice day, I'm sending kisses."  Tracy's voice changed completely as she spoke to her boyfriend.  But completely.

"I'll say goodbye to you now, Y / N. Goodbye, at school! And enjoy your date."  she, too, walked away and waved cheerfully at me.

I got angry in the car and sighed in defeat. 

I stood in front of a huge luxury villa.  Yes, I live here.

I opened the door and a cat stopped at my feet immediately.  I leaned over.  "Mickey! You're hungry, aren't you?"

He whimpered in agreement.  I gave him granules and stroked him.  He was the only one in this house who kept me company.

I lived with my father.  He stopped here that very rarely.  He was really rich, he had his own business and he had some company.

I had a good relationship with him, but ... I missed him.  I didn't want to be alone.  I didn't have siblings and my mom ..

I looked at the painted picture. My father had her painted while she was still alive.

Yes, she died.  She died in a car accident when I was very young.  I don't remember her at all.

But she looked like me.  She had my hair and my eyes.

Okay, I'm going to relax.  I deserve it.

I was lying in the bathtub with my eyes closed.  I have dreamed.

"You're so beautiful, Y / N .." someone whispered to me.

"I love you," I said, holding someone's hand.

"I can't believe I finally married you."  someone said.

"Life is unpredictable .."

The smell of a candle hit my nose.  That wouldn't be weird, I lit the candle myself.  But what was strange was that ..

That I smelled a men's perfume.

I opened my eyes immediately.

An unknown man stood beside the bathtub, looking at me.  If it weren't for the bizarre situation, I would have thought he was attractive.  He had wide shoulders, an overgrown face, blond hair, blue eyes framed by stylish glasses.

I screamed in an instant.

What. The.  Fuck.  Is. This!

He immediately ran to me and stuffed my mouth.  "Be quiet, sweetheart. Please,"  he said in a rather pleasant voice.

I shook my head.  I didn't like it!  An unknown man was at my house!  And he probably wanted to kidnap me.

Suddenly male voices came from the hall.  I thought I heard my father.

My father is here.  Everything will be explained.

I calmed down.

The man noticed it too.  "I'll let go of my hand now, but you can't scream, do you promise?"

I nodded.

He released his hand, but at that moment I got up (yes, I got up naked from the bathtub) and left and put my feet on the floor.  I quickly took the only weapon I had and that was a hairdryer.

The man tried not to stare at my naked body, but he looked furious.  "What the fuck are you doing, girl?"

"If you don't tell me what's going on in a moment, I'll throw the hairdryer in the bathtub!"  I screamed.

"You're crazy."

I approached the bathtub.

"Would you like to kill yourself?"

"I have nothing else left! Tell!"  I shouted.

He shook his head.  "You'll find out at the right time ... well! Just don't get any closer to that fucking water!"  he shouted.

"Your father cheated on us and he has to pay for it. He's talking to my boss Mickey now."

"You're fucking kidding!"

"I don't, girl. And now, if you were so kind ..." he approached me.

He carefully took my hairdryer and I stared into space.  What?

I stomped on his leg, he screamed in pain and I wanted to run away from this bathroom, but he managed to grab me in his arms.

I swung in his arms like a furious puppy, and somehow he couldn't keep his balance and we both ended up in the bathtub again.

He was with me.

"Get off me! Immediately!"  I demanded.  I didn't like it, to hang out with a naked guy like that.

He took my hands.  I couldn't run away from him.  "If you try anything else, you'll just make trouble, young lady. Do you understand?"

I was silent.

"You understand?"  he repeated the question.

I nodded angrily.  What was I supposed to do?

He released me carefully and came out of the bathtub angrily.

He mumbled something under his nose, but I didn't listen to him.

I pressed my knees together.  I tried not to cry.  It's over with me.

"Do you have any clothes here?"  he asked me.

"I don't know," I said.

"Come on. Don't lie,"  he demanded an answer.

I gave it up.  "My father has something in that locker," I pointed to the locker.

The man walked over to her and opened it.  He started rummaging in it, but I didn't listen to him, I didn't notice.

It will be over with me.

I will die.

The man had changed in the meantime, but I wasn't looking at him.

I pressed my knees together and stared at the ceiling.

He walked over to me and looked at me regretfully.

"Put this on, please."  he held my clothes in his hand.

I had no desire to object.

I wanted to get up and fulfill his wish, but he stopped me.  "I'll leave your privacy. I'll be at the door."

I piled up and got dressed.  He was a gentleman.. who wants to kidnap me or something.

He locked the door and left.

HE ALREADY SAW ME NAKED but ok.

Dressed, I carefully opened the door.  He was there, leaning.  He offered me his shoulder, but I refused.

I walked into that fucking living room, where male voices came from.

I saw a few men.  Everyone in tuxedos and on the couch was sitting with my father.  He looked startled.

"Y / N!"  he shouted.

"What's going on, Dad? Will you kindly explain it to me?"

"I'd hear that, too," a man shrugged.

I ignored him and looked at my father.  "So?"

"Y / N, honey .. I didn't mean .."

"What did you do? Tell me straight."  I asked him.

"I ... I ... I had some business with them. I was late paying and ..."

"And?"

My father must have had something on his tongue, he didn't want to answer.

The guy answered me.  "He killed our man."

I felt sick.  "You're making fun of me, aren't you? My father wouldn't kill in his life ..."

"Confess to her."

"I'm sorry ..." my father looked at me.

I fell to my knees.  "Father, what did you do? You threw us in danger! We will die for you! You should not have gotten involved with any mafia!"

"I am sorry.."

"I don't want to hear anything from you anymore."  I wanted to cry, but I was silent.  I screamed inside.

The cat also broke into the living room. 

"Mickey," I whispered and took him in my arms.  He has always been my support.

The man, apparently the boss of it all, was intrigued.  "What did you call him?"

"Mickey,"  I said.

The man who was in the bathtub with me laughed.

The boss frowned at him.  "What happened to you, Raymond? You're in a different outfit."

How could they be so callous? 

"That's a long story,"  he said, looking at me.

I kept clutching Mickey, even though he was starting to get uncomfortable.

"Hey, let go of that cat, we need to talk."  the boss spoke to me.

"About what? Kill me right now,"  I shrugged.

The man laughed.  "No, it won't work that way. I have no plans to kill you. You're just a daughter ... of an evil father. You'll pay differently."

Sweat ran down my forehead.  "What are you going to do with my father?"

"It's none of your business anymore,"  he replied.

"Leave him alone. You better kill me."  I declared and finally released the cat.  He was running away from here.

He didn't want to be here.  Like me.

"Y / N!"  my father shouted, but I ignored him.

The boss scratched his chin.  "I call it ... child's love. Too bad your father doesn't love you that much. He offered your life to save his life."

For the second time, I felt like throwing up.

"What? That ... really?"  I looked at him.  I had tears in my eyes.  Finally, some tears.

It hurt.  Like hell.  My father wanted to say something, but I didn't listen to him.

My father betrayed me.

"But we won't grant his wish, will we, Ray?"

The man in the bathroom with me, apparently Raymond, nodded.

"Take the girl away, Ray."  the boss stood up.

Raymond came up to me.  I did not understand.

He took me.  "Come with me.."

"What, no!"  I shouted.

Raymond looked at me.  "Trust me, you don't want to see this. Come on."

"What..."

And then it went awry.  Raymond lost his temper with me, grabbed me hard, and took me away.  I didn't understand why.

And then I understood.

One of the boss's men aimed his gun at my father.  But my father did something weird.  He picked his gun by himself and shot himself in the forehead.

And suddenly I heard it.  The sound of a gun.

"No no!!!"  I screamed.

"Let me go!"  I shouted.  I already cried.  My father fell to the ground dead with a hole in the middle of his forehead.

"It's after him. It's his fault, sweetheart... he's decided that way ..."

He said something else to me, but I didn't notice him because I cried a lot.

I only heard snippets of sentences.

"... take her with you ...."

"... why me? I have nothing to do with her, Mickey ..."

"Don't ask me why, just do it until we decide what to do with her. She looks awful, put her to bed."

"Of course she looks awful. She lost her father ... I'll do as you say, boss ..."

Some days seem so boring.  Also, ordinary.  Immutable.  Nothing is happening.

And then there are such days.  When something happens that will change your life forever.

[masaru2042]

Hippity Hoppity, Stay off Railway Property!

Told as an r/entitledparents style parody.  What the engines really do have to deal with when it comes to entitled passengers.

So, I’m Dana.  I’m a driver of a sapient steam engine on a particular island that was made famous by a preacher writing a bunch of children’s books.  I’m the driver of the NWR #4 who pulls the Wild Norwester, aka the Express, a 4-6-2 Gresley A1/A3 Pacific known as Gordon.  Just a little background for those of you who don’t know who that is.  Gordon was the prototype for the A1 Pacifics designed by Nigel Gresley in 1922.  The only other A1 Pacific built in Doncaster by Nigel Gresley is Gordon’s younger brother Scott Gresley, aka the Flying Scotsman.  The reason why Gordon is now an A1/A3 is due to a rebuilt restoring him to his original shape as ordered from Doncaster, removing his straight Sudrian, white frame, and providing him with a Kylchap double exhaust to optimize fuel and water efficiency.  He also was outfitted with corridor tenders and his Sudrian frame and Fowler tender are now on display at the Sodor Railway Museum in Vicarstown.  

And me?  Well, I’m a transplant from Tennessee if anyone wonders why I’m not spelling in the English style, or using British slang.  Or BR and NWR terminology. And Gordon’s fireman is a funny guy named Josh with an equally funny boyfriend named Brian.  They both act like my big brothers.  And Gordon tends to act like my no-nonsense grandpa...among other things.  But we won’t get into those.

And just in case some of you still haven’t caught on.  Yes, he’s that big huge jerk from the Thomas and Friends show with the models.

Well, during the summer months, we get a lot of vacationers (holiday goers for you in the UK), and yes, lots of tourists.  Thanks to those books and the show, people do come from all over the world to actually see what the real engines are like.  And a lot of time, there’s a lot of dissonance from the fans who are expecting the engines to act like they do on the show.  They don’t. None of them do.  Henry isn’t a hypochondriac that complains about every little thing he’s feeling sick over, he’s in fact a very calculating, and intelligent person who pretty much knows secrets about everyone...even me when I had first come to Sodor!  Seriously, he’s really creepy!  Especially when he’s asking questions in a way to phish for information.  If Henry had a computer and actual hands, I have a feeling he might try to get into every government server on the planet just to see what personal secrets he could find.  Henry should be working with INTERPOL not the Northwestern Railway.

Thomas is very mellow thanks to his age, Percy actually can’t stand it when people think he’s a kid when in reality he’s older than Edward!  And he acts like it too.  The only one the show actually got accurate was James.  Yes, James is very full of himself.  Not as much as he is in the show, but he loves puffing around like he’s the king.  And Edward is pretty much a down to Earth guy.  And Emily acts like that older neighbor your mom knows who’s been around the world and back again and loves asking about your sign.  Yeah, that older neighbor.  The one with the bead necklace, the incense, and flowers in her hair.  I swear to God, she’s been to San Francisco.  Interesting little tidbit, Emily is the original Flying Scotsman!  No joke!

Well, it was a rather steamy and hot, summer day on the Island of Sodor, and yes I know what that sounds like!

We weren’t pulling the Express at this moment, we were actually just doing a tour excursion.  This is normal, it allows the tourists to ride the engines belonging to the “Steam Team” as the kiddies call it.  Something the engines belonging to this “Team” roll their eyes about the label.  And not in the comical way the models did.  The “uh-huh, whatever” kind of eye roll, and just chuff on by, not really caring.

So, it was our turn to take the train around, letting the tourists feel what it’s like to ride one of the fastest non-streamlined steam engines in the world.  And the one who actually did win the Great Race, even if he nearly killed himself doing so...beating out a diesel-electric and breaking his safety valve in the process.  This is something Gordon doesn’t like talking about, despite setting a world record in the process.  But still, we did give the guests a proper ride.  

Best way to describe Gordon gliding down the rails.  He’s basically like an antique expensive roadster.  You can tell the moment you tap your foot on the gas that he’s gonna floor it and show you what speed really feels like.  Not your grandma’s station wagon, I’ll tell you that!  Gordon, much like all the other engines, is always kept up to specs.  He pretty much runs as good as the day he popped out of the factory.  You wouldn’t have guessed that he’s nearing 100 years old.  Unlike his brother who is feeling his age no matter how many rebuilds he’s had.  If you haven’t come out of the coaches noticing your body made a dent on the seat, Gordon feels like he hasn’t done his job in making you feel his speed.

That is the power of a Gresley Race Horse.

We were cruising around, well...the train equivalent...and given that Gordon has two corridor tenders now, we could cruise for a long while.  Though we did have to stop a few times just for the passengers to get out take pictures of the scenery, that sort of thing.  Only this particular excursion was allowed to stop on the line.  Gordon was of course outfitted with special lamps to show that we had such permission to stop and were given proper notifications from our conductor of when it was safe to stop.  And when we stopped the guests were ordered to either stay in the coaches, or stay back from the train and rails themselves for safety reasons.  

No standing on railway property, basically.  

No standing in front of the engine on the rails.  

Do not get in the way of workmen and crewmen maintaining the engine.

We were making sure that folks understood this.  

If they got off for pictures, they were only allowed to be on the grass.  And only when they were ready to return to their coaches were they allowed to approach the train again.

Any questions they had, they could ask any of the service personnel and attendants.

And we all had radios.

We stopped, pulled over onto a siding.  And just in case he needed it since there was a lot of stopping and starting and that’s when he uses a lot more water than when he’s running, we stopped on a siding near a water tower.  Josh was filling up Gordon’s canteen and I turned on that little electric fan I clipped on above my station.  It ran off of Gordon’s dynamo too, and I was grateful for it.

I grabbed a cold bottled water from the cooler we had stashed near the main tender and pressed it to my forehead.  Already I could hear some of the kids asking “why doesn’t Gordon produce smoke from his funnel?” or “why does he smell like fish and chips?”  And well, that made me laugh.  A few months ago, Sir Topham Hatt converted Gordon into a waste vegetable oil burner.  So, that explains the fried food smell.  Honestly, it was a good thing because it often made the passengers even more hungry, which means they’d buy more food off the food cart in the Express.  Josh liked it too, he didn’t have to shovel coal anymore, just playground sand with a tiny, toy shovel into a little opening in the firebox to help keep the fire tubes from getting clogged from the oil being atomized.  And Gordon liked how much cleaner he ran.

I heard a few oldtimers snort about how that’s not a real steam engine anymore because of the oil burning rather than coal and then hear Gordon personally retort back: “You better tell Duck that, then!  The GWR went to oil in the 1940s due to coal shortages!  And don’t get me started about the poor caloric contents of today’s coal.  The wasted veggie oil actually is better for me.  Even Welsh coal is barely usable now.  No wonder the BR switched to diesel the way it did.”

And that’s why Gordon’s a WVO burner, folks!  And if any of you are wondering, yes!  He can run off of diesel fuel if he has to.  Which he did once, and no, unlike in the show, the real Gordon doesn’t bitch about the smell or look down upon diesel locomotives.

Well, enter our entitled family.  

I wasn’t the one who first spotted this family doing something they were instructed not to do by the attendants in the coaches.  That was Josh.  Gordon, on the other hand, was concentrating on what the maintenance workers were doing.  Tightening a lug nut, checking the mechanical lubrication injector, the lubricant levels, his exhaust steam injectors.  Clearing any debris out of the way, checking the fuel levels on the coaches.  Yeah, the coaches are diesel powered now.  Hatt went all out!  Servers were handing out drinks to the workers and the passengers.

I heard Josh call out: “Oi!  You can’t stand on that!  Step away from the track!”

The mother said: “We’re trying to take a group photo!”

I felt the cab tilt to the right just slightly.  Gordon’s attention was now on the family as well.

Josh: “I said, you can’t stand in the middle of the track.  Get back on the grass!”

I went to the fireman’s side of the cab, stuck my head out the window to see a very plump family, a rather large man, his equally large wife, and their cherry-red faced, plump kid in a horizontal striped T-shirt.  I also could see the patches of sweat under their armpits.  They were sweating more than I did just by stepping out of their coaches.

Then, Gordon spoke up with that big, booming, baritone voice of his.  Seriously, he should moonlight as a radio host, he’s got the timbre for it!

“You heard what my fireman said, stay off the rails!  It’s for your safety.”

Well, I hopped out the door from the cab and wiped my hands on my jeans.  

The family wasn’t willing to listen to Gordon, no matter how commanding he made his voice sound.  The father was standing on the grass with his smartphone out, taking a picture of the boy and his mother standing in between the railroad ties.  He was angled in such a way to include Gordon in the picture.

“You should smile!” said the entitled father.

Gordon growled and just sneered.  He wasn’t having any of it.  And if I hadn’t set the main brake, he’d probably jut forth just to scare the entitled mother and entitled brat off the track as a lesson.  I could hear a clacking sound, though, Gordon was flexing his friction brakes against his wheels, his way of tensing his muscles in his frustration.  His jaw was set, his teeth clenched, and his brow furrowed.

“Hey!” I called. “What the hell do you think y’all doin’?  Get off the track!”

I don’t think they liked my east Tennessean accent because the mother just turned and looked at me with disgust.  Like she was looking down at some dirty farmhand.  

I guess Gordon saw that face too, because the moment she made it, I heard a low groan from his wheels.  He sounded like he was trying to fight against the brake keeping him motionless.  The moment we met, he’s been rather overprotective of me.  It’s cute.  I could always count on him to have my back.  There was an expulsion of steam from the sides of his cylinders.  And he was rearing to open up his cock valves wide just to give them a good blast of hot vapor.  

But the mother stood firm.

“We’re trying to get a photo!  Now go back to your food cart, little missy!”

“Release the brake,” Gordon whispered, tilting towards me.

“No,” I said.

“I’ll run them over.”

“No you won’t.”

“They’ll be a bloody smear on my buffers.”

And they would once he started off.  Gordon had a lot of torque in him, he could start off in a burst like a motorcycle if he wanted.  And the last thing anyone wanted was 200 tons of locomotive racing for them.

“It’s not worth it.”

“How dare that harpy talk to you in such a manner, Dana!”

“It’s fine, sugar,” I said, laying my hand on a buffer. “Just breathe.”

He said aloud: “That’s my driver!  She’s not a serving girl!”

I heard the father laugh: “Girls can’t be drivers.”

I get that a lot!

And the clacking sound returned.

“You’ll ruin your pads doing that,” I told Gordon.

“And I’ll need to be looked over for hypertension,” he said. “Because I can feel the pain in the back of my smokebox already.  This woman…and her oaf of a husband...”

“Just breathe...in and out, Gordon.”

He took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth.  It wasn’t helping, though, as I could still hear the clacking of his brakes.

Josh had jumped down from the canteen and walked over.

“You heard what they said, off the rails, please.”

They actually listened to Josh.  I tend to get that a lot.  They don’t want to listen to me because they think I’m some food cart lady, despite not being dressed like one, but Josh...he looked like he belonged where he was.  So, he had a more air of authority than I did.  I guess it was my accent and how I try to put on that Southern sweet tea charm, you know.  So, they don’t take me seriously.

I’m a redneck to them, that’s all they care about.

Obviously, they were done taking pictures.  

Then, the kid turned and darted for the switch.

Points on the rails are set by switches that are either manually moved into positioned, or automatically moved into position, or done so from a signalman’s box.  Here, considering the remote location of this particular siding, the point had to be set by the conductor with a lever at the side of the railroad track after the conductor got the OK from RMC (Railway Mission Control) that the track was clear for Gordon to proceed.  Though this siding was on the mainline, it was quite a ways from a signalman’s box, so that’s why it had to be switched by hand from the conductor.

And yes, I realize they’re called Guards in the UK and Sodor.  But I did say I’m from the US...so...conductor.  And Gordon loves correcting my terminology.

Well, that kid bolted for the switch, and started messing around with it.

Gordon, me, and Josh all lurched forward.

“Step away from that, kid!” I shouted.

“Don’t touch that!” bellowed Gordon.

“What are you doing?!” Josh shouted.

The point was set so that any train needing to pass this siding could.  But the boy grunted and turned the point, setting the switch to the siding.  This would allow Gordon to exit the siding back onto the mainline.  And that was a bad!  This meant any train coming through would derail from the track being set improperly.

“NO!” all three of us cried.

I darted forth and tossed the kid from the lever.  Considering I worked with steam engines for a good portion of my life, I was pretty muscular and toned.  And I could toss around guys bigger than me with ease.  The kid hit the ballast and obviously skinned his elbow.  But I wasn’t worried about that.  My concern was the switch.

Whatever train would be passing by, could very well be derailed!

Who cares about a little brat and his skinned elbow?  But the EM was furious.

“How dare you assault my baby!”

Baby?  That lard of a kid looked like he was 8 years old!

And Gordon was cross. (Because of course I had to put that there.)

“Baby?” he asked. “Your little piglet just very well might cause a terrible accident!”

There was vitriol dripping from his words.

“He’s only playing!” called the mother. “Let him play!  He’s not hurting anyone.  He’s a good boy.”

“Get that crotch goblin away from the switch!” Gordon bellowed out. “Wesley!”

Crotch Goblin.  God I love you, Gordon, I thought.

Wesley was our conductor.  And he was a bit of a pushover especially with how Gordon boxed the poor kid’s ears with that voice of his.  Wesley was kinda new to the job and most of the times he was regulated to excursion duties.  Rarely did he ever serve on the Express due to his inexperience.

I could see him fiddling with his whistle, trying to straighten his hat.  He was a mess.  All the while, I was jerking back and forth trying to get the switch unstuck and set back correctly.  These switches sometimes got stuck because of the heat.

“Y-yes, sir, Mr. Gresley,” said Wesley.

Just a little fact that many of y’all don’t know.  You think we’re the ones in charge here?  The show seems to make you think that, don’t it?  Nope.  The engines are.  Especially engines with seniority like Gordon.  And he made sure everyone on his team knew it.  And again, the kid’s a pushover.

“Go help Dana with the switch!” Gordon barked.

The boy was already bawling like it was the end of the world.  And entitled mother was leaning down to comfort him.  The noise was enough to attract the other passengers to the commotion.

“What happened?” asked Wesley.

“Kid pulled the lever,” said Josh.

“She assaulted my baby!” said the entitled mother.

“I should have you all fired!” the entitled dad shouted. “And that metal monstrosity scrapped.”

“I beg your pardon!” Gordon rounded. “Don’t spit indignation at me, sir! Your piglet has endangered lives.  Wesley, is there a train coming?”

“The Express, Mr. Gresley.”

“Damn…” Gordon seemed to deflate and the color left his cheeks at the sound of a familiar, high-pitched whistle. “Henry’s coming!  This is the Flying Kipper all over again.  Hurry!”

Oh, god...I heard the stories of Henry’s crash.  Of course I knew of it from the books, and from the show.  But the real story was much more gruesome.  Awdry may have said that his driver and fireman survived for the sake of the kids, but that was far from the truth.  They were dead, both of them.  The driver’s head was bashed into to Henry’s controls, thrown from his seat. Henry’s pipes were covered in his driver’s blood. The fireman died moments later, crushed ribs and internal bleeding from the impact.  And Henry was lucky to have survived at all to be rebuilt into a Stanier Black 5.  He was a changed “man” after that.  Much sterner than when he arrived on the island.

“Sir,” I shouted. “You’re about to force an engine who just lived through a horrible wreck involving a point set wrong to relive that nightmare again.  And endangering everyone he’s currently pulling in his coaches.  When this is over, I’m making sure Hatt kicks you and your family of pork rinds off the NWR.  Have fun takin’ the bus for now on!  Or walkin’.  Y’all look like you need a good exercise anyhoo.”

The bus on this island was terrible.  Just a little FYI.

Already, Wesley was radioing the conductor on the Express, hoping to get Henry to slow down before he derailed.  The whistle was even louder.

Josh and I were pulling the lever as hard as we could.  A creak, and at last the lever budged.  The point reset to allow Henry to pass through safely.  A final whistle and the green NWR #3 came speeding on passed Gordon with the Wild Nor’wester.  I collapsed upon my butt and gasped, sweat stinging my eyes.  Josh did the same, patting me on the back.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I will be,” I said.

The conductor still held onto the entitled father and entitled mother, and they held onto their sniveling kid.  While he was holding onto his elbow.

“Wesley,” I said, looking up at the conductor. “Escort those three to the brake coach and keep an eye on them.  The first station we’re stopping at, I want them off the train and in the station master’s office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “This way, please.”

“I should have your job!” the entitled father called.

“Get the first aid kit, and wipe the little porker’s booboo,” I said.  I slowly rose to my shaking feet. “I should leave y’all right here!  Have you hoof it to the next station.  Maybe if I’m lucky, y’all be arrested by our security guards for trespassin’ on railroad property!”

“Leave them here,” said Gordon. “Especially for that sodding ‘scrapped’ remark!”

I really didn’t give two shits about Gordon’s language here.

So many of Gordon’s brothers had been scrapped thanks to the modernization of the British Railways.  So, of course he would take that insult quite personally.  

“You hear that?” I continued. “Gordon wants to leave you stranded.  And I’m inclined to agree with him.  But I’m not petty like y’all are.”  I turned to him. “No.  Follow the rules, Gordon.  As much as we hate it.  Turn them into the station master and they’ll be banned from riding any of our coaches again.”

“I suppose that shall suffice,” he said.  It didn’t sit happy with him, though.  And it was understandable why he said that.  Gordon’s jaw was still tensed, set tightly.  I reached up and patted him on the running board and he seemed to unwind just a slight, his frame coming to a rest.

“Wankers,” he at last said to relieve any emotional steam still pinned up inside. “The lot of them.  Completely gobsmacked those types exist.”

“Yeah,” I said with a huff.

“You two finished taking the piss, or are we getting this bloody train a-moving?” Josh asked.

Gordon and I laughed.  That finally got the last kink in our collective spines untied.  I took a deep breath and rounded Gordon, only to climb in on the driver’s side.  We waited for Wesley to come back.  He no doubt already ordered the other crewmen to keep an eye on our entitled guests.  He maybe a pushover to us, but not to the passengers.  Especially the unruly ones.  He took out his pocket watch, glanced at it, and then dropped it back into his pocket.  He pulled out a radio, calling for the signal to switch the points.  The passengers were already on board.

A few of Gordon’s valves began to move just slightly.  The cock valves in his cylinders opened up with a hiss.  I pinched the brake lever and pushed it forward and Gordon clenched his friction brakes to compensate.  Then, the conductor whistled and signaled for the all clear.  Gordon steamed forwards slowly, relaxing the brakes.  As he pulled up, Wesley took hold of the railing and climbed into the cab.  

Gordon sounded his low whistle twice and he was off.

And if y’all are wondering about what happens to the points after the train passes them.  It is weight sensitive, and there’s a mechanism that puts the points back once the train clears it.  The conductor normally will see if the point had reset by the signal’s position.  And it did.  Only the lever got stuck, not the mechanism itself.

By the time the train pulled into the station, there were security guards waiting to escort the entitled family to the station master’s office for a stern talking to.  On the other platform was Henry with the Express, waiting to load his passengers.  I suppose he noticed the security guards escorting the still bickering entitled family, because he spoke up.

“Gordon, what the bloody hell happened?”

“You almost had another wreck, Henry,” Gordon replied. “No thanks to that family of pigs over there.”

“Eh?  What were they doing?”

“Messing with the points.”

“So that’s what my driver was acting all frantic about,” he said. “I thought the man was having a heart attack.”

“Nope, you nearly had a wreck like the one back in...what was it…‘36?”

“Was ‘35, actually.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Gordon said. “1935.  Bloody snowstorm.”

“I should know, I was out in it, unfortunately.  Then the Thin Clergyman decided to put my rebuild at 1951.  Don’t know why he’d did that.  That was getting close to the year Beeching was proposing his modernization plan.”

“Dreadful man.”

Gordon never liked Richard Beeching.  With good reason.

A whistle from the platform sounded and Henry got his signal to move on.

“See you back at the sheds, Gordon!” he said with a whistle, pulling out from the station.

I came walking out onto the platform, stopping right beside Gordon’s smoke box.

“I think I’m gonna go home, prop my feet up, get out a tub of chocolate ice cream and watch a stupid chick flick tonight,” then I turned to him. “Wanna join me?”

“Well, you did leave that tub of ice cream in the freezer back at the sheds,” he said. “What stupid chick flick do you want to watch?”

“How about Sex in the City?”

“Oh, that’s a ripe cabbage, isn’t it?” Gordon asked. “Brilliant.  We can both yell at the movie.”

“Hey, Josh, wanna join us?”

“Nah,” he said through the window. “Dinner night.  Brian’s cooking.”

“Have fun with that,” I said. “Hey, you make sure you share some leftovers.  You know how much I love Brian’s cooking.”

“And how much I love smelling it,” said Gordon. “I swear, if it kills me, I’ll figure out how to eat, someday.”

“I promise, Gordon,” began Josh. “I’m sure he’ll have some leftover wasted vegetable oil.  We’ll put it in the strainer and give it to you.”

“Good enough.”

Well, we all returned to our posts and continued the excursion.  

Movie night was fun too.  

The next day, we were back on Express duty.  Sir Topham Hatt came to tell us that family was banned from any excursions and any service on the railway.  Like I said, regulated to riding the bus for now on.  They were also severely fined.  Like severely, made to do some community service as well.

Funny note on that family, apparently, it wasn’t the first time that hog brat messed with the switches.  We stopped for a connection with the Skarloey Railway.  And in came Sir Handel with his passengers.  Word got around quick about the family.  And Handel knew all about it.

“They pulled that stunt with us here on the narrow gauge,” said Sir Handel. “The fat twat of a boy started messing with the points.  Rheneas saw what was happening, screeched to a halt as best as he could...and derailed.  No one was hurt, thank heavens.”

“Why the bloody hell was that family allowed to ride my excursion train, then?” Gordon asked. “If that boy pulled the same stunt as before?  And caused a wreck.”

I was out standing on the walkway between the narrow gauge track and the standard one, looking dumbfounded by what Sir Handel had said.

“The little piggy bolted away when he heard his mum calling him,” said Richard, Handel’s driver.

“Aye, greasy bugger, that one,” said Handel. “Before the security could catch up, I suppose he must’ve gotten on your train, Gordon.”

“What the actual fuck,” I said, shaking my head.

“But the security cameras caught him in the act,” said Richard. “I suppose after the second stint he caused, that was enough to ban the whole family.  He was also causing some mischief with the Smallies too.  Was trying to tip over poor Mike, calling him a toy.  Mum encouraged it too, saying ‘he’s only playing’.”

“Bloody strong, if he could attempt to tip over Mike,” said Handel. “Smallies may be small, but they are heavy.”

“Each of them weigh as much as a car,” I said.

“He could tip over your Mustang if given a chance,” said Gordon.

“Like I’d let him have it!”

Gordon chuckled.

“The Small Controller kicked the mother and her brat out,” said Handel. “Filed a report on it.  Then, they came here.  And started more trouble.”

“And then they came onto my train,” said Gordon. “Lovely, isn’t it?  We have a connection with the Arlesdale Railway.  Should let the Small Controller know we got the brat and his parents banned from all of the railway.”

“I’d say for that boy, he’s…” began Handel. “How do you American’s say it, Dana?  He rides the short bus, seems like?”

“That’s what we say, Sir Handel,” I nodded in agreement. “And his parents probably spoiled him rotten because of it.”

I took a glance back and noticed all the passengers were finally filing on board.  Turning around, I slowly trotted back toward Gordon’s cab.

“Thanks for the info!” I waved, hopping back in. “We’ll let Mr. Duncan know we had a visit from the Terror Piglet.”

Both Sir Handel and Gordon broke out into a chuckle at the name I gave the kid.

Sad fact of some parents with children that have developmental problems.  Sometimes, they just spoil them, let them do whatever they want.  Don’t bother to correct their behavior.  And this case was one of those.  I suppose my name for the kid seemed mean.  I should blame the parents more than the child for bringing him up like that.  But considering the havoc he raised, putting people and engines in danger, damaging railway property, little regard to what he was doing, and his parents encouraging the behavior, to relieve my stress, the “Terror Piglet” seemed to stick.  Judge me for my own behavior, but the kid nor his parents get no leeway with me.  I didn’t exactly have a perfect childhood either, but I did learn enough about real life not to act like a “twat” as they say over here.

Along the way, we managed to find that wretched family.  There they were, standing at a bus stop in the heat, sweating like the hogs they were.  The entitled brat looked up and started to bolt for the fence, ready to lunge himself over.  Which would be trespassing again.

I called out: “Hippity, hoppity! Stay off railway property!”

Gordon gave two short, very short, very poignant whistles as he blew on by them.  Being around Gordon for so long, I began to learn what certain whistles meant depending on how the engine sounded them.

Gordon basically flipped that family the bird in the only way an engine could.

Considering what that kid nearly made Henry do yesterday, and the horror that entailed, I didn’t correct him on it.  I only smiled.

And now, my mind turned to more important thoughts.  

Like Brian’s leftovers in the cooler.

[wannawrite]

Min Yoongi Flower Boy AU ! Part 3

Water from above travels from a algae blanketed, cobble stairwell onto the the school river, in the form of slivers of light blazing and twitching in front of Yoongi's eyes, so much that it nearly looks unnatural. It falls heavily to the bottom of the river, blossoming into foamy, snowy flowers. They quickly take the shape of a round, bubble-shaped jellyfish next, before seeping onto the surface of the water as thick squiggles of white and dissolving into the water as bubbles, joining the collection. Lotuses sprout from the bottom of the river, firmly anchored to the solid mud despite its flimsy, unstable looking stem that spiral to the top. On the left, a tree that Yoongi doesn't know of elongates rather crooked branches, its pointy leaves sticking its edges into a little spiny circle. It's practically dotted with green dandelions that hang from twigs, and whatever it was, Yoongi had took a liking to it ever since he came to this place to write songs-it was so, uniquely beautiful, harmful but harmless all at the same time.

"This is a nice spot, Yoongi-ya."

The boy turns his glassy, demure eyes, which quickly lock with his senior's beautifully angled ones in less than a second. Upon seeing his friend here, Yoongi pats the side of the wooden platform lightly, gesturing for him to have a seat. The floor screeches in pain as the older boy takes a seat-yeah, maybe there were a few tiny black holes littered on the surface of the dull, dark-chocolate coloured planks, but hey, the picturesque however simple view more than made up for the quality of some umpteenth year old area. At least, that was what Yoongi thought.

"Namjoon-hyung. Where's Taehyungie? Isn't he normally here to ask questions for his maths homework, or may I say, isn't he normally in school? He would've dropped me a text if he was sick." Yoongi asks.

Namjoon shakes his head. "Taehyung is off having tuition with Jimin's top-of-the-level younger brother, which is good because Taehyung and Jimin are great friends. I just hope he won't get too uncomfortable with Jungkook, a dongsaeng teaching him-"

"Ha, probably not. Taehyung's such a social butterfly, and I've talked with Jungkook before-he's a lot like his student, if I'm honest. Tae doesn't get embarrassed easily, I'm sure he'll be fine." Yoongi ruffles Namjoon's back lightly, before adding, "-Also, I heard from Seokjin-hyung that you tried auditioning for Cube Entertainment? How did it go?"

Namjoon winces slightly, squeezing his pupils in what looks like iron fillings attracted to the center of a magnetic field. Oh, elementary school science-Yoongi suddenly feels a long yearning to go back to when everything was so easy to comprehend. "Ah!!!!!! It was terrible...I felt like digging a hole for myself after the performance. As if there isn't enough pressure from my parents wanting me to choose some law course instead of being a rapper-I've already gone for 5 auditions, tried my luck with the Big 3 and I'm flopping at all of them." He clutches his forehead, both index fingers tracing tiny circles on his skin in an attempt to regain his composure. The very mention of how awkward he had been in front of the Cube judges, twiddling his thumbs and not daring to meet their dagger-like, threatening eyes was nothing but his soul journeying back to hell. Yoongi feels cool tingles rocket up his back. The impression of Namjoon to many was the portrayal of a pretty calm, reserved, and responsible person, so this sight beholding Yoongi's eyes was definitely uncommon.

"Hyung...I know it's difficult for you. I mean, I have two friends which are trainees from there-Lai Guanlin and Yoo Seonho. They thought they did rubbish like you did, but they still went in, didn't they? You're always setting high expectations for yourself Namjoon, even if you're not guaranteed a position there-aish, try not to think about it too much." Yoongi consoles, more tingles springing quicker and quicker up his spine like shooting stars. That is, when he sees his hyung's chin quaking at the speed of a building in an 5th degree earthquake.

"I-Yoongi, I just-It's so hard to be strong." Namjoon's voice surrenders to his feelings at the last part, pitch raising a little at the words 'hard' and 'strong'. He ends up sobbing into Yoongi's school uniform, splashing big blobs of salty liquid close to the collars of the younger's shirt. Yoongi flinches a little at the sudden skinship, but his heart seems to compress into a tight lidded jar when his eyes dart to the leaky faucet in Namjoon's. He gingerly places his pen and paper on waterproof ground, at least a good 10+ cm away from the river, and hastily pulls his hyung closer, nudging Namjoon's head towards the nape of his neck.

"You don't have to be strong. You don't always have to be. I'm not the best with words, but the only advice I can give? Cry now, please do." Yoongi whispers quietly, his nonchalant attitude softening, however only ever so slightly. And so, Namjoon's screams pierce the air, the yelps of pain, of his hard work going up in flames, of the pleas and ambitions that his parents were, and had been always blinded from. Yoongi wins the battle against his own tears as he feels a slightly stinging sensation seeping into his shoulders; from Namjoon's fingers digging into his skin and pinching the soft, white fabric with his sweatcapped, clammy hands.

"I'm so sorry you had to see me like this, Yoongi-ah." Namjoon's cheeks flush hotly once his sobs and yelps die down like flames to embers, "-I'm always trying to set a good example for you, but I was just a train wreck today." That line earns a hard slap from Yoongi on the wrist.

"Let's hope this hit wakes you up, you stupid. You don't apologise for these kind of things; you're not superhuman, hyung." he grunts, letting loose a few sighs. "Take care of yourself, I swear you're so bloody annoying, making people worried about you like this. Also, go drink some water, your voice is incredibly hoarse."

Namjoon can't help but lift the corners of his chapped pink lips, the brightest, most dimply grin gracing his face as he hugs Yoongi again, just breaking away a little faster this time. "Thanks, Yoongi. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

Yoongi, having wore his perennial, hardened features of pure boredom and nonchalance yet again, rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you better thank me, you punk, after treating your mental health like trash and taking up our time to finish our song lyrics."

"You're really unforgiving with your words, aren't you Yoongi?" A joking sigh escapes Namjoon's lips, still lifting his attractive cheekbones higher than it had ever been, "Tsk, tsk tsk."

"Am I not allowed to state the truth?" Yoongi retaliates defiantly with an eyebrow raise. However, Namjoon knows better than to argue with his dongsaeng, and throws his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Yeah, you are, that's the boy I know and love."

"Ew, don't give me that soppy crap, please. Let's get to work now, I still want to visit Jimin and Tae and Kook after this." Yoongi, still showing his childish side, does a retching motion as he says so.

Namjoon's eyes light up, and Yoongi can't help but smile a little, knowing that the visit would take things of the older's mind. "Good idea. I can help them if they need it too."

"Yeah, I always have good ideas."

"Well, at least they're better than your old grandpa jokes." Namjoon joshes, poor boy getting slapped for the second time today.

"Oh, shut the hell up."

"I swear, Daehwi, you are going to stop, or I am going to kick you again." Your teeth smash together with an obnoxious click as you feel the pressure of your best friend's fingers tugging at your tiny ponytail again, tendrils of lethargy and boredom preventing him from succumbing to slumber, no matter how hard he tried. Really, he acted like a little kid sometimes-it hit a nerve, something you'd have to put up with before getting to your cousin's house. You can feel your adrenaline soar and your legs pushing on the pedals faster, determined to hasten the minutes to the way there.

Daehwi pouts from the back of the bicycle, jutted out lips probably cute and plump, "But Y/N, I'm booooored." He drags his little kid tone mischievously, yet you smirk, coming up with a witty response.

"You won't be very bored if I get Jungkook to tutor you, right?" You say with a wink.

At the mention of tuition, Daehwi scrunches up his face, numerous wrinkles digging themselves into the gap between his small, rosy nose and forehead. Eyebrows arched and eyes narrrowed, he protests whilst dragging his words again, "Y/N, shut uuuuuup !!!!"

"Jeez, you're such a kid. I was only getting my own back," your lips stretch into a large grin as you whirl around briefly to face the boy, itches tiptoeing up your fingers from the urge to caress Daehwi's high, rosy cheekbones. Those cheekbones raise even higher, just as his eyes widen in shock.

"HEY! Y/N, LOOK AT THE BLOODY ROAD-"

All you hear is the painful, deafening screech echoing from the floor before you ascend, leaving the comfortable, warm offering leather bicycle seat. Gravity plummets you to the charcoal coloured road quickly, little pebbles and bits zooming into vision at lighting speed before your skin brushes against the hard surface and eventually careering forward, friction cutting through your skin. It triggers a few squeals that escape your lips as you feel stings course up your right thigh and shoulder like needles lunging at your flesh. Instinctively, you shift the painful bit into your line of vision to find out that it's sprayed with chalk like friction marks, patches of angry, red blood in the shape of bits of land littering the Earth's surface. You can't help but feel an urge to retch at the sight-yuck, it looked nasty. Not wishing to see the monstrosity that your shoulder part probably looked like, you prop up a leg, the stings gradually sinking in and becoming more of a habit as it throbs in your body uncontrollably.

"Y/N...I-It's painful..."

Your pulse rate speeds up, and even more so when you whirl around to see a crying Daehwi, face scrunched up and eyebrows raised into ramps. He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can, lips parting and revealing his teeth, gritted together in pain. Spots of red litter a few of the ridges in his palm before trailing into a red, burgundy blanket creeping under his fingers and dripping onto the floor incessantly. The sight absolutely terrifies you and you scoot over to comfort him, gently rubbing a finger over the wound in the tear of his jeans, spilling thick, red blood. His hands was the worst case-probably from the attempt of stopping himself from falling. You knew Daehwi didn't tolerate pain well, contrasting to you, and he had a way more serious injury. Which, in fact made you all the more flustered.

"Daehwi! I'm so so sorry. I’ll get help, wait." you say worriedly, cheeks tinted a shade almost as red as Daehwi's blood. A pang of guilt hits you as you see his tears add to the growing puddle of red surrounding him, unleashing rings of ripples that increase in size, and slowly, fade away. You reach towards your back, slipping your hand in your pocket and fumbling around for your phone, gaining access to it through your fingerprint before pressing the numbers 1777, the line you called for a non emergency ambulance. 

“Ah! Are you alright?” a deep, manly voice, laced with slight worry seems to cut through the draggy, boisterous beep from the phone, which in fact had been going on and off for a good 1 minute. You tilt your head up to see a man who resembles your fellow class monitor, Seungcheol-intimidating features, as you could see from his sharply yet beautifully angled eyes, and if they bore an angry glare one fine day those looks would probably pierce right through your soul and kill. However, the gaze in his eyes was practically the bane of all hatred and violence. It’s soft, caring-maybe even a little demure, when his eyebrows raise into little ramps concernedly. Probably the aftermath of you not replying to his question after a whole 5 minutes.

“Uh...Are you okay?” he asks again, this time a little more tentatively.

“A-Ah, yeah, I’m okay.” You blush, praying that you didn’t look starry eyed or anything earlier on upon scanning his features-it was quite an annoying habit of yours. “But um-I’m not the best at treating injuries, and my friend’s just about dying with the throbbing pain in his knees-so your help would be nice?” 

The guy laughs before saying, “I’ll see what I can do.”

A thankful grin runs across your face as a sigh of relief escapes you the weight on your shoulders suddenly growing wings and chasing away the pressure from your aching bones. He notices the grin and returns it, perhaps a little amusedly. On the other hand, relief is the only that his torture was going to be over soon. He kicks back his legs, only to have it lifted back up again by the guy, whose eyes narrow as he examines Daehwi’s injury, face contorted with concentration. He seems to know what he’s doing, and your mouth can’t help but part in wonder-ah, all the medical crap you’d never understand.

“Y/N, I see your classmate over there!” Daehwi suddenly yells, flicking a finger in the direction of the path you were previously travelling on, just before the big misfortune had came to befall both of you.

You turn your head to see the ‘classmate’ waving a hand at the guy fixing Daehwi’s injury, and panic rises up to your chest quickly.

It’s Yoongi.