#br carriages

[edwardthomasnw]

Another thing I'm thinking about is creating a Mk3C

So, dual-braked dual-heating Mk3s built specifically for The Express

But then the early Mk2s (sometimes apparently called Mk2z cause of the number of variants) remained in regular use for quite a while when the Mk3s came in soon... 🤷🏻

[annefic]

.

[binggiu]

Company Sin

Kim Dokja didn't hate Yoo Joonghyuk, not like people said and thought.

It's not like he hated him completely, in fact, he loved him, but a portion of hatred existed in his core and in his conscience.

Of course there would be after 3,149 chapters of his favorite webnovel, even more so after spending ten years reading every word and maintaining the constancy of being the only reader who stayed until the end, waiting for every update that existed.

Sometimes, Joonghyuk was his pillar of salvation, other times, he was the reason for beatings or teasing from his classmates. He would blame it on his mother, but deep down, the knowledge that spending more time immersed in novels, to escape the weak and stupid existence he lived, was the main reason why others picked on him, bothering him whenever possible.

Dokja had no hard feelings, not towards his favorite author, not towards the protagonist he accompanied on every return trip or towards the actions taken in every living scenario.

When Bihyung appeared on the train for the first time, on his way home after a damn day of work, the realization that everything he had read about for years was happening hit him firsthand.

Obviously, his carriage was not supposed to continue with so many lives, not if it followed the original plot, but what was his fault? None. He would not die for a story he knew like the back of his hand.

「 The clock ticked, but no constellation had said anything. 」

The desperation to take care of the lives of people around him would have been greater, if life had not taught him to live alone, with the world turning its back on him and wishing for his lonely and meaningless death.

Kim Dokja saw Joonghyuk throw him to the monster, try to kill him, not save his life and still be ironic about any apparent reason. The protagonist would be like that, the true protagonist.

The laughter in his mind was loud, he believed for a brief moment that he would be a better protagonist than him.

Pathetic.

「 The fourth wall said 'I'm hungry', but it wasn't time for it to feed yet. 'I'm thirsty', it wasn't time to drink someone's blood yet. 'I'm cold', it wasn't time to die and abandon everyone to live in a dark place full of pages. 'I'm sleepy', it wasn't time to lose half of it soul yet.」

The realization came when he went against the impediment made by his mother, the one who tried to stop him from dying. Pftt. How ironic, years later she tried to save him? What right did she have to try to save his soul now that it was destined to be broken, destroyed and have the stories of each fragmented person torn apart by abandoned streets?

His hand held Joonghyuk's, those hands covered in blood and holding the scabbard of the sword stuck in his heart. It was ironic to see in Joonghyuk's eyes a certain despair and sadness for killing him, he was the one who always said he would kill him at the first opportunity, so why did it seem like tears were falling on such a beautiful face?

Before Dokja could say anything, he felt the traces of his power as a Demon King takes over his body, choking his throat and preventing him from saying anything. And, even though it was sad, a smile still remained on his face, until the moment his physical body turned to dust.

「The constellation ‘■■■ ■■■■■■■’ still stares at him sadly, his decisions are inconclusive for him.」

「The constellation ‘■■■ ■■■■■■■’ left the channel.」

The sound was muffled, the cold between his clothes and his skin, the heavy breathing, the idealization of thin hands and loud but silent voices, was in his mind. Dokja opened his eyes, finding himself in the middle of a sea, he could see books floating around him, open and others closed, loose pages, pens releasing their ink. So many things, but nothing that made sense.

When he stood on the still existing floor, he began to walk between the existing shelves, some with several books, others with none, and one with only one book.

「The Fourth Wall trembled, whimpering as if it had been broken.」

Dokja didn't remember what it meant, but he was sure it didn't exist in the web novel, since he had memorized it, at least most of it. Opening the only book in his hand, he could see three photos of himself, one from when he was a child, one on the train, and oh ... just like now.

His breath caught, his hands shaking as he held the photo with the environment the same as he was in and probably with the position he was in, he was the same.

The bitterness on his tongue got worse, the trembling existing, the lack of air suffocating and when he opened his mouth, he drowned in agony, despair and water.

「Dokja you are ■■■■■■■■■ ■ ■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■■■. ■■■ ■■■■■, ■■■ ■■■■■ ■■■ ■■■ ■■■■■■■■, ■■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■■ ■■■■■■■. 」

As his consciousness was carried away, he heard his words, but for some reason he could not understand.

Living so long among those worlds, acting as if he were Joonghyuk, he believed that people would already know where he was or would look for him, since they would understand that he was alive. As incredible as it may seem and the pain he feels, deep down in his heart, he missed his company with Bihyung. Would the bastard dokkaebi be cursing him even now? A smile appeared on his face, he certainly would be.

The watch was in his hand, stories that were not told by him were running in his soul, it was necessary, he was alive and regardless of the consequences, he would still be there. He would be Kim Dokja, the one who founded his company in the middle of a heavenly meeting, the one who provoked Joonghyuk until he did not give up on his third return, the one who met the plagiarizing writer, the one who saw his friends grow in power and be recognized, the one who fulfilled his promise to Bihyung, the one who fell in love with Yoo Joonghyuk for the 3149th time.

When Joonghyuk's fake 1864th return happened, and he helped Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyounga win, he saw the end of the scenarios.

The warmth of the sun should have given him joy and a success in being alive, but for a click, a quick darkness, and a rushing wind and a familiar sound, Dokja felt his body shiver. When he opened his eyes, he was in that station, the same one he knew, the one he stood at every day after work.

His eyes were curious, but when he started walking, he saw himself entering the carriage. His breathing was rapid, his heart was pounding, the feeling of despair and the urge to cry made him swallow hard. Entering the door in front of his, he walked to the place where he, or rather, his version from months ago, was sitting, with a cell phone in his hand, headphones and an infectious smile.

The first tear ran down his cheek.

Was that the end of the scenario? To live all the suffering, all the misfortune, all the existing feelings? A sob was present in his voice, no one looked at him, oh…. he was like the constellations were to him, invisible.

The crying started in his despair, kneeling in front of his other version, the suffering was worse than losing his stories, the urge to scream was greater than when she fixed him, the urge to die was greater than when Yoo Joonghyuk killed him. Was that the pain of returning?

Standing up, standing and staring at the wider smile of his new version, Kim Dokja felt his heart break. He felt the cold and sea water that remained when he died wrap around his body again. He heard the watch in his pocket stop ringing. He felt the cold, the one from when he died, begin to slowly take over his body.

As he stared at the train window, his eyes released the trapped tears, seeing Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk staring at him. The red eyes, the swollen bags under Joonghyuk's eyes, the bleeding and bitten lip, that was despair and he understood.

That was when the two voices were heard.

「The constellation ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’ still looks at him sadly, his decisions are inconclusive for him.」

「The constellation ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’ has left the channel.」

「Dokja, you are broken and I need to fix you. Please don’t let her fix you, come back to me in this return. 」

Kim Dokja sobbed, feeling the despair of sinking alone coursing through his veins.

「Stupid. Why do you keep running to your death? Why do you keep leaving us alone? Why do you still insist on breaking your soul?」

「I’ll be waiting for you in the 1895th return. I hope… ‘The constellation Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him’ that you trust me and don’t leave alone again.」

「The constellation ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’ stares at him.」

「I’ll be waiting for you, just like I’ve waited in all the other returns. I’ll be waiting so we can finish all the scenarios together. I will be waiting for you because I promised to wait for my love at the first return.」

「 The constellation ‘Han Sooyoung’ has turned off the channel.」

「 The constellation ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’ has turned off the channel.」

「 The incarnation Kim Dokja is repairing.」

「 The incarnation Kim Dokja is ready to begin his 1895th return.」

「 The constellation Yoo Joonghyuk is looking forward to this new scenario.」

「 The constellation Yoo Joonghyuk says ‘■■■ ■■■■■, ■■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■, ■■■■■ ■■ ■■■■■■■■■.’」

“Kim Dokja, come back to me, I’m waiting for you.’

[comtessezouboff]

Paintings from Buckingham Palace: part II

A retexture by La Comtesse Zouboff — Original Mesh by @thejim07

Spread among 13 occupied and historic royal residences in the United Kingdom, the collection is owned by King Charles III and overseen by the Royal Collection Trust. The British monarch owns some of the collection in right of the Crown and some as a private individual. It is made up of over one million objects, including 7,000 paintings, over 150,000 works on paper, this including 30,000 watercolours and drawings, and about 450,000 photographs, as well as around 700,000 works of art, including tapestries, furniture, ceramics, textiles, carriages, weapons, armour, jewellery, clocks, musical instruments, tableware, plants, manuscripts, books, and sculptures.

Some of the buildings which house the collection, such as Hampton Court Palace, are open to the public and not lived in by the Royal Family, whilst others, such as Windsor Castle, Kensington Palace and the most remarkable of them, Buckingham Palace are both residences and open to the public.

About 3,000 objects are on loan to museums throughout the world, and many others are lent on a temporary basis to exhibitions.

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The second part includes paintings displayed in the Ball Supper Room, the Ballroom, the Ballroom Annexe, the Bow Room, the East Gallery, the Grand Entrance and Marble Hall, the Minister's Landing & Staircase, the Vestibule, the Chinese Dining Room and the Balcony Room.

This set contains 57 paintings and tapestries with the original frame swatches, fully recolourable. They are:

Ball Supper Room (BSR):

Portrait of King George III of the United Kingdom (Benjamin West)

Ballroom (BR):

The Story of Jason: The Battle of the Soldiers born of The Serpent's Teeth (the Gobelins)

The Story of Jason: Medea Departs for Athens after Setting Fire to Corinth (the Gobelins)

Ballroom Annexe (BAX):

The Apotheosis of Prince Octavius (Benjamin West)

Bow Room (BWR):

Portrait of Princess Mary Adelaide of Cambridge (William Corden the Younger)

Portrait of Princess Augusta of Cambridge, Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (Alexander Melville)

Portrait or George, Duke of Cambridge (William Corden the Younger)

Portrait of Frederick William, Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Augusta of Saxe-Weimar, Princess of Prussia, later Queen of Prussia and German Empress (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Prince Leopold, Later Duke of Albany (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Ernest, Prince of Hohenlohe-Langeburg (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Ferdinand of Savoy, Duke of Genoa (Eliseo Sala)

Portrait of Marie Alexandrina of Saxe-Altenburg, Queen Consort of Hanover (Carl Ferdinand Sohn)

Portrait of Leopold, Duke of Brabant, Later Leopold II, King of the Belgians (Nicaise de Keyser)

Portrait of Marie Henriette, Archduchess of Austria and Duchess of Brabant, Later Queen of the Belgians (Nicaise de Keyser)

East Gallery (EG):

Portrait of Leopold I, King of the Belgians (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Victoria, Queen of England in Coronation Robes (Sir George Hayter)

Portrait of Louis-Philippe d'Orl��ans, King of the French (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Consort Queen of England with her Children at Windsor Castle (Benjamin West)

Portrait of Prince Adolphus, later Duke of Cambridge, With Princess Mary and Princess Sophia at Kew (Benjamin West)

The Coronation of Queen Victoria in Westminster Abbey, 28 June, 1838. (Sir George Hayter)

The Christening of Edward, Prince of Wales 25 January, 1842 (Sir George Hayter)

The Marriage of Queen Victoria, 10 February, 1840 (Sir George Hayter)

Portrait of the Royal Family in 1846 (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert as King Edward III and Queen Philippa of Hainault at the Ball Costumé of 12 May, 1842 (Sir Edwin Landseer)

Grand Entrance and Marble Hall (GEMH):

Portrait of Edward, Duke of Kent (John Hoppner)

Portrait of Ernest I, Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha (George Dawe)

Portrait of Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saafeld, Dowager Duchess of Kent (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Albert, Prince Consort of the United Kingdom (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Victoria, Queen Consort of the United Kingdom in State Robes (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Louise d'Orléans, Consort Queen of the Belgians, with her Son Leopold, Duke of Brabant (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Feodora of Leiningen, Princess of Hohenlohe-Langeburg, with her Daughter, Princess Adelheid (Sir George Hayter)

Portrait of George, Prince of Wales, Later King George IV (Mather Byles Brown)

Portrait of Victoire of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Duchess of Nemours (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Augustus, Duke of Sussex (Domenico Pellegrini)

Portrait of Leopold I, King of the Belgians (William Corden the Younger)

Minister's Landing and Staircase (MLS):

Portrait of George, Prince of Wales in Garther Robes (John Hoppner)

The Loves of the Gods: The Rape of Europa (the Gobelins)

The Loves of the Gods: The Rape of Proserpine (The Gobelins)

Vestibule (VL):

Portrait of Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, the Prince Consort (Unknown Artist from the German School)

Portrait of Princess Alice of the United Kingdom, Later Grand Duchess of Hesse (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Princess Helena of the United Kingdom, Later Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Princess Louise of the United Kingdom, Later Duchess of Argyll (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Princess Victoria of the United Kingdom, Later Empress Frederick of Germany (Franz Xaver Winterhalter)

Portrait of Victoria Mary of Teck, Duchess of York (Edward Hughes)

Chinese Dining Room or Pavilion Breakfast Room(CDR):

Set of Four Painted Chinoiserie Wall panels I (Robert Jones)

Set of Four Painted Chinoiserie Wall panels II (Robert Jones)

Set of Four Painted Chinoiserie Wall panels III (Robert Jones)

Set of Four Painted Chinoiserie Wall panels IV (Robert Jones)

Balcony Room or Centre Room (BR):

Chinoiserie Painted Panel I (Robert Jones)

Chinoiserie Painted Panel II (Robert Jones)

Chinoiserie Painted Panel III (Robert Jones)

Chinoiserie Painted Panel IV (Robert Jones)

EXTRAS! (E):

I decided to add the rest of the tapestries from the story of Jason (wich hangs in the Grand Reception Room at Windsor Castle) and (with Jim's permission) added the original mesh for paintings number 2,3,4 & 5 from the Vestibule (seen here and here) wich was never published. These items are:

The Story of Jason: Jason Pledges his Faith to Medea (the Gobelins)

The Story of Jason: Jason Marries Glauce, Daughter of Creon, King of Thebes (the Gobelins)

The Story of Jason: The Capture of the Golden Fleece (the Gobelins)

The Story of Jason: The Poisoning of Glauce and Creon by Medea's Magic Robe (the Gobelins)

Sea Melodies (Herbert James Draper) (made by TheJim07)

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Found under decor > paintings for:

500§ (BWR: 1,2,3,4,5,6, & 8 |VL: 1)

570§ (VL: 2,3,4 & 5 |E: 5)

1850§ (GEMH: 1 & 3)

2090§ (GEMH: 2,6,7, 9 & 11)

3560§ (GEMH: 4,5 & 10 |BSR: 1 |EG: 1,2,3,4 & 5 |MLS: 1 |BAX: 1)

3900§ (CDR: 1,2,3 & 4 |BR: 1,2,3 & 4 |EG: 10 |VL: 6 |GEMH: 8)

4470§ (MLS: 2 |E: 1)

6520§ (BR 1 & 2| MLS: 3 |EG: 6,7,8 & 9 |BR: 1 & 2 |E: 2,3 & 4)

Retextured from:

"Saint Mary Magdalene" (BWR: 1,2,3,4,5,6, & 8 |VL: 1) found here.

"Sea Melodies" (VL: 2,3,4 & 5 |E: 5)

"The virgin of the Rosary" (GEMH: 1 & 3) found here.

"Length Portrait of Mrs.D" (GEMH: 4,5 & 10 |BSR: 1 |EG: 1,2,3,4 & 5 |MLS: 1 |BAX: 1) found here

"Portrait of Maria Theresa of Austria and her Son, le Grand Dauphin" (CDR: 1,2,3 & 4 |BR: 1,2,3 & 4 |EG: 10 |VL: 6 |GEMH: 8) found here

"Sacrifice to Jupiter" (MLS: 2 |E: 1) found here

"Vulcan's Forge" (BR 1 & 2| MLS: 3 |EG: 6,7,8 & 9 |BR: 1 & 2 |E: 2,3 & 4) found here

(you can just search for "Buckingham Palace" using the catalog search mod to find the entire set much easier!)

Disclaimer!

Some paintings in the previews look blurry but in the game they're very high definition, it's just because I had to add multiple preview pictures in one picture to be able to upload them all! Also sizes shown in previews are not accurate to the objects' actual sizes in most cases.

Drive

(Sims3pack | Package)

(Useful tags below)

@joojconverts @ts3history @ts3historicalccfinds @deniisu-sims @katsujiiccfinds @gifappels-stuff

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[stephensmithuk]

The Lost Special

CW for discussion of sexual abuse and capital punishment.

Originally published in The Strand in 1898, i.e. during the hiatus years, this would be collected with a bunch of other Doyle stories in the Round the Fire Stories collection released in 1898. Doyle continued to have stories regularly published during the hiatus.

The London and West Coast Railway Company is fictitious; the company that operated the line discussed in this route was the London and North Western Railway (LNWR), the biggest revenue earner of the period due to the sheer size of its operations. It would become part of the London, Midland and Scottish Railway (LMS) in 1922 during "Grouping" i.e. the merger of British railway companies into four major ones. The LNWR name came back as the London Northwestern Railway brand of West Midlands Trains in 2017, operating commuter and semi-fast services from Euston. That franchise is due to operate until 2026, at which point, considering the likely result of the upcoming election, it will be nationalised. What happens to the name after that remains to be seen.

Liverpool Central refers to two stations. The one here is the six-platform "High Level" station, opened in 1874 as the headquarters of the Cheshire Lines Committee (CLC) and offering services to Manchester Central, London St. Pancras or even Harwich for the ferry services to the Netherlands. The CLC remained independent after Grouping

There was also, slightly to the North West. the 1892-opened "Low Level" station, that was underground, opened by the Mersey Railway, but with staircase access to the High Level one and provision for a through railway connection left to that station if it was decided to join the two lines. This operated local trains towards Birkenhead using the world's second underground railway after London. This also stayed its own operation after Grouping in 1922; both companies would become part of British Railways on nationalisation in 1948.

In 1966, the Beeching Axe saw the High Level station have nearly all its services diverted to Liverpool Lime Street, with only those to Gateacre still calling there. BR wanted to stop those entirely, but local opposition prevented that. With no need for six platforms, two become a car park and the station ended up with just one functional platform in 1970, ending up in rather a state of decay. It shut entirely in 1972 and was demolished, the Gateacre services going, along with the whole North Liverpool Extension Line.

The Low Level station, however, still very busy, would have better fortunes - it would become the centre piece of the new Merseyrail network. The station was renovated, the two lines were linked and today Liverpool Central is one of the busiest stations in the UK outside of Greater London. However, the eastern part of the planned loop, including services to Gateacre, fell victim to budget cuts in the late 1970s.

Rochdale is a town in the Greater Manchester area - at the time it was a textiles hub, but that very much declined from the 1950s and the place has acquired a bad reputation. In 2012, a child sex abuse ring involving British Pakistanis "grooming" white girls was convicted in a high-profile trial and the resulting public reaction was, to put it mildly, racially-tinged. It also came out that the town's deceased former MP (who had in fact been knighted), one Cyril Smith, was a paedophile.

"Specials" refer to trains arranged outside the usual timetable, often in connection with some event. These included football excursions (or FOOTEX in BR parlance) carrying fans to away games around the country. In the hooligan-heavy 1970s and 1980s, BR would use older carriages due to the frequency of them getting damaged by drunken supporters, the whole thing becoming a policing headache. Others included various enthusiast-oriented journeys and "Merrymaker" mystery trips, usually to a seaside destination.

The main companies do not really do these today in anything like the numbers they used to, but various private companies have stepped in, including a West Coast Railways Company oddly enough, that provides the rolling stock, locomotives and drivers for the Jacobite tourist service from Fort William to Mailaig. These charter trains can be found operating multiple times a week, being sold through various different companies. Most use heritage rolling stock with vintage steam or diesel engines involved, with a variety of types catering to your tastes, although a big wallet is generally needed. Like at least £100 for standard class without dining and even then the schedule might not be the most convenient; these trains are planned around the regular services and you might have a long wait sitting in sidings for the next bit of your path to be clear.

In any event, the special train would have cost around £5,412 adjusted for inflation. However, a cursory glance suggests it would actually cost far more to do that today - hence the high prices modern "specials" charge passengers.

Signal boxes were required to log the details of trains passing through - the type could be identified by various lights arranged on the front and later the specific service by four-character codes. Today this is done electronically and monitored at larger control centres - older boxes have generally closed, with some being transported to heritage railways for their use. I would assume that the stations not mentioned did not have their own signal box.

In terms of the stations mentioned here, these were on the 1830-opened Liverpool and Manchester Railway, the first intercity railway in the world.

This route is today part of the City Line in the Merseytravel Network - trains are today operated by Northern or TransPenine Express. It was electrified in 2015. For each station in turn...

St Helens Junction: Still open.

Collins Green: Closed 1951.

Earlestown: Still open, despite being listed for closure in the 1963 Beeching Report.

Newton-le-Willows: Still open. Even had a Motorail terminal for a while, but this is long gone.

Kenyon Junction: Closed to passengers 1961, shut entirely 1963. Various locals have called for reopening it.

Barton Moss, closed 1929.

Parliamentary trains are those which railway companies had a legal obligation to operate - basically to provide cheap services for workers. This could mean one train per day on a route. Some did the bare minimum, some did a lot more. With this requirement no longer around, the term has evolved to mean services run at the legal minimum, even as low as one train a week, because it's cheaper to do that rather than go through a closure process. In some cases, the route would be used for engineering work diversions and so it is needed to keep up driver familarity. Current examples include Pilning, which has two trains a week on a Saturday. The most notable is Teeside Airport, which is meant to serve the airport of that name that operates four to six passenger flights a day, but is a fifteen-minute walk away, so getting a bus is much more preferred. This got one train westbound a week until May 2022, when its platform was deemed unsafe and Teeside International Airport refuses to pay for repairs.

Railway companies had their own police forces; these would later come under the British Transport Police.

Many mines and industrial planets had connections to the national network for transporting goods like coal or clay; BR even developed a "Merry-Go-Round" system allowing hoppers to be filled up and emptied while moving at a very slow speed to save time on shunting; newer versions are still in use, despite the coal market having massively declined. Mines would have their own engines - the nationalised National Coal Board kept steam locomotives going until 1982, 14 years after BR stopped using them, with some of their former engines now featuring on preserved lines.

The Vistula river runs through central Poland, including Warsaw.

Many mines would be closed once their seams were worked out to the point of it being now longer economical to run; some are now tourist attractions, at least in limited sections.

France used the guillotine for capital punishment until the abolition of that in 1977. It would also be extensively used, in a slightly different form in the German states, including extensively by the Nazis, until 1966, when East Germany switched to shooting people in the back of the head.

New Caledonia is a French territory in the Southern Pacific that was used as a penal colony at the time; it is currently in a state of political turmoil in a row over expanding the franchise to cover more recent arrivals, something opposed by indigenous groups seeking independence. The proposal has been suspended at time of writing due to France's upcoming elections.

[british-rail]

Hey guys, we here at BR are always looking for higher capacity on commuter services into london, and so from June onwards, we will be blending people into a fine slurry and putting them in tanker wagons, this will allow us to get 1,471 people per carriage, a 30% increase compared to 3+2 seating

[greateasternj69]

While Ruleton was speaking in his office on the phone negotiating with the BR locomotive department for the loaning of a DMU. Outside at the station's main concourse. A lone Class 47 wearing the livery of the Overhead yellow and orange with black cab windows and with the number DTO3 stood looking up at the windows to the offices from a vantage point at Platform three. With a long face he wondered how his manager was coping after the meeting with Alistair earlier. He had seen the staff who were with Ruleton earlier leave the offices for home earlier with looks of disappointment on their faces and uncertainty. To him they were the looks of hopelessness as a sign of them losing hope, and when seeing that losing of hope he immediately knew what the outcome of the meeting was, and it wasn’t in the railways favour. For as long as the 47 could remember since had arrived on the railway, he knew that Alistair had been cutting subsidies to his owners railway as part of his and his corporate partners intention to eliminate the cities public transport network having heard the rumours from the residence, and he had seen it all come true unfold before his very eyes. The overhead bridges and structures were in a desperate state of repair and could collapse at any moment, the carriage stock was broken and outdated, they were in short supply of locomotives due to his owner being unable to afford another one, and a lot of the railways staff had been laid off due to Ruleton being unable to pay, leaving them with only a few staff in each department left. Seeing that this last meeting had once again failed to turn things around for the better and get Alistair to see sense in his actions towards the railway. The 47 felt there was no hope for the railway to get out of its financial situation, and with the election coming up next month he knew the outcome would be in Alistair's favour, and he would go through with his intentions of cutting the final subsidies the overhead had been on life support on, finishing the railway off for good, and Highstruct would win. The sinking feeling of what will eventually happen, made him feel that his home, which had been the whole world to him, would finally come crashing down once Alistair put his plan after his reelection into action. He wished there was something he could do to help save the overhead and save his home. But he was afraid that he would only make the situation worse for the railway and his manager. Alistair most likely wouldn’t take his words seriously, as he saw his kind as nothing but an outdated piece of technology that was a relic of a bygone era that was now over, and were to be replaced by a technology that gave people the so-called freedom to go anywhere, and he believed was superior to them in every single way possible. Contrary to the truth that he and his friends, including his manager, saw in front of them with their own eyes, everyday. “I want to raise my voice and stand up to Alistair and show him the consequences his and his cronies' actions are bringing upon everyone in Tarmingham… But I might only make everything worse and no one will understand me or take me seriously anyway… There is nothing I can do to save my home, this railway…” the 47 said sadly to himself, as he lowered his eyes in sadness as he slowly rolled away back to the shed. Feeling that nothing could be done to save the overhead within the next month, and convinced that Alistair and HighwayStruct would finally win the battle. However, what he didn’t know was that the overhead’s situation was about to change for the better, and it would come with the DMU’s that Ruleton was about to meet and bring to his railway.

Another Illustration done for Chapter 1 of TFTTOH Book 1, this one is near to the end of the chapter where we're introduced to another major character in the story, Andrew the Class 47 who is standing at platform two at Tarmingham Piccadilly Street station looking hopeless after eavesdropping on the meeting between his railways owner Mr. Ruleton and the cities mayor Alistair Lancaster over where the funding for the overhead was going, with the outcome not being in the railways favour. With him being afraid about losing his home after the next election in which he fears Alistair is sure to win for sure and would cut the final subsidies from the railway afterwards, and wishes he could do something to help save it, but fears that he would only make the situation worse for the railway and his manager, believing no one will understand him. Convincing himself that Alistair and HighwayStruct will win for sure, little knowing that the railways situation is about to change for the better.

Tarmingham Overhead Railway and Characters: © GreatEasternJ69

[resident-mercie]

Carlos Oliveira Fic - Halcyon Days (Chapter 3) (NSFW).

notes: canon violence, infection, no nsfw allusions for this specific chapter, mature themes regardless, perspective switches.

➵ While you should be on the train out of Raccoon City, Carlos has a sinking feeling that not everything has gone to plan.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

You are now reading Chapter 3.

September 29th. 2:47am. An eerie silence, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness, now Carlos had been separated from the one breath of fresh air he’d met during his time stationed here.

“It’s been a while. The subway’s gotta be clear of the city by now, right?” Carlos asked his comrade in a hushed voice, hoping not to raise any attention from the undead.

“What, along with your hot date?” His comrade, Tyrell, scoffed. “Listen man, I wouldn’t get attached to any of the freaks around these parts. I mean, if you’re desperate to get laid, then go for it. But this chick? Won’t be long until she ends up like one of them.”

Carlos felt the anger inside of him rise, his blood becoming scalding hot.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know anything about her. Hell, she’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. I’d rather it be her here with me right now than you.”

“What, so the power of love can save you? Give me a break, Romeo. We’re here on a mission, so keep your head screwed on. This is the police station. You know what we’re here to do.”

My world was spinning. Last thing I knew, everything had faded to black, but the smell of engine smoke was what roused me from my involuntary slumber. Every cell in my body ached with a dull pain, and for a moment, I considered letting the world take me. Only for a moment though, as my promise to Carlos came floating to my mind’s surface.

“Together…”

It was no time to mope around, and no time to die either. I scrambled through what was accessible of the wreckage, desperate to find supplies, more bullets, or maybe even—

“A radio. Could I…?”

With frantic desperation, my hands ran across the radio in a frenzied manner, pleading with everything in me that I could make contact with some of the UBCS members.

“Hello? Does anyone read me? The train with the survivors— it’s derailed—“

“Meu querida? Is that you? What the hell’s happened?”

It was some kind of sick miracle. The voice I had longed to hear, was echoing its way through my last ditch attempt of finding anyone who could save me.

“Carlos! Oh, thank god it’s you! You were right about Nikolai, he locked me out of the only safe carriage. It’s because of him that Mikhail is… Listen, I don’t know where the hell I am, but I really need to find you. I know you had a mission to attend to, but I’m scared. I need you.”

Carlos gripped his radio in hand, his stoicism wavering at the pleading emotion in my voice. Screw Umbrella, and screw Raccoon. So long as he could be with his evacuee, then he could die a happy and contented man. Even if we were to both become infected, and turn in one another’s arms, it would be a far better ending for us both than dying alone on opposite sides of the city, never meeting in the apocalyptic life that supercedes our human one. I was right about Carlos being a sanctuary beyond this hellscape, because even if I could be in his arms just once more, dying didn’t seem so bad. There was nothing to fear when we were unified, even death.

“I need you to get above ground, querida. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come and find you. Whatever you do, fight those bastards off like your life depends on it. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“On my way above ground. I’ll let you know where I am as soon as I can.”

Taking in my surroundings, and nabbing a few more supplies from the wreckage, I soon found my way to the surface, exhausted from undoing a plethora of bolts and shackles to make my way past some of the locked maintenance rooms of the underground.

“Carlos, come in? I’m near some kind of bridge over looking the river. Do you want me to cross it, or—?”

A roaring torrent of water from underneath the bridge abruptly cut me off, and as I watched, frozen in my place, my stomach sank to a completely new depth.

“What the fuck? It’s back?”

“Querida, are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong—“

As much as I craved the reassurance of Carlos, I remembered what he said earlier - to fight like my life depended on it. Yet the creature that had rose from depths, my second encounter with the large amalgamation of flesh, was a presence that threatened my very existence. With just a handgun, any attempts at preserving my life, and taking its, would have been trivial. So, I did the only thing I could.

I dashed across the bridge, frantically leaping across sections of the track where the flooring had fallen through, praying that the creature would be stupid enough to take a misstep and plunge back into the azure depths below me. Whatever the hell this thing was, however, was a creature built for the sake of pursuit.

I ran until it was impossible for me to go any further. I was trapped inside the courtyard of the clock tower, the creature stalking my every move.

“Clock tower. I don’t know how much time I’ll have left.” I sobbed, a hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. With one amalgamated tendril, the creature grabbed ahold of my arm, and before I had time to futilely shoot the creature with my handgun, the world around me faded once more.

“No, no! God fucking damnit!” Carlos shouted, overcome with despair and rage, devastated he couldn’t have made it to the clock tower any earlier. He produced his radio from his breast pocket, seething at rage for both the creature capable of inflicting such harm, and at himself for letting this happen.

I promised to protect her, and now she’s infected. What kind of shit platoon member gets their evacuee in so much danger?

“Tyrell? I need you to come in. It’s my girl. That creature we were warned about, code name nemesis. I— I think it got her. I need to take her to the hospital. See if that Bard guy has any chance of curing her. I need you to meet me there.”

Returning his radio to his breast pocket, he hoisted his infected sweetheart onto his back, a civilian who was unfortunate to meet a fate not too dissimilar from the many others around her.

“Take it easy, querida. I’ll get you cured, even if it’s the last thing I’m able to do for you.”

[rjthirsty]

Chapter Eight (Deceit & Decay)

Words: 3k-ish

Tags: Dark fic, Abduction, Manipulation, Wound Care

A/N: You can read previous chapters on my ao3 account, or off my masterlist located here. For a full list of tags, please visit ao3.

What if Belle didn't fall in love with the Conqueror Beast? What if his last hope abandoned him, simply because she didn't know he existed? Would his black heart break and crack, or grow as hard as stone? An AU where Chevalier is crowned for Rhodolite, Gilbert lost his last shred of humanity, and MC (Dahlia) is thrust into a nightmare world where deceit and decay are everyday occurrences.

The coach came to a stop in an area of town that Dahlia wouldn't have expected them to be staying in. It was a few blocks away from what appeared to be the main commercial district. Tiny homes and one bedroom dwellings were interspersed between large buildings that looked either abandoned or for storage. This wasn't the type of place an inn would be set up, too far away from the bustling shops to gain notice. But it felt like home for Dahlia.

The last year of her life she had lived in the palace. Before that she was a commoner who worked as a bookstore clerk. She was intimately familiar with a life of limited means, though she never felt the cold of homelessness or the ache of going without meals. Her life was simple. Common. Uncomplicated. Her life had brushed the edges of the area they had stopped. It was a little more seedy and questionable than her previous home, but still it reminded her of her life before.

The coachman dismounted, causing the carriage to rock, and she could hear him unlatching whatever had been setup to bar the door from the outside. The door swung open and Roderic alighted first, poking his hooded head back inside to politely request that she stay where she was. Curious, she did not, in fact, stay where she was, and instead peered out from the open door of the carriage.

Immediately outside the door, the coachman stood, waiting patiently for either Dahlia to exit, or to lock them back inside, she guessed. Despite giving him a long, scrutinizing stare, he didn't so much as acknowledge her presence. Easier to be complicit in a kidnapping if you pretend the victim doesn't exist, she thought.

Not far off, Roderic had disappeared into a building. Dahlia leaned out of the carriage looking up and down the street they had parked. She still hadn't received a pair of shoes and without those running would be painful, but it might be worth it if she could manage to make it into the heart of the town. The biggest problem wasn't if she could make a break for it, but who would help her now that she was aware of where she was. Surely there were good people in this country as well.

On shaking knees, Dahlia stepped out of the carriage and onto the stone ground. Her eyes were locked on the door Roderic had disappeared into. Her heart was hammering and her breathing was already quickened from the adrenaline that had flooded her system as soon as she made the decision to do something risky. Slowly, she took one step, then another, turning herself to keep watch of both the house Roderic was in, and the driver who still hadn’t so much as looked at her.

Her hands clenched into the skirts of her fancy dress, gripping the many layers tightly so she could easily move. She passed the coachman. Taking several quick breaths to try to get her breathing under control, she then inhaled deeply and spun, running as fast as she could through the empty street. A sharp whistle sounded from behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around to see who it was or what it was about.

Dahlia’s bare feet pounded on the cobblestones, rough and biting. She urged herself to move faster, leaning forward as if that would increase her momentum. She heard the rapid clacking of boots behind her, her hooded captor must have given chase.

Tears started to form in her eyes, she knew she wasn’t going to make it, but continued to run anyways. Rocks cut and bruised her feet and she bit her bottom lip to try to distract herself from the pain.

He was so close. She could hear how quickly he gained on her. Frustration welled up inside her and after huffing several times, her lungs burning in exertion and anger, Dahlia unleashed a scream as loud as she could possibly manage. She screamed and ran and felt his hands snatch around her waist. Roderic scooped Dahlia up, flipping her onto his shoulder like she was a sack of flour.

“No! No, no no!” She screamed and flailed. “Help! Let me go!”

Roderic latched his arm around Dahlia’s legs as he turned back towards the safehouse he had been preparing before she tried to make another escape. “It would be prudent to calm yourself.”

“I will not quietly be stolen away! Let! Me! Go!” Dahlia pounded on Roderic’s back with her fists, hoping to hit him somewhere that would cause some sort of reaction, but he continued to carry her without so much as flinching under her beating.

“You will gain more enemies than allies if you continue to make a fuss.” Roderic warned with a sigh. He sounded melancholy about it, not annoyed, causing Dahlia to pause in her carrying on.

Breathing heavily, Dahlia pushed herself up so she wasn’t hanging upside-down on his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“There are many people who would choose to hurt you if they knew who you were.”

The answer sent an icy lance through her heart, chilling her to the core. How did that make sense at all? What did she do that could deserve that sort of hatred to people she had never met?

They passed the coachman and Roderic carried Dahlia through the open door of the house. It was gloomy inside, despite the morning sun that poured through the entrance they came in. Dust swirled around the air, but the small, one room home looked neat and tidy otherwise. There was a tiny cooking area, a single bed, a single desk, and a small table with two chairs. Another door was closed, likely the bathroom for this place, probably no more than a toilet.

Dahlia attempted to take in the room as Roderic moved to the bed, kneeling to set her gently on the plush mattress. Once she was off his shoulder, he moved back to squat at her feet, gabbing an ankle to examine the damage she had done in her flight. He pushed her dress up slightly and looked over the bottom of her soles, Gilbert wouldn’t be happy about these injuries either.

Roderic stood and moved around the room gathering items to treat Dahlia’s wounds. Setting a pot on the burner to heat the water, he accumulated the rest of the items in the tiny kitchen. Dahlia sat quietly, her eyes on him. He could feel her watching him, something she had done for most of the trip. It was good that she was wary of him, but she also needed to be wary of others.

“... I would appreciate it if you would allow me to care for you.” Roderic spoke in his typical slow cadence.

“You want me to stop resisting?” Dahlia repeated the request the way she interpreted it.

“That would be ideal, yes.”

“I’m not too keen on that idea.” She answered without hesitation.

“Even if it means you’ll end up injured and still under my care?” Roderic poured the warmed water into a basin and collected the supplies he had gathered to bring everything to Dahlia’s feet. As if to emphasize his point, he pressed a wet towel to her foot which had been damaged in her barefooted escape.

Dahlia winced at the sting where her skin was split, but the warmth of the towel, and the way he carefully handled her was much kinder than she had expected. “I’d rather be injured attempting to change my circumstances than do nothing and remain a prisoner. At least I know with every bruise I receive that I tried.”

Roderic didn’t speak again while he finished dressing her wounds. He was quiet as he cleaned up. And he remained silent as he finally shut the door to their small house, closing them in together. He busied himself in the kitchen, cutting some hard cheese and warming bread for them to eat. Dahlia sat dutifully on the bed, her feet wrapped in bandages now. Shoes would have to be put on hold until later, perhaps when she stopped trying to run away.

“Are there really people who wish me harm, or was that a ploy to get me to be quiet?” Dahlia picked at her bread, forcing herself to eat to keep up her energy.

“Obsidian is not a kind place. Not to anyone.” Roderic sat at the table while Dahlia ate on the bed. She needed to keep off her feet for some time or the wounds wouldn’t heal.

“So it was more of a general warning that worked to your benefit.” She sighed, disappointed in herself that she had believed him.

“...No, not entirely.” Roderic seemed to be contemplating how to answer.

“Specifically for me?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that? Is it because I’m Rhodolitian?” The notion was ridiculous to her, but there was nothing else she could connect unwarranted hatred to besides her kingdom. She had nothing else to her name. No titles. No family. Perhaps it was because she was a consort to the King, but even then that was something those inside the country would care about more than outside.

Roderic paused and turned his head towards Dahlia. She still couldn’t see his features under the hood - the hood he hadn’t removed at all causing her to wonder if perhaps he was misshapen or deformed in some manner - a thought she tried to quickly push away so she didn’t empathize with him too deeply. “You are important to Prince Gilbert.”

Dahlia shook her head in disbelief. Even if he had plans for her for some sort of hostage negotiation, she couldn’t see how her abduction would make her worth enough to be hurt by others. She couldn’t see the plans that were in motion, or what was to come, and for a moment she thought about Chev and his gifted mind and his foresight. He would figure it all out. Perhaps they were already discussing her return, surely Prince Gilbert had stayed to initiate talks.

The memory of the night before ran through her mind, when Prince Gilbert had come to her and said he was looking for her. She shivered once again, remembering the way his aura of terror and death clung to him, silently thankful that she was in the hands of someone who was actively caring for her injuries rather than whatever Prince Gilbert had in store for her. She had been warned that he was a monster, and that monster grew bigger the more she thought about it until she was lost in the darkness of her own thoughts.

“It would be best if you got some rest.” Roderic's voice shook the nightmares from Dahlia's vision and she blinked several times as she came back to the present. He had collected their plates, it seemed, and moved a chair to sit in front of the door. Roderic crossed his arms and dipped his chin, looking to be settling in for a nap himself. 

“Thank you.” Dahlia shifted her skirts as she shuffled in bed. “For the food. The bed. And for taking care of my injuries.”

Despite it being mid morning when the world was awake and alive, Dahlia felt the exhaustion from staying up nearly all night pulling her down as she finally had a chance to relax. Her feet ached, her wrist ached, and her heart ached. But she was still whole and not done fighting yet. It didn’t sit right with her to simply sit and wait for someone to rescue her. She had never been that type of woman.

She rolled onto her side, fingers toying with the corner of the pillow, and thoughts of her lovers on her mind as she fell into darkness, sleeping heavily.

*----*----*

The coach carrying Gilbert was ostentatious to a disgusting degree, but such was the expectation with wealth and power. It had its uses. Plastered with the flag of Obsidian, and Gilbert’s own crest as well, it warned of who was riding inside - and how others should stay as far away as possible. No one inside Obsidian was stupid enough to attack a carriage with the Imperial family’s sigil on it. And outside of Obsidian, most people feared the country as much as those inside feared the Imperial family.

It was iconic. Awesome and terrifying at the same time. It held one of the most powerful persons in the continent, but also one of the most deadly. In Gilbert’s case, he was the World Wide Disaster, the Conqueror Beast, the man who might just swallow up all of the continent if he so much as felt like it. The Unbeatable General had been commanding since he was in the single digits of age, and now near 30, his name was synonymous with death, obedience, and allegiance.

There was nowhere that was off limits to him, inside or outside of his kingdom. There was no need to stop at the border for patrols to verify paperwork. There was no road that was too crowded with people to allow passage. Once one spied the black standard that flew on his coach, all understood to give a wide berth, or find yourself under the murderous gaze of the bloodiest family that had proudly held that title for generations in Obsidian.

It was an eyesore to Gilbert. Preferring to stay at secure locations rather than being treated by the hospitality of the nobility around his own country, his carriage was too notable to take directly to the locations of his safe houses. Forced to disembark several blocks away, Gilbert strolled through the streets of the small city attempting to keep his pace casual, tamping down on his eagerness to reach his destination.

His heart was thumping much too fast and unevenly, causing pain to course through his body, but he kept it hidden as he had for decades. He was a very ill man, and as time continued to pass, he became nearer to death every day. The last thing he wanted to do, however, was show up on the edge of a coughing fit or about to collapse from excitement. That was it, wasn’t it? He was excited. When was the last time he felt like this, he wondered. When was the last time he looked forward to an event?

And so, Gilbert purposely dragged out his stroll through the less savory portion of the city where few residents resided, and many buildings were abandoned or crumbling to ruin. Though there were several hours of daylight left, the street of his destination was empty and quiet. His cane carried its methodical thumping eerily through the abandoned street, until finally he stopped outside the door where the Little Rabbit and Roderic were hiding.

Rapping the handle of his cane on the solid wood, he waited for Roderic to allow him entrance. Gilbert heard a dull clatter away from the door - a chair being moved, he was sure of it - and the lock shifted, then the door swung open, with Roderic bowing his head and moving out of the way to allow Gilbert to move through.

Dahlia stirred on the bed, pushing herself up from where she had been sleeping. She must have just awoken with Gilbert’s knocking based on her clumsy movements and the confused look she had as she watched him move into the room. She was beautiful. Dressed in black in the dress Gilbert had made himself, she was worth the long trip to Rhodolite, and the excruciatingly boring trip from the palace to here.

Roderic closed and locked the door behind Gil, then took up a spot kneeling on the floor not far from the chair that had been relocated. Gilbert, however, smiled gleefully as he watched Dahlia like he had never seen another human waking up before, drinking her in piece by piece until his eyes landed on her bandaged feet and her bruised wrist. His smile stiffened, she had clearly been hurt. Roderic wouldn’t mishandle her, he trusted his aide implicitly, but still she sat with injuries she hadn’t had the night before.

“Roderic.” Gilbert prompted.

“Forgive me,” Roderic answered, his head low as he continued to kneel beside his master. “Milady attempted to flee on more than one occasion, resulting in injury to her person. There was also an oversight with milady’s wardrobe, and she is… missing a few garments.”

“I can see that.” Gilbert’s red eye landed on Dahlia’s feet. She squirmed under his gaze, curling her knees and tucking her bandaged feet under her skirt. “Bunnies are quick to run if they sense danger. Roderic, did you frighten her?” Gilbert almost sounded like he was making a joke, his voice light.

“... I didn’t intend to.” Roderic answered seriously.

“Don’t you worry, Little Rabbit. I know you’ve been through a shock, but you’re safe now.”

Gilbert moved closer, slowly, as if he were attempting to show Dahlia he wasn’t a threat, though his presence certainly felt like one to her. He was like a looming shadow that grew larger step by step until his darkness encompassed everything she could see.

A black gloved hand extended towards her, opened palm up as if he expected her to set hers on top. It was a strange request seeing as how she was aware he was a prince, and he was aware she was without title, but Dahlia timidly offered her hand, her fingers resting on his. He was cold under the leather, or the leather somehow didn’t retain heat.

“I’m Gilbert von Obsidian, and it is my pleasure to meet you.” Soft, but chilly lips touched her fingers and lingered longer than appropriate.

“Thank you, Your Highness, but…” Dahlia glanced towards Roderic who was still kneeling, then back up to Gilbert’s single red eye and pleasant smile. She gently took her hand back and touched her fingers over where his lips had been placed. She was fighting to find a way to express her bewilderment at the situation. The hooded man– Roderic had drugged and abducted her, stolen her away to an enemy nation, and now the First Prince of that country was treating her like she was an honored guest on par with himself. “If it pleases Your Highness, I would feel more at ease if I were given answers rather than assurances.”

“Call me Gil.” Gilbert insisted as he stepped away from the bed to collect a chair and set it in front of Dahlia. He longed to hear his name from her in such a casual manner.

Dahlia looked even more perplexed than a moment earlier as she politely shook her head and resisted the idea. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly do that, Your Highness.”

“There’s no need to stick with formalities with me. I rather despise forced pleasantries.” He took a seat in front of her, as close as he could to the bed she was sitting on, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands together. “If you’re not comfortable with Gil, Gilbert will do for now.”

He could see the gears turning in Dahlia’s head. She thought things through more than he had expected. He knew she was intelligent on a level beyond most commoners, but he had expected her to be ruled by emotions, yet here she was, thinking about how to appease his requests and also stick to decorum. It was a shame she was twisted into a court minister rather than being allowed to grow and keep her sense of self.

“Prince Gilbert,” Dahlia began slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I would like to be included in the plans regarding me and my return.”

“Of course,” Gil agreed immediately, causing Dahlia to doubt his sincerity. “You won’t be returning to Rhodolite."

[tuesday-teyz]

hi omg i have never heard of butterfly reign until a few days ago and now it's taken over my mind you are so talented and awesome and cool

but also. the newest chapter,,, i read it once and didn't think of anything other than "damn dream's rlly smart in this one" but THEN. when i reread it. "On habit, he looks around, but there is nobody in the carriage but him. He takes the lantern into his hands, opens it, and, cupping a hand around his mouth, blows. A moment later a small green flame dances at the end of the wick." that paragraph. are you implying what i think you're implying

Welcome to the Moth gang (I called BR readers moths)

There are a LOT of vital things in that chapter. At this point I'm not even foreshadowing I'm straight up throwing things in your guys' faces. That particular moment... Well it depends on what you think I am implying but I am pretty sure that the answer is yes.

[imsparky2002]

Mirrorverse Crossover - Alya

The sorceress spent no time hearing a true introduction from her counterpart. How could this goody-good let that magical impersonator attack her foxy boyfriend? YzAlya marched right up to TiAlya, absolutely seething with anger. “Listen here, you little-” 

“Hold on, sugah!” TiAyla stated. “I know you’re hot and bothered about what happened to your boo, but I like to consider myself a reasonable person, and I’m gonna need you to step out of my personal space before I take the liberty of making you do so myself.” YzAlya gulped and reluctantly backed away. Something in that girl’s tone said she was someone who could do exactly what she said. TiAlya smiled and called for her boyfriend through the bubble.

“Darlin? Could you fix up Foxy Boy?” TiAlya asked. “You got it, Tadpole.” Fairy GodBro replied, before frowning at his counterpart. He pointed his wand at the pumpkin that had used to be the conman, changing the hybrid back into his normal body.

“Thank you, Sugah Dumplin.” TiAlya said to her partner, who began blushing in response. YzAlya gave a look of pure disgust. “Sugar Dumplin? That’s what you call him?! God, there’s so much saccharine sweetness in this room it’s giving me a cavity.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a little sugar in ya life. That boy’s always there for me, and I’m always there for him. We don't need to hurt anyone to get along. I can't say the same for you.”

YzAlya brushed her off with a handwave. “HA! Just what I would expect to hear from a goody-good like you! MY Nino is the most cunning of scammers! He could swindle that little fairy of yours out of everything he’s got!”

The hybrid puffed his chest out upon hearing his darling’s words. GodBro just rolled his eyes.

“He'd turn that thief into his carriage in a second. And he doesn't even need his magic. All I had to do was give a little push, and Nino's cookin', cleanin', and fixin' things with his bare hands. Could Mr. Swiper over there do the same?” TiAlya retorted, pointing at the swindler. YzAlma sputtered and tried to come up with a comeback. “Hmph! We-well, that just PROVES how much of a fool he is! There’s no greater art than magic, only an imbecile would waste a talent for it! MY Nino could make FAR better use of that wand!”

“Well it wouldn’t work for’im. That boy doesn’t have a good bone in his body.” Alya thought to herself. The girl decided to change the subject. 

“So who are you?” TiAlya questioned. YzAlya stared at her as if she were an imbecile. She blinked rapidly and her head tilted to the side.

“Is your brain made of cheese?! I’m you, you moron!” YzAlya hissed, grinding her teeth. TiAlya rolled her eyes. “No, I mean, what makes you special? How are you any different from me?”

“I am Alya, the br-r-r-riliant soreceress supreme! Master of potions and alchemy! My genius knows no bounds!” YzAlya exclaimed, basking in the smell of her own ego.

JeanCo was watching this grandiose reaction with annoyance.

“Leave the theatrics to the professionals, sweetie” He exclaimed, as he took a sip from his drink. It… tasted a little odd. YzAlya got an incredibly creepy smile on her face, her eyes were wide as she slowly turned around. “Something wrong with your drink, prince?” She stated, sounding absolutely ecstatic as she said it. Jean frowned and tried to respond. “What did you-”

He was cut off as his body began to change. He felt himself getting taller, his skin felt… furrier. Were his ears growing?

“Ohohoho, dear sweet arrogant fool… you shouldn’t have left your drink unattended”. She said the last part in a sing-song voice. 

The transformation was complete, and Jeanco had become a llama.

“Wuh… wh…. AAAAAAHHH!!” Jeanco bleated out, running around the room and screaming their head off. “My face! My beautiful beautiful face!”

“Come on now, baby! There’s nothing wrong with having a bit of beast inside you!” Jeanatoa joked, showing off his crab-hybrid body.

Julebeast decided to comfort Jeanco, knowing what it was like to be transformed, even if she had turned into a beast instead of a llama. The villainous classmates cackled as they heard the young emperor’s repeated cries of “llama face”.  TiAlya just stared at her counterpart in horror and confusion. “H-how did ya even-”

“Extract of llama, my dear. It wasn’t poison, but it’ll ruin his day.” YzAlya giggled.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” TiAlya snapped, with her counterpart relishing in the girl’s concerned anger.

“How’s that for special!” YzAlya began cackling madly, overjoyed that she got to show off her villainous genius. She stopped laughing as she got a look at TiAlya’s worried face.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure your little nurse’s office has a cure for curses.” YzAlya said. “Why, you don’t even need a nurse. Isn’t it true that you can turn animals into humans with a kiss?”

“It don’t work like that, it only works with frogs. I’m not kissin a llama!” TiAlya explained.

“Hmm… maybe I can do the opposite. Yes… there’s these group of brats always thwarting my plans. I could turn them into slimy little frogs, and I wouldn’t have to waste a potion to do so! Absolutely brilliant! Genius, I say!” YzAlya cackled with glee upon cooking up another insidious plan. TiAlya decided that she had enough, and left the room. 

YzAlya went back to her foxy partner, giving him a smooch, and patting his head. “Wow…your Alya seems like she really cares about you.” Fairy GodBro said, honestly impressed with how passionate this villainous Alya was about her Nino. The hybrid couldn’t help but blush as he tried to act smug. “Yep! I'm her sly fox. What a girl. Yours ain't bad too, I mean, a bit plain, but whatevs.” Honest Nino said, in an extremely dismissive manner.

This angered the young fairy, who was quick to react. “She is NOT plain! She is one of the most passionate and dedicated people I’ve ever met.” He responded, his wings flaring up as he did so. Looking to avoid being zapped by the wand again, Honest Nino put his hands up in surrender. “Woah, take it easy, Twinkle Toes. She’s your special princess, I get it. You can be goody-goods together.” He said, avoiding his heroic counterpart’s upset glare. “But she’s got nothing on my Alya! Damn, she’s amazing. A real firecracker! She’s like a monster and a genius at the same time!”

Seeing how crazy they were for each other, Fairy GodBro decided to take his counterpart down a peg. “Well she didn’t seem very fiery a minute ago when my “plain” Alya told her to back off. I can’t blame her though, my lil’ tadpole can make ANYTHING happen if she sets her mind to it!”

Honest Nino decided to cut his losses to avoid this fairy’s wrath. He gave a shit-eating grin and offered a handshake to the GodBro. “Look, I’m not gonna try to win an argument against a dude who can turn me into a vegetable. How about we just agree that our girlfriends are awesome?”

Happy that the situation ended without another fight, Fairy GodBro happily accepted the handshake. “Sounds good to me.” Then he noticed the fox taking a peek at his wand.

“I see you eyeing my wand, don’t even try it. It won’t work for anyone who doesn’t have good in their heart.” Honest Nino grumbled and looked away from the wand. “Aw, rats.”

And that’s Alya’s crossover! This was a collab really between me and @msweebyness, who provided the dialogue (which I edited a little) for the scenes where the Alyas and Ninos simp over each other. Don’t go anywhere, because in a little bit, @msweebyness is dropping her Marinette crossover post. Then later, @artzychic27 will be showing off their Nathaniel post. As always, please let us know what you think in the replies, reblogs, asks, and posts. See you soon!

[kentshadows]

Can someone please explain to me why adding a line break to your bio is so hard?

I, naively, tried just pressing enter, expecting it to work like any other text editor. When I looked at my profile it wasn't there, but it was still present when I went back to the editor, because nothing is ever simple. I looked up a guide, and it turns out the answer is to use the HTML symbol for breakline, <br/>.

Now, I do website development for a living, with a focus on cyber security. I am also not ashamed to admit that I have written my fair share of shody code. However, I cannot begin to fathom why you would seemingly filter out carriage returns when displaying, but would allow HTML injection!

I had some luck getting it to show with the css, and even then it only works on some views but not others. For now though I am tired and defeated, and have accepted the HTML injection. Does anyone know why it's like this?

Maybe another time I'll see how far I can push the HTML injection. I'm hoping there's at least some sanitation, but who knows, maybe I'll be able to get full on Cross-Site Scripting!

[guerrerense]

KWVR Haworth West Yorkshire 26th September 1976 por loose_grip_99 Por Flickr: Three more from the LNER Society rail tour from London St Pancras to Keighley for a visit to the KWVR. Immaculate in BR green livery on shed at Haworth is Waggon und Maschinenbau diesel Railbus 79962. Purchased by the KWVR in 1966 it ran regularly into the 1990s. Following withdrawal it languished in store until 2014 when it was purchased by the Vintage Carriage Trust. It has been cosmetically restored.

[birdsoprey]

Encounter - Indian Black Eagle

To the Soliga people, the Indian Black Eagle is known by the evocative name of kaanana katthalu - The Darkness of the Forest.

The Mighty Black. For most of my birding career, this majestic forest raptor has been elusive. My first sighting of the Indian Black Eagle (Ictinaetus malayensis) was not in the Western Ghats where it is more commonly seen, but in Horsley Hills, in the Eastern Ghats. We had a view of a distant, unmarked dark eagle alighting on a rock. And so it stayed until we found this magnificent hunter again, soaring above the treetops at BR Hills.  Dr. Prashanth, who has spent a great part of his career at VGKK and knows the Biligirirangans very well, accompanied us on one of our best visits to his "home" forest. We saw the Black Eagle several times on that visit, most memorably when we were driving up to Bedaguli. Our eyes were already full of Blue-bearded Bee-eaters and Fairy Bluebirds, but the sight of the day was, quite literally, waiting round the bend. Just before the coffee estate began, a large individual chose to melt out of the dark canopy into the blazing blue sky ahead of us. It must have been about 50 metres from the car, and we gasped in unison.  Imposing in its size and carriage, and soaring majestically into the valley. Later, Prashanth told me that the Soligas call the bird Kaanana-katthalu (literally, 'Darkness of the Forest'). Wondrously poetic and founded on the Soligas' unparalleled jungle wisdom. Sandy (Sandeep Somasekharan) has been particularly lucky company as far as raptors are concerned. As with the Changeable Hawk Eagle, with him I have had some fabulous views of the Black Eagle. He was with us at Bedaguli but things happened too quickly to bring in the photographic evidence. He caught this guy (in the picture) at Ramanagaram when he went there looking for vultures. The vultures were AWOL, but this compensated for Sandy's bad day. And how!  

[stephensmithuk]

A Study in Scarlet: The Lauriston Gardens Mystery

To quote the current dress regulations of the Royal Navy (https://www.royalnavy.mod.uk/-/media/royal-navy-responsive/documents/reference-library/br-3-vol-1/chapter-38.pdf): "Sideburns for RM [Royal Marines] Personnel shall not extend below halfway down the ear." Moustaches can be worn by Royal Marines at their discretion, but not regular Royal Navy personnel. Beards require authorisation and are to be shaved off if the situation means that a gas mask is likely to be needed.

A hansom is a two-wheeled horsedrawn carriage with the driver sitting on an open-air seat at the back and officially two (although three could squeeze in) passengers in an enclosed cab below him, being able to give the driver instructions through a trap door. They were the standard London taxi until motorcabs turned up in 1908 and were largely superseded by the early 1920s, although the last licence for a hansom wasn't given up until 1947. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hansom_cab)

Taxis in London can be hailed on the street or via cab ranks. Minicabs were of course not a thing at this point. The taxi business in London has been regulated since 1635 - when the numbers proliferating the streets were starting to cause hazards.

A hat tip to @geeoharee for raising the distance involved for the taxi journey. At around 5.4 miles drive, you would probably be looking at around £24 at today's prices, depending on traffic.

The Brixton Road dates back to the Roman era as it was part of the London to Brighton (to use their modern names) road - it is today part of the A23 that follows the same route and is notably used for the annual London to Brighton Veteran Car Run. It had - and still has - a lot of Regency-style houses.

Strand is a major throughfare in the City of Westminster, part of the London theatreland area.

Trichinopoly is now called Tiruchirappalli, a major city in Tamil Nadu, India.