#ttte fanfic

[sudrianspitfire]

“Turning you in will definitely get me back on the Express…”

HAHAHA IT’S TIME FOR REDWARD CONTENT LET’S GOOOOO

(Original pics below)

[tornadoyoungiron]

Traintober 2024

#traintober #traintober2024 #tttetraintober

Here's my personal Traintober list for 2024! I've given it to a few people who have asked but since a lot of people are asking, I've decided to release it so people can start to plan.

I had a few ideas I wanted to get out of my head, so this list is what resulted. Feel free to use it if you want or make your own.

Good luck and I can't wait to see what you do with the prompts if you decide to participate.

[chiaknight]

Title Page thumbnail for my fan story "Bird's Eye View"

[shikariiin]

Valentine's break

A Short TTTE fanfiction - Valentine Special

They haven't dated in this timeline :3, I rarely write, so excuse my rookie mistakes.

---------------------

Edward puffed his cigarette, the night wind gently blowing on his hair as the stars above him shined.

The usual valentine's night for the K2.

As he took a long drag, memories flooded back: past loves, and heartaches. He stared off to the distance, aiming fault to himself for everything that had happened, guilt slowly creeping up, his mind going numb.

Valentine's Day was not his favorite, though he'd never openly admit it.

Abruptly, his thoughts were disrupted as a red coat cascaded down upon him, enveloping him in its warmth and vibrant hue. He looked up to a familiar face.

"Mind if I join?" James spoke softly, Edward blinked slowly almost dumbfounded "ah...sure?" he finally answered.

The red man sat beside him, drinking his water bottle "wasn't expecting to find you here" James leaned back, relaxing into the grass.

"Wasn't expecting anyone to find me" Edward smiled, feeling amused, "cigarette?" He handed the half-empty box, "good god no" James immediately refused, as stressful as he gets, he would never smoke nor drink, he wasn't raised that way.

Edward only smiled before looking away, James took notice of his demeanor, "you're not going out? It's valentine's day" he asked the K2.

Edward says as he exhales smoke, "I....I've had enough of Valentine's," an answer James wasn't expecting. "Why's that?" James asks, intrigued nonetheless. Edward sighed, his gaze drifting to the distant horizon.

The weight of past disappointments heavy on his heart. "Every Valentine's Day just reminds me of what I've lost," he confesses, his voice tinged with regret. James nods understandingly, silently acknowledging the pain concealed behind Edward's tough exterior.

"what if someone asked you out? Would you go?" James asked again, his eyes not moving away from the blue haired man.

"goodness they deserved better!" Edward sheepishly laugh "I don't expect anyone to ask me out, get a better standard I'd say"

his smile subsided before looking down to his knees "Love hurts" He inhaled deeply from his cigarette.

James looked at him, having been hurt from hearing the K2 talk about himself like that, "I think you're exceptional," James murmured softly, his gaze drifting upward to the somber sky above.

"You've made alot of impact on this railway, supporting countless engines," James remarked, taking a sip from his water bottle. "you're worth a-lot more than you give yourself credit for" he smiled.

Edward glanced at him, a spark of joy igniting within him, and he couldn't help but return the smile, though a blush colored his cheeks.

"Why aren't you going out for valentine?" Edward asked back, his mood eased as he lay down next to James.

"I have high standards!" James answered vainly, he smiled proudly at himself, Earning a laugh from the K2, his endearing laugh was not of ridicule, but of amusement.

James joined in,The atmosphere shifted, filled with warmth and tenderness as both decided to spend the rest of the night together, neither wanting to leave.

"Happy valentines day, Edward"

"Happy valentines day, James"

Maybe one day they'll actually celebrate valentine together.

[thomasbeyond]

Thomas: Beyond! Lost Test Archive (2022)

So, I might as well share this. Back in 2022, I wrote a script for a hypothetical first issue of Thomas Beyond, and illustrated a couple of pages to get a feel for the art style I wanted. Sketches were done in Toon Boon Harmony and Inked/colored in Photoshop. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very satisfied with what I had made, and decided to rework the script and delete the pages I had already done. Looking back I really regret doing that, but I have a couple of archived screenshots (albeit VERY cropped) that I sent to some friends for their advice.

The Issue was titled “Mystery of the Mail”.

One night, Percy is tasked with his usual run with the mail train, retrieving Sodor’s outward-going mail for an express post train bound for the mainland. However, after dropping his mail vans off in their designated siding at the big station, he is shocked to find out they had vanished in the middle of the night, and the train had to depart the Island of Sodor without collecting them. While most initially assume it was yet another instance of Percy’s clumsiness, tensions grow even higher after Sir Topham Hatt reveals one of the mail vans contained a special delivery of stock meant for a bank. With the police beginning to thoroughly investigate the North Western Railway, and all of staff questioned, it becomes evident to all that the NWR fell victim to a train robbery. Percy is shunned by most of the other engines for being so careless, with some even suspecting he and his crew were somehow involved in the heist despite pleading their innocence. Percy is utterly distraught, and becomes a disgrace. Not one for wanting to see his best friend’s reputation sink further down, Thomas (with the help of his driver, Bob) vows to solve the mystery of the mail and clear Percy’s name.

Thomas and Bob’s mishaps and hijinks in detective work end up distracting them from their usual jobs on Thomas’ branch line. Sir Topham Hatt reprimands Thomas for his immaturity, and Bob for knowing better than to give into Thomas’ shenanigans. The next day, the two are tasked with assisting the Sodor Ironworks in dumping their molten slag (this is where the conversation in the first image occurs). During their stay there, Thomas and Bob discover that the Ironworks orchestrated the heist, having sent Iron Bert out to retrieve the cars. Bert’s crew stuck off the main line as much as possible to avoid drawing any attention from the signal boxes. Upon retrieving the vans, Bert flew the express headlamps to disguise himself as the post train in the dark. Edward comes forward and swears he heard 2 trains pass by his yard at night, adding an extra layer of truth to the story. The police grow suspicious and obtain a warrant to search the Ironworks’ premises. Sure enough, tucked away in a shed, the vans are recovered, with several crowbars pathetically still pried upon the completely-locked doors.

Percy’s name is finally cleared-up, and he is welcomed back by everyone. As for the Ironworks? Well, the manager was VERY conveniently not present the day the mail vans were found… or the day after… and the next one after that. Many suspect that he ether successfully fled the country, or those whom he had “connections” with caught-on that his mission had failed, and were the ones to “hold him accountable” rather than the law. Just one more layer to this mystery that may NEVER be solved.

I have issues with this plot. Everyone is so quick to dogpile on Percy, including Sir Topham Hatt. Also, while I do remember that Bob does butt-heads with Thomas a lot of the time in small dialogue bits, I feel like he DOES give into Thomas’ whole detective bit wayyy too easily. I characterize him as being a lot more level-headed and dry in order to bounce off of Thomas’ impulsivity and eccentricity. Also, bleh. Of COURSE the Ironworks are the bad guys! Who could’ve guessed that it WASN'T them after the moment they became apart of this? Also, I pulled the whole “The Ironworks may or may not have ties to the criminal underworld” way too early. I like that idea, it’s funny and provides a genuinely good force for our heroes to combat against, but idk. It came and went wayyy too quickly. I’m much prouder of the narrative I have going on now for Sudric Storm, I feel it’s a better introduction to the Thomas series in the form of a comic, and provides a much more enriching story for these characters to play around in.

Welp, that was a blast from the past. Hope you enjoyed! (Also, 14 hours? Thomas… that’s… literally nothing. That’s a pretty average amount of time for being awake on a given day, what??? Amateur.)

[djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains]

traintober day 7, Sleepy | The Clock

so... not to come in swinging with my second day of making traintober stuff being the 7th day of traintoberrrrr but it's fine. for today's entry i wrote 1.6k words of me projecting my insomnia onto James, as is my wont.

characters: james, gordon, henry, edward (donald and douglas brief cameo, STH mentioned) human au. 1.6k words. James is tricked by the lads into having a nap, and other stories. also known as 'i dont know if this counts as 'the clock' but here we go anyway'

full fic under the cut.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

James has his chin in his hand, eyelids flickering, as Gordon comes over to the table, stirring his tea. Henry’s already there, casting an eye over James even as he keeps talking to Edward, who’s also shooting James a glance.

Gordon takes a seat beside Henry, opposite Edward, and sets his mug down just hard enough it makes a clack, and James’ eyes flick open, he starts.

“Ah!” he says, before blinking slowly, recovering. “Hi, Gordon.”

“Good morning, James,” Gordon says, raising an eyebrow at him, before sipping his tea even as he casts his eye over the clock. 5:15pm, on the dot. A bit early for James to be looking so shattered. “Are you quite alright?”

“As can be,” James says, returning to his chin-in-hand position, fumbling for his mug, though he frowns into it as it turns out to be empty. “Ah. I need more coffee.”

“No,” Edward says gently, watching the way James’ hand shakes as he puts his mug down. “I don’t think that’s the solution here.”

“He’s already had three just while we’ve been sitting here,” Henry says conversationally to Gordon, who raises both eyebrows this time and shoots James an incredulous look. “And he won’t tell us what’s wrong.”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Gordon says, and even James shoots him a look, though it’s very dry. The bags under James’ eyes are dark and prominent. “Insomnia is what’s wrong.”

James opens his mouth to retort, and is quickly overtaken by a yawn instead.

“Case and point.”

“Shud’up,” James mumbles, putting his mug back down and curling his lip. “Look, it’s fine. I have one more train and it’s in an hour. I can stay awake for that.”

Edward hums.

“A whole hour?” he asks. “Surely that’s enough time for a nap.”

“I can nap like the dead,” James says.

“It’s true,” Gordon nods, which makes James flush and shoot him another dry look – though much fonder this time. “But also… I believe Edward may be right.”

“Cor!” Henry says, glancing at Edward, “you should get that in writing.”

Gordon huffs, even as it makes Edward and James laugh.

“But yeah,” Henry quickly follows up, turning back to James. “Honestly, you should. Twenty-minute kip should do you a world of difference. I used to do it all the time, back in the day.”

“I do it now, sometimes,” Edward agrees with a thoughtful nod, even as he sips his tea. “No shame in a recharge.”

James sighs. The tension runs out of him all in a rush, his shoulders slump, and in that moment, he really does look tired.

“That couch,” Henry says, “really is quite comfortable. And you’d even fit on it.”

“Shh,” James says, and he leans forward, lays his head on his arms like he’s blocking out the world. “I don’t wanna. I can’t sleep. An’ I need to focus on staying awake.”

“You say that,” Gordon says, swirling his drink in his mug even as he pointedly doesn’t look at James, instead eyeing up the clock. 5:17. He’ll have to finish his drink soon. “But you look half-asleep now.”

“I’ve been half-asleep all day,” James shoots back, grumbling. “Half-asleep is not all-asleep.”

“James,” Edward says, letting some of the gentleness drop off his tone. “You’re not the only person at this table with trouble sleeping. You know we’re right, and a nap will do you good.”

James lifts his head just enough to glare at Edward, who shakes his head back.

“Henry can carry you onto that couch,” he says, “if you really want. But the Twins are here, and I think you wouldn’t like the word-of-mouth to spread around the Island, would you?”

Gordon looks over to the break table to see Donald and Douglas standing there, tea and biscuit in hand, god knows how long they’ve been there, shooting them all the odd curious look. Donald nods politely at Gordon when they make eye contact before he quickly looks away.

“I hate you,” James says with absolutely no fire at all. “Are you going to let it go?”

“No,” Edward says cheerfully. “I’d just really rather you didn’t do something stupid, like collapse in your cab again.”

Gordon and Henry shoot each other a look.

“…He has a point.” Henry’s voice is tentative.

“I mean, if you’re not well, surely a replacement can be arranged,” Gordon points out, and is surprised when James’ head snaps up.

“No!” he says, before curling in on himself. “I mean- look. I can’t. Not this time. Already in hot enough water with Hatt for the last freight train I skived off.”

Edward sighs, and shoots Gordon a dry look, though he’s careful to make sure James doesn’t see. Gordon has to supress a knowing smile.

“But you’re sick,” Henry says.

“And you know that’s not enough to get off work, sometimes,” James grumbles. “And besides. It’s hardly an illness. This is just self-inflicted.”

“What is this, Pitying James day?” Gordon asks. “James, you should know better than most that no-one chooses to be an insomniac.”

Edward shoots Henry a look, whose lips are pressed into a thin line, lost in thought for a moment, before Henry blinks and shoots Edward a soft smile back.

Then, Henry says. “Look. I have an idea, but it involves you on that couch.”

“Ashes! Fine!” James snaps, rising to his feet. “I’ll get on the bloody couch!”

He’s flushed dark, but stalks across the room, falling onto it with an whmph. …Donald and Douglas decide it’s a good moment to finish their afternoon tea, and leave the breakroom. Wise, really.

“There,” Henry says as he follows James across the room. “Now, it’s a bit nippy isn’t it? Wish they’d actually turn the heaters on this time of year rather than waiting for winter to actually set in. Ah well.”

“What are you doing?” James asks, looking up at him suspiciously, and the scowl on his face makes Gordon snort, and he gets to his feet too, glancing again at the clock. 5:20. He has to take the evening run of the Express shortly.

“Get comfy,” Henry tells him. “Lie down.”

Edward goes over to the drinks table even as James doesn’t stop scowling but does start loosening his tie. Gordon turns as a moment later, Edward touches his elbow, and he presses the glass of water into Gordon’s hand.

“Give this to James,” Edward says softly. “I’ll go ring Hatt to see if there’s something that can be arranged. And if not, I’ll ask the stationmaster to wake James at quarter-to.”

Gordon just nods, and lets Edward slip from the room. He pulls up one of the low coffee tables and sets the glass down on it within James’ arm’s reach even as Henry prompts James to take off his shoes.

James looks up from his laces, though he was complaining about taking them off, and blinks at the offering, before shooting Gordon a surprisingly soft smile.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

Gordon nods, his eyes softer than usual.

It really takes the two of them being the ones nagging James along, for once, but finally James ends up lying on his back on the couch, shoes off, tie off, blazer off, a couple shirt buttons undone, and even his gloves removed. Only then does Henry take his coat off.

It’s a big, green thing, Henry’s coat; all warm, thick wool. Henry pauses only to unpin his gold 3 badge before he drapes the jacket over James.

It swamps James completely. The green makes the pallor that had definitely crept onto his face over the course of the day even more obvious.

“This is ridiculous,” James tries to protest, even as he yawns again, eyes closing with the size of it, and they take an extra moment or two to open again. “I can’t….”

“You can,” Gordon says, rocking on his heels. “Edward is off talking to the stationmaster, arranging an appropriate wake-up time, and she’ll keep an eye on the clock for you. Everything will be fine.”

“Hit the lights, would you, Gordon?” Henry asks, and Gordon nods, crossing the room to do so even as Henry puts his hands on his hips and stares down at James, who blinks up owlishly at Henry, like he’s very futilely trying to prove he’s not even tired.

There are a few sets of curtains, and Henry moves to close them.

“This is the breakroom, not a nursery,” James protests, though he already is sounding sleepy. He yawns again, and Henry shoots Gordon a triumphant look. “I’m… I’ll… just five minutes.”

“You try sleep for five minutes,” Henry agrees, and he starts ushering Gordon towards the door. “You just close your eyes and try, and when it doesn’t work, you can tell me so, alright?”

Gordon snorts, even as James sighs, and mumbles, “alright.”

They both pause in the doorway, watching the second-hand on the breakroom clock in the now-dim light of the breakroom tick five seconds… ten seconds… fifteen… twenty…

James’ snores fill the air.

“Told him so,” Henry whispers, which makes Gordon stifle a laugh. “Let’s leave him to it.”

They see Edward back out on the platform, who slips past them back into the breakroom to leave a note beside James, before he comes to stand with them.

“Hatt agreed,” Edward says. “I thought he would.”

“Probably because you asked,” Gordon shrugs. “What did you promise him?”

Edward goes a little red. “I’d take his train,” he says sheepishly.

“Ed.”

Edward meets Henry’s disapproving look with a dry glance of his own.

“I’m hardly fragile,” he says. “It’s fine. It needed to be done.”

They all glance at the breakroom door, before Gordon looks up at the large station clock, and starts. 5:31.

“Ashes!” he exclaims. “I’m late.”

Henry laughs at him, slaps his shoulder even as Gordon hurries away.

When James wakes up several hours later, he makes sure to give the three of them an absolute earful even as he returns Henry’s coat. Though quietly, he’s thankful, even more so when Gordon finally tells him ever-so-fondly to shut up and go back to bed.

[gronkgal]

Ttte AU Fan kids Part 2

Ok so guess the ship part two. Although the last one only her dad is cannon, her mum was an oc/npc/random BR Class 37.

Top to Bottom:

Lillie: She is the first-born NG on Sodor. The other NG's call her Princess when she's up at the BMQ. She is always looking for something new to do, or a riot to cause.

Mark: "He's much smaller than any of the others I've had..."-Marion. Mark is easy going and generally quiet, unless you start talking about dinosaurs; then he can talk for hours.

Treasure and Neptune: Treasure is at this point non-verbal; she much prefers to stay beside her mum or dad. Neptune on the other hand wants to go explore and live the life of adventure. Why tell stories when you can live them?

Wish: She was born on the mainland under the BR, but when her mum passed her dad had to find someone to help. Being a Class 37, her engine sound often confuses others... Even Terance thought she was a tractor.

[traintrainingmontage]

Hard Worker

"Urgh, why do I have t' pull th' heaviest goods train?!" Duncan groused. "Like always, I have t' do th' hardest work!"

Skarloey simply laughed. "That's because you're the strongest engine we have, Duncan. You're the one best suited for the job."

"Mmmm..." Duncan made a discontented noise, but didn't bother complaining further. Skarloey was right, after all, and his ego didn't mind the praise.

"Alright, fine! But once the sun goes down, that's it! I'm off work, and I can't be asked fer more!"

Nearby, Duke gave a disgruntled humph. "Really now, Duncan. Such an attitude simply is not suitable. Why, if someone broke down--"

"So what!" Duncan sneered. "If they break down, and my work day's over, it's not my job t' help!"

Duke was about to retort, but he didn't have the time; instead, the older engine was interrupted by a weesh of steam as Duncan pulled out of the shed, off to begin his day.

"Can you believe that fool of an engine?!" Duke huffed as he watched Duncan pull away. "Such a selfish brat!"

"Now now, Duke," Skarloey gently chided. "Duncan may say those things now, but he's come a long way from the stubborn-screwed engine he used to be. He cares about every last one of us, even if he won't admit it."

"Tch," Duke scoffed. "I'd have to see it to believe it."

---

Much to Duncan's dismay, his work seemed to take forever. First, there was a delay while he was refilling his tank. Then, there was a delay as cattle had to be cleared from the tracks. Finally, loading his slate trucks took an eternity, and the dumb trucks themselves were no help, singing their songs and annoying the workers. By the time he was on his way back to Crovan's Gate, a long train of slate trailing behind him, the sun was halfway below the horizon.

"FINALLY!" Duncan groaned as the familiar roofs of Glennock came into view. "We're almost there!"

"That we are," Corrine, his driver smiled. "It's been a long day, but we'll be done soon."

"That's right!" Duncan grinned. "No more work fer me--"

Suddenly, a crackling came over the radio, startling both Duncan and his driver. The radios were still fairly new additions, and took some getting used to. "Attention all personnel, attention all personnel. Requesting the breakdown train at Glennock. No. 1 Skarloey has come off the rails. I repeat, No. 1 Skarloey has come off the rails. Requesting the breakdown train."

Corrine sighed. "Poor Skarloey. Hopefully someone will come for him soon."

For a long moment, Duncan didn't answer. Then, he heaved a quiet sigh. "I'll do it."

Corrine blinked at her engine in shock. "Really? But you were so determined this morning--"

"I know!" Duncan groaned. "But it's on our way anyway, and we've got workers in th' back comin' home from helpin' wit' the slate!" The engine frowned, making a face like he dared her to disagree with him. "'Sides, I know I don't have ta do it, but..."

He trailed off, but his driver smiled. "You don't need to justify yourself to me, Duncan. Let's go."

---

Duncan soon arrived with the breakdown train, finding a contrite Skarloey sitting just off the rails, a few trucks groaning loudly behind him. The old engine looked unsurprised to see him, giving a warm smile. "Ah, hullo, Duncan. Thank you for coming to help us even though your work day's over."

The younger engine sneered, but could tell that the comment held no heat. "Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up and set yerself right."

Once Skarloey had been placed back on the tracks and hooked up behind Duncan, he looked back at the long line of slate, then at the engine in front of him. His expression was thoughtful, eyes toward the sky as he looked like he was weighing whether to say something, but then decided to hold his tongue. Duncan raised an eyebrow, looking back at Skarloey. "What? If ye've got somethin' t' say, just say it!"

Skarloey gave a light little huff and a small smile. "Nothing. I just admire how you can pull me, the trucks, and all of this slate."

Duncan paused a moment, then let his gaze drift forward to the tracks ahead of him, wheels beginning to turn as he pulled his weight.

"Well, ye said it yerself. I'm the strongest we have. I can handle this much, y'know!"

Skarloey laughed cheerfully. "I do! I've known it all along!"

---

By the time they got back to the sheds, having unloaded Duncan's slate and gotten Skarloey settled so that he could be looked at tomorrow, the stars were out, twinkling elegantly, and the moon watched on through lazy lashes.

Despite the dim, though, the sheds were bright, alit with cheers at Skarloey's rescue.

"Well," Duke smiled, rolling up to fix Duncan with a merry grin. "It seems I was wrong about you, Duncan."

Duncan simply huffed in response. "I told you all already-- I was going that way when we got the call. Nothin' more to it!"

"Yes, yes," Duke chuckled. "Still, I owe you an apology. I'm sorry."

Duncan paused a moment, his expression uncertain, before finally giving a quiet "Mmhmm." and backing into his berth.

"What did I tell you, Duke?" Skarloey beamed from his own shed.

"Perhaps you're right, Skarloey," Duke chuffed. "He may not want to admit it... but he's got a good heart indeed."

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 6-Musical Twins

Day 6-Harmony 

Other Stories

Other Days

“Should old acquaintance be forgot

 and never be brought to mind?”

The Scottish twins sang happily as they shunted the Arlesburgh yard. One twin shunted empty ballast hoppers shunted from a pair of sidings to the hoppers even as the other pulled the full hoppers away to assemble into a train at the yard mouth.

“Are they always this…” Swindon trailed off, the Castle class searching for the right word.

“Vocal?” Duck suggested.

“Should old acquaintance be forgot

In the days of auld lang syne”

“Musical.” 

“For auld lang syne, my dear

For auld lang syne.”

Duck snorted, “When they're together and in a good mood. You should hear Thomas on his branchline.”

“We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet

For the sake of auld lang syne.”

Rex spoke up from the little railway’s sidings, “It's July.” He said, “We couldn't be farther from new years.”

“And surely you’ll buy your cup

And surely I’ll buy mine.”

“I think they just like the song,” Bert called amusedly from the top of the hoppers.

“We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet

For the sake of auld lang syne.”

“Or it's the only one they know.” Rec grumbled.

“We two who’ve paddled in the stream

From morning sun ‘till night.”

“They sing it so much  because it annoys him,” Duck whispered to Swindon.

“The seas between us roared and swelled

Since the days of auld lang syne.”

Swindon snorted, “of course.”

“For old acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind”

The castle stretched slowly, “at least they harmonize well.”

“Should old acquaintance be forgot

For the sake of auld lang syne?”

“Do they?” Rex snarked. The twins, hearing him, decided to serenade him more closely and pulled alongside the little railway’s sidings.

“For old acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind

Should old acquaintance be forgot

In the days of auld lang syne!”

“Oi! off with that will ya!” Rex shouted over them. Instead the twins increased their volume.

“For auld lang syne my dear

For auld lang syne

We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet

For the sake of auld lang syne.”

Rex uttered a curse that was sure to have the Small Controller rinse his mouth with soap later and rolled away towards the sheds to find some quiet.

[ask-the-young-nor-westers]

Just a Bad Dream

Description: Henry has a bad dream about his being locked in the tunnel once again. Little did he know that he would get some advice from his new driver, Correlle, as well as an unexpected story.

Words: How the fuck should I know? I haven't been keeping track LOL (jk jk).

"We shall leave you here for always and always and always."

Those words spoken by the Fat Director echoed in Henry's smokebox as he slept restlessly. Every year on the anniversary of him being locked in the Ballahoo tunnel, Henry would often have the same wretched dreams of the incident.

Of course, Henry had learned his lesson. He learned it quite well to the point where he hated any reminder of it. He despised the long days he spent, locked away in that brick tunnel; All on his own without anyone to talk to. It nearly drove him mad. After being let out, he knew better to be vain about his paintwork. After all, that was James' shtick now; not his.

But every time he had that wretched dream, he was scared to death. He never wanted to be locked away like that again.

"No.... No, I don't want to be alone. Not again..." He thought as the Fat Director solemnly proclaimed those words. He would have moved from the tunnel in his dream, but he couldn't make himself do so. Year after year, he tried and tried to prove the "Fat Director" wrong; that he was willing to move; he was willing to leave the tunnel. But some force prevented him from doing it. No matter how much he begged and pleaded, he had to witness the same sight of workmen bricking him up in that god-forsaken tunnel. He would have had to do it again, if not for a sudden echo.

"Henry? Henry, you okay?" The voice sounded familiar, yet it didn't belong in his dream. "Henry?! Henry, wake up!!" At that, his eyes shot open and darted around until he saw his driver, Correlle, standing in front of him. She was already dressed for work, yet her hair was somewhat a mess, and she looked like she had just tumbled out of bed.

"C-correlle?" he asked, looking down at her in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sleeping over, remember?" the young American reminded him, gesturing to the empty cot on the platform next to his berth, "We have the Kipper in a few hours."

"Oh…. right…" Henry blinked. He felt his eyes grow watery as he tried to keep his composure.

"Henry… what's wrong?" Correlle looked up at her engine worriedly, "You were shaking like a leaf." There was a brief silence that followed, as Henry was debating how to answer.

Correlle Hemsworth had only been working with Henry for about 2 months and she was still learning things about her new friend. That included his likes and dislikes. While she did poke fun at him from time to time, she knew when too far was too far. Even though she didn't know Henry as well as she would have liked, she could tell he was agitated. She knew from his fireman, Ted, that it took a while for Henry to open up to anyone new that entered his life.

"It's only early days," he had said, "and Henry doesn't open up to just anyone right away. He has to trust you first."

Correlle always remembered this, as she wanted to be a good driver that respected her engine's boundaries. While she didn't want to force him to open up, she also didn't want Henry to suffer whatever it was that was bothering him. At least on his own. After all, this was her first real time seeing Henry cry. It was heartbreaking, but she didn't say that aloud.

Henry himself seemed to recognize his new driver's genuine worry and did his best to compose himself. After all, if the other sleeping engines around him would never let him hear the end of it if they saw him like this, then how would his driver look at him?

"I'm alright…" He sighed as he took a deep breath. That didn't stop the tears from falling though.

"Henry… I'm not one to tell you how to feel, but you're definitely not alright." Correlle stated quietly, "I know that since I'm new, you don't trust me as much, but I still want to help you." At this, she placed a hand on one of his buffers. "Whatever is bothering you, I won't tell a soul. Not even if they cut my arms off." Henry was silent for a few minutes, mulling this over. That last part of her statement had been a bit brutal, but then again many Americans were, if they wanted to be.

One of the most important qualities that Sir Richard Hatt considered when it came to electing who drove what engine, is the capability of the driver to be there for their engine

"Encourage them to do good and discourage them to do bad; Be there for them in both good and bad times." He had proclaimed to the "Young Nor' Westers" on their first day of work.

While it may have been their first time learning it, Every engine on the North-Western Railway knew this philosophy was a given fact. Not only that, but it was a creed of sorts for the crews. Of course, it did take time for the engines to come to trust their crews, and Henry was no exception to this.

When he first met Correlle, she seemed nervous, as if she was tip-toeing around the engines she was learning to work with. It took time for her to shed her shyness and show her spunky, spirited nature. When she did, Henry found that he enjoyed it.

Not only that, but so far she had followed "the creed" to a T; She had encouraged and discouraged him on many different occasions, as well as spent many good times with him. Now she was passing the real test; being there for him when he was having a hard time with something. In this case, it was one of his personal demons.

Henry knew the genuineness of her words because he could see the sincerity in her eyes, even in the dark. Plus he knew Correlle wasn't the type to gossip. Sure she chattered and rambled like the troublesome trucks did at times, but she never spilled any secrets. Bearing all of this in mind, he took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Every year… there's this bad dream that haunts me." He admitted, looking upset, and a bit embarressed. "I don't know if you heard of this story, but years ago... my pride ended up with me being bricked up inside a tunnel."

"Oh… wait, you mean that little rhyme that Percy sometimes teases you with? The one about an engine being afraid of the rain and--"

"Yes, yes, that rhyme…" Henry quickly cut her short before he continued shakily, "Only in my case, that damn rhyme is a nightmare. And that same nightmare comes back every year. I'm in the Ballahoo Tunnel, just sitting there, with a line of coaches behind me. I've tried moving out of that damn tunnel, I truly have. Heavens knows I've tried. But something won't let me…" Henry looked down at his running board, seeing the two dots of water that just sat there, right beneath where his eyes would have been.

"Oh Henry…" Correlle looked sad as she climbed up and sat down next to his smokebox face. She often sat up next to him on her breaks, just dinking on her phone or just relaxing. Usually she had to take care because his boiler was hotter then fire itself. But now that his boiler was cool, she placed a hand on the outer black. The steel was cold as ice. So much so, she could almost feel what he was feeling; Scared and alone.

"I keep being told that I would be kept in the tunnel for always and always. Being stuck in there for a few weeks was hell enough, but… forever??" Henry looked petrified at the thought. "It's almost as bad as being scrapped… maybe even worse." Correlle listened quietly to everything he was saying. After a few minutes of thinking, she spoke up.

"Who was the one who told you that you would be stuck in that tunnel forever?"

"The Fat Director… He was the first one in charge of the NWR, back in the 1900s. He wasn't exactly a kind-natured man… He didn't even want me…"

"Why didn't he want you?"

"I wasn't the engine he ordered. When I came to this island, the Fat Director was angry. He claimed he wanted an Atlantic, but instead…"

"Instead he got you?"

"Yes." there was a brief pause before he continued, "I… I was a mistake." Henry looked ashamed as he said this, "I was an experimental engine. I was built with a very small firebox, so I couldn't be steamed properly. I half-expected the Fat Director to scrap me because of it." There were a few minutes of silence before Correlle spoke up again.

"Henry…. You're not a mistake." She said in a quiet yet firm tone.

"Well… of course you would say that. You're my driver."

"I'm not saying it as your driver. I'm saying it as your friend. You're not the one to be blamed for how you were built. You didn't even ask to be built; you just were. It's the same way with humans. I didn't ask to be born; I just was born. People can blame us for existing all they want, but it doesn't change the fact that we're still here. All of us here…. engine and humans alike, we're all misfits in one way or another."

"Misfits?"

"It's a word that means you're outwardly different in some way that makes society think you don't fit into it's norms."

"I see… is that a bad thing?"

"No way. Misfits can be wonderful people. Same with engines. They're just built in a way that people don't understand at first. Misfit as you are, you gave a lot and showed the railway that you deserve to be here. And no bad dream is going to change that." Correlle just gave an encouraging smile, "I think the Fat Director knew that too, even if he was the one who punished you to stay in that tunnel."

Henry thought a bit on that. It was true that the Fat Director had locked him in the tunnel, but he also was the one who let Henry out, even if it was a last resort. Plus, he did give Henry the fair chance he needed to do his best on the NWR by buying him Welsh Coal for his poor steaming, as well as sending him to Crewe after his accident with the Flying Kipper. So he couldn't say that the Fat Director didn't care about him. But it did raise the question.

"Then… why do I keep seeing him telling me that I would stay in the tunnel for always and always?" He asked slowly. Correlle was thoughtful for a few minutes before she answered.

"I think that moment was the time you saw the Fat Director at his worst. He was angry and he said words he couldn't take back. I don't know for certain, since I wasn't around when this happened, but it's my best guess on why. I do know that whenever we do see people at their worst, it's imprinted in our minds, whether we want it there or not."

"I see…" Henry sighed, "Times like this I wish I could forget that time ever existed. I wouldn't have that damn nightmare if I remembered."

"I guess it's a curse with engines. You're timeless machines. From the moment you were built, you remember everything. But… that's not to say you can't conquer your nightmare."

"But I've tried moving from the tunnel and I couldn't make myself move. So how else can I conquer my bad dream?" Correlle, once again, went silent at this, the wheels in her head turning until she snapped her fingers.

"Have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?"

"No. What is that?"

"It's where you can control what you do in your dreams. Most of the time, when we dream, we have little to no control over what we do. One example of that is sometimes I dream that I'm stuck on a snowy mountain and I can barely stand on my own two feet. But if you train your mind enough, you can be conscious enough to the point where you remember that you're stuck in a dream and you can do what you want."

"So… you suggest that I lucid dream?"

"Something like that. When you have the nightmare again, just take a deep breath and remember that you're dreaming. That you can do whatever you want and if you want to move from that tunnel, then you can. Remember that you have nothing holding you back, other then the obsticles you give yourself." Correlle patted the side of his boiler, giving him a small smile. Henry felt better at this idea.

"I'll remember this for the future." He said quietly.

"That's the Henry I know." Correlle beamed before she suddenly yawned. Henry couldn't help but smile a little at this.

"If you want to return to your cot, you can."

"Eh… I'm fine here. At least until you go to sleep again." Correlle just tiredly leaned against the side of his boiler. Henry could sense the exhaust in her voice, but it wasn't because of how tired she was or how late it was. It was something else. A brief period of silence hung in the air before Correlle spoke up again. "You know… I was debating on whether I should tell you this, but…"

"But?" the Green engine raised an eyebrow.

"I know how it feels… not being wanted." she smiled sadly as she looked at the hairband she had wrapped around her right wrist. "My case is probably not as bad as yours, but… before I came to Sodor, I grew up with my grandparents on their ranch in Colorado. My Dad was never in my life because… well… at first it was hard for him to be there, given that my mother had passed away when she gave birth to me. But when he started coming to see me more and more, he just… he didn't seem to like me for some reason."

"That's terrible…" Henry said quietly.

"I never knew what that reason was. Every time my Dad came to see me, he just… looked disappointed. I didn't know why at the time, and I always was hard on myself because of it. It didn't stop him from inserting himself in my life, even when it seemed like he didn't like me. I always thought that he had a hard time being near me because I might have reminded him of my mom. But later as I got older, I began to realize the reason was… well…" Correlle took a deep breath, holding tears of her own back, "I wasn't the daughter he wanted." Henry was aghast at this.

"What do you mean by that?" He managed to ask after a few minutes. He sounded breathless, as if he saw that his whole forest had been cut up just for the thrill of it.

"I mean just that. Just like you were the engine that the Fat Director didn't want at the time, I wasn't the daughter my Dad wanted. He tried hard to get me to be like him, but… I was just different. I didn't like the same things he did and to him, that wasn't enough. Unlike you, I wasn't really given a fair chance. After an accident I got into that was…. well, my Dad's fault, he just up and left. Like he just gave up. I thought that would be the end of it. Until…"

"Until?"

"He dragged me back into his life. Right before I turned 18 too. Then I came here to Sodor and joined the Railway here to get away from him." Correlle wiped her eyes of what tears she had, "I wasn't sure I would even make it to this point, or even do a good job. But in the process, I met someone who was just like me. At least in a few ways."

"I can attest to that." Henry smiled a bit, "Admittedly, I was a bit worried, as since you were younger then the drivers I had years prior, I thought things would turn sideways. But you're doing a wonderful job as my driver. You're likely the best I've had in a long while."

"Aww… thanks you." Correlle patted his boiler again, giving him a broad smile, "I was scared at first, given that I've never handled an Iron Horse before, but like my Grandpa Davis said, as long as you're confident in yourself and the engine, things get easy."

"Well, he's not wrong." Henry sighed as he looked at the sky through the glass ceiling of Tidmouth sheds, "Some misfits we are."

"True." Correlle smiled a bit, "But, if given a choice, there's no misfit in the world that trumps you."

"Same for you, but as my driver." Henry suddenly felt a hefty yawn come over him, "We should get some sleep. I don't think we have much longer before the Firelighter comes."

"True." Correlle yawned, "Plus, I feel kinda… *yawn* drowsy myself…"

"I can tell. You care barely keep your eyes open." Henry chuckled tiredly, "Back to your cot. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Correlle sleepily tumbled off of his front buffer beam and ambled back to her cot. Henry could hear her grunt as she fell face-first into the somewhat flat pillow she used. The second he heard her faint breathing, a sign she fell asleep, he yawned and closed his eyes himself. The nightmare was well out of his mind by now, so he knew what little rest he would get until the time came to pull the Flying Kipper would help him in the long run.

Primary Blog || Art Blog || Speedpaint || Kofi || Artistree

[skarloey-studios]

Traintober 2024 Day 1: Dawn

“Great.”         

Gordon twitched, and pretended to still be asleep. It was the crack of dawn, two hours before he needed to leave for the Express. He could just stay here and-

“Just great.”

There was no point trying to sleep when someone wanted attention. The express engine let out an enormous yawn – a yawn just loud enough for everyone else in the shed to hear that he had been unwillingly disturbed from his sleep – and glanced over at the source of the noise.

It was, predictably, James – poking half out of the shed. And he had a leaf on his nose.

The express engine groaned. “What is it, James?”

The bright red Mogul, clearly delighted inside that someone had noticed him, started his rant. “Leaves, Gordon. Leaves.”

Gordon’s patience was waning. “And?” he grunted irritably.

“It’s that time of year again – leaves EVERYWHERE, just waiting for me to slip up on. On the lineside. On the rails. On the sleepers. On me-“

A sudden cough of suppressed mirth erupted from the big blue engine, and James shot him a dirty look. “What?”

Gordon thought it best not to mention all of James’s trouble with leaves – it was no wonder he was so paranoid of them. He had what seemed to be a yearly tradition of getting stuck on the hill at least twice each autumn with leaves on the line, and that wasn’t even mentioning the time when he got leaves all over his wet paint and they refused to come off! James really didn’t have any luck when it came to autumn.

“Well?” James snapped, jolting Gordon out of his thoughts.

“Oh, nothing. Perhaps,” he continued innocently, “if you hated leaves so much, you could take old Rustbucket out to clear them up… you know how cheerful he always is on days like this…”

“Oh! That’s quite alright, Gordon, I wouldn’t worry!” A nervous laugh came next. “I’ll be just fine, at least for today. Leaves are no problem to an engine like me…”

And he bustled off like his boiler was covered with half a hive of bees- no, that analogy was dangerously close to making Gordon laugh in James’s face. Now that he thought about it, all of James’s incidents with leaves may have had something to do with his reluctance to work with the leaf-blowing machine… oh well. It wasn’t his problem if James got stuck on the hill today. At least it would be continuing the tradition.

The sun had begun to stretch its first rays of dazzling light over the horizon and into the shed, and the other engines were beginning to stir from their slumber, their boilers being warmed by the glowing fires started by the cleaner earlier. Gordon, meanwhile, drifted back to sleep – an express engine didn’t deserve to be woken up at dawn.

[theyellowroseofsodor]

Ladies and gentlemen, the wonderful @asktrio516 a.k.a. @dilemmaart has drawn the midnight race scene for me from The Yellow Rose of Sodor!! She’s become a great friend of mine and she’s a fantastic artist and she deserves all the love in the world!! She’s brought Camille to life and my heart just soars looking at her and Gordon, who is actually @asktrio516’s own humanization of the express engine who inspired the whole fic! Literally, if it wasn’t for her humanization this fanfiction would never have existed! EVER! So, please a round of applause and praise for her!!

She even included his words to her before they went down Gordon’s Hill and that was such a pleasant surprise I almost cried. It’s so beautiful!

Thanks again dilemma! I’m so glad this fandom has brought us together!

💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜

[tornadoyoungiron]

Young Iron Traintober 2024 Titlecard

Here we go. It's getting closer. <3

[sudrianspitfire]

“The year is 1958. The 8 Famous engines... are down to one now. Gordon has seen his friends taken away by the Other Railway, and his railway is flooded with new engines taking their places. With this change and the rise of diesels, Gordon fears what the future may hold... if he has a future at all."

“TTTE: The Last Railway Engine” - coming soon? Probably? Yeah.

[hoisnyshenanigans]

Day 4: Great Race is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59024869/chapters/151629283

[thatcheeseycandle]

T2024: Day 4, Great Race | TC-LRAU

Everything was burning. Everything was burning hotter than the sun, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop!

As he felt his stream-lining shell start to break away with steam bursting through, making his boiler crack even more than before, but it was even quicker to do so as it had been broken up from all that he held in to keep himself from going back to Sodor. To continue on.

He can’t die right now- he can’t! Please, please not now, not now. All his thoughts at that moment were pleading to Lady Above that he wouldn’t fail right there and then, or worse, especially not in front of all of these people and engines. His brother especially.

After so many years of entertaining one crowd, Sodor, the thought of being able to show what he was capable of to an entirely new audience was enthralling to him. It was an opportunity he’d take after so long of waiting to stay in this loop.

He took it, right when Sir Topham Hatt mentioned it, he took the offer much to his controller, and his own, surprise. With all the safety precautions, he was sure incidents weren’t most likely to occur.

His mind started to fill with thoughts he had suppressed for too long, making this even worse as his anxiety rose, fearing for the worse. And surprise, surprise, it had indeed came true as he heard the whistle of a familiar face, snapping him back to reality.

As he glanced around the track, he would feel the wind swirl through the cracks of his shelling as Spencer sped by, feeling his boiler weaken even more as consciousness crept up from the back of his mind, in a painfully slow way.

He could just feel Spencer starting to panic even faster than he was, simply speeding up to avoid the ghastly sight that was the process of becoming a corpse. Hearing the muffled voice of the announcer halting the engines that were behind him to stop, he’d try to apply his brakes but it would multiply the agony by pushing the stuck pieces of debris more into the little crevices near the brakes.

And because of that, his wheels would screech against the rails beneath him, wearing them down. Then, he’d hear the muffled sound of a plate breaking as a part of his forehead started to numb, he could see a golden liquid flow at the corner at his eye.

As the numbness faded out, now replaced with a sensation similar to that of multiple cuts reopening themselves after being stitched up, his vision would start to feel like looking through a cracked pane of glass—-

—-

“Are you quite sure about this?”

“Of course I am! Besides, why not test if these new wings of mine can benefit me in this form?”

“Well if they don’t prove to be worthy, I’ll just have to donate my own wings to you.”

“You’d be out of your right mind if so!” he laughed as he stretched out his wings a bit.

It had only been a year since he had been blessed with a name, and of course, it’s even more magical than it had been described by others. That shiver that ran through him when he woke up with that name plate on him after a little checkover by the engineers. It was amazing.

But of course, that night where he had just returned from a run and Solario had suddenly bumped into him, had caused him to discover this new human-like mechanical form of his. Though he had no issue with it, Solario was quite on edge from nightmares from what he had heard and it was about time he had learnt about this new form.

Well technically he had known about it ever since he had stumbled onto Gordon in his own humanoid form.

Though his train of thought would be cut off as he glanced at Gordon, who would be stretching his own wings as both of them glanced at what was in front of them. It would be-

“Oh this cliff is as beautiful as I remembered it!”

It would be a cliff, the slope would practically be invisible as the view below it was a bit nerve wracking yet thrilling. Oh to see the world below from above such a height like this would be amazing, hence why they’re here. 

He’s already proved he could glide off the ground a bit, why not do it from a great height!

As he stretched out his wings as far as he could, taking a glance at Gordon who was looking beyond the horizon, he’d look to what was infront of him as well. The warmth of dawn as the sun had fallen down to the south to rest at last, leaving the moon to finally rise.

“Scotsman.”

“Yes?”

“I promise, to make up for all of my mistakes, I’ll be there when something goes wrong. I’ll be on standby.”

He’d look at Gordon sympathetically. “You don’t need to make up for anything, dear brother. But thank you. The same goes for me with you, I promise to keep you safe as well.”

“Thank you.”

Scotsman stood precariously at the edge of a towering cliff, the wind tousling his hair and filling his lungs with the crisp, invigorating scent of the open sky. 

Below him stretched a breathtaking landscape, an expanse of emerald valleys and serpentine rivers shimmering under the midday sun, a view so vast and beautiful it almost made him forget the gnawing sense of doubt that always lingered at the back of his mind. His wings, short and stubby, quivered with a mixture of excitement and trepidation; they were hardly the kind of appendages that would allow for any real flight, but today felt different. 

Today, there was an inexplicable urge pushing him forward, a whisper in his soul urging him to leap into the abyss and embrace whatever awaited him in the open air. He had often watched his brother Gordon soar effortlessly above the ground, his magnificent wings—large, powerful, and beautifully designed, complete with metallic tips that gleamed like swords in the sunlight—gliding through the sky with an elegance that Scotsman could only dream of. 

Yet here he was, standing on the precipice, contemplating a jump, unsure of what he might discover about himself.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and took a step forward, feeling his heart race as gravity threatened to pull him down. But instead of falling, Scotsman felt an unexpected buoyancy, a lightness that lifted him up and out into the vast expanse of the sky, his body suspended as if cradled by the air itself. 

The world below shrank rapidly, and for a moment, pure exhilaration flooded through him; he was flying, or at least floating, caught in an exhilarating dance with the wind that whipped around him. 

It was a sensation he had never experienced before, and the feeling of weightlessness enveloped him in a cocoon of joy. Up here, he felt free, liberated from the constraints of earthbound existence. 

Yet, amid the thrill, a troubling awareness began to gnaw at him: this incredible ability was not something he understood, nor did he know how long it would last. There was a strange energy pulsating within him, a warmth that surged and ebbed like a flickering flame, and with each passing second, he sensed that this magic was draining, like a well running dry.

As he soared higher, he glanced down, the ground appearing more distant and hazy, the trees like mere dots, and an irrational fear began to creep into his heart. How long could he sustain this? His wings flapped uselessly, offering no real support, only a rhythmic flutter that accompanied the growing panic within him. 

Soon, he felt the first heavy tug of gravity asserting itself, the joyous buoyancy beginning to slip away like grains of sand through his fingers. Scotsman gasped as he realized he was beginning to descend, the world rushing up to meet him far more quickly than he had anticipated. It was not long before the exhilarating thrill of floating transformed into the cold grip of fear, and in that moment of despair, he felt utterly alone, suspended between the ground and the sky, a mere moment away from disaster.

But just as he began to fall, a powerful rush of wind announced Gordon’s arrival. Scotsman looked up to see his brother soaring toward him, wings spread wide and majestic, cutting through the air with practiced grace. 

“SCOTSMAN! BROTHER!”

—-

‘BROTHER!’

Is what he would’ve yelled out had it not been for the lump that formed near his vocal cords, gripping tightly on them as he witnessed in horror his own brother start to become as literal as his name. 

He would try to speed up, trying to call out to him, but every attempt would be in vain as his mind clawed at him. His own mind betraying himself. Even though he knew his brother was in agony just by looking at him, debris flying towards the engines behind him, he couldn’t talk.

But at last, as he slid back his smoke deflectors as much as he could without resisting, he would glance at his brother through blurred eyes from the flames that brought a nerve wracking warmth near his face, opening his mouth to call out to him-

“Evacuate the area! All engines behind NWR N. 4 must remain behind him for safety, and for those ahead of him, get as far as you can then head to the emergency sidings marked with white flags!”

‘Get as far as you can’ was all that rang in his mind as he looked to the engines on the track beside his, their distraught faces being carved into his mind everytime he looked at them. He’d try to brush it off as he heard mumbles from Gordon, trying to focus on him instead.

But Scot, those glaring eyes that gaze towards you, couldn’t you consider what they have to say? What to say about your poor weak brother in this moment? How unreliable he currently looks as they pity him? Hm?

“Scot- Please–”

How could you associate yourself with such a weak sibling? It was a surprise enough such an antique were to appear in such a grand streamlined shell, hell, it was a surprise he even still survived!

Stop, stop. His ears rang as he finally looked at Gordon in the right mind, his eyes widening as he saw the… The cracks. No, those weren’t any cracks. The yellow tint in his eyes was shifting colours, to that colour.

Oh look at him, it seems his time is up. A shame, really. He would’ve been a fine static display next to Mallard, don’t you think?

Scotsman’s thoughts spiraled, a mix of disbelief and dread. How had it come to this? Gordon, once a paragon of strength and pride, now reduced to this fragile state. The cracks were spreading, like a disease consuming him from within. Scotsman could almost hear the mocking whispers of the other engines, the silent judgment of the museum visitors.

He deserves better than this, Scotsman thought, a pang of sorrow piercing his heart. But what could be done? Time was merciless, and even the mightiest engines couldn’t escape its grasp.

Gordon’s eyes met his, a flicker of recognition and despair. “Scotsman… I…”

No, don’t speak. Save your strength, old friend. Scotsman wished he could say the words aloud, but they remained trapped in his mind, a silent plea for mercy.

Accept it, Scotsman. This is the end for him. Embrace the future, and let the past fade away.

But how could he? How could he let go of the memories, the shared triumphs and struggles? Gordon was more than just an engine; he was a brother, a comrade. Scotsman’s resolve wavered, his anxiety mounting. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, suffocating.

I can’t watch this. I can’t bear it. The thought echoed in his mind, growing louder with each passing second. His wheels trembled, and he felt an overwhelming urge to flee, to escape the unbearable sight of Gordon’s decline.

Without another thought, Scotsman turned away, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t watch his brother fade away. As he slid his smoke deflectors with a click, speeding up as fast as he can, the echoes of Gordon’s struggles haunted him, a reminder of the relentless march of time and the fragility of even the strongest among them.

—-

Gordon’s wings were a magnificent sight to behold, the feathers layered in a way that mimicked the natural world but were imbued with a glimmering strength, the metallic tips shining brightly in the sunlight, embodying both beauty and might. Scotsman felt a jolt of relief shoot through him as Gordon’s keen eyes locked onto his, the familiar warmth of his brother’s presence igniting a flicker of hope in his heart. 

With a fierce determination, Gordon swooped down, his powerful wings propelling him forward at breathtaking speed. Scotsman’s heart raced as he felt the air shift around him, and before he knew it, Gordon was there, his strong arms wrapping around Scotsman with an assurance that chased away the shadows of fear.

In an instant, the world shifted again, and instead of falling, Scotsman found himself cradled in the safety of Gordon’s embrace, his brother’s wings working in harmony with the currents of air to lift them both up, soaring effortlessly back toward the sky. 

Scotsman clung tightly, heart pounding with a mixture of gratitude and awe as they glided together, the thrill of being so high, so alive, rushing through him like a wildfire. The initial panic faded, replaced by the warmth of familial love and the realization that he was not alone in this moment, that even in his darkest fears, his brother would always be there to catch him, to support him when the weight of the world felt too heavy to bear.

As they descended slowly, Gordon’s laughter rang out like music, filling the air with joy, a sound that grounded Scotsman in reality, reminding him that even if he could not fly on his own, he was always anchored by the unbreakable bond they shared.

When they finally landed on solid ground, the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything, and Scotsman felt a newfound appreciation for the experience, a profound understanding that it was not merely about the act of flying but about the connections that uplifted him, the moments shared with his brother that truly made him feel alive.

Even as he grappled with the mystery of his floating ability, he felt an assurance that he was not defined by his limitations but rather by the love and support that surrounded him. The sky, once a realm of dreams and doubts, now felt like a place of possibility, a canvas upon which he could paint new stories alongside his brother, one leap at a time. 

And in that moment of quiet realization, standing side by side with Gordon, he knew that the journey was far from over, that together they would discover the heights they could reach, not just through the power of wings but through the strength of their bond, forever ready to leap into the unknown together.

But at this very moment as Gordon looks back at this memory through the line between unconsciousness and the cruel reality that is happening right now, that’s quite the lie, isn’t it?