#ttte Bear

[ttteconfessionsrevived]

lol

They’re grateful engines

What is it with characters that were introduced in Enterprising Engines staring lovingly into the eyes of their saviours?

[edwards-exploit]

It's... it's...! Or, the big main line engines show their displeasure.

[dragons-and-magic]

Thinking about disabled engines. :3

Engines that are blind and as a result, have to rely on their other senses to get around. They're better at it than even humans, because I believe that engines have better memory and observation skills than us. Maybe they get special aids, made specifically for engines. Like an engine equivalent of a cane, but it's more like a wire on their buffers, to let them know if they're approaching something. Their crews help them too, almost becoming seeing eye dogs for them.

Engines that designs were flawed and it impacted their lives in a certain way. Maybe they learn to work with it, like Duck and Boco. Or maybe they get "corrective surgery", like Henry.

Engines with mental or developmental disabilities like Sidney, who have short term memory loss and maybe forget things easily. Or maybe it's something else like autism or ADHD. But everyone let's them take their time, and helps them if needed, because GOSH they know they trying. The life of an engine is hard enough already. (As someone with ADHD, this one in particular is very important to me. Just found out today that ADHD and Autism are officially recognized as disabilities! So that's interesting!)

Engines that can't see well like Whiff, and have to get glasses made specifically for engines. And engine optometrists that can get them the correct prescription lenses.

Engine Specific doctors and engineers, they make it their life duty to help these disabled engines and get them back in working order, therefore saving them from scrap. Because if there are optometrists that work on them, there are surely doctors in different fields as well.

Disability Activists, both humans ones and engine ones, that speak out for disabled people and engines. Helping them to get rights, and their special needs met like they deserve.

And, yeah. That's about it. I you can see, I find this stuff very fascinating. :)

Some of this stuff is inspired by @joezworld's world building, which I greatly enjoy. Also some awesome TTTE ocs I've seen floating around. And also some amazing disabled people and family members I have known.

Thanks for for reading!

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 15 - Star

Duck once had a Friend...

Once upon a time, Duck the Great Western Pannier Tank had worked at Paddington Station in London as a station pilot. Paddington was a huge station with several engines just like Duck who rattled about shunting trains for the big engines to take on long journeys all across the West of England and into Wales. Some of these engines were pompous and rude, while others were old and wizened. Duck’s favourite engine at Paddington however was an old, old friend of his.  

Her name was Princess Margaret, and she was a member of the Star Class of GWR express engines. They were old and wise engines, who though displaced from the top link express services by their younger successors the Castles and Kings, still performed admirably.

Duck didn’t get to see his friend much. She worked trains that went right the way out to Wales and back, and so she would often spend the night at her destination before returning. But when Princess Margaret was there, she would always take time out to talk to Duck. The two were as close as engines could be – Margie, as Duck called her, had taught the Pannier everything there was to know about coaches when he’d first arrived, back when she still headed important expresses like the ‘Cornishman’ and the ‘Cambrian Coast Express’. As she’d been displaced first by the Castles, then the Kings, she’d begun running longer-distances, on lighter-laid lines that the two bigger classes just couldn’t travel on.  

“Margie was still in service when I left,” Duck explained to the sheds one evening. The engines at the Big Sheds had been discussing their lives pre-Sodor – the Scottish Twins had spent several long minutes purely explaining why the Thistle was the prettiest flower in the world, while Percy had spent almost an hour going through all the various parts of the country he’d seen. “I feel like she had a good chance of being preserved too. She even got to cameo in that one movie – the Titfield Thunderbolt!”

All throughout this, Bear had been unusually quiet. The former Western-region diesel had had his own stories he wanted to tell, but now he was slightly afraid of speaking up. Oliver noticed. The Great Western autotank was still new to the railway, and didn’t trust Bear yet.

“Well, Bear – you look troubled. Is something the matter?” he asked. Bear winced, his engine making an odd rumbling sound. All the engines looked over, and Bear shrunk back under their attention.

“When I was being built,” he began slowly, “we… uh… I…” Henry smiled sympathetically.

“It’s alright Bear, we won’t hate you for what you have to say,” he offered. Duck, Percy and the other big engines agreed. Bear sighed.

“Princess Margaret was the last Star Class in service,” he said quietly. “And when I was built… she was… being… taken apart at Swindon.” Bear cut off, looking down at his buffers in shame. Duck’s eyes widened.

“She… she was cut up?” he asked slowly. Bear didn’t look Duck in the eye, staring down at the rails instead.

“Yeah. At Swindon. The men claimed they’d waited four years to see if they could find a buyer… and none came for her. I’m sorry Duck – she seemed like such a nice engine. She just told them it wasn’t their fault, and she’d lived a good life…” Bear rumbled out of the sheds to pull the Midnight Goods before any of the engines could say anything. Oliver looked horrified.

“I… I didn’t think he would be so… torn up about it,” he admitted quietly into the night air. “Oliver, I understand you went through something traumatic,” Percy replied darkly, “but you need to learn that not all diesels are evil. Duck… I’m sorry too. It’s hard learning a friend is gone.” Duck didn’t reply, instead staring silently out of the sheds.

His friend had been a real shining star on the Great Western, who’d served them through two World Wars and kept on going even as her class was torn up. And all she got for it was a cold siding at her own birthplace and a cutter’s torch.

Duck wasn’t sure what that said about Swindon’s legacy, but it wasn’t positive.

Back to the Master Post

[uselessalexis165]

tried making some ttte memes (328)

[synthetic-rust]

Just your average Hymek diesel

[railway323]

they’ve been talking all fucking night.

[duskstargazer]

[1968]

Most engines on the Fat Controller’s railway get along fairly well in spite of their differences. Most times, they’re able to put any issues they may have with one another aside and work towards a common goal. “Most engines” does not, unfortunately, include Murdoch and Bear.

“FIFTEEN MINUTES!!” Bear roared. “You held me up for fifteen minutes! And who do you suppose caught the blame for those seven milk tankers having gone off?”

“And what would you have had me do?” Murdoch retorted. “There were live sheep on the line, I couldn’t just move forward, I might have run some over!”

“Perhaps blown your whistle? What do you have it for, if not to make your presence known - as you seem to love to do."

“If I had blown my whistle,” Murdoch seethed through clenched teeth, “it would have only made them panic. Believe me, I would have loved to have blown smoke and forced them to move, but that simply wasn’t an option!”

A small group of engines watched the shouting match unfold, with mostly unanimous responses.

“What’re they arguing about tonight?” Charlie asked as she pulled in.

“Bear’s blaming Murdoch for delaying his train, and Murdoch’s blaming sheep.” Molly sighed, bedraggled as though she hadn’t slept for weeks. “Or… something.”

“And just last week, Murdoch was accusing Bear of leaving oil on the main line. And you know Bear took that one personally.” Almond added. He knew Charlie was keeping score of these things.

“So that’s five arguments incited by Murdoch, and three incited by Bear this month.” Charlie murmured.

“…”

“We’re a little over halfway through the month.” Molly sighed.

“I need a drink.” Almond groaned.

Rebecca pulled in a moment later. She made to take on water just outside the shed, but when she heard the raised voices, and Murdoch caught her glance and sent a glare her way, the big yellow engine quickly decided that the tower near Tidmouth Sheds would be a far better choice.

[v0id-c0rroded]

Views of the Class 35 'Hymek' diesels without mandatory yellow fronts are thin on the ground. Their introduction was more or less concurrent with the policy change of 1962.

D7017 is photographed by Neville Simms on a Worcester to Paddington train.

May 1963

[happyspookysteamer]

Bear!

[anonymousboxcar]

Spamcan/D199 Headcanons & Analysis

While writing this fic and replying to folks’ lovely comments, I thought a lot about Spamcan and what makes him distinct to me. I feel like he’s different from the other rude diesel antagonists.

In my opinion, what sets him apart is that he has a companion. Bowler and Old Stuck Up arrive alone while Spamcan shares his trial with Bear. He also says “we” and “our controller” to Bear. There’s familiarity between them; he thinks of themselves as a package deal.

Bear validates this: “Shush! It’s their railway.” He doesn’t agree with Spamcan’s bigotry, but he still calls the NWR “their” railway. He’s aligning himself along lines of “us and them,” suggesting he and Spamcan are on the same “side” to some degree. He also considers themselves a package deal, even if he’s frustrated with it.

So how did these two become acquainted?

Well, Bear is a diesel-hydraulic engine — a type BR declares non-standard. Spamcan is a diesel-electric, safe for now from the cutter’s torch, but Bear’s position is much more fragile.

Considering what we see of Spamcan, he doesn’t seem like he’d befriend Bear for altruistic reasons. Yet he still refers to himself and Bear as a “we.” He even worries about what Bear thinks of him after he breaks down with his oil tankers.

And that’s what I think is at the root of this. Spamcan doesn’t care about Bear, but about what Bear thinks of him. He cares about maintaining a self-image that convinces Bear to stay with him, to keep following him.

Spamcan wants Bear to be dependent upon him.

I imagine their dynamic on BR was Spamcan demanding Bear’s loyalty in exchange for protection. And by protection, I mean dumping his work on Bear with the excuse of keeping him “out of sight, out of mind” from their controller. Bear didn’t have any better options, so he went along with it. Now he’s at the end of his rope.

But my pre-canon musings aside, do you see what I’m getting at? Spamcan’s one manipulative son of a gun!

He utilizes Bear’s threatened status to keep him close, to have someone who backs up what he says. His use of chummy plural pronouns is a strategy to wear down Bear’s sense of individuality. He tries to create camaraderie while also diminishing him, reducing him to a satellite in his orbit.

Spamcan is arrogant and boastful, but he has a degree of subtlety, too. That’s something that Bowler and Old Stuck Up never managed. The fact they came alone on their trials suggests they don’t have any followers or “friends” of their own, any of Spamcan’s finesse.

But you know who does manage some of that finesse? Diesel.

I like to think that Spamcan hears the story of Diesel’s trial. To him, it’s clear that Diesel worked the best when he flattered other engines and made himself indispensable to them. Messing with the trucks backfired in the end, but Spamcan would never do such a foolish thing. He can do one better than Diesel.

It’s not Spamcan’s plan to go to Sodor — he would rather stay on a “modernized” railway — but he figures it’s his duty to spread modernization. Like a “good diesel,” he volunteers himself with Bear for the trial. The Sodor engines will be on guard now, so who better to go with him than the fellow diesel to which he made himself invaluable? It’ll ensure someone has his back in hostile territory.

Spamcan’s miscalculation is in assuming that Bear will be grateful for recommending him to go on trial, winning him more points with him. But on BR, Bear was vulnerable. Now that he’s on Sodor, he has a chance of getting to safety. He doesn’t need Spamcan’s protection.

And every time Spamcan tries to appeal to him, he’s showing himself at his nastiest. Bear’s personal morals aside, if Spamcan hates “outdated” steam engines, how long will it be before he turns on “non-standard” diesels? How long will it be before Bear stops being useful to BR and to Spamcan?

When Bear tells Spamcan to shut up, he loses his only support right as he makes enemies out of every steam engine on this island. He’s alone and it’s all his own fault, all because he assumed he could manipulate his way out of any situation.

In that way, Spamcan isn’t too different from the other rude diesel antagonists. He fails because he’s arrogant and discriminatory. He fails because our protagonists resist swollen egos and prejudice where they see it.

But I like to think I’ve made a decent case for the ways he is different. I think he’s a bit subtler, a bit more manipulative than the others, even if he’s no more successful. What do you guys think? :)

[thebunnylord]

Sir Handel: Skarloey, we have an issue.

Skarloey: what did Duncan do this time?

Sir Handel: well, no, it’s not Duncan this time! It’s Luke! He keeps bringing back animals!

Sir Handel: so first it started out with a few toads that wandered into the mines, nothing serious, he just caught them and set them outside. But then he began catching birds that flew into the mines, then a few hedgehogs, and then there was the incident with the deer, and you know where this is going.

Skarloey: no I do not know where this is going.

Sir Handel: well today Luke was up in the quarry and brought back a bear!

Skarloey: a what?! Sir Handel are you serious?! How is there a bear in the island? Bears do not live in the UK!

Sir Handel: then explain him! *points to bear*

Luke: *is hugging Bear*

Skarloey: oh…. I see… luke?

Luke: But he’s friend shaped!!

[edwards-exploit]

Bear-Bootlaces

ficlet ask game

"Oh, goddamn it," The Driver says, "The brakes! There's a leak in the brake pipes!"

Secondman could only scratch his head, "How'd that happen?" He wondered aloud.

Bear could only eye the cantankerous coaches, who are looking quite sheepish indeed, with a scrutinizing eye, "Yeah," He growled, "How'd that happen?"

"Well, old boy, unless we magically have some duct tape," Driver was preparing to swing into his cab, clearly about to radio some help, "We might have to give up."

Bear's eyes widened- he didn't want to make a bad impression on his first passenger run as a NWR engine! "No! Wait!"

Driver, Secondman, and the Guard did indeed wait. Which was a bit weird for Bear, who was used to humans ignoring his pleas.

"Er, what if we use... Bootlaces?"

"... Bootlaces."

"It worked last time, I think!"

[dragons-and-magic]

Decided to post some new Dragon AU sketches!

1: My concept design for Bear. I'm super happy with this one. I used some new techniques from Disney animation for it. Hopefully all the characters will have this lovely retro looking animation style.

2: My concept design for Rosie. I tried to make her frill look like rose petals. I thought it would be cute.

3: My concept sketches for Thomas, James, Edward, and Gordon's wings. Edward's wing patterns are based off moon moths.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 26 - Music:

The Gramophone:

Sir Charles Topham Hatt loves his railway. The North Western Railway had flourished under his tenure, with the Knapford Harbour being rebuilt and the Arlesburgh branch being reopened. His father’s legacy was secured, the railway was insulated from British Railways and its baying diesels. All in all, a grand career.

But Sir Charles hadn’t always worked on the North Western.

One early morning, The Fat Controller arrived at his office in Tidmouth to find something new sitting atop his filing cabinet. It was an old-fashioned gramophone, the kind that had been popular three decades ago. It still had the great big old brass horn that had been superseded by more dynamic sound output systems in the ‘60s, making it seem far bulkier than it really was. Sir Charles walked over, and checked it for a note, or a message, or anything! But there was no hint of who had left it.

A quick check with the station staff revealed that none of them had put it in his office either – though that left all of them with no real explanation as to how exactly the weird old thing ended up in Sir Charles’ office.

“Perhaps it’s a gift from your wife,” offered the stationmaster eventually. “Your sixtieth is coming up soon, sir.” Sir Charles considered. He supposed it was something his wife would do – she’d surprised him with a holiday to Spain for his fiftieth, and he had been collecting a few records in his office recently. She must’ve seen them during their last lunch date. “It must be,” he agreed. “And the note must’ve fallen off somewhere.”

With that, Sir Charles settled in to start his day’s paperwork. He paused in front of his record collection, and selected the most recent Elton John album, popping it on the old gramophone and setting everything up right. To his amazement, the record fitted perfectly on the turntable. That seemed a bit odd – most old record players weren’t built for the size of modern vinyls. But it fit, and when Sir Charles placed the needle down, the record began to play with no complaints at all. The Fat Controller smiled fondly, and sat back down to work.

All through the day, Sir Charles played music while he worked, flipping out recent records he’d bought on a whim for older classical pieces that reminded him of his youth and the songs his father would play for him while they sat at home. The music flittered out of the office, filling the station concourse and intriguing even the engines.

At the end of the day, Sir Charles placed all his records back, turned off the gramophone, and caught the Edward’s train bound for Wellsworth.

The next morning, Sir Charles arrived at the Big Station to find Henry waiting nervously on the goods line. He seemed very startled. “What’s the matter?” asked Sir Charles. Henry’s eyes darted around, and then he let off steam. “I heard… I heard something weird last night. When I came through with the Kipper. It sounded like… like me, from when Sir Topham… when he…” Henry broke off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Sir Charles frowned, not sure what to say. “You heard father? When he… bricked you up?” Henry sighed. “Yes. It was awful! I could hear his voice, but it was twisted… he was threatening me, telling me horrible things… I thought it was imagination at first, but it was definitely here.”

Sir Charles nodded grimly. “Thank you for telling me, I will look into it. For now, I’ll ask the signalman to reroute you around the station. It’ll mean you can’t get up to speed as quick, but it may be for the best until we can get to the bottom of the noise.” Henry agreed, and steamed away to start his day. Sir Charles made his way to his office, and paused.

There was a record on the gramophone. It was one of his oldest, a recording of an opera from back in the 20s. Sir Charles gently put it away, confused. His office had been locked, and the stationmaster knew better than to enter without permission. No one else had a key, and nothing else was out of place.

“Did I… leave it there?” asked Sir Charles aloud, not sure what else to think. Sir Charles swapped it out for a Supremes record, and began his day. He tried to investigate the odd, terrible noises that had haunted Henry – but he couldn’t find anything that might’ve caused it.

“Maybe some children…?” pondered Sir Charles, before shaking his head. No, children wouldn’t know what his father had sounded like. With no idea what had caused the weird noises, Sir Charles decided to simply reroute Henry around the station and shelve it until he could find some more evidence.

At the end of the day, he once again packed up his records, locked his office, and headed home.

It was a shaken and pale Bear that met him at the Big Station the next morning, looking very ill. “What’s the matter?” asked Sir Charles, immediately worried for his engine. “I – sir it was terrible! I was coming through with the midnight goods, when… when… I heard Swindon!” Sir Charles waited patiently for Bear to elaborate, now worried and confused.

“It was when I was being built – they were scrapping steam engines there too, and I heard them. I could hear their screams, and their pleas, and their hatred of me… I had to get out. I don’t want to pull the midnight goods again, sir.”

Sir Charles was now very worried – Bear was not one to try and ask for changes, he loved all work he got. Something very serious was going on, and Sir Charles needed to figure it out. First Henry, then Bear – who would be next?

Not even playing music on his gramophone could came Sir Charles down; he was trying his best to figure out what had caused such horrible noises and scenes to ring out across the station – but nothing could have done it!

Sir Charles was so preoccupied that he completely missed the fact that one of his old Bobby Lewis records had already been sat on the turntable when he entered his office. He spent all day working, balancing his usual work with his investigation, even as interrogating the station staff revealed that only the night guard had even been on the property, making his rounds.

An old, half-buried memory bubbled up – his time in the Middle East after the war had left him with many stories, including one of people’s tortured pasts manifesting into demons… or was it something else. Could such tales be a reality?

Sir Charles scoffed, and brushed it off. Such fantasies were for bedtime stories and frightening tourists – they were not real, and they could not help.

And then James came to him the next day, refusing to even steam under the canopy of the Big Station. “Sir! Your station’s haunted!” snapped James crossly. “It was… it was… it was a recording of my accident, playing all through the station! My accident on my first day, with all the screaming from my brakes and trucks and my crew trying to stop me…” Sir Charles rearranged the schedule to shift James away from the Big Station immediately, and retreated back to his office, mindlessly placing the needle on the record on his gramophone before pausing as an old jazz record played.

“Isn’t this from 1925…?” mused Sir Charles under his breath, before shaking his head and knuckling down to work. He’d been so worried about his engines that several important missives had gone unanswered, and they took even longer as his mind just kept drifting back to his engines and the frightening incidents that they been forced to relive.

The day ticked by, and then dusk came and went. Sir Charles stayed in his office, unable to head home without finishing the stack of reports that had been due the day before but were really needed the next day.

Bit by bit, the station went silent. The last of the passengers boarded their trains, the station staff clocked off one by one. The night guard arrived, greeting Sir Charles and headed off to start making his rounds.

Sir Charles switched out the record on his player mindlessly, not checking what he put on the turntable.

“We'll meet again Don't know where Don't know when But I know we'll meet again some sunny day Keep smiling through Just like you always do 'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello To the folks that I know Tell them I won't be long They'll be happy to know That as you saw me go I was singing this song

We'll meet again—”

The song suddenly jumped, the nostalgic record going silent for a beat. Then, a scream filled the office. Sir Charles jumped, his eyes wide. The roar of gunfire filled the room, the rumble of tanks and the thunderous commands of his superior officers. The screams of the men as they were shot and left to die of their injuries, the nurses unable to get onto the field. The whine of shells as they pierced through the air, falling indiscriminately on the men as they tried to evacuate. “CHARLIE! GET BACK!” Sir Charles clamped his eyes shut, holding his hands over his ears. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” he begged, but the record didn’t stop. The sounds grew ever louder, the fighting getting closer and closer to the Royal Engineers as they tried desperately to evacuate the soldiers and get them to the beaches. The thump of boots of cobblestone, the whistling of flung grenades, the harsh snarl of German commands as the enemy closed in – it was all too much.

Sir Charles blindly lunged for the gramophone, grabbing at it and sprinting at the door. He kicked at it, the old door groaning at the force before Sir Charles managed to force it open and fling the gramophone away from himself. His ears were ringing, the bullets whizzing past him with bare inches to spare.

The gramophone smashed against the platform and shattered, the pieces flying in all directions. The night guard came running, his truncheon out and his eyes searching for the source of the smash.

He found Sir Charles curled up on the floor, rocking back and forwards while holding his arms over his head, covering his ears.

“Sir? Sir!” “Make it stop!” bellowed Sir Charles. “Has it stopped?!” The night guard looked around, perplexed. He couldn’t hear or see anything wrong, apart from Sir Charles and his destroyed gramophone.

“It’s stopped,” assured the night guard, waiting patiently until Sir Charles uncoiled and looked around, eyes wide and face pale.

The pair looked down at the gramophone, and then Sir Charles took a deep breath.

“We’re breaking this apart more and tossing it in the nearest dumpster,” he ordered. “I will not have such malevolent disturbances on my railway.” The night guard nodded slowly, and offered up his truncheon. Sir Charles brought it down on the old gramophone again and again and again until it was in splinters, before helping to quietly sweep it all up and toss it out.

Sir Charles Hatt hadn’t always worked on the North Western Railway. During the Second World War, he had been part of the Royal Engineers, working near the front lines to keep the troops moving. It had been on the 30th of May, 1940. Charles had been with his unit when the Germans had launched a surprise attack – the lines had broken, fallen back; Charles was the only man of his unit who survived. He never liked to remember the horrors of that day, the entire thing too gruesome to bear. He never spoke about it to anyone either, even as he made it home to Sodor and quietly married.

Sir Charles hadn’t always worked on the North Western Railway; once upon a time, he’d been a young man who’d been sent to war.

Back to the Master Post

[baldwin-10-12-d]

Here's today's engine(s) of the day