#like in a dreaded railway meeting

[peliginspeaks]

5 and 10 for hallowrove!! - @letheology

5. What is your OC's preferred self-endulgent snack?

Hallowrove's favourite food is a meat pie that can be eaten on the road, but if you asked them to indulge.... Any sort of honey-soaked pastry, especially if it also involves almonds. I haven't yet figured out if this is a thing they would've had in childhood or if they tried it in travel somewhere, but they are a big fan of that combination.

10. What is your OC's favorite stim?

He has lots! One of the most fun is letting Sneeve do a sort of ladder climb over his moving hands, usually while sitting and waiting for something (like the train). Other common one is spinning something between and across his fingers - like a coin, or a pen, or a knife, although the chances of that last one being interpreted as an unintentional threat keep it mostly out of public. Foot tapping is another really common one Hallowrove does, though I wouldn't call it a favourite so much as just a sign of boredom at best and unease or discomfort at worst.

[ladykailitha]

Never Hold Back Your Step... Part 6

Yay! Another Boy with a Bat! In this we have Steve and the rest of the seniors finding out if they graduate and Steve getting squicked at his own pool.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

****

Things began to improve between Steve and Nancy but Eddie was still keeping an eye on her. His hackles were up now, and he had no intentions of dropping them any time soon.

Steve was glad that swim season was up and that the basketball team had done so badly their losses far outweighed their wins. And while he was upset he wasn’t starting spring training with the baseball team, it was nice to spend his afternoons with Eddie.

He could see that Eddie was really struggling with his homework, but whenever Steve asked, his boyfriend would blow him off. He was fine. They would graduate together. Just Steve wait and see.

During that last free period of the day, Steve began work on his next comic. He kept it short like he did the other one. Just the part about the junkyard and the dogs. Maybe the next comic would deal with the tunnels, but not this one.

Steve sketched out the RV, changing it from the bus it actually was. He actually enjoying find out ways to hide the details of his experiences into the comic.

What was even better was that he was pretty sure it would even take the smartest members of the Party a couple of pages to figure it out. He had taken out his pen to start inking the page when he felt someone knock into his elbow just as he was about to put his pen to the paper.

He looked up to see a couple of members of the junior varsity team, walking past, snickering.

It had been awhile since he had been a target of someone’s bullying and wondered where the hell it had com from. The idiots were wearing their letterman jackets allowing Steve to read their names. Carver, McKinney, and a couple of others.

Steve shook his head. Billy was a bad influence on the team, and maybe now the coach would see that. Considering how badly they lost this season with the asshole as team captain.

He looked back up at the retreating backs of the juniors as they laughed and whispered insults about Steve as they made their way out of the library.

He knew all too well how they treat people like them, verses outsiders. And now that Steve had thrown his lot in willingly with the outsiders, the other members of the team were going to be trouble.

Billy could call them off, but Eddie’s status as drug dealer wouldn’t faze that lot. They were the church boys. The sanctimonious assholes who would be straight edgers if they liked the violence, but were too soft to get their hands actually dirty.

He looked down at his drawing and sighed. These assholes didn’t know what pain actually looked liked. Still in their ivory towers, looking down on the masses and turning up their noses.

Steve flicked back to an earlier page of the hero and his little brother walking down the railway tracks and ran his fingers over the two figures. He hadn’t colored it yet, but he knew the trucker hat would be red. For the bond the boys shared.

The bell rang and Steve gathered up his stuff. He shouldered his backpack. Just then there was a tap on his shoulder.

It was the librarian, Mrs. Locke.

“Next time, you’ll be meeting with Mr. Cole and handful of other students to know if you have the credits to graduate,” she said, handing him a paper with the information he would need.

“It’ll be here at the library,” she continued. “But be sure to get here in plenty of time because the tables will fill up fast.”

Steve nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Locke. I’ll try to get here as soon as I can.”

She nodded and let him go. Steve hefted his backpack again and made for the parking lot, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach.

****

Steve sat at the same table as Eddie, Janice and Marty. They all greeted him with quiet murmuring. The whole room vibrated with nervous tension. Mr. Cole was going to tell them their future and fuck if that wasn’t the most terrifying thing in their young lives.

Steve envied them.

For Eddie though, this was his second go round and that fear of failure radiating off the older teen in waves.

Mr. Cole walked into the library and whispered something to the librarian. She nodded curtly and walked back to her desk.

He sat on an empty table and pulled out three stacks of folders. A large stack of about twenty or so, a much smaller stack of about five, and a stack of two.

Eddie gulped and Steve took his hand under the table.

“Thank you all for being here,” Mr. Cole began. He hovered his hand over the first stack. “These are all of you who are graduating without a shadow of a doubt. You have the credits as of now to graduate. Congrats.” His hand moved over to the next pile. “This is those that as long as they pass their classes by May 15th, will graduate. But it is dependent on you passing those classes.” His hand landed on the final two folders.

“These two aren’t passing,” he continued grimly. “Do not pass go, do not collect your diploma. For those two, you have three options. Repeat your senior year. Take your GED that will at least be equal to a high school diploma. Or you flunk out of high school. Walk away from formal education for good.”

Steve stared at the second pile with a growing pit of dread pooling in his stomach.

“I will call each of you by name,” Mr. Cole said, “and will talk to you away from your peers. I’m not here to name and shame and if you really want to know you can wait until graduation.”

There was a little bit of grumbling, but mostly from the assholes no one liked anyway.

“Steve Harrington.”

Steve gave Eddie’s hand a squeeze and got up. He followed Mr. Cole to what the students called the Stacks. They weren’t really stacks of books, but it was a set of tables for study that were surrounded by bookshelves to make it secluded. Guys liked to take their girlfriends back here for a little alone time.

“Hey, Steve,” Mr. Cole greeted. “I was happy to see your grade climb back up after your concussion made them take a nose dive.”

Steve nodded, keeping his fingers crossed behind his back. “I tried as hard as I could.”

“Well it really paid off,” Mr. Cole said. “Because you have more than enough credits to graduate.”

Steve stared at him in shock as his guidance counselor handed him his file. He flipped through it and sure enough, he already had all the credits he needed. In fact, he could have graduated early if it wasn’t for Mrs. Hall.

“Thanks to you,” he breathed.

“They aren’t the best grades,” Mr. Cole admonished. “But they are good enough to get you across that stage.”

Steve nodded and handed the file back to him. He walked back to his table.

One by one all the kids were called and while there were happy kids and wailing tears, it was hard to tell the graduating from those that weren’t.

After everyone had been called and told that they could go home, the four of them sat at the table, waiting for everyone else to file out.

“Valedictorian!” Janice crowed. “I made it, baby!”

“I’m graduating too,” Marty said. “Barely. I just have to make sure I don’t fail Mrs. McDonald’s final and I’m good to go.”

“Eddie?” Steve asked instead of giving his own news. Because his didn’t matter. Not when his boyfriend, the best and brightest person Steve had ever met, (and yes that did include Nancy Wheeler) was curled up on himself, staring at the table.

“No, man,” Marty said, “not again...”

Eddie just nodded. “I was doing the work. I was turning it in. I thought the grades I was getting back were enough, but they weren’t.”

Steve wrapped his arms around him and just let Eddie’s tears soak into the collar of his shirt.

His poor beautiful Eddie. He wished he had done more to make sure he graduated.

But now it was too late.

****

Steve threw Eddie a pool party to make him feel better about not graduating again. Something that Steve really shouldn’t have done if he wanted to avoid the question.

“Come on, Stevie!” Eddie called from the side of the pool. “The water is fine. Stop being the babysitter for two seconds and enjoy your pool, babe.”

The kids still didn’t know they were a couple, but they had gotten used to the endearments that Eddie threw out on a regular basis. They all got nicknames and endearments. Max was Red, Dustin was Dusty, Lucas was Strider and so on. So they didn’t even bat an eyelash at his use of ‘babe’ to describe Steve.

Mike rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Steve never gets in the pool. If he wasn’t on the swim team, I would have had assumed that he can’t.”

Eddie got out of the pool and Steve’s eyes trailed down his torso, following each drop of water as they ran for his waistband. Eddie smirked as he got really close. Steve closed his eyes to block out the dirty thoughts that went off in his head like church bells, loud and deep.

Vaguely behind him he could hear Nancy hissing at Mike, but he couldn’t hear what she said over the rushing in his ears of the blood traveling southward the closer Eddie got. He gulped heavily. Eddie cupped Steve’s cheek tenderly and Steve leaned into the touch. He didn’t care who noticed their casual affection. He was starting to shake like a leaf and not just from the way his boyfriend looked like sex on legs, either.

Quietly as though it was a secret between them Eddie said, “Is this about the comic?”

Steve’s lips quivered as he nodded, his eyes still closed. “They all know except...” he waved vaguely at the Corroded Coffin boys.

“Do you want me to kill Mike?” Eddie asked with a grin.

Steve fought to tamp down on his answering smile, but it broke through anyway. “I think one death is enough.”

He paused with a frown and looked behind Eddie where apparently everyone had gathered. In that brief moment, their silence had made Steve’s answer as loud as if it had been had been a shout.

“Shit, man,” Mike mumbled. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not a big deal. I still swim. Just not here. And I act as lifeguard for everyone. It’s fine. Honest.”

Nancy chewed on her lip, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.

Jeff winced. “Yeah, I think we all forgot that Barb vanished from here. Not that we forgot about her,” he added waving his hands at Nancy’s dark glare. “It’s just so easy to forget it impacted more people then you’d think.”

Nancy nodded and let herself be comforted by Jonathan.

Steve pushed Mike into the pool causing a large splash and suddenly the tension was gone. The laughter and fun returned. He breathed a sigh of relief and Eddie wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist.

He leaned in close, “You gonna be okay, babe?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, I guess it’s good they know,” he said, indicating the Corroded Coffin boys. “So I don’t get freaked out and hurt someone.”

“You’d never,” Eddie soothed.

Steve smiled warmly at Eddie and Jonathan and Nancy shared a knowing smile. He bumped Eddie’s shoulder with his own.

“Where did you learn to swim?” Steve asked turning back to sit sit on his lounge chair.

Eddie grinned. “Wayne taught me the first time we went camping up at Lover’s Lake.”

He sat down in the V of Steve’s legs and lifted one so that it was on his lap.

“How old were you?” Steve asked, basking in the attention Eddie was giving him despite the two of them not being out to Steve’s ducklings.

Eddie hummed for a moment as he thought. “I guess I was about seven or eight. My dad was in jail for the first time and my mom needed the weekend to recoup after an especially long week at work. So Wayne offered to take me camping for the weekend. Back when was he was young, wild and free.”

Steve bumped him with his knee. “Which he doesn’t regret exchanging for you a second.”

Eddie blushed. “No, but with me it meant taking a responsibility he never planned. He could have found someone, settled down, had a family of his own. I could have had nieces or nephews if I hadn’t been dumped on his doorstep.”

Steve sat up and turned Eddie’s chin toward him. “And you would have been lost in the system and hurt far worse then if he hadn’t taken you in.”

Eddie smiled. “You just want Uncle Wayne all to yourself.”

Steve laughed. “You caught me!” He began to tickle Eddie’s sides, causing the other boy to jump and squeal.

“Fiend!” Eddie cried as he scrambled off the lounger to get away. He leapt to his feet and then grabbed the lounger and flipped it.

Steve let out a squawk of surprise and landed on the cement with a thud and a laugh.

Dustin swam over to Gareth, figuring him to be the least scary of Eddie’s friends and whispered. “Are they always like this?”

Gareth scoffed. “No.”

Dustin sighed. “Oh thank go–”

“Sometimes they’re worse,” Gareth bit out, before wading back into deeper waters.

Dustin looked over at the pair of them, cocking his head thoughtfully to the side. There was something more to their friendship, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. Then Max splashed him and suddenly the thought was gone.

****

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

As for why it doesn't bother Nancy? That's because it's not her pool. She can go home while the sun is still out. While Steve has to hear the lapping of the water day in and day out. Has to see it in the dead of night, like the night Barb disappeared.

Tag List:

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@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

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[the-dye-stained-socialite]

@the-masterless-press hi EJ! i was your secret swap partner for the @fallenlondonficswap this year! I hope you enjoy the fic!!

Griz's Day Off Pairing: Virginia and The Efficient Commissioner (can be read as a ship, or just teasing)

Word Count: 1,903 Summary: Griz is invited out to one of Virginia's spas along the Railway, and has a nice day before winter sets in.

The train rattled along its journey, wreaking hell on the Effecient Commissioner’s already sore body. A particularly brutal shake caused her to wince. Honestly, how did this thing not derail between every station? Another jolt, and a shock of pain went right to her hip. The seats were in desperate need of improvement. Perhaps that would be something to bring up at the next meeting. Griselda rubbed at her freshly-pained joint through her woolen suit. Thank the False-Stars that the trip to Ealing was so short , she thought with a sigh. Else not, she might not have the leg strength to get back off the blasted train. 

With Hallowmas done and past, the weather change was beginning to take its annual toll on her body. She felt its frosty grip more and more each year. Winter, even in the Neath, especially in the Neath, was cruel and unkind to her. Increasingly frequently she would wake up painfully aware of each of her joints and old injuries. Stiffness pierced her like a preserved bug, and held her unable to move how she pleased. Efficient as she was, even she could be slowed down by the cold and pain, and what a terrible time to be slowed down it was! Winter was always the busiest for her. Lacre, Tragedies, and contingencies consumed every waking thought that was not devoted to her pain. Another sigh escaped her. This was likely to be her last day off until the next Feast of the Exceptional Rose. She dreaded the mounds of paperwork she knew she would face in the coming season most of all. Yet she did it anyway, to keep London safe as well as she could.

The train rolled to its stop, and forced Griz from her thoughts. She grabbed her travel bag and headed out to the station, glad to be on steady ground. Her knees creaked in sympathy, and she was reminded of an abandoned house. 

Among the station’s crowd, a Deviless in a red pillbox was waiting.

“Hello, Virginia,” Griz said.

“Hello, Griz,” the Deviless greeted. “It’s nice to see you accepted my offer.”

The Commissioner was always wary of Hell, for it and London had an uneasy shared history, and their legal system was near unnavigable for even her. Virginia herself was a unique matter. Deeply entrenched in the politics of both Hell and London, and a large and unignorable contributor to the Great Hellbound Railway. It couldn’t have existed without her, at least not in its present state. Griz attributed a fair few of her migraines over the years to this Deviless in particular. Yet here she was now, inviting Griz to the spa she ran here in Ealing for a relaxing day. Wary as she was, the idea was all too appealing for the Commissioner to turn down. The two walked side by side on their way to the bathhouse.

The spa was only a short distance, though the journey was stretched by Griz’s slower pace. Virginia said nothing however, and Griz found herself wondering how much the cold affected a Devil. Perhaps the slowness was for both of their benefit. 

When they arrived, Griz was shown to a changing room, which mercifully had a chair. She was able to change into her bathing suit, and swapped her walking boots out for slippers. A working Devil came to take her bag and clothes soon, and she left the changing room. Virginia had also taken the time to get changed it seemed, for she had exchanged her formal attire for her own swimsuit. It was a thoroughly infernal cut, so tight that Griz was shocked Virginia could move without popping open a seam. The tailors they must have in Hell!

She approached Griz with a smile, and hooked a warm arm around one of Griz’s own. “Deviless I may be, running a spa such as mine is more useful for me than being treated in it.”

“But?”

“But,” she continued, leading Griz down a hall. “Even warm waters can be a boon, Deviless or no.”

Griz laughed, caught off-guard. Her laughter turned to more wincing when something in her ribcage shifted.

Virginia offered her a look of sympathy, or maybe pity. “Besides, I find little point in allowing aches to set in if I’m already paying the heating bills.”

“This conversation feels a little pointed,” Griz chided.

“Your joints had more to say than you did last meeting, Griselda . I caught the Minutes-Taker attempting to transcribe the argument between your spine and your knees.”

Griz flushed bright red. “He did not! I read those minutes thrice over, and there was scarce mention of my joints, thank you .”

She snickered. “He was doing a rather poor job of it.” She opened a door before Griz could get in another word. Faintly sulphuric steam billowed out. “And that right there is the other reason. You rarely take a break from your work, and even when you’re away from the Bazaar you don’t stop. Do you know the effect that has on one’s soul?”

“Seeing as I’m not a Devil, I don’t, actually. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“No.”

Griz groaned. Virginia smirked.

“Come this was, I assure you that we’ll get it fixed.”

Griz huffed, but followed her through the door anyways. “And how do I know that it needs to be ‘fixed’?”

“Seeing as you’re not a Devil, you’ll just have to take my word.”

“Ah, because that’s exactly what I want to do. You’re even worse outside of the boardroom, did you know?”

Virginia laughed again, and Griz found herself joining in. For as little as she’d ever care to admit it, this sort of petty banter was fun. So much of her work was serious arguments and work-arounds and loopholes, that being able to use those skills for joking jabs was an enjoyable turn of events. 

“Ah, just one moment,” Virginia said, her laughter ending abruptly.

Griz watched as she untwined their arms, and walked over to another of her workers. She seemed to be giving the Devil instructions. Griz took the opportunity to look around the room.

It was a touch difficult to make things out given all the steam, and the low lighting of course, but it wasn’t foggy enough that she felt like she couldn’t navigate. The room seemed to be unoccupied save for her, Virginia, and a few workers. No one else was here for a treatment, then? Perhaps they were just in other rooms. The spa itself was a mostly circular pool, a few feet in diameter, with a set of stone steps leading down into it, and a wooden railing. The pool was deep enough to soak in, but neither deep or wide enough to make swimming a viable option. She guessed that it was likely a natural spring, which the bathouse had been built around, with a few modifications. Though Griz had only been standing for a few minutes, already the steam had begun to warm her body from the cold’s biting chill. Her knees had begun to complain again though.

Just as she had noticed this, Virginia had re-appeared at her side, and the worker she had been talking to was nowhere in sight.

“Are you going to stand there the whole time?” the Deviless teased.

“Well, I wasn’t certain if you needed to treat the water first, and I thought you had wanted me to stay here so-”

“So you need orders .”

The Commissioner's face flushed for an entirely different reason. 

“Hah!” she laughed. “Well come on then, get in the water. That is where most of the benefits come from, you know.”

Griz huffed. “I do know.” Still, she padded over to the waters, careful to remove her slippers before stepping in. 

The water was so warm it was nearly a shock. Oh , how good it felt though. Griz lowered herself in the water almost too quickly, eager for the relief. Virginia followed shortly behind her. She found somewhere comfortable in the pool and settled in, Virginia taking a seat nearby. 

The relief on her smaller joints was near immediate. Those which chilled first, also thawed first. The water coaxed them back malleability again with its wet heat. Griz took the time to stretch and roll her wrists, to open and close her palms, enjoying how quickly her aches had dissolved. Her tendons too seemed looser and more relaxed. All of the writing her job demanded has taken quite the toll on her hands over the years, and though this did not undo it, for one blissful moment it seemed to have wiped away decades of use. She sighed with pleasure. Yes, her daytrip was worth it for her hands alone. Besides, her feet no longer hurt from the walking either.

Griz knew how much she was being pampered when the worker came back to present her and Virginia with large wine glasses. She accepted hers with pleasure, and took a tentative taste. She was surprised to find it tasting of genuine grapes. Griz would take care to enjoy this then. 

“So,” the Deviless began. “Anything that you needed to get off of your chest?”

Griz snorted. “You’re well aware I can’t talk about the Bazaar to people like you.”

Virginia raised an eyebrow over her glass of sherry. “I never said anything about the Bazaar. You could talk about anything really.”

“Hm, yes I suppose that one’s on me isn’t it?” Griz paused to straighten her posture. She felt things shift pleasingly back to where they were meant to be. The water had taken on a softer quality now, which she had not noticed initially. The knots in her shoulders unspooled as she sat, thinking. The heat had started to permeate deeper now that she had been soaking in it. It sank down to her very core in the very best way. “Well, I suppose… There was quite an incident with paperwork over this summer.” Griz chose her complaint carefully. Something that had genuinely bothered her, yet nothing that would cause diplomatic complications if she said too many details.

“Oh, yes, paperwork incidents tend to be quite the worst of things, don’t they?”

Griz chuckled. “I can’t imagine what you have to deal with.”

“Oh, you’d never believe the stories I could tell!”

Thus, they had found their conversation. Mutual complaining about legal systems and incompetent interns. As Griz let out her mental frustrations, she felt her body relax too. Tension slowly melted away in the spa. Her hips, knees, spine, all of it ceased its complaining. She was content to savour the euphoric feeling. At one point, she became convinced that such looseness could only be rivaled by a puppet, cut from its strings. Groans and creaks became happy sighs and light laughter. Her body no longer seemed so heavy, physically and emotionally. 

The water seemed to have an effect on Virginia as well, for at one point Griz became aware of a contented-sounding hum, coming, inexplicably, from her companion. It continued even while she talked.

Griz was very glad she had taken a day off. There was nothing better she could think of than to continue enjoying this moment of luxury. She even got to complain about her coworkers, and wasn’t that nice? Both winter's painful bite, and her Tragedy-based worries were kept at bay, and she could truly relax, at least for a little while.

[stories-of-the-nrm]

The Fallen King

The Flying Scotsman rolls into the station at the end of a busy day.

Scott: Ahhh. Another successful non-stop run. The A3s will run this railway for years to come.

His driver, William winces.

William: I wouldn't say that, Scott. I've heard some rumors that Sir Nigel Gresley is set to put his latest design, the A4 into service next month.

Scott uncharacteristically splutters and turns red with annoyance.

Scott: This is preposterous! Have I not proven my worth to Sir Nigel Gresley? I can't just be replaced as if I haven't been operating this incredible service to the railway for over 10 years.

William: Shhh. Steady old boy. Just because the design is meant to provide high speed passenger rides, doesn't mean you will be replaced.

Scott: I sure hope so, William.

Time Skip

One day in 1938, Sir Nigel Gresley appeared at the sheds.

Nigel: Good morning, Scotsman.

Scott: Good morning, Sir.

Nigel: I know you've been feeling down about being replaced, but I bring good news. You are being seen as a role model by the A4s. In fact, I want you to take me to the Doncaster Works. There's an engine I want you to meet.

Scott sighs. He knows he shouldn't be so jealous, but he thought he would have his record at least a little longer.

Scott: Yes sir.

The Flying Scotsman takes Sir Nigel Gresley to the Doncaster Works. An engine freshly painted painted garter blue sits on the rails faceless.

Nigel: Now in just a minute, my latest modification of the A4 will wake up. I believe if this works, this engine will once again be a credit to the railway. In fact, as you have been the only engine in recent British history to do so, I want you to mentor this engine. Streamlining by design will make an engine fast, but it takes great skill to manage such high speeds.

Scott: Oh. Well it's an honor, sir.

Scott means what he says, but it's still bittersweet. To him it hurts to have to be responsible for training his own replacement. Being demoted from the Flying Scotsman services was quite a blow.

?: Hello?

Nigel: Ah yes. Welcome to the world young engine. I am your designer, Sir Nigel Gresley. Due to my fondness of birds, I decided to name you Mallard.

Mallard: Mallard, sir?

Nigel: Indeed. The Mallard is one of the most famous birds in the world. Due to the modification I added starting with your design, I highly believe you will become one of the most famous engines.

Mallard: My goodness. Thank you sir!

Sir Nigel Gresley chuckles. He walks over to the Flying Scotsman.

Nigel: This is one of my most famous engines, the Flying Scotsman, known for being the first official engine to reach 100 mph. He will act as your mentor regarding how to handle high speeds. We value fast, safe, and reliable service on this railway. Is that clear?

Mallard: Oh yes sir! Thank you for giving me a mentor.

Nigel: Well I'll just leave you two alone then. There's a lot of work to be done.

Scott sighs. It's not at all Mallard's fault that he feels this way. Given the circumstances, the least he can do is make Mallard as reliable as himself.

Time Skip

Mallard: Scotsman, why am I being asked to pull a train like this just to test my brake?

Scott: This is meant to simulate pulling a real train. The men added a dynamometer car to measure your speed and other elements of your performance.

Mallard: So it was just like my tests before I pulled my first passenger train.

Scott: Indeed. Only this time, the hope is that you will be fit to break the speed record. Should the bearing on your middle cylinder overheat even with the modifications, it would mean more work is to be done. We don't want you hurting yourself just to break a speed record.

Mallard contemplates this. He doesn't want to let anyone down. Especially if it's because of something he can't control.

Mallard: I understand.

Jospeh: Alright, Mallard. It's time to start our journey.

Mallard: Very well then, driver.

Mallard rolls out into the distance. Something about the day makes Scott only dread his worse fear is about to become a reality.

Time Skip

Crowd: He's done! Mallard broke the speed record!

Scott solemnly closed his eyes. Even though he isn't old by any means, this news made him feel as if he's aged.

Gordon: Why the long face, brother?

Scott: I feel as if my time to shine's ended before it truly ever began.

Gordon: Oh don't tell me that you're jealous of Mallard.

Scott looks at Gordon. He shakes his head knowing jealous isn't at all the correct term.

Scott: This is not at all Mallard's fault. He's simply doing what he's told like any young engine would. It isn't as if I didn't know my speed record would be broken one day.

Gordon: So why are you upset?

Scott: I wish I was able to have that to my name a while longer. To be allowed the chance to live out my prime as the best of the best. I would be willing to accept being replaced should it be well over 50 years of service and I'm no longer reliable. But to be replaced this soon.... I just didn't expect it.

Gordon: At the end of the day this is a business. What's best for the business is to ensure our passengers have fast, safe, and reliable rides. By mentoring Mallard, you are ensuring that guarantee. That is being a really useful engine. Like I said before, get some perspective Scott.

Scott shuts his eyes sighing again. If only there was a way to explain that Gordon is right but he should still be allowed to his feelings.

Scott: I only hope that Mallard doesn't meet the same fate as me. Falling from grace for things that is not at all your fault is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. No one should ever have to worry about facing the cutter's torch.

Gordon: Indeed, Scott. Indeed.

AN: Thank you anon for requesting this. I didn't realize that the real life A4s did in fact replace the Flying Scotsman until I started learning about the history a little bit more.

Tagging: @nelllia, @gordon208, @jayde-jots, @mintydeluxes-blog, and @engineer-gunzelpunk.

[cofyndblog]

Find Your Perfect Coworking Space in Lower Parel, Mumbai

In the fast-paced, bustling city of Mumbai, where every minute counts, finding the right space to work can be a game changer. Lower Parel, known for its corporate vibrancy and a hint of urban chic, has emerged as one of the top destinations for professionals looking to set up shop. Whether you're a freelancer juggling multiple projects, a startup founder dreaming big, or a corporate team needing flexible options, the coworking spaces in Lower Parel are tailor-made to meet your needs.

But hey, let’s not just talk about the "where" let’s explore the "why." What makes coworking spaces in Lower Parel stand out? Spoiler alert: It's more than just cool workstations!

Why Lower Parel is the Perfect Place to Work

It’s no secret that Lower Parel has transformed into a commercial haven over the years. With a blend of historic textile mills turned corporate buildings and modern skyscrapers, this area screams opportunity. Plus, Lower Parel boasts some serious connectivity perks, thanks to its central location between the western and central railway lines.

Here’s why it’s the bee’s knees for coworking:

Vibrant Atmosphere: Lower Parel is always buzzing with energy. It’s where business meets leisure, with cafes, restaurants, and shopping centers just a hop away from most coworking spaces.

Networking Opportunities: Coworking spaces here bring together a mix of industries – think tech startups, creative agencies, consultants, and more. The sheer diversity means that opportunities to collaborate are endless!

Easy Access: Whether you're commuting from the suburbs or a nearby locality, reaching Lower Parel is a breeze thanks to its strategic location and excellent transport links.

Features to Look for in a Coworking Space in Lower Parel

Now, let’s get into the nitty-gritty. What should you expect when you book a coworking space in Lower Parel? Spoiler: It’s not just a desk and a chair!

1. Flexible Workstations

One of the perks of a coworking space is flexibility. Whether you’re the kind of person who thrives in a bustling shared space or someone who prefers a private nook, you’ve got options:

Hot Desks: Ideal for those who like to work in different spots every day.

Dedicated Desks: Perfect if you want your very own corner to personalize and call home.

Private Offices: Need more privacy? Opt for an enclosed office space, where your team can collaborate without distractions.

2. State-of-the-Art Meeting Rooms

Got a client meeting or brainstorming session? Most coworking spaces in Lower Parel offer fully equipped meeting rooms with audiovisual tech, whiteboards, and high-speed Wi-Fi. Trust me, it's a far cry from those drab corporate meeting rooms we all dread!

3. High-Speed Internet

In today’s world, slow internet is a dealbreaker. Rest assured, coworking spaces here take Wi-Fi seriously. Whether you’re uploading large files or joining Zoom calls back-to-back, you’ll experience blazing-fast connectivity.

4. Wellness and Recreational Spaces

Work hard, but don’t forget to unwind! Many coworking spaces in Lower Parel offer wellness zones, nap rooms, and recreational areas like foosball tables or even yoga sessions. You know what they say, all work and no play…

5. 24/7 Access

Need to pull an all-nighter to meet that deadline? Many coworking spaces here offer 24/7 access, so you can work at your own pace without worrying about closing hours. Night owls, rejoice!

Top Coworking Spaces in Lower Parel

Now, let's talk about some standout options. There are tons of great coworking spaces in Lower Parel, each with its unique vibe and set of amenities. Here are a few worth checking out:

WeWork Lower Parel Known for its stunning design and community-driven vibe, WeWork offers flexible desks, private offices, and plenty of networking opportunities.

91Springboard A favorite among startups and freelancers, 91Springboard offers 24/7 access, great meeting rooms, and plenty of events to keep you engaged.

The Executive Centre If you're looking for a luxurious feel, The Executive Centre provides high-end private offices and coworking desks, plus exceptional support services.

Smartworks With ergonomic furniture, wellness rooms, and customizable office spaces, Smartworks is ideal for teams of all sizes.

Why Choose a Coworking Space in Lower Parel?

You might be thinking, “What’s the big deal about a coworking space in Lower Parel?” Well, it’s not just about having a desk. It’s about the entire experience the community, the convenience, and, yes, the coffee! Here’s why professionals are making the shift:

Cost-Effective: Let’s face it – renting office space in Mumbai can burn a hole in your pocket. But coworking? It's a cost-effective solution that still offers all the amenities of a traditional office.

Scalability: Planning to grow your team? Most coworking spaces allow you to scale up or down as per your requirements, so you're not locked into a rigid contract.

Networking Goldmine: Whether it’s through events or casual chats in the break room, coworking spaces foster networking. You never know who you might meet potential collaborators, clients, or even investors!

FAQs about Coworking Space in Lower Parel

1. What’s the cost of coworking spaces in Lower Parel? Pricing varies based on the space and services. Hot desks can start from ₹8,000 per month, while private offices may go up to ₹30,000 or more, depending on the size and amenities.

2. Can I book a meeting room separately? Yes! Most coworking spaces in Lower Parel offer the option to book meeting rooms even if you're not a regular member.

3. Are there options for daily or weekly passes? Definitely! If you're not ready for a full-time commitment, many spaces offer day passes or weekly passes for short-term users.

4. Do these coworking spaces provide parking? Some coworking spaces in Lower Parel do offer parking facilities, but it's always best to check with them directly since availability can be limited.

5. Can I bring my pet to the coworking space? It depends on the specific coworking space. A few pet-friendly spots are emerging in Mumbai, but always confirm before you bring your furry friend along!

Conclusion

When it comes to coworking spaces in Lower Parel, you're not just getting a desk in a room – you're investing in a thriving community, premium facilities, and a work environment that sparks creativity and productivity. Lower Parel’s vibrant locale, combined with its excellent coworking options, makes it the ideal spot for professionals looking to escape the monotony of traditional offices. Whether you're a startup founder, a freelancer, or part of an established business, there's a space here that's just right for you. So, why wait? Find your perfect coworking spot in Lower Parel and watch your productivity soar!

[chaotic-stillness]

Has it really changed ???

Sitting across me is my best friend or at least he was my best friend. He is sipping his tea and talking about the how the tea sucks and how the shop near his current residence sells the best tea. I really don’t think that he is interested in talking about the tea but the silence between us has lingered way too long and he is trying to fill in the silence to make it less awkward. He is trying his best I know but the conversation is just not flowing the way it used to do. We of course talk of the past but after some time this dreaded silence return. It’s like the ghosts of our past are mocking us that look how close you were then best of friends, inseparable and now you are almost strangers. In a sense it was true. We are meeting after almost six years. A lot has changed since then. We have changed since then.

We kept in contact with each other. Sort of. Both of us really tried to keep contact but our daily 1-hour call turned into 30-minutes call then to 15-minutes then once in couple of days then to once a week then once a month then it kind of stopped. Now we only text each other for birthdays and other function, that is if we remember to message. Neither one of us is at fault here. We both tried to stay the same way, but it just didn’t work out. We both got so busy in our life that we didn’t had time. Well that’s not true. I could lie to him. He could lie to me. But we know both of us had time and we decided not to call each other. I don’t know about him, but I know my reasons. I was scared. It sounds pathetic even in my head. If I said it out aloud, I know everyone will laugh. They’ll say what is there to be scared of. But I was not scared of him. I was afraid that when I met him again, I’ll find a complete stranger. I was scared that I’ll know nothing about him, and he’ll know nothing about me. I dreaded coming here today to meet him. We were close in college. We were brothers not friends. People used to call us twins. We used to joke that we were indeed unidentical twins. we used to say exact same thing at exact same time. We used to read each other’s mind. Once we had an entire conversation by just expressions. And trust me that was the best time of my life. I had shared everything with him. Even my family problems. Our parents used to joke that what we would do when we graduated and could not see each other again. We laughed it off at that time and said we would work in the same city. We would buy neighboring apartments after we got settled. Hell, we even said that we would marry twin girls or sisters from the same family. That sounded sweet and nice back then but now it seems childish promise of two boys who were delaying growing up. After we got jobs in separate city, we made plans to visit each other during Diwali vacation since our hometowns were at least 300 KM. away. But every vacation something came up and we haven’t see each other since then.

I sighed and put my empty cup down. He also did the same and looked at the busy street. I wanted to say something, but my mind was empty of topics. Suddenly he said something which I couldn’t hear over the noise of traffic. “What??” I asked. He looked at me, smiled and said, “Do you remember the time when you were hungry at 3 in the morning, and we had nothing to eat in our room.” I did remember it. “Yes, how could I forget it. We snuck out of hostel and walked 2km. to railway station to eat ice-cream.” I laughed as well. He said, “Gosh, we were such a menace back then.” I didn’t reply. Contended with the silence for once. Remembering the good times. “I missed you. I know you did as well.” he said. “Yes, I did missed you. And, sorry for not calling you.” I replied. “Oh! that’s not your fault. I got busy as well.” There was a marriage hall across the street and the wedding party was about to begin. I got an idea. I got up and said, “ Want to have lunch?” pointing towards the hall. He laughed but got up leaned close to me and said, “Bet I could eat more sweets than you.” It was my turn to laugh. I said, “Oh! You know I am going to kick your butt in a sweet eating competition.” he said, “We’ll see.” and threw his arms around my shoulders. On our way to the wedding, we kept bickering about who could eat most sweets. I remembered something I have heard once, “Everything has changed yet nothing has changed.”

[mashkaroom]

back on my bullshit, by which i mean back on my circadian rhythm despite living an incompatible lifestyle with it #abolishmornings

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

(I’m copying and pasting some stuff from a conversation on the Chapter 6 post with @whumpster-fire. The reason I’m doing a separate post is because WF did their research and therefore uncovered a, shall I say, “historical spoiler” in the Nobby-verse. It’s there for anyone to find, but I’m going to refrain from reblogging the conversation so that people can avoid the “spoiler” if they want to.

Though this post is also going to be mildly spoiler-y in a more general way for the series. Not, however, in a way that I think is relevant for regular readers of this blog or anyone who is up on some basic Furness Railway history.)

Oh, buddy. You are singing my song. This has occupied space in my brain for ages now, and you put words to it very well.

I've long been frustrated with the commentary on Gordon's family situation as if it were in any way uniquely awful because hello?? And while they all have massive griefs in varying ways, yes, I find something specially brutal in Edward's front-row seat for the slow but inexorable destruction, not only of his immediate family (bad enough, to be sure) but also of virtually all his first railway's fleet. Like a whole 20-year trickle of horrible news. And I also can't help but wonder... There was surely a time when picking up an assignment to Barrow was a treat, especially in the periods when Edward was getting bullied by the NWR main line—chance to see some friendly faces, catch up on the news from home... when did that change? When did the bad news become such a steady drip that he started to dread going back over-the-bridge? While undoubtedly carrying guilt even about so much as that, because in his secure position the least he can do is show up (it was the '30s in the UK; they hadn't discovered feelings yet). 

I hate to continue to be a downer in this conversation, but no, I don't.

Not through the NWR, at least... even though it is technically canon-compliant (and makes a lot of sense) for the NWR to have scooped up lots of condemned LMS engines during this era!

But my gut says that it just doesn't fit the picture on an emotional or narrative level.

Donald and Douglas's achievement in rescuing even one of their own is presented as a watershed in the cultural history of the railway. I'm inclined to believe it really was—that it opened up a new vista for the engines. Edward having done something similar decades before just kind of undercuts that for me.

Christopher Awdry pretty obviously did not think there were a lot of Furness stock on Sodor (even though it would make sense). Not that he made an explicit statement, but the whole point of the  Victoria and Edward story in TaV seems to be that they bonded over their pleasure in encountering another FR survivor. Thomas's driver didn't tell Victoria that she could look forward to meeting other FR stock on the island in general (even though, again—if he'd said that, it would have made a lot of sense!), he mentioned Edward specifically. And Edward went from a week of taking no notice of Victoria to trying to get her on his branch line within ten seconds—I'm not exaggerating—within ten seconds of discovering who she was.

It's hard to make narrative sense of why, if there was an ex-FR contingent on Sodor, Edward is the standout, the only one of the lot who is part of the famous eight. He doesn't have that strong personality to stand out of a group of his peers—he's a supporter, a lieutenant if you will. That's the role he fills among the known Sodor engines. If there was a smaller coterie that he was part of, he'd had served that role in that group. You know? But the whole tenor of canon is that he used to be very alone, and then he became indispensable to the 'famous eight' dynamic. None of that feels compatible with a 'little Furness' band on the island.

I mean, I love the big lugs, but let's just be blunt: Edward was so hard-up for friends that he got cozy with Gordon, Henry, and James. These were among his best options on the entire island. If he still had any of his original 'family', I just cannot see him caring quite that much what these idiots thought of him, not even so early as the strike, certainly not so late as the incident in 'Cows.'

In short: the dynamic I see between Edward and the rest of the NWR is that he went all-in on unstinting generosity with his second family. And this is probably due to the perspective of an engine who lost his first family completely.

So, you seem to be referring to some of my old FC1 posts, and tbh I abjure them in part, but I still maintain that there is a slightly... weird dynamic between Edward and FC1. FC1 is consistently very kind to Edward when they do interact and seems to think a lot of him. Despite this, Edward does not seem to let himself rely on that very much... at all. FC1 does not appear to have been involved in Edward proving himself fit to rejoin the fleet. Edward, despite being Mr Deputation ("it's when engines tell the Fat Controller something's wrong") doesn't do this in the Thomas situation—he just intervenes on his own. He does confide in FC1 during the strike, but only after FC1 initiates the conversation; in other situations, I am struck more by Edward's slightly painful anxiety to please and to show a happy face. And, even more relevantly to this discussion: Trevor! Edward does not appear to think for a hot minute of going to FC1 with this problem. FC1, who presumably has a country estate. FC1, who has a ton of contacts. FC1, who despite my harsh analyses in the past I will now concede has established a fair record by this point. But nah. Doesn't occur to him. If Edward had ever brought up similar concerns in the past, and FC1 had proven willing and able to help in any way, then I feel like going to FC1 would be his first move here. But he didn't.

The above bullet point also feels like a pattern that makes a lot of sense if FC1 had been unwilling and/or unable to help when the ex-FR engines were steadily condemned. Because, as you say, I can at minimum definitely see Edward proposing they borrow, lease, or buy some over these years (even if, also as you say, he might have been reluctant to push too hard). If FC1 never went this route, it just seems to fit the overall dynamic very well. It needn't have been hard-heartedness on his part: During the Great Depression all his humanitarian principle was probably well-employed just in keeping his own engines safe, without the need or ability to take on more. And Edward probably understood this. But it would have fed into the sense that he may have developed as early as the shed confinement days that, when it comes to the things that cut him the most deeply, he'd better not look to FC1 for salvation. (1952: 'Oh I'm gonna be overhauled after all? Cool. I didn't dare ask.')

This is all to say, I agree with you that Edward would have tried to get the NWR to buy some of his old colleagues. But I don't believe it happened.

That leaves the possibility that he did participate in some more 'underground' rescues after the No-Where train. This I find more plausible. Maybe the F.R. rogues sent out a couple of engines through Tidmouth or Brendam harbors—where the L.M.S. would be less likely or able to look for them!

But I would still add some cautionary words. I don't think it could have gone down more than a few times. I don't think Edward initiated any of these—if they happened it would have to be a sort of deal like my Nobby-verse where Coppernob is masterminding the plan and giving everyone marching orders—and this is because of The Twin Engines and "Saved from Scrap." The whole tenor of the latter story suggests to me that Edward never rescued anyone from death before. It's 1952, and he has to fly solo; Nobby's nowhere around, and any allies from the old days are gone too; Edward is now the Old Guy who has to be the one to Do something if anything is going to be Done. It's also interesting because, unlike Nobby, Edward is not a schemer. His approach is just to go to well-off people who have the power to directly help, and then… ask them to help. Nobby’s smokebox is breaking even as I type those words. It’s such a naive, stupid thing to do! (But… is it?)

The contrast between the two approaches is so delicious, and it does resonate so well with canon, that I am inclined to explore that. Like, I do not believe the NWR ever purchased an FR engine post-Grouping, but I can believe that Edward was appointed deputation and successfully campaigned for the NWR to repair some engines who otherwise would have been sent to Horwich, where they were as likely to be scrapped on sight as to be mended. Or, better than appointed, a self-appointed deputation. I kinda want it to be 1932 and someone, maybe even Poppet, needs a part replaced and Nobby starts spinning his overly-elaborate webs but when it comes time to tell Edward what role he’s to play he’s just like “... right, I’m not doing all that. I’m just going to ask the Fat Director—it’s not an expensive repair and I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes.”

And then there’s a long silence. Everyone in the Strand is simultaneously thinking

1) Nobby will bloody well kill us if we go back to him and say that we let some ‘Gull just completely overturn his plan by SPILLING ALL THE TEA TO A DIRECTOR

and also

2) … but this does sound sooo much easier

Yeah, I do think there is unexplored potential for major angst in the background of Douglas bringing Oliver over the bridge. I don’t think so much with Edward, as his family has been gone so long and I think he’d have the best sense of perspective as to how the situation is different for Oliver than it was for anyone else. I think it might have hit more like a brick for engines whose loss was fresher, like Gordon. And… BoCo.

Who also spent ‘68-’69 in the same position we’re talking about: His siblings are getting scrapped, right over the bridge. They must have been close-knit. They were physically close. I have no doubt BoCo was hoping that “second spot” available on Sodor in '68 could go to one of his own, and then Oliver shows up. Not that I think BoCo would begrudge Oliver, but also… yeah. It's the same pattern we’ve been discussing with Edward in the ‘30s, except this time around there is a Fat Controller actively seeking to acquire engines. And still BoCo can't help anyone.

That’s something that keeps my brain up at night.

[ryan1014n2]

Do you have any other ships besides Rusty x Duncan, and would you care explaining some of them if you're comfortable. :>

Oh boy, ships! Yeah there's uhhh quite a lot of others that I enjoy. I'll list some of them out, but I don't think there's much explanation to be found honestly 😅 (excluding the two I have written little essays for)

(Haphazard bullet point list below cut)

Thomas x Ryan!!! Have you seen Sodor's Legend of the Lost Treasure??? I don't talk about it a lot because I'm living that Skarloey life but I love them!!!

I've given some thought towards Thomas x Luke because they have the sweetest little friendship in Blue Mountain Mystery. That movie just makes my heart melt.

I can see Thomas x Percy but it depends on my mood honestly.

I'm a Luke x Millie enjoyer! Tiny bf and gf. The Switch is a good episode. I don't know why I like this pair only that I very much do. Oh and they seem so excited to see each other at the start of Runaway Engine too! They're just very cute.

Stephen x Glynn. I don't know how to explain this other than to say just watch them interact with each other. How could I not ship them?

Toby x Henrietta since it's like, practically canon already? No super strong feelings on them, it just makes sense.

I've seen Peter Sam x Rusty mentioned a couple of times and while I probably never would've considered it myself, I think they're nice together. 💖

Okay. Uh. Skarloey x Culdee. I forget when I first considered this (I just checked and it was January apparently) or even why, but I wrote a little personal essay that is not at all compatible with canon (I wrote it before I read Mountian Engines) but I was quite entertained by the idea? Essentially how it went was that they met when they were both in for repairs at the same time. "While they’re in for repairs, they get to chatting and are soon good friends. When Skarloey is back on his home railway, he ends up talking endlessly to Rheneas about Culdee. It’s Rheneas who puts the idea in his head that he’s in love (it goes exactly like this)." He receives a "brutal bout of teasing" from Rheneas. (Also, while not exactly relevant, I NEED to share this paragraph because it delighted me to re-read: "Rheneas, in his hubris, repeatedly said things along the lines of “you’ll never see me falling in love,” and indeed to this day he hasn’t. Skarloey remembers this very well and is ready to turn his words back on him if the day should ever come.") Pretty much how this ends is just with Skarloey being a complete mess when it comes to Feelings and kinda dreading the day they interact one-on-one again.

*sighs and buries my head in my hands* next on the list is Rheneas x Culdee. LISTEN. Some of us have favorite characters and would like them to fall in love with other characters, okay? This post is what did it for me for this ship and you know what? I wrote a thing for this too. Let me pull it out of the archives real quick. "I think that Rheneas and Culdee having a little letter correspondence through their crews (which at first felt a bit odd, but now the crews find it very sweet and like to help them write the letters) is quite nice. Rheneas would like to meet Cathrine because of how highly Culdee speaks of her (he loves his coach of course ❤). She sometimes writes, but finds the thing a bit silly. She loves how fond Culdee is of his little pen pal though."

Oh yeah and Culdee x Cathrine for the same reasons as Toby x Henrietta.

Also Harvey x Daisy. Because dangit I really like A Most Singular Engine (even though I admittedly don't actually know that much about Harvey 😅).

I like the idea of Thomas x Ashima and I don't know how controversial that is (if at all)? He acts like he's got a crush on her in some parts if The Great Race and I find that very entertaining.

I'm almost certainly leaving some out but I think this post is long enough as is. Most ships I'm just kind of indifferent on? I'll see stuff like Percy x Harold, Edward x Henry, and James x Gordon and such and just go "yeah sounds great you guys have fun and keep doing what you're doing 👍."

There's also the fact that there's honestly quite a bit of the show that I don't remember seeing (and need to get around to) so some haven't even occurred to me because I haven't really met the characters yet.

[fraiserabbit]

i usually draw something first and then put a story to it, but this time i wrote the story for some stress relief/venting and then i doodled this thing while feeling sad from my own writing like a doofus

here’s Little Diesel

“I love the Bluebell Railway, I really do, but…” A shaky hand ran through Stepney’s curls. “…I’m getting old, Rusty.”

The diesel worker was silently watching a butterfly flitting in and out of the blades of grass, eventually managing a small nod of understanding. Stepney continued, “These past years have been absolutely wonderful! I’m truly grateful you saved my train from that yard. Can you believe it? I was so ready to give it up right then and there. The career I was so passionate about, the engine I was so unbelievably joyful to wake up to every day – and I let it sit there to be turned to scrap.” Stepney chuckled, turning to his friend. “Then you came along.”

Rusty only replied with a small smile, but his eyes didn’t follow along. The older man didn’t seem to notice as he kept talking, turning his attention to the deep orange clouds crawling across the darkening sky. “You went out of your way to find a new engine for the line. You went out of your way, travelling a whole day to find one. You went out of your way to find me.” Stepney closed his eyes, feeling the cool evening breeze on his skin. “And you gave me a second chance at life.”

“Just doing my job.” Rusty mumbled, absentmindedly picking at the grass beside him.

“You did a marvellous job, Rusty.”

The diesel driver felt a sharp pang of sadness in his chest as his whole body tensed.

“I always wonder what all these years would’ve been like if my train did get scrapped. Would I be sitting in an office cubicle staring out the window daydreaming? Maybe watching a film with a family?” Stepney opened his eyes. “And not once did I ever wish that you didn’t drive up to me that night.”

Rusty felt sick. A feeling of immense unease crept into his mind, but he managed. For now.

“But I’m getting weaker, Rusty.” Stepney’s tone had dropped, as did Rusty’s heart. “Maybe it’s time I sat down with other folks my age for a cup of tea, complaining about young people like you!” He laughed, but the younger man could only stare blankly at the trees across the tracks. They seemed menacing as the sun set lower into the horizon, painting large shadows across the landscape.

“What I’m saying is…” Stepney lowered his voice – a more solemn tone than Rusty was used to from the lively man. “It’s time I retired, Rusty.”

Those had been the words Rusty was dreading. Ever since this morning when Stepney had called to meet ‘by the bluebell field’, with a certain sadness in his voice Rusty could perceive through his jolly tone. He never wanted to believe it. Of course he had heard of numerous previous workers retiring from the other old workers, but he never imagined one would right in front of him.

“It’ll be a sad sight to see Old Bluebell be sent to the yard a second time. Though it’ll be the final time, eh? There’ll not be another little diesel to save it.” Stepney paused. “There’ll not be another driver to operate it.”

Rusty shivered at the implication. His expression was grim as his shoulders slumped.

Stepney’s gentle eyes studied the younger man for a while, and his voice was kind as he spoke slowly. “Cheer up, little diesel! You’ve given me all I ever wanted. Take a look here.” He produced a neat pale blue folder from seemingly nowhere. “It sure was a surprise, seeing that first letter you wrote to me. If I recall, the first line was…” Stepney clicked his tongue in thought. “…‘Salutations, old man!’ Oh, you were silly indeed! And you just kept writing. Years and years of letters, even though I only had time to respond to half of them.” He fondly gazed at the folder before handing it to Rusty. “Do what you will with your letters. I won’t need to read them again.”

Rusty’s hands tightened around the folder. “So you did read them.” He half-smiled.

“Why wouldn’t I? The man that revived my life-long passion, and I ignored him? That wouldn’t be right!” Stepney grinned, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out a single envelope. “Now take this, Rusty.”

Rusty took the envelope, carefully opening it. His voice caught in his throat as he unfolded the pages inside.

“I finally found the time to write a good one. No need to read it all in one go.”

The younger man quickly turned his head away from his old friend, blinking back the tears welling in his eyes. Stepney patiently sat in the silence as Rusty struggled to compose himself. “I’ll miss you.” His voice was breaking as he found it harder to keep his posture straight, shakily placing the envelope and folder on the ground beside him.

“Look at me.”

Rusty’s shoulders were visibly shaking as he tried to hold back his feelings, turning back to face his friend. Stepney’s hands gently cupped Rusty’s blazing red cheeks, and he lowered himself to be at eye level with the younger man. “You have been one of the best things to happen to me, little diesel. You’ve been like a ray of sunshine bringing life back to a field of dying bluebells. And the bluebells were beautiful.”

At that moment Rusty allowed himself to break down, placing a trembling hand over Stepney’s and leaning into it. And he cried.

[sumsebien]

by design pt. 3// Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: friedrich and y/n’s arrival in prussia! ft. frederica ;))

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none

a/n: apologies for the long wait darlings. here she is though. and she is a long one. also a side note for those who love symbolism as much as i do 💐 ;) also, my banabaer @milkbaer this one is for u baby. thank you for all of your help!!!

a german lesson: Gänschen means goose🦆 (that’s a duck but we can pretend) and schloss means palace/chateau/mansion

The massive railway station stood proudly as the gateway to Potsdam, located right where the forest met the city. Three archways made of worn bricks welcomed old friends and strangers alike. There was something in the slightly tinted mossy green that offered you an odd sense of home. Like you had been here before.

Friedrich stood next to you near the exit. You had had breakfast together, then got ready separately before meeting each other again here.

“I had a lot of memories with this train station,” Friedrich said as the train finally passed the great archway.

You didn’t realize that you had been holding your breath the entire time, waiting for the wheels to come to full stop. You had been storing information from Lea and Ilse about Friedrich’s mother all morning. Anything that might help you strike up a decent conversation with her from her favorite flowers (gardenias) to her pets (a schnauzer named Fifi). Since then, you had been a little preoccupied by your own imaginations of her as a mother.

From the way Friedrich talked about her, your first guess was that they were extremely like-minded. Aside from that, there was the fact that she was a Queen to consider. She obviously must be extremely elegant and poised. Even her dog sounded posh-Fifi the Schnauzer...

You were still listening to Friedrich though, just not closely. “Really?” you asked, your eyes following the platform numbers as they passed by.

He nodded proudly. “I ran here from the Palace and caught the train to Berlin for a boxing match.”

You laughed, now entirely engaged in imagining little Friedrich fleeing from his guards. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen. I skipped a dancing lesson.”

“Shame. You could have become a ballerina and outdone my stunts at your Christmas party.”

“Who’s to say that I did not? There are still many shocking things that you don’t know.” His plan to distract you from your own nerves had worked wonderfully well. You two continued to discuss his boxing match up until you were escorted out of the station.

There, you were greeted by a great spectacle of carriages and a horse parade. Everywhere you looked there were men in uniforms. They were on horses, in open top carriages, on the streets, all waiting for you and Friedrich.

Back in London, your family frequently had two to three carriages to accompany you to social functions. It was already considered excessive for the ton. You would have laughed at the idea of this. Or to be honest, wouldn’t have even been able to imagine having an entire parade to accompany you a couple of blocks down the street.

And of course, you could not forget the icing on the cake-the largest carriage you had ever seen. The one you saw in France could not compare and certainly not the one in England. This one was completely enveloped in gold from top to toe-or rather from roof to wheels. On the top of the roof, there were golden cherubs holding up an olive branch and flowers.

It was a harsh reminder that Friedrich, someone who you had grown to identify as your friend over the last several hours, was also the firstborn son of the King, heir apparent to the throne. And you were his wife. Whatever agreement you had made with each other in private was not valid in the public eye. Here, you were a Princess. The Princess.

As Friedrich watched you marvel in the magnificence of the royal parade, he turned to Heinrich with a last minute decision. Well last minute for his father and valet but not for him. Friedrich had wanted to visit his mother for ages.

“I’m heading to my mother’s. We’ll catch up with the staff afterwards and meet you at the Berlin Palace.”

All of this was not on the schedule his father had drawn out and Friedrich was well-aware. He had even cancelled the state train that Friedrich specifically ordered to Potsdam just to make sure he would not take you here first. But Friedrich was not one to lose.

At the same time, however, he knew that his valet was absolutely terrified of his father, as did most people. Soon enough, when his father found out that his son was not on the train to Berlin and was nowhere near the Royal Palace, he would definitely not be happy.

“But your Highness, we really must get going now or we won’t reach Berlin by noon.”

“If he asks, just blame it on me. I’ll be in and out in one hour.”

Heinrich didn’t say anything after that, just nodded. For that, Friedrich was thankful, he did not want to ruin this magical moment for you. It was not going to be this magical for long.

As Heinrich left with your staff, Friedrich turned back to you. “Y/N?”

“I-Is this for us?”

The look on your face made him laugh. Your jaws were grazing the floors, your eyes slowly sweeping across the scene then glanced at him and back to the carriages again.

“I believe it is,” he smiled, offering you his arm.

…

The entire ride back to the Palace was essentially just for you to fathom the welcome wagon.

You could barely string a sentence together, nodding along as Friedrich picked out places that he mentioned in his stories last night, especially enthusiastic about the candy shop he was never allowed to go in.

Potsdam was charming. You could certainly imagine a very fulfilling and peaceful existence here where it wasn't hectic like London but not entirely placid like the countryside.

Just when you thought you could not be more impressed, you arrived at Sanssouci Park.

When Ilse briefly mentioned it, you had expected a park. Like Hyde Park or Regent’s Park or the little garden behind your house that your parents insisted was a park. Whatever you had imagined, however, could not hold a candle to what it was in reality.

“Welcome to Sanssouci Park,” Friedrich said casually, casting a brief look out the windows while your eyes were completely glued to the towering gates opening up for your parade to pass through.

The name was not meant to refer to a park. It was definitely not a park. It was a bloody forest. As you entered the road lined with dense trees, the temperature dropped slightly with the shade, effectively cooling you both from the outside in.

“This is what you call a park? Whatever do you two think of Hyde Park then? A child’s sandbox?”

Before he could answer, your attention was quickly captured by a glimpse of something magnificent as the carriage passed a gap between the tree trunks. You pointed towards the dash of yellow you’d seen. “Is that where your mother lives?”

Friedrich followed your gaze and promptly nodded. “That’s Sanssouci Schloss. Here is the back of it.” Just on cue, the carriage rounded the corner and headed towards the back of the Palace.

Your jaws were officially off now as your eyes feasted on the very picture of splendor.

From personal observations, people usually spent a great deal of time and fortune on making the fronts of their homes as extravagant as possible. It was all in the face, as they said. But not here. Here, even the rear side was grand.

There was a huge water fountain in the middle of the yard, the blue sky printed on the surface. Naturally, your eyes followed straight ahead, past the window behind Friedrich’s head towards the most elaborate set of marble stairs you’d ever seen. On either side were tall walls of hedges and rose bushes that covered the hillside.

“Can we walk up those steps?”

Friedrich turned to look at the steps and then back at you again.

It was not a steep hill. More of a gentle slope but exactly because of that, the steps were long and the landings were wide. Anyone in breeches would find it challenging enough as it was. But you were in a gown, in the sweltering July heat and you were volunteering to walk. “You can. People usually go straight to the entrance though. Are you certain you’d want to walk? It is a long way.”

You nodded, brushing off his concerns. All you cared about was the sight.

Per your request, the carriage stopped right before the grand stairs to Sanssouci Palace. You and Friedrich got out of the carriage.

From where you stood, you had to crane your neck up slightly to be able to see the Palace up the top. The strip of yellow you’d seen from afar turned out to be much more intricate than you’d expected. Beautiful white windows lined the yellow walls, right in the center was an oval shaped room with a cyan dome on top, perfectly aligned with the stairs. Even though it only had one story, its width certainly made up for its height, stretching across the hill.

As you walked ahead, Friedrich decided to stall a little bit. Memories of endless summer days spent on these lawns came flooding back.

He had missed this.

The last time he was here was the summer before he left for England. It was actually here that his aunt Charlotte came to visit with an invitation to Cambridge-the day that changed his life.

And now he was here with you. Someone he had dreaded to marry a mere few days before. Now a dear friend to him.

Straight in front of him, you were marching up the steps with admirable determination, your hands holding onto your skirt, lifting it off the ground. With sun on your skin and wind in your hair, you laughed and told him to hurry up. For that split second, he wished he was not just your friend. Though he discarded that thought as quickly as it came, it stayed stuck in the back of his mind as he matched your pace.

“These are a lot of steps,” you remarked after the first flight of stairs was behind you. There were at least five more ahead. The excessively wide spaces between each step did not help with the general morale either.

“I did warn you,” he chuckled. “It was too exhausting a trip that Marie Antoinette rode a horse up these steps after her stroll in the garden.”

You paused for a moment.

Friedrich thought you were imagining the French queen trotting up the steps with her stallion. But as it turned out, he was wrong.

“Did he invite her over during one of the military clashes between Prussia and France?”

To say that Friedrich did not expect that was an understatement. You had told him you read but he never asked for the specifics on what exactly you were interested in. At that moment, he simply thought you’d be interested in a made-up tale to forget about the stairs. He did not think for a moment you’d be interested in foreign conflicts enough to know the feud between Prussia and France. He knew he certainly wasn’t as a student.

“You can’t fool me. I know,” you said, laughing at the shock on his face.

Pleasantly impressed, he remarked, “Full of surprises I see.”

“You’ll see that in this friendship,” you motioned between yourselves, “you’re not the only one who can shock.”

He gave you a nod, lowering his eyes and watched his steps before he murmured to himself. “Friendship, yes.” He reminded himself of how grateful he was to be your friend. And that maybe pining over you for the rest of his life was better than having you hate him.

If there was one thing for certain, it was that you two would not repeat his parents’ mistakes.

“Darling!”

The voice caused Friedrich’s eyes to snap upwards, slightly alarmed as they weren’t expected on this side of the Palace. Everyone was supposed to be at the front.

The first thing he saw was that you had stopped as well, only standing two steps above him. And then, on the top flight, he saw his mother, waving at him. She wasn’t supposed to greet them outside. At the same time though, he wouldn’t expect her to wait that long for anything anyways.

He waved back with a laugh. She hadn’t changed one bit since the last time he saw her nearly a year ago. A straw sunhat on top of her head, a basket of flower and gardening tools in her hand.

“I-is that-“

Friedrich nodded. “Yes, that’s her. That’s my Mama.”

The nervous jitters came back to you. You knew how much his mother meant to him. She was the true hero of his childhood and you were just excited to meet her. However, you also knew that in no way was this arrangement made by her. And no matter how friendly you were with Friedrich, as his mother, she would not easily trust you.

You quickly masked your nervousness with a gentle smile. It was the safest route after all. Better look like a smiley fool than a grumpy idiot. You thought.

The Queen began to walk down the steps briskly, meeting you halfway up the last flight of stairs. Immediately, she threw her arms around Friedrich, pulling him into a bear hug. “There you are, you Gänschen! You’ve kept your mother waiting long enough!” She said, messing up his hair and only letting go of him once he was shaking with laughter.

When he and your maids said she was very carefree in private, you did not expect her to be this carefree. A lady was not supposed to be out in the sun like this, no less a queen. She was also much more beautiful than you could ever imagine, with her honey blonde curls tumbling down her back in waves and her big blue eyes which were now on you.

“Apologies, Mama,” he stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward. “This is Y/N, my wife. And Y/N, this is my Mama.”

“It is such an honor to meet you, your Majesty,” you said, bending your knees into a curtsy, praying you wouldn’t stumble backwards and ruin the first impression.

You had an overwhelming want for her to like you. And you felt like this first meeting was of paramount importance in deciding that. If it did not go well, she would never see you as anything more than a girl her son was forced to marry. And that was terrifying even in the case where Friedrich remained a good friend.

You were not wrong. Frederica did not expect much from a match made by Louis, a man who clearly did not know his own son or even cared to try. Assuming he did know his son, it would not even be of any matter at all. The only thing he had ever cared about was grooming an heir. This arrangement, no doubt, served that.

But Frederica could not ignore the large smile on her son’s face as he ascended the steps with this young lady.

That? That was not by design.

Frederica shook her head and offered you her hand to help you stand up straight. “I prefer Frederica. At least when we are not in court.”

She gave you a cheeky wink and plucked a gardenia from her basket, tucking it by your ear. “Come on now! I am sure it has been a long trip for the both of you. Let us have some tea before you go.”

...

Frederica led the both of you into the Palace through the doors into the oval room. Inside it was just as spectacular as its exterior. Tall columns held up the painted dome where a chandelier was hung. The three arched windows looking out to the gardens were pushed open by three footmen, allowing sunlight and fresh air to gush into the space, lightening up the entire room.

“Please have a seat, dears,” Frederica said, gesturing to the rounded table in the middle of the room.

You were still too in awe to be able to settle down calmly in your seat but obeyed her anyways. Beside you, Friedrich was glancing around the room, like he was in search of something.

“Is Fifi not here?” he asked as a butler approached the table with a cake stand.

Just on cue, Fifi-his mother’s Schnauzer, shot through the doors. You nearly gasped out of sheer excitement when you saw the ball of salt and pepper fur fly into the room like an arrow. You had always shared a fondness for dogs. Yet you never had one. The only dogs you had were your father’s hunting hounds and he made sure you remained far away from them.

“Speak of the devil...” Friedrich turned to you, “this is Fifi, hated by most but very loved by my mother. Mostly because she smells like fish.”

He kept his eyes on the dog as she strolled around, heading in your direction and getting alarmingly close. “Fifi!” he said, shooing her off. The dog didn’t care, just kept on going forward.

“Oh, it’s quite alright! I love dogs,” you said, fighting the urge to pet Fifi who was quietly sniffing at the hem of your skirt.

Frederica was absolutely surprised when she saw her Schnauzer so quiet. Her dog was not friendly with strangers. By this time there should have been an accident.

The delayed accident happened right after that. Fifi bit down on your dress, tugging at it playfully.

More surprising, however, you didn’t seem scared of the feisty little old thing either. You just laughed.

“Fifi! Leave the poor girl alone!” Frederica said, tapping her shoes against the floor.

Friedrich quickly leaned forward and picked her up. Being lifted off the ground, she released your skirt and focused on wiggling out of Friedrich’s grasps instead. When she eventually succeeded, Fifi headed back to you, circling your feet, her tail wagging.

Friedrich clicked his tongue, about to bend over again to shoo Fifi off. Not that she would care. But the dog plopped down between your chair and his mother’s, out of Friedrich’s reach.

She looked up at you with big eyes, begging for a pet, which you were happy to provide. You reached down and scratched her ears. It was all rather brave, if he must admit.

“I know it is hard to believe but she seems fond of you,” Frederica mused, seeing Fifi transform into a whole other dog under your touch. She was not usually this sweet.

Friedrich scoffed. “The devil almost ripped her skirt off,” he gestured to the hem of your dress, and glared at Fifi.

“It’s fine, honestly. I think it was a compliment if anything,” you said with a smile.

He sighed. “Don’t defend the perpetrator! She has a terrible temperament. And you know it,” he turned to his mother.

“Fifi does. as much as I love her,” Frederica nodded. Fifi’s ears perked up at the mention of her name, blinking at her owner. “But you seem like a very experienced animal whisperer.”

“No, actually. I never had one.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You’re great with Fifi. And if you can handle her, you can handle any dog.”

“Any dog is better than Fifi,” Friedrich said under his breath. Nevertheless, he was glad to see the two of you bond. Even if it was over Fifi the Ferocious.

On the bright side, at least she wasn’t coming back with them to Berlin. It was the only thing Friedrich and his father had ever had in common-a dislike for the Schnauzer.

...

Heinrich was being escorted into the Palace towards the audience room. A place he would much prefer not to go to on his own. He had arrived for over an hour and still you two were nowhere to be found and it was only for so long he could hide the train of carriages. Eventually, one of the butlers alerted the King of his presence and he was immediately requested inside.

Heinrich had suspected that you would arrive slightly late. He just didn’t think it could be this late. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. One misstep and off with his head.

When the doors to the room were swung open, the King was throwing a fit. His deafening yell rang across the room and bounced against the tall walls. It certainly did not help with the nerves.

“WHERE IS MY HORSE?” he demanded, rising up from the throne. From where he stood, he towered over the poor footman. “I am late for hunting!”

“Your Majesty, you cancelled today’s hunt.”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

Heinrich kept quiet, remaining invisible as he approached the throne behind the butler. He was not about to be caught in the middle of a crossfire during one of the King’s fits.

The footman blinked. Heinrich could see the man debating whether or not to answer, lest it was a rhetorical question.

“B-because the Prince is back from England, sir?”

“Oh,” the King said. His voice quieter than before and sat back down again. The crease between his Majesty’s eyebrows disappeared, his expressions softening slightly. Then he turned to the footman with a quizzical look. “And where is the Prince?”

The footman turned around and met Heinrich’s eyes. And then the King followed his gaze. So much for not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

“I-“ Heinrich began, his mind drawing a blank.

If he were to tell the truth, Friedrich and you would no doubt be in trouble. However, if he didn’t tell the truth, he’d be in trouble and so would you two. And if he just said he didn’t know, he’d be on the first ship to an island far far away.

“Well?” The King barked.

“I’ll go get them, your Majesty!”

“Don’t just stand there. Hurry along then! Before I chop all of your heads off.”

Heinrich had never walked so fast out of a room his entire life. His heart was pounding as it began to dawn on him that he had just lied to the King. Well, it was not exactly a lie. He was going to get them. They just weren’t here yet. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. There was no reasoning with such a powerful man. All he could do was hope that he would still be alive to see another day.

Just when all of his luck appeared to have run out, he heard the distinct sound of hooves against cobble and rushed outside.

Friedrich helped you out of the carriage, still engaged in the never-ending tales of Fifi the Ferocious. You were laughing when you caught sight of the magnificent Royal Palace-Berliner Schloss. It was much boxier than Sanssouci Schloss with towering walls that casted a great shadow over the front lawn.

Household staff lined the steps on either side, straightening up as Heinrich dashed past them. Some had their heads turned, the younger ones especially, their curious eyes on you, trying to catch a glimpse of the new Princess. The more seasoned staff near the top stayed perfectly still, resisting the urge to look anywhere other than straight ahead.

“Your Highnesses!” He said, bowing so quickly you were worried his head might snap off. “Your presences are requested. Immediately!”

...

Through the doors you could faintly hear your titles being announced. Your palms were clammy so you hid it behind you, focusing on what you might say in a couple of moments.

Friedrich was not nervous, of course.

He was the one who planned the detour in the first place. And while you had enjoyed the time with Frederica very much, perhaps a little too much, it had delayed your schedule by well over a couple of hours. It meant that you made the King of Prussia, your father-in-law wait.

The only person more nervous than you was probably Heinrich. Every time you caught a glimpse of his face, he seemed more haggard than the last. You were not certain whether he was really sick or just worried.

"My father will say things. Things that are aimed to test you. Do not mind any of it," Friedrich said quietly.

"Something tells me I should take that as a suggestion. One look at Heinrich and I know what I am in for."

Friedrich sneaked a glance at his valet and gave you a small smile. "Heinrich has always been that way. Worries a little too much."

"Maybe that is for good reason-"

The trumpets sounded, prompting you to straighten up, smooth your dress and put on a smile. In the corner of your eyes, you could see Friedrich cracking up. Had it not been for the fact that you were being presented right then, you would have given him a slipper to the chest. He was still smiling up until you had to walk through the doors.

Then, his demeanor shifted completely. You did not dare to make eye contact with the King. All you saw was brief glimpses of a man, wearing a red cloak on the throne. But Friedrich, he was looking straight down the room, challenging his father.

From the stories he had told you, you knew that Friedrich had a rough relationship with his father. Once he got a chance to break away, he vowed he would allow his father to have full control of his life again. And from the suffocating tension in the air, you knew his father would not make it easy.

“The Prince and Princess of Prussia, your Majesty,” a footman announced.

"Your Majesty," you said, giving the King a curtsy.

"Welcome, welcome. I hope the journey was not too rough for you.”

You smiled and nodded. Not a bad start.

However, it was a completely different story when you saw Friedrich’s face. He raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced by his father’s concern. "You do, father? Wasn’t it on your orders that the state train never arrived?”

“Now, now, Friedrich. That was none of my doing.” The King turned to you with a small smile. “I must say, you are much prettier than I expected, my lady.”

He had made such an effort to emphasize the last two words that even if you weren’t listening, you still would have caught them. The King was smirking on his throne, his icy eyes sending chills down your back.

“I believe it’s your Highness, father.”

This row was your fault. You could tell.

“No, I don’t think it is. You didn’t get married.”

“We did.”

“That did not count.”

“How? Because you weren’t invited?”

“I see all of your manners have gone out the door since you stepped foot out of this country.”

Friedrich wanted to scoff. It was always going to be about England. If they were going to have this conversation, he was going to do it properly. But not in front of you.

He turned to Heinrich. “Take the Princess to see the chambers.”

You didn’t want to leave. You were responsible for this in one way or another. You should be here to take the blame. But Friedrich shook his head like he knew what you were about to say. “Come with Heinrich. I’ll meet you later.”

“No need for that. Lady Brandt, your chief lady-in-waiting, will take you for a tour. Bernadine?”

You remembered Lea and Ilse mentioning her as well. However, at that time, she didn’t have a name or a face for you to attach her to just yet. You just knew that she was going to be in charge of all of your affairs like Heinrich was doing for Friedrich. Now she had a name and a face.

At the mention of her name, she nodded and stepped forward from the line of staff on your right. She was dressed in a blood red dress, a strand of pearls wrapped around her long neck. She came towards you, giving you an impressive curtsy, tipping her head forward slowly yet keeping her hat perfectly still on her dark raven hair.

When she looked up, you were finally able to see her striking hollow eyes, tall cheekbones and an ever so slightly upturned corner of her lips. She looked awfully familiar. Like a much younger version of your mother actually. And she was just as terrifying.

“Come with me, your Highness.”

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[sudrian-railways-enthusiast]

Traintober 2021 Day 28: Fate Comes to Collect

Aka: Every telling of Henry’s Tunnel is unique (Part I)

Earlier that Week, Railway Board Business Meeting:

…well if that is the last topic to address, I’d like to make a motion to conclude the meeting. All in favor?

Aye.

Aye.

Ay-

The Fat Director: Ehem…Actually gentlemen, I have something.

There was a long pause.

TFD: The Ballahoo Tunnel. As I’m sure you know, the tunnel gauntlet necessitates awkward timetables and imposes an upper limit to the number of services we can run in and out of Vicarstown everyday. I’m sure you can appreciate how this might cause difficulties. Besides it isn’t Wartime any longer, we can afford the upgrade?

…

TFD: …There are also the safety concerns? That gauntlet is an accident waiting to happen, and I don’t know about you, but I want safety to be renowned on my Railway.

-:… Your railway? You may direct the railway, but make no mistake, the NorthWestern is Our railway. You only come to Business Meetings as a formality. Know your station Director.

[You schedule the trains. We finance the trains. You discipline the trains and then we decide the future of the trains. We do this for 40 years, and then we retire comfortably]

The Fat Director silently seethed.

~~~

Later that week:

I won’t spoil my green paint and red stripes for you!

He had never liked these big engines.

Henry hadn’t built up enough steam to take the first morning train, and had sat building pressure all morning; he was only now pulling the midday local because he was the only engine left. Gordon, Edward and James would soon be delayed on their return trip to Vicarstown if Henry didn’t move soon.

Honestly, he couldn’t tell whether Henry had failed again or was if he just being stubborn. He’d been drenched in a cloud of steam, so obviously Henry had plenty of it, but then, Henry did appear particularly fired up at the moment. These big engines are so finicky.

The Fat Director grew more apathetic by the hour. Silly passengers had dithered about Henry but it was no use. The Fat Director had a scheme. Eventually, the signalmen sent for Thomas to come help clear the line, but after an initial try pushing the train, mostly for the benefit of the passengers, he had had Thomas stop; it was no use wearing the poor engine out. Instead, he reached into the inner lining of his top hat (he had had the interior water proofed out of caution) and pulled out some paperwork.

TFD: Oops wrong ones, those are your “legal” documents Thomas. Here you are driver. Have these brought to the Big Station and contact the designer signed on the bottom, tell him I want it double tracked instead of single; there’s been a change of plans.

Recommended Listening: Credit to Nicco’s Trains on SoundCloud

https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/7BEWwwaJh9a1kQXt6

Later:

Henry looked on with a mixture of confusion, curiosity, amusement, and dread.

Hey uh, what ya got there??

Random Worker, enjoying a refreshing beverage after having finished re-laying rails: A Smoothie!

Um uh well it’s a Tunnel bore, but did you know a similar bore is going to be used to dig an exploratory tunnel? What do you think that means? I thought that was an interesting change of topic?

Sir, you can’t be serious? It’s been a week, I’ll come out now, this is insanity?

TFD: You’re Staying in the tunnel Henry.

LET ME OUT

You do NoT disrespect my authority. If you keep arguing I’ll have you bricked in, I swear it, you will not be upsetting my arrangements twice!

WHAT ARRANGEMENTS ?!?!

That’s it-

~~~

Further consequences:

With the Main Terminus cut off, the big engines were forced to run trains from Tidmouth to the Works Station, and Edward took goods and Passengers further on down the Ballahoo branch, as well as works trains to Henry’s Tunnel. The city of Ballahoo experienced a brief boon due to this diversion of traffic, which was transferred to horse and cart, and even some of Sodor’s first Busses. Unfortunately, the Tidmouth Sheds wouldn’t start construction for some years, so the engines were forced to take shelter at night in branch line sheds, goods sheds, and on a few occasions, station canopies.

The Next Business Meeting:

…

Also that bit about the Tunnel bore is true, I found schematics for a bore dated the same year as the Tunnel incident

[driftwork]

the long farewell

There are many types of goodbyes, from the casual to the serious and professional. The waving goodbye to our daughter and her children as she drives away is best not to drawn out. Almost as soon as they drive past towards the west,  we become self-conscious as we stand on the pavement watching them leave. We become virtual just as they become virtual on leaving us, how idiotic we look posing for a photograph that nobody will ever take, which will never be uploaded anywhere… Sometimes it is friends who leave us standing by the road, or on the railway station platform,  waving across the tracks as they board the southbound train. At other times we accompany a friend who is flying back to Australia for the last time,  unaware as we drink poor quality coffee on the concourse, that this is the last time we will ever see one another.  Would we have spoken differently, perhaps hugged each other farewell ? Finally they go through the gates, following their luggage, including a suitcase of books they bought in London.  As we say goodbye, laughing, waving, as we are no longer with them. They vanish into the terminal and we go back to our car and drive away talking about them, "perhaps we should visit them in Australia?" knowing that we can never do this.. He will wander the inner concourse, in the secure zone, looking at clothes, books, electronic gadgets,  perhaps they will buy some noise cancelling headphones, black eyeshades... He will be carried away by complex technologies, assemblages that are lovely and yet always oppressive,  the pressure of the consumptive assemblages always leads to irrationality - For him, living like this it is still clear that secret agents become revolutionaries, and that revolutionaries become secret agents.  How did this anarchist become a man of the state? Eventually we will hear of him dying in a small town on the coast,  his body has already been reduced to ashes. He never made it to the steppe which begins with innocent plains, with the purity of plains, the fertility , the immensity of plains. There was no time for farewell, just the memory of uncompleted promise to meet next time he was in London. I was seized with a sudden panic (and this showed foresight: what I dreaded was precisely this sort of madness, this darkening of consciousness) when i heard of his death. The incoherent wave, the gestures with which we part, the leave-taking from this place of safety sometimes,  attacks the virtual future,  and causes our many farewells to become a possible moment documented in the 1000 word anti-novel that you are writing..

[boiling-paint]

.05: Underground

The light moved past his vision as it continued on, letting him finally see the engine. He turned to look at his siblings in excitement, but his smile dropped when, suddenly,

He was alone.

————

Note: Hi! This is my au where theres a third submas sibling (not twin, just younger.) What do Emmet and them do when Ingo disappears? :) Guess we'll find out. Been fighting back n forth on wether or not to make the third sibling an oc or gn!reader insert so we can all live a little selfishly, so maybe leave a comment on your thoughts!

BLANKSHIPPERS DNI pls istfg dont touch this. Pls. Hiss scratch hiss.

-

Anyways uh, here goes prologue :).

----

The wind was a chilled breeze, cooling summer hot skin in the afternoon sun. Another beautiful day in the Unova region, creatures roaming free and everyone out and about, enjoying the world of Pokémon. Ingo and his siblings were no exception.

Their shoes stomped over grass, rocks and puddles as the three of them traveled down the beaten path. After their mother had briefly mentioned a railway being finished just outside the town, it was the only thing on their minds. Emmet was already ahead of him and their little sibling. He eagerly forged a path for them, matching his Archen as they bulldozed down the grass, sneakers and talons in messy succession of one another. He wondered briefly what kind of Pokémon he may have, when the time came for it. The mystery of Archen’s appearance remained just that, but it certainly took a liking to  Emmet the most out of the three of them. 

A brief flash of their vest caught his eye, turning around he noticed they had fallen, scraping their knee. Quickly he called out to his sibling.

“Are you okay?” The small smile was reassuring before their face returned to its regular neutral state, brushing off their knee as he helped them up.

“Yeah, let’s catch up with--”

“Hurry! It’s almost arrived!” At the news they both skittered ahead to meet Emmet at the edge of the dirt. The levee rose quite high, the reflection off the metal tracks like stars as Ingo looked south to see if he could spot the locomotive. They all waited with baited breath, grass curled between fingers in nervous excitement. 

At the sound of the familiar low, drawn-out horn Ingo quickly looked to the north instead- and there it was; a broad, full headlight became brighter than the sky for a moment, a beacon to light his smile as his chest bloomed with energy. He felt Emmet's hand on his shoulder, shaking him excitedly as his sibling did their own little dance on the other side of him. The light moved past his vision as it continued on, letting him finally see the engine. He turned to look at his siblings in excitement, but his smile dropped when, suddenly,

He was alone.

The wind was a cold breeze, cooling frozen skin in the low-lit space. Ingo took a sharp breath, looking around as he regained his senses. He stood on something smooth and tough, the other foot on a softer but hardy material. His coat kept out the wet chill of the cave as he tried to take in his surroundings.

His mind cleared quickly at the familiar low, drawn-out horn of the train. He spun only to face the burning light of the locomotive's headlight once again. His chest bloomed with fear. The whistle blared loud, ringing in his ears. He felt his dread-filling heart about to burst from its spot, legs moving on their own as they backpedaled on the tracks and Igno turned on his heel to run. It was the only thing he could do. The ground shook under his feet. The gravity of the situation was fast approaching, and there was no end in sight. Everything was pitch black, only exception the glittering steel of the tracks he stumbled over, his own breath fanning in the cold in front of him. He felt the whistle blow this time, filling his chest so big it might burst, wheels against the tracks like snare drums snapping his body into blind, fearful action. 

There was no chance, not in the pits of hell. But he kept running. And when the ground became too shaky to stand on and his foot caught under the wood frame of the rail, he turned to look behind him, glancing one last time as the engine roared closer...

..

Ingo’s stomach flipped as he suddenly kept falling. 

The earth tilted on its axis and a silvery white overtook his vision, his body drowned in nausea as gravity- no, -time and space, churned and evolved around him. His head swam, too full and too loud. Yet his body felt light somehow. The universe swirled, quiet and roaring and full and empty and infinite and microscopic. 

His unsightly demise had been interrupted, but by what? 

He was suddenly everything and nothing before the world finally solidified back into place, and yet he kept falling.

Ingo blacked out before he hit the ground.

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (December 4/2020)

It’s the day we’ve all been dreading.

The time of reckoning has come for Tommy as he and Ghostbur are pushed into exile -- Tommy’s third exile so far! He’s really racking them up.

 Meanwhile, Dream and Tubbo form a tentative alliance, the Badlands start to splinter, and Mexican L’manburg continues to grow in size and power.

---

 - Sapnap logs on, sees that Batthew is gone and starts going apeshit on Ranboo, but then they realize that Batthew was actually still there and Sapnap was mistaken about Batthew dying. Whoops.

- Sapnap goes on a monologue about Dream dethroning George, saying basically that his loyalties lie only with Mexican L’manburg now. He and Tommy are friends, and he’ll see what happens with Tommy’s situation.

- Tubbo and Quackity speak before shit goes down. Quackity tells Tubbo about George being dethroned and his and Dream’s debate.

- Tommy comes online.

- Tommy convinces Quackity and Fundy to help him start a war against Dream that very night. Tubbo isn’t convinced but they keep talking over him, so eventually he reluctantly agrees.

- They go to meet with Dream. Dream says that he believes Tubbo will make the right choice. Tubbo laughs, says he’s sorry to Tommy, and exiles him. He says the discs are just that - discs, and they shouldn’t decide the fate of a country.

- Dream escorts Tommy and Ghostbur a couple thousand blocks away. The rain is pouring.

- Quackity leads everyone down a hallway to a Technoblade hate shrine. Fundy hands Tubbo a “L’manburg hit list” of all their enemies. They decide to take down Technoblade first, then Dream.

- Dream goes to speak with Tubbo at the walls. Dream says he’ll have the walls down within a week and he’ll give Tubbo all the obsidian.

- Tommy tries desperately to get Ghostbur to remember why Wilbur made Tubbo the president, but he can’t.

- Ghostbur says that Techno was messaging him to tell Techno their coords. Tommy doesn’t want Techno to know.

- Sam appears in front of Tommy - he must have followed them. He says that Tommy is always welcome in his home.

- Tommy is at a loss for what to do. He says they need to get back the discs. Ghostbur asks who has the discs, and Tommy says Tubbo and Dream. And in order to get back the disc from Tubbo... Tommy goes silent for a bit.

- Dream declares that L’manburg and Dream SMP are at peace. He says that he will be officially recognizing L’manburg as a state, and if anybody tries to overthrow the government, he will support Tubbo. 

- Fundy asks Dream if he looks good in his suit. They’re getting married today. When Dream leaves the call, Fundy says “I love you.” Dream returns the message after a bit of...hesitation. Fundy is giddy.

- Technoblade joins Wilbur and Tommy’s call and laughs at Tommy’s failure. He arrives and bullies Tommy while showing off his new skin. He says that if Tommy really wants his discs back, he’s been working with the wrong people (Tubbo)

- Quackity retains his vice president duties. 

- Tommy and Wilbur name their new town “Logstedshire,” Logsted for short.

- Logchamp. Tommy is tempted by an Apple.

- Tommy burns the Racism Logs. I think it’s safe to say he and Wilbur are going a biiiiit insane?

- #SorryTrendingGuy

-  Quackity asks Sapnap what his relationship with Dream is like right now. Sapnap is still heartbroken but says that Dream might still trust him. Quackity tells Sapnap about the Butcher Army and asks if he wants to join. Sapnap says that depending on how things go, he may have “a bigger fish in his sights...”

- Tubbo speaks with Ranboo. Tubbo talks about how Ranboo was planning on running for the election on February 2nd. He says he hopes Ranboo would do a better job than him. Ranboo philosophizes about the discs.

- Quackity gives George the same proposition to join the Butcher Army that he gave Sapnap. He asks George what his stance in his relationship with Dream is. George promptly jumps off a cliff and expertly dodges the question.

- Tubbo and Ranboo go under Eret’s museum and Tubbo reminisces about the piston trap he made when he joined the server, the one he used to trap Tommy. They also fight a raid.

- Fundy and Ranboo encounter Skeppy building a tower. Skeppy has a Manberg War Shield. He asks them for dirt. They proceed to insult him.

- The Badlands are having some internal conflict as well. Sam and Antfrost aren’t pleased with Bad’s actions yesterday. He’s been making too many changes without them, and they disagree with Bad’s intentions of siding with Mexican L’manburg and trying to get involved in a plot against Dream.

- Puffy decorates for the holidays.

- Karl becomes an official citizen of Mexican L’manburg. He, Sapnap and Quackity work together to break down a section of the wall so that they can see Pokimane.

- Karl commits murder in the Holy Land.

- Sapnap is telling Quackity and Karl all the old stories. He tells Quackity and Karl about how Tommy gave up the discs for L’manberg’s birth. Quackity is surprised, as he’d always faulted Tommy for being too obsessed with the discs. Sapnap also informs them about the Railway Skirmish, and how the conclusion he’d drawn from that incident was that “Dream isn’t immortal.” (Is Sapnap planning on trying to kill Dream?)

- Quackity asks Sapnap about his thoughts on the exile. Sapnap says that Tommy had it coming, but it might not have been the right thing to do.

- Quackity then says that he has a secret kept in his basement. He says it’s the most valuable thing he has left on the server: a skeleton horse. Mexican L’manburg’s biggest prize. He says that three horses came to attack him after a thunderstorm, and he killed two of them but kept the third.

- Ranboo and Eret get into an argument about a zombie.

- Badboyhalo, Sam and Ant are all on the server too. Sam and Ant, while Bad is busy, start to draft a contract to be signed with the Dream SMP concerning the two Origin Cows (Mooshrooms) - including clauses that state that the Badlands’ validity cannot be revoked by King Eret nor anyone who comes after him, among many other agreements. The document is unsigned as of right now, since Bad and Skeppy will need to be talked to tomorrow and they’ll need to meet with Eret to get his signature. 

The Badlands want to gain control over Spawn so that they have influence over any new players who join.

- Meanwhile, Karl, Quackity and Sapnap are playing dress-up again while Ranboo and Eret make a grave for Jonald, who was very short-lived.

- Eret asks Ranboo about adoption. Ranboo says that he’s not an orphan, he’s just never seen his parents.

---

Upcoming Events:

- Karl will tour Pokimane around next week

- Dream and Fundy supposedly got married today but we don’t know what happened yet

- Elytra Challenge????????

[pertinax--loculos]

Absent That Night -- Excerpt

In which Latrell takes the opportunity to conduct his own thread of investigation. OR Meet Zaide guys help i accidentally made myself a new favourite character ahaha D: Wordcount: 1297 CW: smoking, cursing, vague threats I suppose? (I’m not great at these, let me know if I’m missing anything oops.) *** Gun on his hip, underneath the untucked shirt. Latrell held his breath as the man stalked past his hiding spot, but his heavy-lidded eyes never moved Latrell’s way. His gaze was fixed ahead. Purposeful.

And walking out of the Warren? Definitely Associate.

Latrell waited until the man was a decent distance past him, then stepped out of the storage room and raised his voice. “Trouble you for a moment of your time?”

The Associate spun, hand going to his waist. Latrell’s breath caught sticky in his throat, but he stayed still, hands open by his sides, expression neutral. He let the stranger examine him, saw the once-over make his conclusion jump to agent, then exhaled slowly as the Associate’s hand dropped smoothly from his holster. He continued the movement to cross his arms, eyebrows lowering a fraction.

“Anything I can do for our vaunted Law Enforcement Agency,” he said.

The amenability was unexpected, but not strictly speaking surprising. The reason the Association maintained its stranglehold on the city was its ability to outfox any and all forms of justice, and acting cooperative — and ignorant — was the easiest way to do that. Particularly when an individual was stopped on the street for no apparent reason.

Latrell gave himself a second to breathe, and fashioned his tone into remote professionalism. Let just a touch of nerves filter through, emphasise his discomfort and hopefully the implication he wasn’t altogether experienced. “I’ve been sent to do some research into a suspect our Homicide Division is looking into. I was hoping you might know of him. Man calls himself Nox?”

The Associate’s features slid into a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Got you out doing busywork, huh?”

“I go wherever they ask me too,” Latrell said, stiffly. He paired it with the slightest jut of his chin.

The Associate stepped forward, slow, nonthreatening. Latrell tensed anyway, only partly out of commitment to his charade.

“Yes, well, obedience is key in your line of work.” There was the slightest twinge of an accent in the man’s voice, maybe foreign, maybe just from a city far away from the one they were now in. Latrell didn’t have a good enough ear to tell. “Let you in on a secret, though — either your bosses are hazing you, or they want you dead.”

If Latrell actually had been a green agent, the words would’ve been extremely effective. Even as it was, he felt his stomach drop with the finality of the statement, a curl of dread accompanying the rush of adrenaline to his veins.

But experience let him keep his expression dispassionate, and his questioning on track. “So you do know of this Nox person?”

One of the Associate’s brows lifted. He’d thrown him. Good. Though his voice was still smooth when he said, “Of course. Everybody knows of Nox.”

Latrell waited. Realised that might provide too much insight into his actual identity, and prompted, “And?”

“From what I hear?” The Associate’s smile returned. It was not a comforting expression. “He’s a bit of a… freak.”

Latrell’s skin prickled. The word didn’t seem candid as much as carefully chosen. All implications and connotations included.

He kept his voice even when he said, “Care to elaborate?”

The Associate shrugged, uncrossing his arms in the same movement. “I mean, nobody really knows him. Just rumours, mostly.”

“I thought all you people knew each other.”

“We do.” The smile returned, and Latrell finally pinned down what was so discomforting about it; it was cultivated, like a copy of an expression the Associate had only seen, practised in the mirror. Or a twist of features brought about by the strings of a marionette. He’d never wanted the comforting weight of his handgun against his shoulder more. “Which is probably why nobody really knows much about Nox. He’s not an Associate.”

Latrell lifted his eyebrows. “Come again?”

It was a theory he’d bandied about, of course, something he’d even considered likely. But to have it confirmed — and by an Associate who, he was more and more convinced with every passing moment, had to be in the upper echelons of the organisation — was something else. That made it fact. That made it real.

That made it evidence.

“Someone like Nox…” The Associate held up one hand a little, palm out, as he fished in his back pocket with the other. It didn’t stop Latrell tensing, and the tension didn’t ease until the stranger flipped open the thin, square case he’d retrieved and revealed a neat line of cigarettes. He placed one between his canines, spoke as he swapped the shiny case for a lighter. “…you don’t invite him into a brotherhood like ours. Too risky.”

“How so?” The words fell out of Latrell’s mouth without consideration, transfixed as he was by the flickering flame of the Associate’s lighter, the glowing coal that flared at the tip of his cigarette, the stream of smoke that dissipated into the damp air as he exhaled between his teeth.

“He’s got a history,” the Associate said between drags, as if that was all the explanation necessary.

It wasn’t, but Latrell wasn’t inclined to push. He also was less and less inclined to spend much longer around this man.

But he did have one more question.

“So why is it that you work with him?”

The wires twitched the smile back onto the man’s face. “Unfortunately, he’s very good at what he does. Even if he seems to have developed a taste for blood recently.” Drag, pause, exhale. In a mutter: “About time he did something interesting.” Then, finally, back to Latrell; “And he has very high-powered friends.”

Latrell dropped his green-agent facade entirely. He wasn’t convinced that the Associate had been fooled to begin with, and he rather thought it would put him in less danger. “The Marks.”

The Associate tapped ash off the end of his cigarette, wires pulling taught enough to bare his teeth. “The Marks.”

Questions rushed to Latrell’s mind; why do you call them friends and how many of them does he know and how many of them are there? But he beat them all back. Ice prickled beneath the dampness of his jacket, and something about the Associate’s languorous gaze increasingly made him feel although he was standing in crosshairs.

“I appreciate your cooperation.” He thought about stepping back, but doing so would take him further away from his escape route, the retreat back to no-man’s-land which necessitated walking past the Associate.

“Oh, any time.” The man placed the cigarette back between his teeth as he pulled out a sleek black phone; his eyes finally dropped from Latrell as he moved towards the warehouse that bordered the Warren. “I wish you luck on your assignment.”

He couldn’t know that Latrell was not actually on any assignment. It sure sounded like he did.

“Thanks,” he said as he started forward, hugging the building opposite, keeping as much distance as possible between them in the narrow valley carved by the railway lines.

He’d just started to relax, his stride lengthening into a more comfortable rhythm, when the Associate called out to him.

“Oh, and Agent?”

Latrell glanced over his shoulder, slowing a little. He didn’t stop, couldn’t quite convince his feet to do so.

Whatever puppeteer controlled the Associate’s face manipulated the wires into a grave expression. But one failed at the corner of the Associate’s mouth, and it curved up just a fraction.

“I wouldn’t recommend working with people you don’t know. Perhaps next time, you should investigate them first.”

Latrell’s heart tripped, faltered, picked up from its stumble at a racing pace. Surely the slam of it against his breastbone would be audible across the distance between them.

He managed a nod — stiff, jerky, not at all convincing — before he turned tail and fled.