#via-rail

[via-rail-offical]

The Missing Canadian Public Transit Links #2: Sheppard West (TTC 1) - Sheppard-Young (TTC 1,4)

The Context

TTC line 1 is one of the most stupid subway lines in the world, forming a big U around the city, with minimal connections across the city, provided by Line 2, the 512 streetcar, various busses, and Line 5 if it ever feels like opening.

(ignore the crudly drawn on line 5 and 6)

Both stations serve as hubs with several busses, notably they share the 958 express bus, with only three stops between the two.

However with both the 512 streetcar and the 958 express bus you have to ascend to the surface, which feels bad even if it's not that much slower. It's also clear the 958 express bus is a well used route, seeing 5 busses an hour off-peak and 7 busses an hour on-peak

The History

This connection frequently gets discussed in conversations about future plans for the TTC, however other projects get prioritized. A basic history of the link is as follows:

2002: TTC line 4 opens

2009: The TTC officially considers extending line 4 to allow an easy connection to the Wilson yard, it is dropped due to cost and lack of interest

2010: As a part of the "Transit City" plan the TTC line 6 Finch LRT is shown as connecting to Finch Station just north of this link, is included in the environmental review as an underground section, but is officially dropped prior to the construction of the line.

2013: The links are listed in Toronto's "Feeling Congested?" report as an unfunded future project both as the subway link and the lrt link.

2020: The links once again appear on a list by the TTC as a potential link, with Line 4 getting a "Moderate" priority and Line 6 getting a high priority

How might the link be built

Subway

A subway link along Sheppard is, in my opinion, the best option in this case. On top of providing more capacity at more predictable frequency, the line would also have the advantage of connecting the young section of line 1 to the Wilson yard, where all trains for lines 1 and 4 are maintained. This would allow trains to end service without traveling most of the highly congested line 1 and allow trains to start on the young side of line 1 (the more busy side). If we wanted to kill both birds with one stone, the subway could also parallel line one from Sheppard west though Downsview park (connecting to GO) and ending at Finch west providing a connection with line 6, negating the use of the Finch link. I think this would be the most optimal option.

Light Rail

Unfortunately this is the most likely option to be built as Ontario has learned nothing from the issues building light rail tunnels (O Train line 1 and TTC line 5 core). As well as not providing the important link to the Wilson yard from the Young side of line 1 the frequencies of this line will be unpredictable due to the fact that line 6 runs at grade west of Finch West station.

Conclusion

It should be built as a subway but it won't be and I still don't know how to tumbl

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹

series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

[ prev chapter. | don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]

syn. you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo’s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)

cw. fem reader / alcohol + drinking / food mentions (he makes u breakfast!) / petname usage (doll/dollface, darling, pretty girl, baby, my girl) / oral (f!receiving) / v!fingering / allusions to piv intercourse / reader has bad coping mechanisms i fear / reader goes to the cluurbbb / we also get angsty up in the clurb :3

love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. i... did not mean for this chapter to take so long to come out. and to think i hard part of it written when chapter one dropped. i fear chapter three may take three to five business years. regardless; lots of plot development in this one. i hope this lives up to everynyan's expectations :p

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

You wake to the pale light of dawn filtering in through the curtained window. 

With a yawn, you clumsily push down your blanket, fingers curling over soft fabric. You begin to twist onto your other side when you realize that something is very wrong.

Very, very wrong, like the you are not in the safety of your home kind of wrong.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t dare open your eyes.

There’s a heavy weight slung across your waist and a warmth you’re curled up against that isn’t usually there. It takes you a few seconds of wracking your brain to remember that you never actually made it home last night—that it was Sampo’s bed that you had fallen asleep in, and that was Sampo himself you were currently entangled with. The tension that had seized you quickly dissipates—then it slams back into you with a ferocity as you realize that you and Sampo had fallen asleep curled up together.

That’s not normal. That is so very not normal, and it takes everything in you to not start freaking the fuck out.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, the only movement you risk is tilting your head up a fraction. You find that Sampo is still sound asleep, chest rising and falling slowly against you with every breath he takes. The urge to run your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek makes your fingers twitch once, twice. You hesitate.

Because for once, Sampo looked… at peace. No scheming, no stress, just… him. His face looked so gentle, so soft, that perhaps waking him up would be a heinous crime. Yet you hold your breath, inching a hand up, up, up, tracing the column of his neck, his strong jaw, the apple of his cheek—

Whatever was running through your head is swiftly cut off when Sampo starts to stir. You feel panic grip and squeeze your heart with clawed fingertips. Shutting your eyes and forcing yourself slow your breathing, you lower your hand to its original position. You didn’t want to be caught staring at him, let alone caught stroking your fingers along his face—the mere thought of that occurring alone was mortifying enough.

A heartbeat passes. Then two. You feel the blanket shifting around, hear how he sleepily mumbles and yawns, followed by the warmth of his body slowly slipping away. You suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine at the cold that creeps in, resist the urge to pull the duvet tighter around yourself; instead continuing to pretend-sleep as you listen to Sampo move about.

You’re about to shed your façade when you feel the bed dip. There’s a warm breath that caresses your forehead—a forewarning before you feel his lips gently press against your forehead.

The world freezes entirely.

It takes a willpower of steel (and perhaps then some) to remain in place, to not even stir, to not snatch his wrist and ask him what the hell he’s doing when he slowly lifts his head. You wait for him to fully pull away but he lingers, his thumb coming up to sweep over the apple of your cheek, then lower to brush against your mouth, swiping gently at your lower lip before he’s truly moving out of your reach.

You’re nearly bursting with impatience when you finally hear the door creak open and click shut.

Shoving yourself up into a sitting position, your mouth drops open in shock as you touch where his lips had pressed against your skin. The feeling lingers, burning like a brand, a mark you felt you would carry with you until the end of time. The thought is enough to have you shaking your head violently.

Suddenly feeling very, very warm, you push the duvet to the side. You clutch your shirt in your hands, balling them into fists—or rather, it’s his shirt that you grasp tightly in fisted hands. His scent still curls around you, utterly maddening, only adding fuel to the fire that consumes you.

If you didn’t confirm it last night, you definitely confirm it then—you were perhaps in the deepest pit of shit known to mankind: having feelings for Sampo. Maybe the revelation of having feelings for the one person you’re not supposed to have feelings for has you imagining things. Maybe you were still asleep and this was just a dream.

You hiss quietly as you pinch yourself.

Nope. This was very much reality.

You sigh.

It takes you several minutes to really process what had just happened—and that you didn’t just make it up in your head. You needed to get the fuck home so you could process it some fucking more. It feels like your entire perception of reality has been shattered with one simple moment of secretive intimacy.

In the distance, a faucet creaks on and begins running, followed by the faint clink of silverware clattering against plates. Whistling. Your crisis is momentarily forgotten as you realize Sampo is whistling your favorite song—it snaps you back into the moment, makes you remember just exactly where you are. This revelation could wait. Just a little bit more, and then you can go home and freak out in peace.

It’s only a matter of moments to gather yourself together and change back into your own clothing thanks to the earlier interaction waking you up entirely. You silently slip out of the bedroom and into the main living area, greeted by a sight that warms your heart.

There Sampo is, in all of his shirtless glory, swaying his hips to the little tune he’s humming as he whisks something together. Food sizzles on the stovetop, adding a quiet backtrack to his song. You lean against the archway that leads into the kitchen area, silent as you take a second to admire him, the portrait of domesticity. Your lips pull into a small, serene smile.

An image flashes before your eyes—a glimpse into the future, maybe—where you could have this sight every day. Sleepy good mornings and quiet embraces, shared laughter and lips pressing together—

The squeak you let out finally alerts Sampo to your presence. He’s quick to turn, whisk in hand and bits of what you assume is flour dusted on his hands, his face—“Doll! How long have you been standing there?”

You stammer dumbly, trying to reel in your head from the outrageous daydream that had barged its way into your thoughts. The outrageous daydream that you know you will never attain. “Um, ah…”

Sampo sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead as he continues, “And here I was, hoping I could surprise you with a little breakfast—I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon!”

He’s quick to set down the bowl and utensils he held as he approaches you. You tilt your head questioningly at him but he doesn’t give you any indication of what he’s up to until he’s a step away from you.

The devious glint in his eyes being your only warning, he’s suddenly twirling you into his arms and dipping you, a firm hand on your lower back as he grips your wrist with a gentle hand. His eyes crinkle with the smile he gives you.

“Sampo!” You gasp out. You’re so startled by the suddenness of his movements that your free hand grips his shoulder for dear life as you inhale sharply with alarm. Sampo laughs, so unlike his other laughs—the ones where he’s charming his way into scamming a stranger, or when it takes on that darker tinge as his schemes unfold just the way he likes—that you’re blinking in confusion, mouth parting with a question you don’t quite know how to ask on your lips.

“I had to surprise you somehow,” he says by way of explanation. He twirls you again, pulling you flush to his body, and sways you to the cheery tune he hums.

The pair of you dance around the kitchen, laughing and giggling together like there’s nothing else in the world—like it’s just you and him in this pretty little bubble.

Sampo dips you again, forcing your gaze to his. When you meet his eyes, there’s something glimmering there—something that you’d perhaps call… adoration, as delusional as it makes you feel. You pause there, chests heaving in sync as you stare at each other.

You see his eyes flick down briefly to your lips. There’s a question that lies in his gaze—something you can’t possibly answer.

It’s enough to have you scrambling out of his grip.

“Don’t forget the uhm,”—you clear your throat hastily—”the food on the stove. It’ll burn if you’re not careful.”

Sampo blinks, looking at you as if he were snapped out of a trance. “Right.” He pauses—abruptly laughing nervously, clasping his hands together. “I need to be careful.”

He nods his head. After a few moments of tense silence, he glides over to the stove, quietly returning to his task of making breakfast.

Flustered, you take a seat on one of the stools nestled by the island countertop and fold your hands in your lap. You bite your lip as you watch Sampo work. His broad back is turned to you, faint red lines streaking down the hard muscles that ripple as he moves around the kitchen. Your face heats up as you remember just exactly how he received those marks.

The silence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive, a tension that pulls all of your nerves taut. You’ve never been the type to stay after a one night stand, let alone stay after a night with Sampo. This was entirely uncharted territory you were currently in.

If you’re honest? You’re terrified. You’re not equipped to navigate the unfamiliar feeling that burns bright in your chest. Actually, to take your own mental confession just a little bit further, you want to flee. Really bad. But something—you’re not quite sure what—keeps you tethered here, perhaps like a string wrapped around your pinkie finger that tugs and tugs and pleads with you to stay, just this once. It wants you to see where this goes. It wants you to take a risk, blindly jump into the unknown with nothing to shield your heart but the precarious walls you’ve painstakingly built up over the years. Walls that are swiftly crumbling with every moment spent with Sampo Koski.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the clinking sound of porcelain making contact with the countertop before you register the plate sliding towards you. The sight is mouthwatering—eggs cooked exactly how you prefer (how did he know that?), accompanied by a stack of pancakes that feature a smiling face made with blueberries.

You stifle a giggle, earning you a funny look from Sampo.

“What’s so funny, doll? You’re not laughin’ at Sampo’s hard work, are ya?” He pouts dramatically.

You press your lips together, but there’s no hiding the laughter that glimmers in your eyes. “N-No, I would never! It’s just… it’s so…” Your voice wobbles with the effort it takes to stamp down your giggles.

“It’s so what?” He squints.

“The pancakes are just so…” You shrug one shoulder, searching for the right word. “Adorable? I never would’ve expected that from you, that’s all.”

“I’m full of surprises darling, don’t you worry,” Sampo says with a wink. He sits down next to you with a plate of his own and the two of you dig in. The silence between you evolves into something more.. comfortable. Something normal.

You’d beg to differ (eating breakfast after a night with Sampo felt anything but normal), but you can’t deny that you’re enjoying yourself next to him. And you can admit he’s not the worst cook in the world.

The moment passes in what feels like merely a blink and perhaps too soon you’re already scooping up your empty plate, walking over to the sink to take care of the dishes. The moment Sampo realizes what you intend on doing he rushes over to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it doll, let me take care of it.”

You look up at him and shake your head. “No, no, let me do it. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Sampo’s eyebrows furrow. “I insist—you shouldn’t have to even lift a finger.”

He moves to take the plate from your hands but you pull it out of reach. His eyes narrow as they meet yours—a challenge gleaming there that you refuse to back down from.

He takes a step towards you. You step back. A step forward. A step back. You continue this little dance until there’s a countertop behind you and nowhere else for you to go. He cages you into the corner with one broad arm.

Sampo’s lips curl up in a wolfish grin as you both realize that you’re trapped. “The plate, sweetheart.”

“You’re a real prick, you know that?”

Sampo’s grin widens. “Only for you, dollface.”

Head hanging in defeat, you hold the dish out to him. He takes it, none too smugly, and sets it to the side. His attention immediately returns to you.

You look up at him and tilt your head.

“You going to let me go now, or..?”

Sampo shrugs. “Why should I? I like you right where you are here.”

He’s so big. He crowds your space, enveloping your senses, mingling with the lingering scent of breakfast. It’s something deep and musky. Mouthwatering, if you dare to admit it.

There’s a smug lilt to his voice as he continues speaking, “In fact, I’m still a little famished. Think you can help me out, sweetheart?”

Your lips part slightly, but the question you were about to ask dies on the tip of your tongue as Sampo’s large hands grasp your hips, fingers digging into the supple fat as he lifts you onto the countertop. His eyes are heavily lidded as he sinks to his knees, looking up at you with hunger glimmering in his gaze.

“May I?” Sampo’s voice is darkened with lust, a sort of purr that sends a shiver racing down your spine. A flash of pink between his lips—his tongue darting out to wet them, leaving a thin sheen of saliva in its wake. The grin he shoots you has heat quickly pooling in your core.

You weakly nod your head, too breathless to speak. Sampo’s smile widens.

He makes quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off of you in one smooth motion. Lithe fingers dip under the elastic of your panties, pulling it taut and snapping the band against your skin. You yelp softly as he snickers.

“So reactive,” Sampo murmurs, fingers dipping once again to slowly pull the fabric off of you. You lift your hips dutifully—you know where this is going. You feel your core tighten with desire.

He tucks your panties into the pocket of his sweats, shoulders rippling as he pulls you to the edge of the counter and slings your legs over them. He looks up at you through thick, dark lashes.

“Doin’ okay up there, pretty girl?” He asks, the deep baritone of his voice making your stomach flutter.

“Mhm,” you respond, biting your lip. You ball your hands up into fists, thighs twitching with the urge to press them together. Sampo seems to notice, because broad hands come up to grip your inner thighs, kneading at the supple flesh. He watches your expression for a moment longer before his eyes dip down to the prize in front of him.

“Thanks for dessert, dollface.”

Sampo’s words linger in the air, a promise of what was to come as he leans forward. His breath is hot as it fans across the apex of your thighs. He presses a kiss to your navel, then dips lower, tongue darting out to drag hotly along your weeping slit.

“Fuck,” you hiss at the contact. Your spine curves slightly, a silent plea for more. His chest rumbles with a dark chuckle as he makes another pass, letting his tongue linger at your clit, lazily lapping at it while your hips tremble.

God. He’s criminally good at this.

“Atta girl. Feeling good?” Sampo murmurs as he slips a finger into your tight heat. It draws a low moan from your lips, one that pulls his mouth into a smug smile before he wraps his lips around your clit. One of your hands grips the edge of the counter for dear life while the other entangles itself in Sampo’s hair as you tremble with just how good he’s making you feel. One tug has him groaning into you, a pleasant vibration that makes you throw your head back as you continue to card your fingers through soft blue locks.

“Feels great,” you murmur, exhaling shakily. Each drag of his finger is tortuously slow, the calloused pad crooking and prodding against your sensitive walls. You tug at his hair again, earning a pleasant moan from him.

You swallow thickly as he adds another finger. He takes it nice and slow with you, a teasing pace that makes you want to beg. You buck your hips slightly to urge him along, to give him the hint, but he’s relentless in his pursuit to drag this out as long as he possibly can.

“You want more, pretty girl?” Sampo purrs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs.

“Mhm,” you sigh. He makes a contemplative noise, and then…

He stops.

You let out a cry of outrage as he sits back on his haunches with a smug grin.

“Hey—!”

“You can use your words, can’t you?”

Your mouth drops open, and Sampo can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at your look of shock. He tilts his head as you lean back, chest heaving as you catch your breath.

Fuck, you were getting so close—for him to pull back like this…

“Please…” A quiet, desperate plea. He stares at you expectantly.

You gnaw on your lower lip as he watches you with sharp eyes, glimmering pools of emerald that track your every movement; the way your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way your hands press against the cool marble countertop beneath you, the way your eyes glimmer with wanton desire for him.

His grin widens.

“Sampo…” you start, your voice coming out in a shaky warble. You’re none too proud of it, but there’s no room for pride when he dangles your orgasm out in front of you so teasingly, so close and yet so far all at once.

Bait.

And you take it, because you know that Sampo can give you what you need with ease.

“Fuck—” your chin dips slightly as you look down at him, face heating with shame. “I need you, Sampo. Please.”

“Need me to what, baby?”

His voice has lowered an octave—and he crooks his fingers inside of you, giving you a preview of what you could have should you comply with his request.

That subtle nudge is enough to make your hips jump slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat.

You wanted it. You wanted him.

“Need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe. “Sampo, baby, fuck me.”

His resulting grin is feral, eyes glimmering with a wild desire that makes your core clench.

“Whatever my girl wants—”

He withdraws his fingers and stands to his full height. Your eyes rove over his figure, the various love bites littered across his fair skin. Marks you’ve left on him. It sends a sick sense of possession zipping through your veins, and paired with the way he says “my girl”, you wonder what it would be like if he truly was yours in that way. A dangerous train of thought.

You’re distracted, long enough for him to pull his leaking cock out from the confines of his sweats; you’re brought back to reality by his tip pressing to your slit, catching against your clit teasingly.

“—my girl gets, yeah?”

You find yourself in the bathroom again.

This time, you are in your own home.

The rush of water pouring from the faucet is near deafening as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The porcelain is cool against the tight grip you hold on your sink. You glance at the hickeys that litter the expanse of your neck, your shoulder, while you retrace your steps throughout the past week.

You had returned home a couple of hours ago. Only now have you brought yourself to start processing things. You’ve been dreading it, really: coming to terms with something you know will end. As things always do.

You can’t have him. It would never work out.

Sampo is sweet. Kind, even, despite the false benevolent demeanor he displays in order to con poor souls into giving him money. But he’s also as fleeting as a sweet nostalgic memory. The kind of person who comes and goes in your life as they please. You’ve quickly become accustomed to the way that Sampo will sometimes disappear for days, even weeks at a time, and then waltz right back into your life as if nothing happened.

And he does this without any qualms, because this is a casual thing to him. You constantly have to remind yourself that you had told him, “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical.” And he had agreed without further thought, because you’re friends. Friends don’t fall in love with each other.

Friends also don’t eat you out until you’re seeing stars, or fuck you on the countertops so good that you’re babbling and crying, but that’s beside the point.

You think back to how easily the words “my girl” fell from his lips. It’s almost malicious, what that does to your psyche. The way it makes your head spin. The way your heart pounds against your ribs at the mere thought of it.

You frown deeply and shove your hands into the sink. The cold water shocks you momentarily, and the thought fades away, to be shoved in a box and locked away in the deepest recesses of your brain.

Then you scrub your face with the freezing water that pours from the tap. It’s refreshing against your balmy skin, not to mention it doubles as a wake up call for your lovestruck head. Whatever feelings you harbored for Sampo were doomed to die. You may as well just get over it now before it can do any real damage.

And the easiest way to get over things?

You give yourself an uneasy smile in the mirror after drying your face with a towel and shut off the faucet.

The bass thrums through your body as you enter the packed club.

You’ve decided on a rather obscenely short black dress for today—something flattering, something that makes you feel good. You would need some confidence with the goal you have in mind for today.

A goal that feels a little stupid, now that you’re physically here and you’ve sat with it for a little bit. It’s not like Sampo is aware of your inner turmoil; nor would he care that you’re planning on going home with someone that isn’t him. You never agreed on being exclusive when your little arrangement first started.

(Maybe there’s just some sick part of you that hopes that he would care—that it would make him jealous.)

You shake the thought from your head as you weave through sweaty bodies. Whatever kind of goal you set for yourself, it doesn’t matter. There’s truly only one thing that you absolutely need to make happen tonight:

You need to get over Sampo Koski.

And if that involves sleeping with some stranger, so be it. Or perhaps just getting so drunk you forget for a little while. Whatever works.

You steal a seat at the bar and order your usual. Your mind wanders as you wait patiently for your drink—gravitating towards how you felt almost… dramatic, childish even, for feeling so strongly about this.

You can’t help it. You’ve never truly let yourself indulge in romance before; you’re not even sure if this is what it was supposed to look like. If it was supposed to be this aggravating. If you’re supposed to feel as miserable as you do right now.

The clink of ice jostling around as a glass is set in front of you pulls you from your brooding. You swipe up the drink with a quiet “thank you”, turning in your seat to survey the room—and more importantly, the people—around you.

Your frequent spot is busy tonight—bodies upon bodies on the club floor, grinding and dancing salaciously to the bass heavy song that pounds through the speakers. The low lights that glimmer along the ceiling cast deep shadows across everything, making everything look much more dramatic than it really is.

You raise your glass to take a sip when suddenly there’s a hand clasping your shoulder.

“Wha—!” you jump, nearly spilling the liquid all over yourself. You turn to glare at whoever had the balls to just come up to you like that when you’re met with a none too pleasant surprise:

Sampo. Fucking. Koski.

“What are you doin’ here, doll? Especially without even inviting your dear old friend?”

His voice is a smug croon, hard to hear above the club music that envelops you in its embrace. You can hear the hint of surprise, though—and you spot the way his eyebrows are raised, eyes wide and shimmering with curiosity.

So much for escaping him tonight. You resign to your fate with a sigh, settling back into your seat and sipping on your drink properly. Sampo immediately takes to your side, invading your personal space with no regards for your feelings on the matter.

(Usually, you don’t mind. Tonight, it grates on your nerves.)

“I wanted to get out of the house n’ I didn’t wanna bother you. Simple as that.”

Your words are clipped, even if you know you don’t have any right to be upset with him. He hasn’t done anything wrong; you just happen to be in a sour mood.

That he caused.

Indirectly.

“You wound me, doll! I’d never say no to your pretty face, you know that.”

(You want to call him a liar.

You don’t. You smile, and you nod, and you clench your drink so tightly your hand starts to tremble.)

You shrug your shoulders, forcing your gaze back out to the dance floor. Your stomach feels heavy with a feeling you can’t quite put a name to.

All you know is that it does not feel good.

“Sorry, Sampo. I’ll invite you next time, ‘kay?”

Maybe he senses how off your energy is tonight, because typically he’d press the issue further. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Sounds good, pretty girl. Save me a seat, ‘kay? I’ll be right back.”

He pushes off the bar counter, making a direct beeline towards the restrooms. You let out a deep sigh, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in the first place.

You turn towards the bartender and move to flag him down, but—

You only get a few moments of peace until a presence returns to your side. You can’t help but scoff, turning to say, “Sampo, what the hell do you—huh?”

You pause as you turn to a person that is very much not Sampo Koski.

Your face blanches.

The stranger offers you a nervy smile, the portrait of bashfulness.

How fucking horrifying—you can feel your face heat up with shame as you stare dumbly at him.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just thought you were really pretty, so I was hoping you’d maybe let me buy you a drink?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are stained a pretty red and his big brown eyes are wide with an eagerness that makes you shake off your mortification and force yourself to smile gently.

“Oh! Uhm—yeah, that would be nice,” you gesture to the open seat next to you. “Sit?”

He tells you his name, something you’re sure you’ll forget later, as you paste a pretty smile on your face and lean forward in your seat. You can see the way his flush deepens, hear the way he stumbles over his words—it’s endearing. He’s like a puppy.

You exchange small talk over drinks, and he’s true to his word: he puts your drink on his tab, and even offers to put the next few on him, too. He’s a little bit odd, but he makes good conversation, so you entertain him, idly stirring the straw that came with your drink.

You’re about to answer his next question (a question that was rather.. strange, you note to yourself), but your reply dies on your lips as Sampo returns.

And he looks none too happy.

“Doll!” Sampo exclaims loudly, pressing into your side. He slings an arm around your waist as he casts his glare upon the stranger you were just chatting up. “Who’s this, baby?”

This might be the worst possible outcome. Mortified, your shoulders hunch slightly as you try to grow smaller, cringing at the venom that coats Sampo’s usually honeyed tone.

“Sorry, you are..?” The stranger asks, bewildered.

“Her boyfriend. Who are you?”

You cringe even further, turning your gaze. The words falling from Sampo’s lips feels like a lead ball dropping in your stomach. You think you might be sick. So sick, in fact, that you tune out their ensuing conversation as your head spins.

Abruptly you stand, chair clattering loudly with the motion. Both men stop and turn to look at you.

“I—” you pause, inhaling sharply through your nose, “am going to go now. Bye.”

You turn on your heel and all but scramble out of the situation, heels clacking against tile flooring. Your heart is about to burst from beneath your ribs. Your face is hot—you feel like you might melt and never recover.

You burst through the door and the cold air immediately hits you. It’s refreshing and miserable all at once, cooling down your heated veins and making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

You’re about a couple feet down the sidewalk when hurried footsteps sound behind you. Your head whips over your shoulder, eyes wide as you stare down who approaches you.

What a joke. You know fully well Sampo can mask the sound of his footsteps—he’s letting them ring out for you.

The weight in your stomach increases exponentially. You turn forward and pick up your pace. You think your vision is swimming.

“Doll!” Sampo pleads, reaching out to grab your shoulder. You jerk away and swivel on your heel to face him.

“What? What is it now?” Your voice is downright venomous. It comes out much harsher than you intend, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.

“Pretty girl…” He starts, and then shakes his head. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then:

Your name. Said so softly, falling like a prayer from his lips, and yet it’s an explosion of color in your world. Your eyes widen.

“Sampo,” you respond with equal softness, your voice trembling as you ball your hands into fists. Chest heaving, you stare at him, meeting deep pools of emerald green that look at you with such desperation it makes you want to crumble into pieces.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Sampo frowns, a dusty pink blush settling high on his cheeks. There’s genuine remorse in his eyes, so you listen, inclining your head as you wait for him to continue. “You just.. you looked uncomfortable, and you’re my friend. I was just tryin’ to give you an out.”

You’re my friend.

Friend.

Nausea claims you again, hitting you with the force of a freight train. But you force yourself to smile, and nod, and again your hands tremble with the effort of keeping them at your side.

No matter how much you wanted to reach out to him.

To touch him, to hold him.

You can’t.

“It’s okay.” You can’t help the way your voice strains, so you keep as quiet as possible, voice coming out in a mere whisper. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t seem okay—”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, shaking your head.

Sampo’s eyes search your face as you stare at him. You need to steel your resolve. So you say:

“I think we should take a break from seeing each other.”

It’s like you’ve dropped a bomb.

The way his face falls makes your stomach twist itself into knots. But this is for the better. Until you can get your shit together.

But fuck, he looks so sad, it makes your heart ache.

“Oh,” is all he says.

You gnaw on your lower lip. You taste a hint of metal on your tongue—you’ve broken skin. You nod your head slowly. You need to steel your fucking resolve. The decision is out there, and you cannot take it back.

“Mhm. Just for a little bit.”

He inhales slowly, and on the exhale he manages to mask the desperation he let you get a flash of. It’s too late, though: the feelings are out there, and he cannot hide it.

“For a little bit,” he echoes. His eyes have lost their spark. Your heart withers in your chest.

The pair of you cannot hide your true feelings from the other. Not for long. Not like you hoped you could. You pray to some long-forgotten Aeon that the space can give you the willpower you need to maintain your walls, at least for a little bit longer.

“For a little bit.” You confirm. “I’ll… see you later, okay?”

He’s silent. Then, he dips his chin. A silent farewell.

This time, his footsteps don’t make a single sound as he walks away.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[the-void-via]

Ratio being protective

[atalante241]

I couldn’t imagine being Yanqing. You’re a teenager, just trying to do your job. And the next thing you know the spaceship-planet you live on is being attacked so you’re helping out with that. But for some reason, while trying to do your job, you keep bumping into wanted criminals who aren’t even part of the og reason why there’s shit going on. And every time you end up in a fight with them.

[aha-chuu]

I'm dubbing Feixiao x Moze x Jiaoqiu as the Yaocule and really I think it's fairly clear that they're all sleeping together but also causing each other major issues on the day to day

[peggingeddiediaz]

Eddie Diaz forgetting to log out of his work twitter account part 144/?

[annapolisrose]

VIA Rail Station

[endlesslytired]

so I'm pretty sure we all know about the HSR chat maker now

so I have been remaking many of my older HSR posts with it.

last post I made in this, therefore making a circle ig???

[moeblob]

??

[kidlit-queen-competition]

Train fact: NAMED TRAINS!

So you've probably heard of the Flying Scotsman. Big green thing, turned 100 this year, probably the most famous locomotive in the UK, if not the world. Adapted into Thomas the Tank Engine with a whole lot of charisma and eyebrows. But did you know that name wasn't hers originally?

'The Flying Scotsman' is actually the name (formerly a nickname) of the train. The locomotive is Flying Scotsman's monster named for it. She was given the name in 1924, to help promote said service at the British Empire exhibition. Any engine, with any rack of coaches, or any train set, can be the Flying Scotsman.

Right now, it's run by LNER's new Azumas, which get a special little outfit about it:

Most of the named trains in the UK were phased out with steam (although you can still catch the Sheffield continental from Sheffield to St. Pancras, or the Northern Lights from King's Cross to Aberdeen, among a handfull of others) but they live on elsewhere.

Some are luxury touring trains, like Japan's Seven Stars in Kyushu (left) or South Africa's Blue Train (right).

Transport isn't really the goal here. They sell out months in advance and cost anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars, depending on the class of ticket you get. They're an Experience, and a very cushy experience at that. Just look at their interiors!

(yes, that's a piano)

But the vast majority of named trains in operation (as far as I can tell) are regularly-running exepress services across Asia.

Japan names their Shinkanens, India, Pakistan, Bengladesh & Sri Lanka often name their intercity expresses. These are practical, long-distance services, often named for monuments, like India's Ajanta Express, named for the Ajanta caves:

Or their operating regions, like Sri Lanka's උත්තර දේවී | Princess/Queen of the North:

Some North American countries also kept historic named routes, like Amtrak's Sunset Limited, or Canada's Ocean, which has operated continuously since 1904:

but my personal favorite named services are Australia's historically-nicknamed "The Fish", named after one of its drivers:

and the numerous trains that have been companion-nicknamed "The Chips" to match.

[via-rail-offical]

The Missing Canadian Public Transit Connections #1: Bayview Station (OCTranspo lines 1,2) - Taché-Uqo (STO Rapibus, both tramway proposals)

The Context

The missing line would be a crossing of the Ottawa river in Canada's National Capital Region spanning a length of 1.75km.

On the south side you have OCTranspo's Bayview station, which serves as the main transfer point between the frequent, electric confederation line (lines 1,3 (in 2026)), the still relatively frequent, diesel trillium time (2 (2024)), and the 16 local bus. The actual area around the station is in LeBreton flats area, which is probably Canada's largest urban revitalization project.

On the north side you have STO's Tache-Uqo, which is the final station on the STO's Rapibus BRT corridor (routes 18, 800) as well as serving a considerable number of local busses (26, 29, 32, 34, 40, 41, 45, 47, 55, 59). The area around the station is mostly greenspace, with some single family homes and la Universite du Quebec en Outaouais (a relatively small university)

The History

A connection between the two sites have been long purposed, generally by using the old railway bridge to build the connection across the river. Despite the fact that the rapibus bas built to a point here and the plan to build across the was on the table while planning started on the plan to massively overhaul OC's line 2, the city of Gatineau had actually declined the project, resulting in the bridge being converted to a MUP and the line being built in such a way to make an extension like that hard to create in the future.

The connection almost got a second life as the planning of the Gatineau Tramway (starting construction at some point, maybe) started. Before the MUP plan was finalized the idea was floated to terminate the Tramway at Bayview using the old rail bridge. This proposal was shot down by the city of ottawa who claimed that this could overwhelm Bayview station (it would not) and the bridge was taken off the table. The optimal route for the tramway was ultimately decided to be building a second downtown LRT tunnel parallel to the OTrain tunnel, we will see if this proposal is still the plan when they eventually decide to talk to the public.

How might the connection be built

At this point it seems like it just won't be. Despite speeding up many trips between Gatineau and the quickly developing western bits of Ottawa, inter-provincial politics failed the idea and the NCC did not do much to help. However, lets look at how it could be built anyways.

Rail

The line could be built as a future extension of either the Tramway or Trillium line, however seeing as the old bridge is no longer an option due to it being converted to a bridge the project would be significantly more expensive. If this was going to happen I would say the most likely scenario is that it would be built along with the conversion of the rapibus corridor to rail (which is the plan but it seems a long way out)

Aerial Tramway

This has never been proposed as far as I'm aware but could be reasonable. It would likely be cheaper to build due to the fact that it's not a bridge and could be used to generate more revenue for both agencies. If made so that it has a higher fare but is included in a monthly pass and fare-capping it could also be used as a tourist attraction of some kind? I haven't put a ton of thought into it because I see it as very unlikely.

(View from the bridge, potentially leading itself to being a tourist attraction)

Monorail

This isn't the US this would not even be proposed tbh

Conclusion

This this connection may have had a future at some point in our history, the shortsightedness of both involved cities have kinda screwed up any potential of it happening :/

Also, I don't know how to tumblr

[rinneverse]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ࿐ ˚ . DON'T YOU TRUST ME? ♡

— sampo x f!reader. updates sporadically! read on ao3 here!

୨ৎ syn. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski—seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

୨ৎ current wc. 12.4k.

୨ৎ cw. friends w/ benefits (yeah it's cliche so what), fem reader, lots of sex. alot., pining, pining, did i mention pining, sampo is a little bit of a sleazebag but we love him for who he is, modern au!belobog, alcohol mentions, sampo likes to call you pretty girl (but other pet names are mentioned too), sampo is also generally implied to be bigger than reader, each chapter comes with their own individual warnings - please make sure you read those, too!

୨ৎ love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. this series is dedicated to my wife (swe), and to all my fellow sampo likers out there. very nervous posting this since its my first series ive ever posted on here ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i hope it doesn't disappoint!

୨ৎ friendly reminder: minors and ageless blogs DNI !!! nsfw content ahead !!!

ㅤㅤ[ I. ] HEAVEN & BACK.

੭* ‧₊° you remember the beginning of your relationship with sampo koski, and think about where you're currently at now. sampo surprises you when he asks if you'd like to stay the night... and to your own surprise, you agree. (6.8k)

ㅤㅤ[ II. ] UNDER PRESSURE.

੭* ‧₊° you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo’s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)

ㅤㅤ[ III. ] EMPTY.

tba.

ㅤㅤ[ IV. ] CALL ME BACK.

tba.

ㅤㅤ[ V. ] OBSESSIVE.

tba.

ㅤㅤ[ VI. ] LOVE IS (NOT) EASY.

tba.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[the-void-via]

★*☆♪When Boothill's insecurities start to get to him, Argenti is the first to notice★*☆♪

Part 1

——————————————————————–

Argenti's eyes slowly cracked open in his dark room, only taking a second for him to realize that something felt...off.

He slowly sat up and stretched a little, turning to the other side of the bed. Instead of being met with the appearance of his darling silver cowboy, he only saw the empty spot on the bed where he should be.

The covered looked like they'd been thrown off with little grace, but Argenti's side of the bed remained untouched.

Looking around again, he found the door to their shared bathroom open a crack, a small sliver of light shining from the inside.

He rubbed his eyes and slowly peeled the covers away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and slipping on his slippers.

He stood up and stumbled to the bathroom, slowly opening the door to find his beloved cowboy inside, standing in front of the mirror.

He sighed softly and walked up behind him, gently wrapping his arms around his waist. He was shocked when his arms met the soft feeling of cloth around Boothill's waist, a stark contrast to the cold metal he was used to feeling.

Taking a second to examine him, Argenti realized he was wearing far more clothes than he normally would, including a pair of red pajama pants and a black, long sleeve shirt.

'Doesn't he only wear his boxers to bed...?'

He thought, blinking slowly as he was still sleepy.

Boothill flinched as soon as Argenti wrapped his arms around his waist, caught off guard by his entrance to the bathroom. He was too busy scrutinizing himself in the mirror to notice.

"Darling..." Argenti mumbled, resting his head against Boothill's shoulder. "What time is it..?"

Boothill stiffened for a moment, checking his internal clock. It was 7:44 in the morning.

'Already...?' He wondered how long he'd been in here.

"Almost 8. Darlin'," He turned his head to look at Argenti, his eyes closed as he rested on his shoulder. He smiled softly. "Why don't 'cha go back to bed? It's real early for a Saturday."

Argenti gently tightened his arms around his waist, "Come back to bed with me, darling...why are you awake, anyhow...?"

"I just..." Boothill looked back at himself in the mirror, and furrowed his eyebrows. "I've...got somethin' to do today, Rosie..."

He carefully turned around, and immediately felt Argenti's head slump down onto his chest, his arms still tightly wrapped around his waist.

"Please...?" He begged. "It's so early...please come back to bed with me, darling..."

Boothill chuckled softly, moving to carefully pick him up. He felt his legs wrap around his waist as his arms moved to drape around his neck on instinct, and he smiled softly, holding a hand on his back.

"Yer just tired, darl...c'mon, now."

He carried him back to their bed, setting him back down into bed and covering him up with a gentleness that only he would ever allow Argenti to see.

Argenti laid down on his side, gently grabbing Boothill's hand, staring up at him.

"Mm...just be careful, darling...if it's so important to you...come back safe..."

Boothill smiled again and crouched down to his level, gently caressing Argenti's cheek.

"I'll come back, no need to worry yer pretty 'lil head about that, alright?"

Argenti smiled and nodded, leaning in to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He leaned back just in time to see Boothill's flushed face, before slowly closing his eyes and drifting back to sleep.

As soon as he sees his eyes close, Boothill's smile drops to a frown, slowly standing up and walking back into the bathroom.

He fucking hated the way he looked. The metal that replaced his skin softly clanged every time he moved, constantly reminding him of the grim reality that surrounded his life.

The only "human" thing about him was his head, and even then, it had been permanently changed. His eyes now gray, with a crosshair as his pupils. And hell, he could eat bullets like they were fucking gummy snacks!

He hated it.

He couldn't stand to look at himself, so he covered up. Put on a real shirt under his jacket. Put on some random pajama pants from Argenti's drawer. He'd find a random pair of gloves from him to wear soon enough.

He hated every single part of him that wasn't human. That wasn't him.

He hated himself.

He shook his head and walked out of the bathroom, shutting the lights off as he went. He looked around the room again, his eyes falling on Argenti in bed, peacefully asleep.

Unaware as to the turmoil going on in Boothill's head.

He shook his head, he needed to go air out his thoughts. He needed a walk.

He quickly got dressed, in a much less revealing outfit than normal, and grabbed his gun.

He walked up to the door, looking back once more to Argenti peacefully asleep. He frowned.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. Real sorry..." He whispered.

And with that, he left.

——————————————————————–

[possamble]

Its so funny to see the devastating little creature update and then immediately after that seeing a classic possamble horny farcille WIP. You're the best dude 😂

All of my work is just "Putting Marcille in agony" and there's a dial that swings between "emotionally" and "sexually" depending on the hour

[pcktknife]

had my weird fucked up dream for the month

[amtrak-official]

hey so first off love what you're doing with the place, secondly I know it may be a little outta your knowledge base and I could probably just google it but do you know what the passenger rail situation is like in Canada? I've never heard anything about it up here but being not able to drive was super dismayed when the greyhound services shut down in western Canada a few years ago. Rail is just better!

Sadly the passenger rail situation is worse in Canada than the US, they check your bags. But here is a map