#letters to a friend
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
I know what you are.
- I think you know who
Hello Queen Amaranth of “You Stole My Wife” Kingdom /sil
Additionally, I’m not what you think I am at all, I have no idea where you would get that idea from
ignore Cornelius please
#Letters to Amaranth#Letters to a friend#I was just about to post about him too#so thank you for saving me from my faggotry my dear#Deck 52 fictionkin#incredibox fictionkin#fictionkin
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Letters to a Friend
Chapter 5
At Elsbridge, James pestered Wallace about the letter again. They had just dropped off their train, and both crews brought their engines to an empty siding for their next job. The signal man ran down to tell them that they would be waiting a while to proceed to their next job because an engine came to a standstill on their line, probably because of the frost. Until the line is cleared, they won't be going anywhere.
It wasn't as cold as it was in the morning, but frost still covered the land. Bored and curious, James wanted Wallace to finally read the letter. He didn't have to tell the young man twice, as he was dying of curiosity as soon as the letter was given to him. He had skimmed through it, but when he got it from the station master, he really wanted to read the whole thing through with Vance and James. Wallace clambered clumsily off of the red engine’s cab and stumbled all the way to his front. This was quite normal for Wallace, so James and Vance were not surprised in the slightest. Vance sat on James’s buffer, and Wallace stood in front of the two. Holding the letter as if it were some sort of scroll that had a decree from the royal family or something.
He was about to start when he stopped and looked to the back of Edward’s tender that was parked in front of them. He pointed in a questionable manner, as if asking, 'Is he allowed to listen?' Before James or Vance could respond, Edward answered for them. Well, gentleman, if I am invading your privacy, I could move to another siding, but I can't help but be curious as well after you have told me about your endeavour, but I will respect your wishes either way". Wallace was startled; he couldn't find out how he knew what he was doing, and he looked around Edward’s tender, looking for another pair of eyes that the old engine may have hidden. Vance just facepalmed, and James tried to contain a wheeze. The driver looked at his engine and nodded. He doesn't mind Edward listening. James looked between him and Wallace for a moment. If an engine could shrug, he would have, but instead he asked, "Edward? Would you like to know what is in the letter?". The old engine responded politely. "I would be delighted. Thank you, James." With that, Wallace sat on James’s other buffer and read the letter to Vance and the two engines.
Hello and Good day from France!
My name is Andreas Stark; I am 15 years old and live in France. I want to introduce myself, Mr. Marshall, who is a 45-year-old driver originally from Marquise in the northern part of France, and my father, Claus Stark, who is 38 and is also the fireman of our old engine named Leonhard. Leon is a large black 0–10-0 goods engine called the K.BAY.STS.B. class G5/5. He is partially blind in one eye from the First World War, but he is really friendly and would not harm a fly. He likes to work hard, but that often leads to him overworking himself. We all work on a railway in the southern part of France in a place called Belfort, which is close to the Swiss border.
The circumstances under which your letter fell into our hands were completely coincidental. We took a mail train that day, and your letter has fallen out of the bag and onto the floor of the mail van. When I saw the address, I first brought the letter to our administrative office. They threw the letter away, but I picked it up. I don't know why, but now I am glad I did. When I read your letter, I was very pleasantly surprised and couldn't wait to show Leon and my father the letter. Leon was as happy about the letter as I was. I immediately asked my father if we could write you a letter. Getting paper and a pen was the easiest part. My father and I also speak pretty good English, and so does Mr. Marshall, but Leon does not, but he still helped with writing by coming up with ideas of what we could write.
When we finished the letter, the biggest problem was finding a way to mail it. That is where Mr. Marshall came in. Being good friends with a postman, he managed to get some stamps and an envelope in return for a favour in the future. Mr. Marshall also came with a camera that he owns and took a photo of us after we gave Leon a wash-down, which we attached to the letter before we mailed it. If you would like to send us letters in the future, we have put down Mr. Marshall’s address so that we can get the letters directly.
We really loved hearing about you and hope to get to know each other better. Leon wants to say that he would really love to be friends with you, and so would I. We don't have that many friends anymore due to us having to flee our home, and your letter gave us something to look forward to. The days can be quite hard and repetitive, but this is something new and nice for a change. We can't wait to hear from you, and we hope the three of you, Mr. Wallace Peterson, Mr. Vance Jordan, and Mr. James, have a wonderful day.
Sincerely,
Andreas and Claus Stark, Mr. Marshall, and Leonhard
"What a lovely letter," said Edward. Wallace was giddy, happy that his idea paid off and that he has a pen pal now. Even Vance had a soft smile. He took the letter from the jumping fireman. In the envelope was a black and white photo of a large goods engine as well as two men in the cab that he assumed were the driver and fireman, Mr. Marshall and Mr. Stark. Standing on the tender of the engine stood a boy, probably Andreas, waving his arms around from the looks of it. Vance held the picture up to James’s face. The red engine cracked a smile as well. ‘They look like a nice bunch,' he thought to himself.
Vance got up and gave Wallace the picture. The ecstatic fireman takes off with the photo to show it to Edward. James and Vance heard Edward chuckle. Vance looks up at James and says, "So, what do you think? Up for another letter tonight?" James thought for a moment. At first, he didn't think much of his fireman’s idea; it was just a way to pass the time, or so he thought. Now, miraculously, it actually has someone’s attention in southern France. They wrote back… So maybe they are genuine in their interest in a new friendship? He would just have to see. To him, it's still just a letter, but he is curious about them and would like to see where this goes. "Why not? I know Wallace would be upset if we didn't," said the red engine. "We would have to see about potentially getting stamps for our new friends over in France; they seem to have difficulties in that regard," noted Vance. James had no idea where to procure stamps, but Edward suddenly spoke up. "Howard collects stamps; I’m sure he has a few extras to spare if you ask." "Thanks Edward! I’ll be sure to ask when he is back!" shouted Vance to the front, so Edward could hear him while also making the red engine wince at his volume. James thinks that wasn't that necessary since he really believes that the old engine hears better than a bat.
After some time, Edward’s crew returned with food. Vance asked Howard about some spare stamps while the crew all headed inside the station to eat. Leaving the two engines alone outside in an awkward silence. For James, it had seemed to get a little colder. The cool breeze made the red engine shiver in his frame. James looked around, unsure of what to do, and the silence started to make him a bit uncomfortable. James, I can literally hear you tense up. What's wrong? Talk to me," said Edward gently, unable to look directly at him because of the way they were arranged. James stuttered for a moment, looking at Edward or his tender. "W-well I guess I am not used to the silence," he said, more unsure of himself than usual, which did not go unnoticed by Edward.
"You never had a problem striking conversation with engines in the past; what is so different now?" said the old engine, trying to get to the bottom of the red engine’s recent strange change in behaviour. "I have had a lot of things on my mind recently. I have been having a hard time with many of the drastic changes that have happened recently. I don't really understand what is wrong with me recently or what it is that I am feeling. I’m just still trying to find my footing, Edward, nothing else'. James finished with a sigh, as if he had been holding his breath. Edward decided it would be best to leave it at that for now…
There was a bit of silence again; the only thing you could hear if you listened closely was the sound of engines in the distance, the low howl of the wind, and yard workers talking to each other further down the line. Edward, in an effort to break the silence, spoke again. "What do you think of the young boy who sent you and your crew the letter?" Edward asked instead. "Hmmm… Hm! W-what?" "In your own world, James?" he teased lightly. "N-no just… Whatever, what was the question again?" James asked, turning red at being caught zoning out. "I asked what you think of the lads in your letter." James muttered a quiet ‘oh’. "I- I think they seem like the nice sort; I’m not entirely sure what to make of them though based on that one letter; I mean, it's just a letter, right? I would hardly consider this a way to make a proper friend, not like a friendship that we have, for example, at least". " Letters have helped maintain contact with people across the world for ages. It can help form all kinds of relationships, but only if you want to. Remember James, there is a person on the other end who wrote it. Much like meeting new people, you barely know anything about them; these were more like introductory letters. Over time, you can get to know each other better and form a friendship that can last a lifetime, much like old Turner and his friend in America; he goes to visit him every year now. I don't see why you can't do the same James." Edward told the red engine. "Well, I can hardly just travel to France whenever I feel like-" "You know that is not what I meant James, give it a shot; maybe you’ll be surprised." James paused. "I guess you're right," he said, slightly resigned.
James and Edward’s crew returned shortly after having finished their meal. Wallace ran up to his engine and said, "Guess who is getting a washdown today!" James smiled widely at this news. "We’ll be taking a nice picture of you to send to Andreas." Vance followed up after catching up with his energetic fireman and trying to warm up his fingers by rubbing them together and blowing on them, causing him to puff similarly to an engine. That made James let out an amused snort. Vance continued to follow Wallace, and they climbed back into their engine’s cab. Howard and Edward’s driver stood close to the station, talking to the signal man. Howard was then the first to go over to Edward. He told both engines that the obstruction had been cleared and that it was safe to proceed to their next job. Edward was to leave for Hackenbeck, and afterwards James was to head for Knapford for another goods train. The signal went down, and Edward whistled a goodbye to James, "See you in the sheds tonight James," and he slowly steamed away. James followed soon after.
The rest of the day was rather uneventful for James, who just pulled trains back and forth, to and fro, round and about across the island for the rest of the day. As evening pulled in, James returned to Tidmouth, and the crew stopped their engine on a siding to wash him down. Men were already standing with buckets of water, soap, rags, and polish. His crew also got out to help wash their engine. James usually doesn't let just anybody close to his face after all, especially in the area where he has his scar. Wallace and Vance took off their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. For a winter day, it wasn't that cold. The sun shone softly, and the frosty rails shimmered lightly. A light, warm breeze brought in nice fresh air for James and the men. Vance wet a rag and soaped it up a bit. He climbed up to his engine’s face and started cleaning. He was especially gentle around the scar, watching the engine’s face in case his expression changed or showed any kind of discomfort. When he finished, he rubbed his engine's nose affectionately, much to his annoyance. Vance then dried off his face before climbing back down. The red engine enjoyed his washdown very much, feeling like it was a much-needed massage for his sore joints.
When the crew finished cleaning and polishing James, Vance put his jacket back on as it was getting colder again, as if Wallace’s shivering and complaining were to go off of. Remembering the picture he wanted to take for the letter, he climbed back into James’s cab to grab the camera that he had stored there during one of their stops before coming here. He was able to dash home real quick, grab some more food, greet his kids, and find his camera. He climbed back down with his camera in hand. Wallace finished with the final touches before putting his stuff back on and trying to make himself look a little more presentable. Vance asked one of the workmen to take a photo of them. He explained how the camera works and quickly rushed over to James and Wallace, who was still trying to figure out a good pose. The workman directed the men into the proper position before asking the two men and James to smile. What followed was a bright flash and a whirring sound. The workman handed the camera back over to Vance, and he thanked the workman for doing him this quick favour.
Afterwards, the men slowly backed their tired engine into his spot in the sheds. It was dark now, and the skies were clear. The crescent moon and bright stars visible in the sky are the only sources of light besides the shed lights. Gordon, Henry, Edward, and Emily were also in the sheds, having finished their duties earlier than James. Edward was the only one to greet him at first, as Gordon and Henry seemed to be either having a really loud conversation or arguing about something. Emily keeps dozing off, but she did notice James. She greeted him before yawning and finally falling asleep. She had long mastered the art of cancelling everyone’s voices out when she wanted to sleep. Henry and Gordon put a halt to their conversation when they heard Emily greet him. "Oh, hello James, how was your day?" said Gordon. "About as good as yesterday… and the day before that, and the day before that," responded James. "Well, at least the weather wasn't so bad today, and you look like you just had a washdown," noted Henry with a smile. "Thank you for noticing Henry. It was still rather chilly today, and I have been told it is going to get worse. By the way, what happened up the line in Elsbridge, where Edward was headed? We were told the tracks were blocked," asked James, to which Edward responded, "Turns out Thomas came off the rails; nothing major; they were able to get him on the rails again. He’s a bit cross, but he’ll be fine".
As the engines talked about the day's events, James’s crew dropped his fire and got him ready for the night. Vance strode up to his engine, patting him on the buffer. "Looking good Jim. Have a good night." "You too Vance, get home safely," the red engine responded. "Looking good? He’s gorgeous!" Wallace yelled, running after Vance after he had turned off the shed lights; now the moon was the only source of light aside from James's face, which was practically glowing red with embarrassment.
Henry howled in laughter, and Gordon grinned mischievously. "Well well my good engine I was not aware that we were in the presence of ultimate beauty." "Oh, leave me be Gordon," grunted James. Henry howled even louder, waking Emily. "Really? Do you have to be so loud?" she yawned tiredly. "James is gorgeous, apparently," came from the end of the shed. "Wow, what did I miss?" said the Stirling single, still a little dazed. Even she chuckled a bit. Henry was still wheezing uncontrollably, and Gordon continued to mock the red engine between his own laughter. The red engine had a grimace etched onto his face from the somewhat expected relentless teasing.
The only comforting voice came from the blue engine next to him. "There is nothing to be embarrassed about; you can just ignore their teasing; you know they just want to get under your paint." "I know Edward; I just know I won't hear the end of that one for weeks. Thanks, Wallace... He really just had to say that, didn't he? You know, I often feel like he just says things without thinking." "Well, I’m sure he did not mean to embarrass you in front of the others; from my perspective, Wallace is just a very passionate, albeit somewhat all over the place, kind of man, and I’d say you and Vance are the most important faces in his life." Edward smiled when James nodded knowingly. "You know, he once told me he does not have family anymore; he didn't tell me what happened, but he said it's kind of why he always goes out of his way to be around Vance and me. It kind of makes sense though, when you think about it. He goes home every night to an empty apartment, with no one to greet him when he gets back or someone to talk to. I remember what it is like to feel alone, so I feel for him." The thought of being alone brought memories from the red engine's past to the surface. He was not very close to his siblings on his old railway, or anybody else for that matter, but he remembers the emptiness he felt when he got the news that his class was being retired. He shook in his frame, not keen to remember those times.
"Well, let's think of it this way. I think you and your crew have a very special kind of relationship. I’m close to Howard and Robert, yes, but they are more like good friends. We still try to remain professional, and I am not that knowledgeable about their past or personal lives, though they have been my footplate crew for many years. I only know that Robert has three grandchildren, a son, and a wife. Howard is married but has never had any children; he lives in a small cottage with his wife and his nephew. Now look at Gordon's crew. Charlie is always arguing with Gordon. Or Henry's crew; Francis is still rather new as a driver and has been given an engine that needs a little more finesse while handling. Emily’s driver is a rather distant and not the most talkative man, which has led to miscommunication on quite a few occasions. From my standpoint, I believe that You, Wallace and Vance, have a unique understanding of each other's strengths and weaknesses; you work well together, and you look after and respect each other. You are more at ease with those two than you ever have been with any crew before. It's something to cherish." Edward finished.
While they spoke, the snickering from the other engines gradually died down. While Henry, Emily, and Gordon had fallen asleep, Edward and James were still up. For a while, they just looked at the night sky together, enjoying the peaceful silence. It did not make him as anxious as it did in the morning. Perhaps because James was preoccupied with thinking. He thought over Edward’s words. The red engine was remembering things again. He thought about his footplate crew. The day they met, the times they fought, the times they comforted each other, the way they would laugh together... he thought about how he absolutely loved Vance and Wallace. They treated him as a unique individual and not just another engine. They treated each other like family. Those two special men treated him better than his actual so-called family ever did. Almost everyone on this railway treated him better than the people and engines on his old railway, he thought. Especially Edward… James looked over at the blue engine and thought for a moment. He thought about how the old engine said his relationship with his crew was something to cherish. It made his thoughts wander to the engine next to him.
"Edward?" "Hmm?" the old engine looked over to James. "Do you have anyone that you especially cherish? Like with any of your footplate crew in the past or any Engines?" The old engine stared out at the sky for a moment. "Hmmm… well. I really love the many people and engines on this railway. I always felt that Thomas was like a son to me. Same with Bill and Ben. I am also especially grateful for my relationship with Sir Topham Hatt and his family. And I would like to think that The engines of this island are good friends to me. But I am closest to Gordon, Henry, Percy, Toby, and of course you, James." Edward finished with a smile. James blushed a bit and averted his gaze, which was directed intensely at the blue engine.
"But I guess you already knew that. You want to hear something different, right? I believe you want to know about those who had a significant impact on my life in my younger days, perhaps?" James nodded slowly. Edward looked up again; he seemed lost in thought. "I was once very close to a man named Johnny Bay. He was a fireman back when I was still working on the Furness Railway. I had multiple different crews depending on shifts, but John was special because he always had some snacks for the engines he was assigned to. He was closer to the engines than he was to other people. He also gave us nicknames."
"What did he call you?" smirked James. Edward laughed. "He called me Toffee." James went wide-eyed and tried to contain his laughter. "It's alright; it was meant to be funny. I used to love Toffee, and he especially got Toffee for me. There was an engine I worked with that he nicknamed Scone; another he called Pudding; another was called Tart… See a pattern? My favourite was our old shunter that he nicknamed Whisky, though that nickname was a little more problematic as a tipsy locomotive was a bit counterproductive. So John only gave him candies with small amounts of whisky. But John always loved to spend time with us; he loved to sing us drinking songs, tell us tall tales, play the occasional prank on other footplate crews, etc. He was quite agile for an old man. Every engine loved that man, and he was never unhappy, even when everyone else had no reason to be happy. He absolutely adored us engines the most. I remember a time when we were in our sheds during a particularly nasty storm. He came in completely soaked with a basket. We had a picnic of sorts. He spread a blanket on the shed floor for himself and spread some food around. He had many exotic things for us to try. Whisky apparently had a severe dislike of mangoes." Edward laughed at the memory before his smile fell. He sighed before he continued.
"I had a younger brother. Everyone called him Jr. He was named after one of our predecessors, a K1 Seagull named George. He followed me around like a lost puppy. It used to annoy me, but now I look back on those times with great fondness. He was the kindest engine in our yard, helpful, eager, smart… He was truly the best of us; he still had our typical shy steaming troubles, but he rarely ever let them show, which often led to him overworking himself, and he would also take any job given to him without complaints."
"He sounds a lot like you," smiled James. "Well, I do try to be as hardworking as he was when he was alive. I admit that when I was young, I was cocky, arrogant, and very impatient... I felt that what prompted me to change was when I had already been on Sodor and was told Jr. was in an accident and was being sent away for scrap. That really stirred something within me. I remember thinking, ‘Why him?’ He was a hard worker; why him and not me?" James looked down, and Edward sighed. He had a tired smile, and his eyes showed his age.
"Do you still feel bad?" the red engine asked carefully. "No, not that much anymore." James raised a brow in question at the response. Edward chuckled at his expression before looking back up at the starry sky. "I got to see him before they took him away, thanks to Sir Topham Hatt letting me take a train to Barrow in Furness so I could go see him before the scrap train left. He wasn't upset that he was being scrapped. He told me the only thing he regretted was not being able to spend more time with his favourite big brother." The old engine choked out the last part. He took a deep breath in an attempt to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. James grew concerned; he was unsure of what he should do, but he felt he should not say anything and interrupt his train of thought. If Edward didn't want to continue, he was sure he would say so.
"You can imagine how hard I cried," Edward said with a half-hearted smile. "I’m not even ashamed to admit it... He told me he had already come to terms with being scrapped, and he spent most of the time trying to console me. I remember constantly apologising to him for the times I mistreated or ignored him, and he just laughed it off like it was nothing; he wasn't the type to hold grudges, I guess. But before he left, he did make me promise him one thing, one thing as his last wish." "And what's that?" asked James cautiously. "He made me promise him to live a long, happy working life, find new friends, and find a new family... I promised... Then the train took him away."
The sheds were silent. Edward sighed in relief, his tense expression easing from his face. "I’m sorry, Edward." James spoke quietly; the heartbreaking story had made him emotional as well. For a while, the only thing that could be heard between the two engines was a soft, cool breeze through the yards. "Don't be! We have known each other for years now, and I do consider you to be my family. Understand that that is why I worry about you and occasionally tease you or am strict with you. I enjoy your company, and I enjoy working with you. To me, it was no big deal to tell you a personal story, especially since you asked and I trust you, so I was more than happy to share with you." He had no words for Edward's admission. To James, what he had just said was a really big deal, but he couldn't come up with anything to say. He awkwardly cleared his throat and contemplated for a bit. "I, um… I appreciate the sentiment." Edward’s expression fell a bit at that, like that was not what he was hoping for, but was quickly replaced with a smile again.
"Well, James, would you want to share anything about your past crew or your siblings?" asked the old blue engine. "Oh, well..." James tried to recall. "I was kind of an oddball amongst my siblings, and they treated me as such, either downright insulting me or ignoring me. I have had many crew members who liked me, but they were always more like colleagues than friends. Lawrence I had the pleasure of calling a friend. The war did make it so we had to trust each other, and it made me upset when I saw what it did to him. Then came Vance and Wallace. I remember at first I couldn't stand Vance; he would just bark orders and didn't consider my wishes… When it came to goods trains… Anyway, Wallace at the time was new to the yards over here, and I just remember thinking of him as a bit of a scatterbrain. He didn't annoy me as much as he did Vance… We really gave Vance a hard time, now that I'm remembering… but one night we got stuck in a siding as the switches broke and were stuck against me. Instead of just finding a place to stay, Wallace decided to stay. Vance went to find a place but then came back because he either couldn't find a place or because he felt bad. I think he felt bad because he wasn't gone for long. We just talked… all night. Vance told us about his family: his wife and kids, his parents, his siblings, yknow. Wallace told us about his travels and his difficult upbringing. He was always much more open, probably because he didn't have much to lose. I told them about the Lancaster and Yorkshire Railway, about my time on Sodor, my crash, my paintwork, and so on. We talked well into the morning when workmen came to fix the points. After that day, we had a sort of understanding, and over time, that developed into a bond, I guess... Beyond what Lawrence and I had."
Edward smiled. "Thank you for sharing with me." O- oh sure, you know, we should maybe… talk… like this more often?" The red engine stuttered, looking away. "I’d like that," said Edward with a smile. "And thank you, Edward, for sharing. I’m actually grateful," said the red engine. "Of course James, anytime. I thank you for listening. I appreciate it. Anyway, we should get some sleep. We’ll be up early again." "Yes, you're right… Goodnight Edward" "Goodnight Gorgeous." Edward snickered, backing into his sport in the shed, leaving James a spluttering mess. James just grunted in the end and backed into the shed as well. Before falling asleep, he just watched the stars for a little while longer, sighing deeply before slowly drifting off to sleep.
#letters to a friend#thomas and friends#thomas the tank engine#ttte#ttte edward#ttte james#edward the blue engine#james makes a new friend#james the splendid engine#james the red engine#gordon the big engine#ttte henry#henry the green engine#ttte gordon#ttte emily#ttte oc
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tim drake outed as #1 nightwing fan
Text transcript:
Bart: Hey, Kon, doesn’t that guy remind you of Robin?
Kon: No way! Robin would never do something as geeky as wearing superhero merch! And aren’t him and Nightwing like siblings anyways?
#the mortifying ordeal of being caught wearing your brothers merch by your friends#dc#yj98#young justice 1998#young justice#bart allen#kon el#tim drake#my art#comic lettering my beloved#its just so much fun
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
The sparkling correspondence of a great author - #1937Club
Today’s book for the #1937Club is one that’s long overdue some attention, lurking as it has been on Mount TBR since its reissue in 2014 (ten years ago – OMG!!!) It’s a release from indie publisher Michael Walmer, and was the first in his ‘belles-lettres’ series. A chunky and handsome volume, it’s “Letters to a Friend” by the esteemed author Winifred Holtby, and it makes absolutely fabulous…
View On WordPress
1 note
·
View note
Text
i do not know who this letter is for
i am not a delicate flower, or the relief of a gentle breeze on a blistering summer day. i am not the innocent crush accompanying young love, or the fantasies you have about the girl next door. i am not a pretty shade of pink, and i am not a ray of sunshine.
i am the midnight black ink that scribbles your most undesirable inner thoughts down in a notebook, under the flicker of a single candles light. none can see the secrets i hold, yet you burn my words away in the flame, anyways - just to be certain. you doubt my ability to hold your secrets, yet you do not realize that fear & doubt reside only within your preconceived notions.
i would willingly have burnt myself away, before i spilled your treasures for others to bear witness to. the tears rolling off your cheeks are like a fine wine that has been given to me as a sacred gift. the trembling of your voice shakes my soul as if earthquakes were to consume the entire world, within a single heartbeat. words falling from your lips crash through every wall that i have ever built, demolishing my ideas like towns underneath a wave of boulders that are falling from the highest mountains.
tell me your secrets, and they will never again see the light of day, if you so choose. in the same breath, i must tell you i am ready to take on wars for you. i will fight any burden that has ever fallen upon you, removing any trace of the aches/pains they left in your tattered heart. every enemy you've ever known will vanish - sent away to reclaim their own soul's purpose, no longer a concern for you. i will scour the earth, searching for all of your missing pieces, so that you may piece them back together in any manner of your choosing. i do not care the order in which you choose to reassemble yourself, so long as you find it in you to feel whole once more.
my only desire's are to see yours be fulfilled. i wish to be reintroduced to you a thousand times over, getting to know each and every version of you with precise detail. i want to known your shadows, your demons, your worries & fears... every bit of darkness you hold will bear witness to my light, & vice versa. i require nothing of you, other than a deep willingness to meet yourself in all versions.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Hot take maybe but I think Bertie would be FAR more likely to survive the first two months of Dracula than Jeeves would be. Bertie has a healthy sense of self-preservation. Jeeves consistently underestimates how dangerous a situation might get (Steeple Bumpleigh, the club book) because he’s overconfident about his level of control over any given situation. He'd handle Dracula masterfully if they faced off in England, but on Dracula's home turf? Much more doubtful.
I realize this might be a tough sell, so I will explain further (or it's not a tough sell, and I'm going to explain further because I want to). (criteria taken from @canyourfavesurvivecastledracula) Without further ado.
Would Jeeves and Wooster survive Castle Dracula?
Jeeves
Jeeves' survival will depend on how long Dracula finds him more entertaining than irritating. On that basis, I don't think he's long for this world. On the one hand, he has a huge wealth of knowledge about English society and culture that he can recite perfectly from memory. That should buy him at least a little time with noted teaboo Dracula.
On the other hand, he would be absolutely no fun as a vampire plaything. Jeeves cannot be got. Sneaking up on him while he's shaving will yield zero reaction (though that's at least good for his short-term survival--given that, although he DID take the crucifix from the old woman out of politeness, he certainly isn't going to wear it. The rules of fashion don't go out the window just because you're in a spooky castle). Then, although managing the whims of rich jerks is not an insignificant part of a valet's job, Jeeves usually does this by bending his employers to his will. Dracula is not the sort of employer this will work on. It'll just add insult to injury when on top of being impossible to scare, NOW Jeeves is telling Dracula that his favorite cloak is several centuries out of fashion and he's not allowed to wear it anymore.
Jeeves will 100% go exploring in the areas he was told not to go-- though to be fair, he MIGHT actually get away with this, what with his superpower of appearing in rooms without being seen or heard. Said superpower might save him from the brides as well (though this is by no means guaranteed). Since I find it doubtful that Dracula would come to rescue his annoying ass, not being noticed is his best defense.
There are a couple other things working in Jeeves's favor; the question is just whether they'll be enough to save him.
He DOES know shorthand, and could try to send coded letters. He might even have the foresight to squirrel away some extra stationary where Dracula can't find it. But could he get them posted? Would it even do him any good?
He certainly has enough cultural literacy to figure out what his new boss is pretty quickly. If he didn't chuck the crucifix out the carriage window, he might start carrying it around in his pocket.
Psychology of the individual, sure, but the individual in question is a 400-year-old vampire who lives in an isolated castle in a foreign country and is regarded as a terrifying mythological figure in the surrounding villages. Jeeves has never come up against anything this alien before, he's cut off from his normal resources, and opportunities to play people against each other are limited.
He probably has enough upper body strength from all that shrimping and fishing to climb the wall, so he COULD escape if he wanted to, if he survived long enough. It's just, again, that overconfidence, and also Dracula has a vast library full of rare old books that are entirely at his disposal. He's keeping his eyes and ears alert for potential escape strategies, of course, but I don't see him being as desperate to get out as Jonathan was.
There are just a lot of "depends on"s here, and I'm not convinced that luck would shake out in Jeeves's favor, all things considered.
Bertie
Bertie is so perfect for the job of Castle Dracula Prisoner it's like it was made for him. Think about it. Being held against his will in big manor houses comes more naturally to him than breathing. He's afraid of things that are scary. A lifetime of dealing with Aunt Agatha has made him the world's preeminent expert in "curl[ing] up in a ball in the hope that a meek subservience [will] enable [him] to get off lightly." He will NEVER go exploring in places he's been warned away from if nobody is forcing him to (Rev. Aubrey Upjohn's office notwithstanding. There were biscuits in there). He's both fun to talk to and easy to toy with (and extremely English). A+ prisoner. Dracula adores him.
In my opinion, Bertie is at Castle Dracula either because Aunt Agatha got some wires seriously crossed and thinks he’s going to meet an eligible potential bride (I mean, there are certainly brides there), or because Dracula has something Aunt Dahlia wants him to steal (far less likely, given that one of Dracula’s THINGS is famously not owning anything silver). Either way, he's shown himself entirely willing and able to escape down drainpipes if a sitch gets too scaly.
He DOES take the crucifix, and DOES wear it (which is what will save him during the shaving scene, because you KNOW he's going to jump a foot and cut himself like the dickens). He's read enough supernatural goosefleshers to be genre savvy about terrified old women cryptically pushing crucifixes into one's hands. I also think his sunny disposish endeared him to the villagers, and they were particularly vehement about urging him not to go. He doesn't speak German or Romanian, but he's empathetic enough to recognize Pure Terror. So by the time he actually gets to the castle, his imagination is already running wild and he's plenty aware that he is in imminent danger.
I think the biggest risk to Bertie will be the brides; whether or not he's susceptible to trances, if he thinks they're trying to marry him, it's against the code of the Woosters to turn them down. But that only becomes an issue if he comes face to face with them, which, luckily, I think is unlikely on account of the aforementioned "won't go exploring" (and if he did, Dracula would definitely rescue him).
I'm inclined to say due to his drainpipe-escape habits that he WOULD be able to climb the wall and MAY attempt to sneak into Dracula's room to look for the keys if his desperation grows to outweigh his fear. Whether he does or not, though, he does NOT have the stomach to attempt shovel murder, and therefore won't get magic brain fever, and may very well simply walk out the front doors when the people come to take the boxes away. OR he climbs his way out like Jonathan did. Either way.
When Bertie tells this story at the Drones later, Tuppy will say that no doubt it's been greatly exaggerated and all that probably happened was that he spent a couple months in an oldish house entertaining a weird loner.
#do YOU think jeeves and wooster would survive castle dracula? let me know in the comments!#they're in the castle separately instead of together because those are the rules ok#the isolation is key#though if anyone wants to speculate about what would happen if they went together i will NOT complain#i don't even know what's going on with the tenses in this post i'm sorry#//#jeeves and wooster#reginald jeeves#bertie wooster#dracula#do i need to tag dracula spoilers?#sure there are some people new to receiving letters from our good friend jonathan harker#here it is just in case:#dracula spoilers#i have done my due diligence
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Neo Twiny Jam - bite-sized review
The Neo Twiny Jam (@neo-twiny-jam) is an interactive fiction game unranked jam where participants could not write more than 500 words per entry.
You can find every submitted piece on the jam's Itch Page.
=============
letters to a friend by lazyguppy
Entry - More by lazyguppy CW: depression + anxiety
Stranger, not always danger... From a simple addressing mistake, a stranger sends you letters about mundane things happening to them, their worries, and hopes. Like some sort of bizarre one-way penpal, the stranger tries to reach out to you, a shut-in, or maybe just finds comfort in the knowledge that maybe someone sees them.
0 notes
Text
I love libraries.
I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.
Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.
This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.
Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.
Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.
Excuse me while I go weep.
#books#history is awesome#of course i checked it out#i had no real intent to read wwi non-fic but i couldn't just leave my new friend there it'd be lonely#i want to break out in tears every time i look at it#it's so stupid but sometimes something stupid just kicks you straight in the heart and you just gotta deal#it's old front line by john masefield#i know nothing about it except thinking the author's name sounded vaguely familiar#also the interior design is fantastic#these old books know how to use white space and make something super readable#if you must know i was in the wwi section because i was at the history museum the other day#and saw a local author had a book of wwi letters#thought i'd see if the library had it#looked at the selection of non-fic surrounding it and thought of the wwi persuasion#saw many books that could be useful#and thought 'oh no this looks like fun'#it won't go anywhere i know i won't be able to focus long enough to do real research#but darn if it wasn't an appealing little daydream
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
steve if he thinks you got hurt in a battle and you didn’t - the RELIEF that would wash over this man
fem!reader; steve finds you after the battle with vecna. you confess to doing something stupid, and steve cuddles you stupid ✩
For the most part, your injuries are superficial. Claret caked in a smearing line over your temple, matting a few stray curls to the side of your head, a couple of rogue handprints against your pulse point, fingerprints marked in blood on your skin, and a twisted ankle that’ll heal on its own with some ice and elevation.
You’re back in Eddie’s trailer, the curly haired boy propped against your shoulder as you wrestle him upright to wrap sheet after sheet of bandages over his midriff. Eddie can feel your panic like a dumbbell pressed to his chest, your eyes flitting upward at every sound as though something is about to jump out and savage you.
“So, you and Harrington, huh?” Eddie fixes you with a sidelong glance, corners of his mouth tipping up teasingly.
“I know. You think it’s weird, right?”
Eddie hisses as you wrap a particularly sore spot, brows pinching into a frown. He keeps talking despite the throbbing in his side.
“Not weird. Just… unexpected. I get why you didn’t tell me.” You pull his t-shirt back over his ribs - now obscured by a thick layer of padding - and twirl his hair into a frizzy ponytail at the nape of his neck while he talks, pleased for the distraction from waiting for Steve’s return.
“I didn’t tell you cause I thought you’d be weird about it or something. Like… I know what school was like for us, and I didn’t want you to think less of me because I love him. He’s a great guy, Ed.”
“You love him, huh?” he coos.
“Shut up. I hate you.” you snort.
You drop your head to Eddie’s shoulder. Maybe chasing after those demobats behind him wasn’t your smartest move, but you have your best friend — alive, whole, and almost back to his full annoying self.
You’re so diligently pleading your case to your theatrical best friend you almost miss Steve slip through the crack in the door. Your lashes twitch when he makes a beeline for you.
“Hey, honey,” he sighs. You feel every one of his muscles uncoil as he wraps himself around you, a protective hand curled over the back of your head. “I was worrying about you, sweet girl.”
“Hey, Stevie,” you coo. You feel strangely close to tears already, throat thick and clogged with it. Eddie busies himself hobbling to the kitchen in search of snacks. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine, angel. Show me your leg?”
“My leg’s fine!” you blurt, speech jilted with an incredulous laugh. He turns up a few steps from death’s door, and his priority is your fat ankle. “Just…sit. Let me look at you properly, yeah?”
“Let me stay like this for a sec, okay?” He’s wrapped an arm and a leg over your body, crouched where you’re sitting on the carpeted floor. His voice is a whisper against your skin. Then louder with a question. “Whose blood is this, angel?”
“Eddie’s, probably,” you answer round a yawn. “Bats got a chunk out of him.”
“Okay.” He smears a kiss at your jaw. “Why are you so covered, baby?”
“‘Cause I’m a really great friend?” You grimace, eyes crinkling as you prepare yourself for the brunt of the confession. “And maybe… maybe ‘cause I went out there to save his ass.”
You hide your face against the hollow of Steve’s throat, feeling oddly close to crying again. The sting of tears pervades your sinuses, lips pursed in a futile attempt to keep it at bay.
“I couldn’t let him die, Stevie. He was all I had once, you know.”
“You’re too fucking sweet for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, rocking back on his heels until you’re well and truly trapped in his embrace, squished and helpless as he kisses every inch of you. “My girl. I love you, you self-sacrificing idiot.”
You snort, squeezing him with as much gusto as his injuries will allow. “For the record, Eddie’s the self-sacrificing one. Not me! Be mad at him. I’m just his knight in shining armour, duh.”
“Okay, angel.” Steve’s voice is thick, and your hands cradle his cheeks when he tilts downward to gather more of you up and into his grasp. “Don’t do it again though, okay? I was so worried about you.”
You sniff, lips smacking wetly over his jaw. “You know I’d do it for you too, handsome.”
“And I’d do anything for you. But let’s not let it come to that too often. Deal?”
“Deal.” You let him wrestle you into another squeezing cuddle. “We should just stay in bed tomorrow or something, right?” Giggling, you press your forehead to Steve’s cheek. “I think my house fell into a hole.”
“You can stay with me, angel,” he laughs. “I don’t want to be away from you, anyway.”
Eddie rolls his eyes with a groan from his firm place on the couch. “For the record, this is disgusting,” He obnoxiously crunches a - most definitely stale - Dorito between his front teeth. “But I guess this is cute, or whatever.” He points at Steve, eyes narrowed. “If you’re ever mean to her, I swear to God I will hunt you down, Harrington.”
“Sounds fair to me,” Steve shrugs, smearing yet another kiss over your face.
You suppose there’s worse ways to experience the end of the world.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington fic#steve x reader#steve x female reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x female reader#love letters#ily#writers on tumblr#writer#writing#writing for fun#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x fem#stranger things fic#best friend!eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you#stranger things x y/n#stranger things#stranger things 4
517 notes
·
View notes
Text
ID: Sepia tone art of Chara and Asriel from Undertale, a signature in the middle says "@ascelhire". They are playing in a muddy flower patch filled with leaves, picking up handfuls and smiling. Text over the art reads; "I just hope" "we'll be friends" "for 999 more years". /End ID
My dear old friend, don't hurt your eyes Seeing you in all this pain hurts more than my demise Just wait, you'll see soon That it's better once you let me go and see it through
#safeutdr#undertale#ascel art#chara dreemurr#asriel dreemurr#(lyrics are from dear old friend by chevy :] !)#(happy 9th ut anniversary ! i am normal over the letter)
858 notes
·
View notes
Text
Letters to a Friend
Chapter 3
What a Coincidence
Sunlight creaked through old, worn-down wooden beams.
They shone on the young boy’s face, and he stirred from his sleep.
"Morgen," a familiar, gentle voice said.
The boy grinned, sat up, and stretched.
His face, clothes, and blanket were full of coal dust.
A tender was not the best place to sleep, but he didn't have much alternative.
"Gut geschlafen?" asked the engine kindly.
"wie ein Stein," said the boy, which literally means ‘slept like a rock'.
The engine laughed at this.
The boy carefully climbed down from the engine’s tender.
His small stature made this a little difficult but he has had the time to perfect his own method.
He bunched up his blanket and threw it down into the cab. He got up to follow.
When he got to the engine’s footplate he picked up the blanket and put it under his arm.
The boy climbed down the ladder as far as he could and jumped down the rest of the way before landing on his feet.
He hummed a cheerful tune as he walked around in front to say good morning to his best friend.
The engine was painted black, and the once-red paint on all ten driving wheels had faded over time.
The engine as a whole was filthy and covered in grime and dirt.
His boiler was covered in dents and paintwork was chipped in many places.
His parts were worn from use, it has been a while since he had last had any sort of maintenance.
He also has a bad eye with a long, gash that had scared over with time. It reached from the top of the engine's eyebrow and down to his cheek.
The old worn out engine gave the boy a warm smile.
The boy put his blanket on the engines buffer beam before clambering up to the engine’s face and giving the engine a hug. The young boy could hear the engine sigh happily. He giggled and nuzzled his crooked nose carefully. The engine closed his eyes and if he could he would lean into the embrace.
The two separated when their attention was drawn to the hear light snores on a separate berth next to them.
The engine looked over knowing and loving smile.
Next to the two was another, much larger engine still dozing peacefully.
Even the sunlight that shined though the cracks in the shed door and shone directly into the engines eyes did not seem to bother the slumbering giant.
This engine, though not as old as the first, also looked worn and dirty.
She had 10 large wheels like the other engine but also had two smaller ones in the front and in the back.
She had bent smoke deflectors and a large dent in her tender. Otherwise she was in a similar condition as the first engine, not completely broken and still able to work.
The small boy climbed down from his friend and went over to the large engine. He then clambered up to her face and laughed looking at the funny faces she made while she slept.
The large engine continued to snore softly, completely unperturbed by the boy’s laughter.
He continuously poked her in the nose until she finally opened a tired eye to peer over at the disturbance before closing it again with a tired groan.
"mmmm… 5 minuten," said the large engine.
He continued poking and teasing her, her eyes squinting and nose wiggling which made the boy go into a full fit of laughter. She finally gave in and opened both eyes and smiled down at him.
"Morgen Andreas," she said to the boy. He gave the large engine a good morning hug as well.
The crunching of ballast outside of the door alerted the three to an approaching figure headed toward their shed.
The door creaked loudly as they were opened, and two men entered. One man used large improvised wedges to hold the doors open and illuminated the shed. The other whistled a joyful tune.
The three had to wait for their eyes to adjust to the brightness before looking out at the scenery before them.
It was a beautiful morning.
The sky was lit with a mixture of orange and yellow and the grass around the old sheds were covered in morning dew. The air was crisp and the engines were met with a “pleasantly” cool and gentle breeze, considering the time of year.
The shed laid further off from the mainline in a disused shunting yard. The tracks themselves have seen better days much like the overall condition of the shed.
The same could be said for some of the abandoned rollingstock still sitting in the sidings untouched and overgrown, slowly being reclaimed by nature.
The wood was rotting away, the paint was chipped if not completely missing and some trucks had wheels missing or were completely turned on their side.
They could all hear the first trains of the day vigilantly at work in the distance. Puffs of smoke rising into the air accompanied with the gentle rhythm of wheels clacking against the rails. It would be almost time for the two engines to get ready for work.
Both of the engine’s fireboxes were barely simmering since the stoker in charge of watching their fires left some time ago but there was still warmth in their boilers. They had a tender full of water and a reasonable amount of coal.
“Alright everyone, time for another productive and most likely difficult day” The other man said to the three. The thought made the older engine painfully aware of his still aching joints. The larger engine also did not seem to excited about the prospect.
As the two men approached the three, the boy climbed off of the large engine and went to the shorter and younger of the two men, who warmly greeted him with a hug. The man chuckled and peppered his face with kisses making the boy squeal and laugh.
The man, named Claus, decided to release his son and the boy took off giggling and climbed back onto the older engines buffer. Claus follows and greets the engine with a smile and a pat on the buffer.
“Morgen Claus” the engine greeted his fireman in return.
“Andreas hat dich hoffentlich nicht lang wachgehalten letzte nacht.” Than man ruffled his son’s dirty blond locks.
The engine chuckled when Andreas playfully bit the offending hand messing up his hair.
Claus apparently left the sheds early as he normally sleeps on his engine’s cab floor.
His lack of presence when Andreas and the engine woke indicated he was already out and about running errands. He most likely went out to get something to eat for his son and himself.
Claus did in fact procure a large loaf of bread with some cheese.
With their limited income they try to get by with what they can.
They also occasionally are given food by a few generous souls. One of them being the second man that entered the sheds with Claus.
Andreas knows him as Mr. Marshall. He often brings the two of them food from home along with plenty of water.
Claus split the bread in half and gave his son one half and some cheese. They sat on the old engine's buffer plates and ate their breakfast in silence.
The only sound was the soft hissing coming from their engine. Mr. Marshall was apparently stoking up his fire again. Mr. Marshall, is quite new to the crew and is the driver for the old engine.
He hopped down from the engine’s cab still whistling his signature tune. He joined the other two on the buffer and gave the boy some candy he usually had stashed away in his pocket just for him.
Now, Mr. Marshall happens to be French, so there is a bit of a language barrier between him and the old engine; he speaks a bit of English, but the old engine does not.
Claus and Andreas do, so they always have to translate for the old engine. Andreas has been trying to teach him, but the old engine is quite stubborn at times.
The larger engine on the other hand had leaned to form full sentences rather quickly which helped her crew, who were new and spoke no German.
Said crew didn't socialize much with her, just enough to get the work done but she didn't need that, she had the old engine, Claus, and Andreas to keep her company most of the time when she returned to their sheds.
The larger engine was not expecting her crew until later. The older engine was scheduled to leave for the main station first to pick up his train.
They were about ready to leave. Andreas climbed back into the cab and sat on the engine’s tender.
"How are we feeling, Leonhard?" asked Mr. Marshall.
Andreas translated, and Leonhard responded with a whistle.
Mr. Marshall then opened the regulator. Claus started shovelling coal, and Andreas waved goodbye to the large engine.
Leonhard’s pistons groaned and his axels ached, though this was an everyday thing by now for him. They slowly rolled into the station, where their schedualed train awaited them. The driver stepped out to speak with some of the workers about their train while the other two and the engine waited patiently.
Andreas could make out a few words from their conversation, he has been trying his best to pick up some French while they were here. He could even read some of the words on the signs at the station.
He, his father the fireman, Leonhard, and the large engine who’s name is Hedwig have been here for at least 5 years. They have been helping with repairs in the region by taking goods trains to and fro.
It was the least they could do.
The railway company did take the two engines in as temporary members of the fleet (paying for repairs, having different numbers, and having the railway’s logo imprinted on their tenders).
They have also let Claus remain as the older engine’s fireman, mainly because Leonhard is not the youngest any more and not many know how to fire and engine like him, let alone drive. He would be the one to teach Mr. Marshall how to properly handle the older engine.
The working conditions were not ideal, neither were the wages, but anything is better than being scrapped or homeless.
Leonhard backed into Quai 4 where his train was supposed to be. It was late, but with all that has been going on lately that was to be expected.
The station was quite busy. People were chatting amongst themselves at the platforms, waiting for their next train. Engines were coming and going in a blur, both steam and diesels puffing clouds of black smoke as they passed.
The railway had more engines in their fleet as well, those being engines that were native to here.
Leonhard and Hedwig did not really interact with them unless necessary. When they were still new to the railway, there was the hurling of insults from both sides, engines and crew alike (especially from Claus, as he has a short temper).
Years have passed and tensions have somewhat settled. They are nowhere near friendly but they learned to work with eachother. It's not ideal, but at least everything is civil.
The French engines were in no better shape than Leonhard and Hedwig; every engine is overworked and tired, practically being run into the ground.
One of those engines shunted Leonhard’s train behind him before puffing past him without a word to whatever job the poor engine needed to do next.
Mr. Marshall finished speaking to the men before coming back to Leonhard's cab. He sang his song as he climbed in and got himself arranged. He then turned to brief his fireman of their current train.
"We are to take the mail train to the branch line down south, after that, there will be a train of goods that need to be delivered from the harbour. We’ll get more information once we get there," he said and gave Claus a pat on the back.
Andreas ran everything back to Leonhard which he very much appreciated, and once the train got coupled up, they made their way down the line.
They made multiple stops along the way, dropping off the old bags at all of the stations and picking others up and loading them into the vans.
After several other stops they had reached the last station, it was not too far from the harbour now. It one of the larger, louder, and busier stations on the line with trains seemingly passing every ten seconds or so.
When the train pulled in and stopped, workmen unloaded the last of the vans on Quai 1.
Andreas knew this would take some time so he climbed down from the old engines tender and walked into the small bakery in the station.
He knew the kind older woman that worked there. Mrs Allard was her name and she was very fond of the boy. She always gave him the leftovers from the day before that did not sell. That way he and his father would be able to eat for the day.
Today he got a whole loaf of sour dough bread, some somewhat stale croissants, some pastries covered in chocolate that hat melted and some candies for him that she liked to put in the bag as well. Mrs Allard patted the boy on the head and Andreas headed back to his family.
The workmen were finishing up when the young boy climbed back into the cab. He handed his father a croissant and he sat on Leonhard’s tender with a chocolate pastry.
With the vans now empty, Leonhard pulled away from the platform and made his way to the goods yard. He backed into a siding to uncouple the mail vans.
Amongst the hisses of steam, whistles, and the occasional whirr of diesel engines, Leonhard carefully navigated the busy yard to find a place to refuel.
The old engine was getting a drink at a water tower as the fireman's young son climbed off and onto the ballast and headed toward the mail train. He always double checked the vans to see if anything was left behind. The bags were old, and it happened from time to time that letters would fly out of the bag.
As one would have it, there were leftover letters, about enough to fill a large bag. Andreas picked them up one by one and made his way back to the station, where he meet up with the postman.
With a hand full of letters, he trudged across the ballast, over the rails, and past coal towers in order to reach the station.
He entered the station through a staff-only door close to the goods yard and exited on the last platform. There he weaved through passengers and station personnel to reach the stairs to get to his intended destination. There was already a familiar face waiting for him there.
“Bonjour Andreas! You have letters for me again today?”
The boy handed over the letters with a large grin.
“Ah! Thats quite the handful! Lets see what we have here today”
The Postman sat down on the bench by the station wall and Andreas sat next to him, looking over his shoulders at the letters. The Postman who goes by Jean, likes to check to see if the letters have the correct stamps or if the stamps may have come off of the letters during transportation.
Andreas likes to see where the letters are from and where they are going. He often likes to imagine what the contents of the letters might be.
Nothing boring like a business letter or a notice of eviction but maybe something more on a positive note, like a letter back home to family from someone traveling the world, or someone writing their crush, maybe someone got accepted into a very good school.
Sometimes the boy also wishes he would get a letter. His Father got letters and they often were filled with nothing but bad news. He would like to write a letter, but he does not have anyone to write to. He once had friends back home but he does not know what has become of them.
The boy looked back at the letters Postman Jean was looking through. There was a letter from Belgium, a letter from Spain, a letter from Italy that apparently needed to get to Paris-
“Hmm, Apparently this letter lost its stamp” Jean noted, he could tell it was once stamped because of the ink when the stamp was devalued.
Andreas sat up to take a closer look.
The letter was from a place called Sodor, some place the young boy has never heard of. The only things he could make out was that the words were in English. It really didn't narrow it down much as English is used in most letters, especially if it is for business.
“The letter is addressed to your railway! There is a directors office at this station. There should be someone at the front desk who is responsible for letters. If you would like, you can bring the letter there. I need to leave now anyway to get on with my tour.” Jean held out the letter for the boy to take.
The boy gently took the letter and looked it over. On the lower left corner was an image of a steam locomotive, the letters were written in cursive and with blueish ink.
The boy nodded and got up off of the bench. He waved goodbye to postman Jean and ran toward the directors office.
Closer to the front of the first platform was the main office of the station. Andreas had personally never been inside the office. He has seen Mr. Marshall and his father go in at times, but this is his first time being there.
Upon entering, he saw a man sitting at a desk looking at papers, looking rather bored. Behind him was a wooden door with the words ‘directeur ferroviaire’ in big black letters, but in front of the door were piles of boxes and stacks of paper.
The man looked at Andreas with an expression, saying, ‘What do you want?’ So Andreas handed him the letter.
He stood there kind of awkwardly, swaying back and forth, not leaving, as he was kind of curious about the letter but also not sure if he was even allowed to leave or not.
After the man took the letter from Andreas, he opened it without much care and skimmed through it before folding it up and tossing it toward the front door that the boy came in through. "Ordures," said the man before promptly going back to his paperwork, ignoring the boy.
He still stood there rather awkwardly, but slowly backed up toward the door but before leaving the office, he looked at the folded paper that the man had just thrown aside and deemed trash. He slowly and quietly picked it up, thinking about if he should take it.
Andreas looked back at the man, who still did not pay him any mind, he made his decision and promptly left the room with the paper secured in his worn-out pocket.
Leonhard was already being coupled up to his next train when Andreas returned, whistling a tune loud enough for the old engine to hear him approaching from behind.
Leonhard sighed appreciatively, but Claus was already growing impatient waiting on the boy. Andreas immediately apologized and explained what had delayed him.
“There was a letter that I needed to take to the directors office it had no stamp.”
Claus sighed, this is not the first time the boy got caught up in something else. Both climbed into Leonhard’s cab, where Mr. Marshall asked pretty much the same question.
"Get lost in the crowd?" he asked with a smile on his face.
"No, Mr. Marshall, I had a bit of a delay because there was a letter addressed to this railway, and I had thought I could drop it off at the office here at the station, but the man at the desk threw it away" said the boy.
Mr. Marshall did not seem surprised, he had his own impression of that man as well. Andreas’s father was still a little annoyed, being one who always looked at his timetable and tolerated no delays.
"Well, young man, Just see in the future that you get back before you find us nowhere in the yard." Mr. Marshall smirked.
Andreas nodded, then Leonhard buckled as a train of trucks was shunted behind the old engine. The boy scrambled on top of Leonhard’s tender, Claus got to work shovelling coal, and they were prepared to leave.
Their train was given the all-clear, and Leonhard whistled as he left the station.
It was quite chilly, but there were no signs of rain. Andreas had wrapped himself in his blanket and made himself as comfortable as he could on a pile of coal.
Leonhard chuffed along the main line with his slow goods. The trip was a more comfortable one and the old engine was doing what he is most comfortable with, which is pulling slow heavy goods trains.
Though still creaking and groaning, the engine wore a soft smile on his face.
The boy took the letter out of his pocket. The straightened out the crinkled paper as much as he could on a moving train. He took the letter out of the envelope.
When the letter was made readable again he began to skim through it. Andreas began to smile the more he read and, on the occasional line, he even giggled.
When he reached the end of the letter Andreas got excited as he realized what this letter was. He put it back in his pocket and wrapped himself back in his blanket. He couldn't wait till the day was over and they were able to go back to the shed so he could tell Mr. Marshall, his dad, and Leonhard all about it.
The letter was definitely not what he expected but he was glad his curiosity won in that moment and that he picked it up. Now he had something new to think about and possibly something new to do with his family.
#letters to a friend#james makes a new friend#james the splendid engine#james the red engine#ttte james#thomas and friends#thomas the tank engine#ttte#ttte au#ttte fanfic#ttte oc
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
I just know in one piece world the shuggy shippers go crazy over speculating. They’re in the streets having top and bottom discourse about these two.
#shuggy#buggy#shanks#buggy the clown#red haired shanks#akagami no shanks#shanks x buggy#one piece#buggy x shanks#one piece fan letter#one piece anime#the childhood friends to enemies to lovers story has them in a chokehold
634 notes
·
View notes
Text
ꕤ*.゚❤︎ Pink stamps ꕤ*.゚❤︎
#pink blog#kawaii stationery#cute stationery#stamp collecting#stamps#cute#kawaii#letters#kawaiicore#sanrio lover#hello kitty addict#vintage hello kitty#hello kitty merch#hello kitty and friends#pink#pink aesthetic#postal#kawaii blog#japanese stationery#pastel pink#soft pink#pinkcore#pink moodboard#hello kitty stuff#sanrio stuff#sanrio stickers#nostalgiacore#nostalgia#kawaii life#pink life
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Me and a friend have been developing this conlang thing for use in co-op play, both for immersion and so we don’t need to constantly pause to type things. I call it slugsign :-)
I should note that neither of us know ANYTHING about language structure or conlanging, we just developed it naturally lol.
some grammar notes:
-’punctuation’ style signs (such as ‘question’, ’attention’, ’relax’) come before the rest of the sentence. this is for clarity of intent
-’relax’ can be used to initiate longer, more complex conversations
-signs are VERY position specific. the limitations of the medium make a lot of signs look similar, so using the right starting and ending positions are important.
-’region’ specifies which region you’re referring to by the direction of your arm waggling, and the regions adjecent to the one you’re currently in. For example if you were in industrial complex and wanted to refer to chimney canopy, you’d waggle upwards.
#rain world#rainworld#art#slugsign#you guys can use this if you want btw! it's free to adopt and expand#we're not finished fleshing this out ourselves. me & my friend wanna create a lettering system next
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
Losing my mind a little over this Sherlock Holmes stamp, which was created in 1993 and depicts a scene from 'The reigate squire' short story. It's such gorgeous art. And I absolutely adore how fiercely protective Watson looks here, all like "Don't you DARE bother my friend, he's been seriously unwell, he needs REST". And his hand on Holmes' back, hello?!?!
511 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fyodor Dostoevsky, from a letter featured in "Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoevsky to his Family & Friends,"
#lit#fyodor dostoevsky#letters#quote#words#the letters of fyodor dostoevsky#letters to family and friends#letter collection#p
2K notes
·
View notes