#prompt: Seagull

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Float On

CCF Spring Break Prompt: Seagull | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Pre-Steddie | CW: After Effects of S4, Depression | Tags: Eddie Munson Lived, Now He Just Kinda Wants to Float Away, His Friends Won't Let Him, Angst w/a Hopeful Ending

The bird swoops low again, aiming for the sandwich on Eddie's knee. It's graceful, in a way Eddie isn't. Not these days, not since, well. Since. He sits on the beach and wastes another day of their spring break moping. 

Spring Break isn't for him, not since that one two years ago. But everybody else wanted to get away, and he couldn't blame them for that. He wants to get away from Hawkins, too. Permanently. But all his prospects for escaping that hellhole have fallen into the cracks in the earth, like much of the rest of the town.

So, here he is. Half-heartedly protecting his peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a would-be thief of a bird.

Eddie's tired. More tired than usual of trying to fit himself into a round hole as a square peg. Eddie isn't, and will never again be like everyone else after everything that happened. Societal norms seem harder than ever, after knowing what being just a little different gets you. 

His friends don't get it, not really, and he tosses the sandwich on the ground, giving up. He's used to things being taken from him, and he doesn't have the fight left to stop it.

Eddie floats on his back in the ocean. He floats better here than he ever did at home in lakes and ponds, and he's been doing it for hours every day they've been here. 

Float, float, floating. 

He almost wishes there were a water gate underneath him now, complete with tentacles to pull him under. Down, down, down, until it spits him out someplace else. Somewhere more suited for this version of him, forever tainted by the Upside Down.

Eddie hears the splashing, the man-made movement of wading, then swimming, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to listen to Gareth's lecturing, or Jeff's eternal encouragement. It's definitely not Goodie. He's scared of the seagulls after they stole his nachos, tray and all.

The movement ceases, and he can feel them floating next to him. That's fine, he supposes. As long as they stay quiet.

"You're drifting kind of far out."

Eddie's eyes open, and he turns his head to look over at Steve Harrington. He shouldn't be here. How'd he get here?

"Gareth called me. Said you were floating away. I didn't know he meant it literally."

Eddie nods. He is floating away. He's damaged, inside and out, and spending spring break at the beach isn't helping.

Nothing helps, not really.

Steve reaches over and takes his hand, "You can't just float away, okay?"

Eddie admits, "I kind of want to."

"I know. But I won't allow it," Steve says, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and Steve's hand, at the same time.

They aren't friends, not really. But it's been a weird limbo after that other spring break. You can't live through something like that with people, and not feel kinship. But they are very different people, and Eddie has always known that.

Steve Harrington landed on his feet. The bruises around his neck faded, and he got right back out into the world.

Eddie's scars seem to run deeper.

"I just feel heavy. Weighed down."

"You're floating," Steve teases softly.

"But I feel saddled with an anchor, hell-bent on dragging me down. Maybe it should," Eddie admits.

Steve rolls onto his side, out of his floating position, and kicks over closer to Eddie's head. Then, Steve treads water behind him, cups the back of his neck, and slides an arm over Eddie's belly. Slick skin against slick skin.

Eddie knows what's coming, can sense it, and he closes his eyes. Holds his breath.

And he was right. Steve pulls him under, fully submerging him, washing him clean. Then, he brings him back to the surface.

It's symbolic, a baptism of sorts, and he accepts it. Turns his face towards the sun, and opens his eyes, blinking the stinging saltwater away.

Steve Harrington still has a hold of him, but Eddie kind of believes he might be able to keep himself above water, now. 

But he doesn't have to. Not yet. He lulls his head back on Steve's shoulder, as Steve holds him up, treading water with ease.

Jeff's standing at the edge of the ocean, and holds open a towel. Eddie's exhausted, and he steps into it, letting Jeff wrap him up in the soft cotton, hugging him.

Steve is shaking out his hair like a wet dog, and the three of them trudge towards the rented beach house that hush money paid for, but couldn't make him happy.

He lived. 

Now he actually has to do that.

They kick through the sand, and when they reach the steps, Eddie pauses. 

"What?" Jeff asks. 

"I'm hungry," Eddie answers, "I'm starving, actually."

"Swimming will do that. We'll order pizza," Steve offers, and that sounds like the best thing Eddie's ever heard. He wants Steve to take charge.

And Steve does. Stands at the counter, in the rented beach house, shirtless, chest hair still damp as he argues with all the guys, trying to formulate an order that makes sense. Eddie can't stop staring at him. 

It's like he's glowing. 

Eddie's stomach tightens. He can't. He can't have feelings for Steve Harrington just because he came and played savior.

There's bickering and wheedling, and Steve Harrington being bitchy to regain control of the situation. It's soothing, somehow. Eddie sprawls out on the couch, and closes his eyes. 

He doesn't open them until his legs are being lifted, and Steve slides down on the couch, now dry, pizza in hand. Steve puts Eddie's legs in his lap, opens the box, handing over a slice.

Eddie grins, and takes it. Enjoying Steve's hand on his shin. It feels grounding, like maybe, maybe he won't come untethered and float on anymore. 

"Thanks for coming," Eddie says.

Steve smiles, "Always. You need anything, I'm here."

For some reason, Eddie actually believes him, and he leans forward, squeezing Steve's hand.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to read takes on Spring Break prompts, or to offer up your own!

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 17 - Seagull

Edward, 1931

It was a cool evening at Vicarstown Sheds. For once, all the engines were there, a truly rare occurrence ever since Thomas had gotten his branchline and the new Big Sheds had been built at the other end of the line. However, an incident earlier in the morning had left those sheds blocked off, and all six of the Fat Controller’s engines were sleeping out in the old sheds for the night. Percy had even brought up a bunch of old trucks that needed repairing so he could join the others! Though Edward wondered if that was less because the trucks needed bringing up and more because Percy hated being away from everyone, even if he fought with the big engines like a cat does with dogs.

Somehow, the conversation turned towards the engines and their families. James was not fond of talking about his – old scars ran deep – while neither Percy nor Henry had any family to speak of, not in the way that Edward, Thomas or Gordon did.

“I only met my first three siblings,” Gordon said. “They were Great Northern, Sir Frederick Banbury and Flying Scotsman. Fine engines, important and powerful - quite like me.” “Have they ever stuck on turntables?” asked Percy cheekily. Gordon huffed crossly, but didn’t rise to the bait. It was a rare night of peace in the sheds, and none of the engines really wanted to disturb it.

“What about you, Edward?” asked Thomas. “You spent the most time with your siblings out of all of us, didn’t you?” Edward chuckled softly. “I did,” he agreed. “I was part of a group of express engines known as ‘Seagulls’. My specific class was the ‘Larger Seagulls’, and we were very proud engines – we could get into such arguments that you wouldn’t believe! But we were close. I remember when they tried putting superheaters in some of us – we looked so ungainly it was crazy. The Fat Director had a different superheater put in me when I came to Sodor though.”

“Do you have any other stories for us?” quizzed Henry, genuinely curious. The big engine had never had a family outside of the engines on Sodor, and had always been curious about how classmates interacted.

“Oh yes!” grinned Edward. “One time, Princess Louise was coming to visit us, and my brother Number 36 was chosen to take the special train. He was very pleased about it and boasted endlessly until we were sick in the smokebox of him! But then the Princess became ill, and she wasn’t able to make it. Poor 36 looked about a minute away from tears, and we all decided to try and cheer him up, so we convinced the cleaners to dress him up for the big event anyway. They really went for it too! They covered him in flowers and flags and various coat of arms’ until he was barely able to see! The cleaners even took off his front brakepipe to not ‘interrupt’ the decorations. 36 felt better after that. The Princess did come a few years later, but 33 got to pull the train instead of 36 – and boy did neither of them shut up about it! The pair were practically at each other’s funnels for weeks leading up to it, and then it was over and they were right as rain again. I suppose that’s the best story I have – we were a bit boring as a class.”

“Boring?” snorted Gordon. “You have a sibling who pulled a Princess!” The big engine looked very peeved at the idea of an engine like Edward being the one to pull such an important person, but still could only smile when Edward rolled his eyes fondly.

“Yes, Gordon, boring. Or need I mention the fact one of your brothers was in a movie, at the Wembley Exhibition and has recently begun pulling trains all the way up the East Coast?” Gordon snorted in amusement, his eyes softening as he remembered his eager younger brother.

“Scottie always was keen to make an impression,” he hummed gently. “I always wonder what he’ll do next.” Edward could only agree, telling several more mundane little stories about his siblings and their various incidents. But eventually, he slowed, and gazed out towards the station.

“Ah well, I’d best get some sleep,” yawned Edward. “I’ve got a freight train over the bridge tomorrow!” Gordon paused at that, his eyes going wide. None of the other engines seemed to pick up on the subtle shift in their express engine, instead focused on Edward.

“Would you like me to take it?” Gordon asked slowly. The entire shed went quiet, all the engines gazing over at their express engine in shock. Gordon never offered to help with any trains, and especially not goods trains. Edward just smiled softly.

“That’s very kind of you, Gordon, but I can manage. I know you don’t want to be seen with little old me, but it’s been years since I last saw my siblings… and I’d like to. Maybe ol’ Nobby will still be round too!”

Gordon, Henry and James shared a worried look as Edward yawned again and closed his eyes. None of them knew what to say, and spent the rest of the night trading glances and trying to think of a way to dissuade Edward from going over the Vicarstown bridge.

But there was nothing they could do. The next morning, Gordon took his morning express, James set off with a local passenger train and Henry puffed away to pull a heavy goods train that had him huffing and wheezing. Thomas and Percy followed shortly after; Thomas with his faithful coaches and Percy with a line of trucks needing to be taken down the line.

Edward set about preparing his goods train with a little extra puff in his cylinders. He hummed to himself as he pushed the trucks into a line, whistling cheerfully to his friend Trevor the Traction Engine as he trundled by.

Edward set out not too late in the morning, but late enough that the express would be catching him while he was at Barrow.

Edward puffed along without a care in the world. The sun was shining, the grass was a gorgeous shade of green that put Henry to shame, and the sky was an endless blue. There was nary a cloud in sight as Edward rolled along, passing by fields as he headed for the bridge.

The rails were so smooth too, a sign Edward always took to mean he was nearing the Barrow steelworks and riding on its rails. They were always the smoothest rails in the area, and possibly the nicest Edward had ever run on.

That was when Edward rounded the bend and puffed into the yards. Nothing seemed out of place at first, as Edward puffed along, shunting his train away into its proper siding. Only… where were the Seagulls? The class always seemed to be milling around, no matter what. And yet… it was stonily silent. Edward puffed deeper into the yards, following its curves with practiced ease as he headed for where he knew the coal and water to be. If his siblings were anywhere, it would be there… right?

They were not there. Only a few ex-Midland engines milled about, all looking oddly smug. “I didn’t know one of you was in steam,” snorted one, shooting Edward an odd look. Edward scowled.

“Why wouldn’t I be? My controller needs me. Now, where can I find the other Seagulls?” Two of the Midlanders exchanged a look and directed Edward towards a part of the yard he’d never gone before. It was deep behind the sheds, along a short line that took Edward deep into the industrial heartland of Barrow.

And that’s where he found them. Or more accurately, what was left of them. Every single one of his siblings had been scrapped, melted down and ripped apart and twisted and mangled beyond recognition. All of them were there, from peppy young 125 who’d always been so excited to see the day right the way through to 36 himself, his once gleaming paintwork and pride reduced to nothing.

They were all gone.

They were all gone.

Edward was the last of his kind, the last of his class. The rest of them were here, torn apart and awaiting trucks to be loaded into and hauled away forever.

Edward returned to the yards looking very pale, and found Gordon had shooed off the Midlanders. “I’m… sorry, Edward,” Gordon eventually managed. Edward could only reply with a small sob.

“They’re all gone. I’ve lost them all. I didn’t do anything… I want to go home.” Gordon gently buffered up to his friend, and guided him back towards the station. It would look odd – him and the old engine double-heading the express – but Edward needed it.

“It’s ok Edward,” murmured Gordon. “You’ve got us, don’t you?”

It was the last truly kind thing the big blue engine would say to Edward in nearly two decades.  

Back to the Master Post

[srapsodia]

Asahi surrounded by a bunch of birds

out on a beach somewhere in the world

[holyguardian]

1929 HUSBAND SCALE RATING TEST / 1929 WIFE SCALE RATING TEST

Tagged by: @tredispade 💕

Tagging: @altrxisme @arcaniima @exiled-turk @kunselxsoldier @somnus-lucis-caelum

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 17-A Question of Class

Day 17-Seagull

Other Stories

Other Days

The engines were settling in for the shed when Gordon spoke up.

“Edward, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course Gordon, what is it?”

“What class are you? You appear North Eastern, but I don't recognize your design, and you’ve never mentioned anywhere or anyone I recognize.”

“Oh!” Edward chuckled, “I've been rebuilt.” He explained, “Crovan’s Gate gave me my North Eastern traits I’m afraid. I used to be a Furness Railway class 21, or Larger Seagulls as the crews called us. Something in my firebox had went awry by the time of the war, so when the NWR asked for engines to run the line, I was sent. Crovan's Gate was able to fix my streaming issues easily enough, but by war’s end I was already twenty years old, so when the NWR offered to buy me, the Furness accepted.”

Gordon frowned, “so you left your siblings behind.”

“We all did,” Tidmouth reminded, the 2-8-0 stretching contentedly, “all of us came from other railways.”

“All of your siblings then,” Gordon corrected himself.

“Yes,” Edward said thoughtfully, “but not at first. I originally pulled the express alongside Emily, so I reguarly saw my siblings at Barrow. Even now I occasionally end up in Barrow, so I haven't completely lost them…not yet.”

“Not yet?” Henry noticed.

Edward shifted uncomfortably, “My siblings and I are nearly thirty years old. That's a full working life for an engine. The LMS has also chosen to standardize its fleet…”

“You expect them to be withdrawn soon.” Gordon surmised, unable to hide the concern in his tone.

“Yes.” Edward sighed. “It happens to all engines eventually. My class was lucky enough to have full service lives. Not all engines get that.”

The conversation soon turned to happier matters before the engines fell asleep one by one. Soon Gordon and Henry were the only two awake.

“Henry?”

“Yes Gordon?”

“We need to talk to Caomhnóir.”

“Agreed…I’ll pass word through James in the morning.”

Henry hesitated, “you miss your siblings, back on the LNER.”

For a second it seemed the proud express engine wouldn't answer, but to Henry's surprise he did.

“Yes. Deeply. They visit…but it's not the same.”

“Do you…” Henry hesitated.

Gordon understood, “I often dream of being back on the mainline with my siblings.”

“...Of course.I’ll let you get to slee…”

“But in those dreams I miss the family I have made here.” The Pacific admitted, so quietly Henry almost didn't hear him.

The North Western’s No.4 shifted, “both my families are safe for the moment. In that…I must be content.”

Gordon proceeded to fall asleep without another word, or pretend to at least, one could never be quite sure with the Gresley, but either way Henry was smiling softly as he fell asleep

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

Happy DADWC :) For Anders and the character of your choice "We're still friends, right?"

I have endless feelings about post chantry-boom fugitive times but also for Anders' friends realizing they should have done more for him. Here's some of that for Hawke & Anders. for @dadrunkwriting

Kirkwall was long behind them.  After several days, the smoke on the horizon had faded to white, and then blended into the distant clouds. After a week, the spine of a mountain chain stood between them and the city, and after a month, Anders could hardly remember what it had looked like at the end. Hawke didn’t say much. Anders hadn’t tried, really, to get him to talk, because he didn’t know what to say. He refused to apologize for what he’d done, and he had explained the lies, and there wasn’t anything else to talk about. And it didn’t feel like the right time for fond memories, or old tales, or plans for the future.  “You need to eat something.” Hawke’s voice broke through Anders’ shell, pulling him back into the moment. They were sitting across from one another, a small fire twinkling red and gold between them. A crackling log splitting apart with a hiss broke the short silence before Anders cleared his dry throat. “Not really hungry.” Hawke didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he held a tin plate out for him, bearing steaming squirrel meat and half an apple that Hawke had apparently sliced while Anders was miles away. The expression in Hawke’s eyes made Anders feel like refusing would actually cause him pain.  He took the plate, balancing it on his knee. He felt Hawke watching him, so he picked at the meat and ate a bite. A cool breeze ruffled the feathers on his black coat—the beautiful gift Hawke had been so pleased to give him a year past. Anders felt tears prick his eyes and he glanced up at Hawke suddenly, mouth dry. “We’re still friends, right?” he asked. It came out raspy. A croak. He flushed and looked down, hoping maybe Hawke would let it go. There was, indeed, a silence. Then, “Of course we’re friends, Anders. Why would you need to ask me that?” Anders looked up again, squinting over the fire. “Because I lied to you. I blew up the city you love.” He’d meant to sound sarcastic, but it came out flat. Because it was true. Hawke held his gaze for a moment before returning to his meal. He ate for a moment before shaking his head. “You did what you had to do,” he said. “Took your friends too long to see it. It’s me who should be asking you that question.” His words were so unexpected that Anders didn’t understand his meaning. “What question?” Hawke looked at him again, raising an eyebrow. “We’re still friends, right?”

[the-bed-gremlins-reading-list]

Hi hi, just stumbled in your if, and it seems really promising. I really like isekais and intruder-narrators, so it's literally my cup of tea. The mysteries in this series will going to be thick, I feel it, especially if gods are so present in the narration. Furthermore, i want to know who our killer is in the original world. Are we going to have flahes about the MC's last life?

As of a prompt, I would like one of AubbyXRune (cause I shipped them straight away, what can I say, I love a friends to lovers).

I became truly heartbroken when I saw that they are a Romantic Option, so please, my lord/lady/Lairdship, indulge my plea T . T

I haven't read the others' asks, and I haven't found out your pronouns... So what is your pronouns, dear author?

It was Truck-san, obviously. Okay, so the first world was supposed to be where the skills were developed originally but I decided I liked the mentor set-up with the Laetoria better.

Everything about the previous world is open to your HCs. The only set thing about the murderer on that path is that the MC knew them. I don't plan on having any flashes of the MC's last life. The only exception MAY be initiating a "Return" path - I'm still debating whether I even want to do that branch since it means that you're actively initiating the events from canon, including your brother's death.

"She" and "they" work best for my pronouns! Thanks for asking. :)

Auberon and Rune ended up being pretty cute together. Surprised me a bit how soft Rune is for Auberon, but it's a bit different a dynamic than they have with MC (where they and Auberon are more equals vs MC has always been someone Rune protects).

Characters: Auberon and Rune An evening early in their time in the Sun City.

The raven is young - and impatient - it's too intelligent eye fixed on them, then turning to look pointedly at the nearby refreshment table and then back again. It's been making warbling croaking noises at the knight for the last ten minutes without success.

“I don't have anything for you,” they inform the bird.

The feather-duster’s begging only got louder. A few heads turned from the garden party to stare. Rune put their most determined stoic knight face on - they are on duty. They silently remind themself that they are guarding their lord, stoically and professionally, and definitely not being bullied by a bird.

As if standing here in armor with their post in the sun, just beyond the relief of the shade from the tents wasn't bad enough.

They aren't even the one that's been feeding the local birds! (They're just always around when the asshole is bribing his favorite informants.)

“How cruel,” Auberon teases as he escapes from a tangle of other nobles. (Matchmaking, not politics, if the tightness around his eyes is anything to go by.) He lifts an arm up for the raven to perch on instead of the ornamental tree it has been using as its pulpit.

“This is your fault.”

“Mm,” the duke hums as he feeds the creature a treat. He's still wearing his courtly persona so his laughter is kept to his eyes as he fusses after the bird.

Rune glances to the nobles watching their…friend. Friend. It's an odd title - too much the truth and yet it feels like a lie.

And these Nasenii circle him with golden nets. Marriage proposals made it break his wings. Promises sweet as poison and twice as deadly -

Auberon leaves off playing with the bird and slips in the way of his view, blocking off the party, his eyes flashing faintly gold as he sends the young bird away.

“Your eyes,” his tone is quiet but firm.

A warning, a reminder that their…condition is not well known at that it is best for them all that it stays that way. Rune knows that and yet…

Auberon’s hand at the back of their neck, their foreheads pressed close. The scent of the inks made to dry unseen beneath the citrus scent the duke preferred, and the imagined smell of wind and salt air - of home - lingering beneath it all.

“There's the color I adore,” Auberon smiled as Rune felt themself settle. Their other side quieted in the presence of the one who is so much more than their friend and lord.

Rune reluctantly drew away. Their scars felt itchy under all those gazes and they were all too aware of the sweat building up beneath their armor.

Auberon turned to cast a gaze back at the party. “My sibling made their escape some time ago - perhaps we should do the same?”

“Please,” they murmured. Only remembering once they were away: “Wait - you wanted to speak with -”

“This way I can gather more blackmail before I approach regarding road repair - I think I am close to having several names to spook the minister with.”

[mjni]

[the-cypress-grove]

Prompt: 17

Gulls brough news of the sea, pigeons of business, ravens of deaths. This was the first time she had received a letter carried in the claws of a dove.

[storm-ismyusername]

Witchtober 2024 #23. Gall 

(Drew Another Birb.) 

Prompt List by @joyouart!!! 

Extras!:

[anxietywriter]

Dialogue Prompt #110 || Weekly (ish)

"Father! Stop this madness!"

"Already? I've hardly even started."

[inevitablemoment]

07. being able to predict the other's words

18. "You know what I will say"

For Clarkmore

Set during their engagement

-----------

Tiyah pouted as she felt Winston's hand gently rub her shoulder.

"Come on, babe, it's time to get up," he whispered gently, kissing her temple.

"No, Win," she groaned. "Let me sleep in..."

"I thought you had work today," he said.

"No, Mrs. Ward is back from maternity leave," Tiyah told him as she turned onto her side. "Unless one of the other teachers call in sick, I won't need to come in. So--"

"Yeah, you can sleep in late," Winston agreed.

Tiyah turned back to face Winston. "I was about to ask that."

They smiled at each other as she leaned in closer.

"And you're about to suggest that you could call in sick and stay in bed with me?" Tiyah suggested.

"You know what I'll say to that."

[nehswritesstuffs]

Cora Week 2023 - 3 - Season

It’s Cora Week, everyone, so time to celebrate our favorite doomed puppy clown with some fic!

Prior fills: Smile [FFN/AO3] - Gun [FFN/AO3]

580 words; trying to make sense of meteorology and hydrology in One Piece will make someone’s brain implode, so unless we get an explanation later on I’m going with the “fuck it” approach; the reasons Cora knows what he does is actually a huge clue into everything about him and it’s, like, good for him

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Few things were harsh like a North Blue winter.

Bitter cold whipped through the air and stung at Rosinante’s cheeks. It was different than the cold that seeped in through the nights of his childhood, with the thinner air that was artificially dehumidified when the foggy season settled in. No… this was heavy and moist—it had a quality he could only really describe as solid. Winds were more solid at sea-level and it made him chilled down to his bones and then some. Snow was going to move in soon, a warm air current from the West bringing with it all the moisture it could.

“I don’t get it,” Law grumbled in his side. The teen tried to pull the feathered cloak tighter around them, hoping for more warmth against the frigid air. He shouldn’t’ve come out for Rosinante’s cigarette, but the brat insisted.

“What’s not to get? It’s cold.”

“How do we get rain from the West Blue? I thought the Grand Line was in the way.”

Ah. That. “It’s only mostly in the way. The moisture in the air actually travels over what makes the Calm Belts calm and skips a decent portion of the Grand Line, since it has weird weather to begin with and the Calm Belts are actually one giant blanket of calm insulating Grand Line weather from the Blues and vice versa. We share a lot of our air with the West and our water with the East… though there are exceptions.”

“That’s… weird.” Law clung tighter and Rosinante felt bad. He threw the cigarette nub in the ocean and carried the boy back into the rock niche they were currently hunkered down in. They had provisions enough—it was Law’s health that was the most concerning part. “I don’t like weather—it doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes enough sense as anything in the world,” Rosinante shrugged. He sat down and let the kid crawl into his lap and cuddle close—Law doing so without feeling weird about it was a luxury he knew they were only really afforded by his height. “I can tell you how it works, if you want.”

“No thanks; I’ll stick to medicine. That at least makes sense.”

“Then explain, medically, that thing Buffalo ate and how it doesn’t strangle him to death.” A grunt. “See? Can’t fucking do it, can ya?”

“Devil Fruits are variables anyhow.”

“They are, but there’s more to it than that.” Rosinante braced himself as another gust of wind made it into their little sanctuary; maybe there would be enough driftwood around the pile of rocks they were parked on to sustain a fire for a few days. “Hey… when you’re better, let’s go to the East Blue. It’s warmer there.”

“Cora-san… I doubt we’ll find a hospital in time…”

“Nonsense! If we don’t find one here, we’ll go to the Grand Line! There’s an island that’s full of doctors! It’s cold as balls, and we’ll have to make sure we take the correct path, but they’ll help you if no one in this fucking sea can get their heads out of their asses! Only a little bit more time, Law… you’ll see.”

“Sure…” The teen burrowed further into the feathered cloak and whimpered in pain, hoping that the adult did not hear. Rosinante simply hugged the boy a bit tighter, hoping that he would be wrong about one thing in that the new day would bring at least a break in weather.

[enthusiasticallydawn]

SJP4-One Word Wonder

Welcome to Summer Journal. We are working through 21 days of creative prompts to set a sparkle to your summer through the written word, the doodled thought or the sketched moment! If you are new to me, you can learn more here: About Me. To find out what we are up to here for June and July, head over to this page: SUMMER JOURNAL 2025 Otherwise, by all means, please jump in and journal! Continue…

[happyleech]

I jumped in on this event uwu gonna do it for Silent Hill bc... silent hill

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 8-Seagull Line

Traintober 2023

Other Stories

Day 8- Bird

Seagull Line

Mallard was fuming. She had been on her way to Sodor, a place where she could truly stretch her wheels when she had been diverted. Some diesel had come off the rails on the entry to the barrow yard and damaged them. It would be days before British Rails bothered to repair the damage, and Mallard hadn't had the fuel to turn back. Now she was being diverted to some heritage line in the middle of nowhere, who had agreed to house and fuel her in exchange for her double heading with their flagship engine on a few trains.

Realistically Mallard knew they were lucky the line had not only been willing but able to house her, especially since she had to pass through Chester and Holyhead metals to reach them, but she had been expecting Sodor. Miles of open mainline and premier expresses, not some tiny railway she had never heard of. What kind of name was "The Seagull Line?"

She pulled into the main station, a quaint two-platform thing. It was well kept she had to admit, clean and tidy. She had certainly seen worse.

A woman came out of the office, "Oh good you're here! She'll be so happy..."

"Mallard doesn't know either," her driver interrupted.

'What?' Mallard thought. 'What don't I know?'

The woman if anything seemed more excited, "Oh I'm so glad I didn't ruin the surprise then." She said with a relieved laugh.

The woman turned to Mallard, "pleased to meet you, Mallard, although I wish it was under better circumstances. We were hoping to invite you here on your return trip to surprise our flagship engine. She has wanted to see you since she was restored."

'Well at least they know their manners here,' Mallard thought. Far too often those who worked heritage lines saw her as just another workhorse, useful for shunting coaches back and forth down a glorified siding. More than once only the fact they were saving her kin had held Mallard's tongue.

Mallard said none of this to the woman, "Thank you for your hospitality, Miss. I had feared far worse than this tidy line when we were diverted."

Before the woman could reply, a whistle sounded in the distance. A very familiar whistle.

A sleek shape almost identical to her own shot around the corner and into the station, painted in the railway's white and grey. The engine pulled smoothly to a stop, gleaming in the summer sun. On her sides, her nameplate revealed the line's namesake.

The engine was, fortunately, glancing back towards her coaches, so thankfully missed the worst of Mallard's shock.

"Seagull?"

The A4 swung her gaze in confusion and consternation, finally noting Mallard.

The engine beamed excitedly at her sister, "Ducky!"

Slowly Mallard allowed herself to smile at the sight of her sister whole and well. Perhaps this diversion would be so unbearable after all.