#stockton town

[girl4music]

Did some videoing while out and about on my new iPhone. Testing out the 4K/120hz fps feature. This is Stockton town’s water shoots. Middlesborough town has one too. I’ll probably try to capture that one next.

It’s cool that iPhones finally have a feature like this.

Late to the party as always but show up in style.

[artisthomes]

Claymont Court, Frank R. Stockton's home, near Charles Town, West Virginia, United States

[thxnks4themrms]

Maybe I should like give Lake Tahoe another try

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

"Hey, Babs,"

"Dick? It's late, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!"

"I'm about to go on patrol, D, can this wait?"

A sigh. "No."

"What's wrong?"

"Blockbuster's after Oracle."

***

Gotham Proper is a thirty-three minute drive from Bludhaven. The drive to Bristol from Bludhaven is a fifty-one minute drive through Drescher, Burnside, Sumerset, Victoria Place, and Little Stockton before crossing the bridge over Gotham River into Bristol. Gotham Proper is made of four islands connected to each other and the mainland via several bridges. Technically, all of those cities and towns - as well as Charon and Brentwood - are sister cities like Bludhaven, but everyone counts them as a part of Gotham anyway.

Dick spent the entire drive alternating between sulking and panicking.

Danny would know. Ghosts, as he's come to understand, are beings made of emotion, meaning that he can sense emotions better than living beings. Though, he didn't need an empth ability to read the air around Dick.

'What if something happens while we're gone?" Dick asked for the nth time in the past few minutes, "What if Brutale decides to blow something up while I'm gone? What if Blockbuster starts something big?"

"Bigger than what he's already doing?" Danny didn't bother to look up from his conversation with Tim. "The fact that you can't even name specific examples proves that you're not actually worried about Blockbuster or Brutale."

"I'm worried about Brutale blowing something up, thank you very much."

"Yeah, 'something'. Who even is Brutale anyway? I don't think I know that name."

"No one you need to worry about." He moved into the right lane.

Danny turned his phone off and set it face down on his leg. "What are you really worried about, Dick? I've known you for five weeks now, and I've never seen you this worried about anything."

"You've known me for three weeks."

"No, you've known me for three weeks. I've known you for five weeks. And don't change the subject."

Dick sighed, running his left hand through his hair before dropping it back onto the steering wheel.

"Is it Bruce?"

"...yeah."

"You know he's at work, right?"

"Yeah, I- How do you know that?"

He waved his phone a bit. "I checked with Tim. So, it's just going to be Tim and Alfred at the Manor when we get there."

"You know Alfred?"

"I know of Alfred." Danny slapped his right shoulder, "Stop trying to change the subject!"

"I can't help it! Deflecting has worked pretty damn well for me up until this point!"

"Oh, yeah? Against who?"

"Literally everyone!"

"Everyone?"

A beat. "Okay, so maybe only most people, but that's not the point!"

"Doesn't matter what your point is because we're going back to talking about mine!" He huffed. "If you don't want to go straight to Wayne Manor, then stop by somewhere else. You had to have gained at least one friend in Gotham before you moved to Bludhaven."

Dick paused for a moment, eyeing the signs. They'd only been driving for twenty minutes. He could hang a right just before Sumerset to cross the New Trigate Bridge into Arkham Island, take another right onto Midtown and drive to Old Gotham to meet Babs/. Yeah, that'd be nice. But, the detour would increase the chance of running into Bruce later on in the day. Maybe he could have Bab's drive to the Manor?

"Is it too late to turn around?"

"Yes."

"Why are you even so insistent on going? You don't know anyone in Gotham!"

"I know Tim!" He argued. "Besides, healthy relationships are good in this kind of work."

Dick raised his eyebrow, glancing at Danny from the corner of his eye. "You wanna second to rethink that or..?"

Danny clicked his tongue. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to Bruce, and I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to apologize to Tim for snapping at him. If you end up with better relations here in Gotham, then that only works in your favor."

Dick groaned, ditching the turn onto New Trigate and continuing on through Sumerset. "Fine! But we're leaving before Bruce gets back. I can't stand him right now."

Danny smiled, a sad look in his eye. "Alright."

He knew very well that Dick's relationship was near irreparable. From what he'd gathered, from either overhearing or snooping, Bruce had been a pretty good dad and boss to Dick up until he'd turned seventeen. He hung up the Robin mantle when he was eighteen, appearing as Nightwing when he was nineteen. Bruce, apparently, hadn't taken this very well, but copped, adopint ong Jason Todd when Dick was twenty years old, giving him the Robin mantle a few months later.

According to Dick, when Jason was killed, he'd been off world. Bruce hadn't even called him to inform him, let alone tell him about the funeral. And, when Dick got back and heard what happened from Batgirl, he'd confronted Batman in the Batcave. Batman, apparently, though he's inclined to Dick's side, punched him the face and shifted the blame.

Danny doesn't blame Dick for being angry. Not for a second. He can't really relate, but he understands.

Entering Bristol, there was a shift in the air. Outside was stuffy and smelled like money. Inside the car, however, was tense. Dick's attitude shifted to his work smile. It was plastic.

This was going to be a long day.

He didn't say anything. Quietly, Danny messaged Tim, letting him know about the shift. Tim was quick to respond, letting Danny know that he was fully prepared for whatever was coming. Danny didn't think he was.

Danny knew that something was going to happen. The air was suddenly suffocating, the world fake manufactured to perfection.

"You alright there, bud?" Dick asked, his voice perfectly professional.

"Yeah, fine. I-I'm fine." Danny wanted this car to turn around.

Part 10 Part 12

[bellaxgiornata]

Bella's Masterlist of Jax Teller Fics

Jax Teller x fem!Reader Series

You Are My Sunshine [Installment List]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

Recently released from a stint in Stockton Prison with a few of the Sons, Jax is still struggling with Tara returning to Chicago over a year after he killed Agent Kohn for her. When he returned to Charming, Jax noticed a coffee shop had sprung up across the street from Teller-Morrow Automotive and the clubhouse, oddly finding himself watching the strangely cheerful owner through the windows. One night he feels drawn to step inside, but he's left even more confused when the owner feels like the embodiment of sunshine itself. Jax quickly realizes that the more he visits her shop, the more at peace he finds himself.

All That I Can Give [Installment List]

Warnings/tags: 18+; ex-prostitute!Reader (Reader has a slight backstory), mentions of physical/sexual abuse, canon typical violence, smut, angst

With Lyla moving over to produce films at Redwoody for the Sons, Nero finds himself in need of someone to run the front of Diosa and to help with the administrative aspect. When a few of the girls recommend you–a blunt, vulgar street girl from Stockton trapped working for a heartless pimp by the name of Hades–Nero can't resist hiring you without consulting Jax first. Though Hades isn't willing to let his Persephone–the prized thoroughbred of his whores–just slip through his grasp. But after Jax meets you, not only is he determined to keep you safe, he’s hell-bent on giving you everything you've never had before.

Want to Know You Better [Installment List]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader

Warnings/tags: 18+; investigative journalist!Reader, bodyguard!Jax, enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, eventual smut, slow burn, angst

For over a year you had been tracking Aleksander Petrova through California–a Russian crime lord known to abduct sex workers for his trafficking ring. Seven months ago, he disappeared from the L.A. area, but a series of missing women in Northern California catches your attention, drawing you to Charming in the hopes of linking enough evidence together to once again get the FBI involved. But when the Sons’ President makes a terrible first impression before inserting himself into your work, your investigation turns into more than you anticipated.

All the Good That's Left [Installment List]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader

Warnings/tags: 18+; ex's to lovers , fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, sexual tension, smut, an Alaskan road trip on Jax's bike (more tags to possibly come)

After the past year of helping your childhood best friend with planning her wedding, that feeling of having lost yourself since leaving Charming had only grown. Eight years later, her wedding finally pulls you back to the small town for a single weekend, but in the hopes of clearing your head, you plan to disappear on a solo road trip to Alaska the day after. Though when you unexpectedly run into your ex, old emotions rise straight to the surface, and when Jax refuses to let you disappear again, he invites himself on your weeks-long trip–but is there anything left to salvage between you both after all this time?

Jax Teller x fem!Reader One Shots

Five Minutes

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, nervous!Reader, suggestive comments, & a slightly soft, flirty Jax

While out with your friends at a seedy bar in Charming, you manage to catch Jax's eye–and he's quite determined just to get you to talk to him.

Hold on a Little Tighter

Warnings/tags: 18+; Light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, post-shower naked Jax cuddling (that always needs a warning)

Ever since Opie passed, Jax has been lost. When he returns home late at night, you're the one he needs to help hold him together.

How Much Did You Miss Me?

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, f!masturbation, cocky Jax and his filthy mouth, somewhat rough sex (kinda, not really), porn with minimal plot, unprotected sex

While Jax is on a protection run, you're desperate to ease some tension so you can fall asleep. But when he unexpectedly returns early, he's determined to prove he's better than your toy.

Something Changed {Coming Soon}

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, soft!Jax (more tags possibly to come)

Jax had become a close friend of yours over the past few years, and in that time it had become an accepted and unspoken fact that when you both drank together, you'd wind up in bed together. So waking up next to each other some mornings wasn't abnormal–but having sober sex the morning after definitely was.

[bullet-prooflove]

ATF!Series Part One: A Rabbit You Don't Want To Chase - David Hale x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators @bennykk @kelpies-shed

Before you there was ATF Agent June Stahl.

David doesn’t know what he was thinking when he stuck his dick into that particular bag of crazy. The two of them had a mutual hate for the MC and for each other. She was there to get the job done and he utilised that. They ended up fucking on his desk barely a week after she landed, kept it up for over a month before things turned sour.

What he remembers the most from that time was that it was always filthy, always violent. He’d hurt for weeks in the aftermath, his uniform chafing the scratch marks she left on his back. At no point during that ‘relationship’ did he feel good about himself.

It's been a couple of years since then and he hasn’t thought about her once, not until she strides into his stationhouse with a couple of junior agents and a bundle of files tucked under her arm.

“A war is coming.” She tells him.

And that’s it, the devil is back in his life.

David sighs because there’s been a couple of  months of peace since Clay Morrow’s ‘excommunication’ and the Sons seem to be turning their hand to more legit enterprises. Their assets have been tied up in porn since Suzie Quinn took over Luann’s business.

“Galen O’Shay, he’s one of the Irish Kings, leadership in the True IRA. The Sons are hunting him.” She tells him before she shows him a picture of a man he doesn’t recognise.

“What do they want with him?” He asks as he leans over the desk and studies the image. He can feel her eyes on him, sizing him up just like the first time and he shifts uncomfortably. She sets another picture down in front of him and this one he does recognise.

“Evelyn Shaw, unofficial matriarch.” She says leaning in close. He can feel the heat off her body rolling over his skin, the overripe sweetness of her perfume invading his nostrils. It’s suffocating being this close to her, it feels like she’s trying to claw her way underneath his flesh. “The club’s defence attorney and Chib’s fuck toy.”

David sighs because he knows Evelyn, he’s dealt with her in the past. She’s a nightmare in the courtroom, fiercely intelligent, tenacious but she’s also a good person. He’s lost count of the domestic violence cases she’s brought him. Each and every single one wrapped up neatly in a bow, ready for an arrest. He suspects it’s personal for her, that if he tracked back her history, there would be a report somewhere that detailed something terrible that had happened to her.

“I don’t understand how the two connect.” He tells Stahl as he shifts away from her. She follows him the same way she did back then, maintaining proximity, keeping him close.

“Intelligence suggests that Galen took her a couple of months back, hurt her and left her for Chibs to find inside a barn on the outskirts of town. They’ve been calling him the Mad Scot from here all the way up to Stockton because of the violence he’s left in his wake trying to find him.” She tells him, her hand coming to rest on his and it feels like his skin is crying to crawl right off his bones to escape her. He pull his hand away, tucking it into his pocket. “It only stopped when Chibs received confirmation that Galen had left the country.”

“And now he’s back.” David guesses as he replays back the past couple of his months in his head. It’s been a while since he’s heard from Evelyn, he doesn’t realise it until now.

He’d thought that the Sons had gone quiet but now he realises what’s really been  happening, they’ve been circling their wagons. Someone hurting one of their women, they won’t let that slide, the same way he wouldn’t. He’d go to the ends of the earth anyone laid a hand on you.

“Sure is baby and so am I.” She says her hand gripping his tie and drawing him closer, her lips ghost in his ear as she whispers. “My pussy’s missed that mouth of yours, why don’t you get on your knees and give her a kiss.”

He tears himself away, his cheeks colouring.

“I’d rather eat glass.” He tells her, using his palm to smooth over his tie.

She raises a eyebrow, her hand coming to rest on her hip as her voice turns cold.

“What? Your little art student lets you come in her mouth and you’re suddenly in love?”

His head snaps up and he senses his mistake the instant he makes it. He’s given her an opening, an acknowledgement that there’s someone important in his life that she can fuck with.

“How does it feel sticking your dick in the same pussy that Teller’s blown his load in?” She asks him, that cruel smile pulling at the edges of her mouth. “Or is that part of the allure, you get off knowing that you have the one thing that he wants.”

David tries not to react, he tries to keep his face impassive but she must see a flicker of something in his features.

“Has she told you anything about her time with him?”

David crosses his arms over his chest, his teeth grinding together as his eyes bore right into hers.

“You’ve never asked her have you?”

No, he hasn’t and you’ve never volunteered. There’s a line in your relationship that neither of you will cross because if you tell him something, you know he will have to do something about it and it tangles you up with the Sons all over again.

“This is a rabbit you don’t want to chase.” He warns her, his voice full of vitriol.

“We’ll see.” She tells him with shit eating grin of hers. “We’ll see.”

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[victusinveritas]

And just like that, every tattooed woman in Los Angeles cleared out of town. (Stockton Record 1939, via Newspapers.com)

[mariacallous]

Every so often along 99 between Bakersfield and Sacramento there is a town: Delano, Tulare, Fresno, Madera, Merced, Modesto, Stockton. Some of these towns are pretty big now, but they are all the same at heart, one- and two- and three-storey buildings artlessly arranged, so that what appears to be the good dress shop stands between a W. T. Grant store, so that the big Bank of America faces a Mexican movie house. Dos Peliculas, Bingo Bingo Bingo. Beyond the downtown (pronounced downtown with the Okie accent that now pervades Valley speech patterns) lie blocks of old frame houses – paint peeling, sidewalks cracking, their occasional leaded amber windows overlooking a Foster’s Freeze or a five-minute car wash or a State Farm Insurance office; beyond those spread the shopping centers and the mills of tract houses, pastel with redwood siding, the unmistakable signs of cheap building already blossoming on those houses which have survived the first rain. To a stranger driving 99 in an air-conditioned car (he would be on business, I suppose, any stranger driving 99, for 99 would never get a tourist to Big Sur or San Simeon, never get him to the California he came to see), these towns must seem so flat, so impoverished, as to drain the imagination. They hint at evenings spent hanging around gas stations, and suicide pacts sealed in drive-ins. But remember:

Q. In what way does the Holy Land resemble the Sacramento Valley? A. In the type and diversity of its agricultural products.

U.S. 99 in fact passes through the richest and most intensely cultivated agricultural region in the world, a giant outdoor hothouse with a billion-dollar crop. It is when you remember the Valley’s wealth that the monochromatic flatness of its towns takes on a curious meaning, suggests a habit of mind some would consider perverse. There is something in the Valley mind that reflects a real indifference to the stranger in his air-conditioned car, a failure to perceive even his presence, let alone his thoughts or wants. An implacable insularity is the seal of these towns. I once met a woman in Dallas, a most charming and attractive woman accustomed to the hospitality and social hypersensitivity of Texas, who told me that during the four war years her husband had been stationed in Modesto, she had never once been invited inside anyone’s house. No one in Sacramento would find this story remarkable (“She probably had no relatives there,” said someone to whom I told it), for the Valley towns understand one another, share a peculiar spirit. They think alike and they look alike. I can tell Modesto from Merced, but I have visited there, gone to dances there; besides there is over the main street of Modesto an arched sign which reads:

WATER – WEALTH CONTENTMENT – HEALTH

There is no such sign in Merced.

Notes From A Native Daughter – Joan Didion

[tavolgisvist]

It was at Stoky Wood* (badge - black and yellow, with a picture of a Spitfire flying over the River Mersey) that Paul and I saw our first film. We were seated on long wooden benches watching Crime Buster Dick Barton**, a great radio hero of ours, when it became too much for Paul. In the flickering half light I watched with great amusement as Big Brother stumbled over me and his pals to exit screen left, scared out of his tiny mind. He wasn't scared when it came to smaller things such as bullies, however, and many's the time he came to my rescue in the school play yard. 'Big Brother have a use after all,' I thought.

*Stockton Wood Primary School, Speke, Liverpool **Dick Barton: Special Agent, was released in May 1948 Btw, Paul's 'I have another memory, of hiding from someone, then hitting them over the head with an iron bar' is the story about Stoky Wood too (Paul was at Stockton Wood Primary School from September 1947 until July 1951)

My memories of brother and I are of two independent little chaps, but Uncle and Auntie,s remembrances are of 'two right little swine', always up to mischief, or with their backs to the wall saying, 'We won't… WE WON'T!' I'm sure they're just a might confused. I do remember a few instances, however, which might give their memories some validity. Like the memory of Paul and me in 72 Western speeding up the growth of next door's apples by throwing stones at the apple tree, and then vigorously denying it. The stones on the other side let us down! Memories of being boss of my own gang in the later Stockton Wood years and charging against the 'enemy' across the school yard in full war cry (obviously why the headmistress Miss Margaret A. Thomas, who used to make the school toys herself, advised the world that one day I would be a 'Leader of men').*** And the came an older bully unto the yard who hit little girls and maketh them cry, and it behove me to teach unto him a lesson: Seeing that I was far too young and weedy to challenge him personally, I chose a friend to talk for me…(no, not Paul)…a housebrick! Being, as I've said, a holy lad it wasn't too difficult to levitate the brick up into the air…over the Bully's thick head…and cut (snip!) the invisible strings. After this bloody, awful incident, he didn't bully little girls, or anyone else for that matter, ever more.

(Mike McCartney, 1981, Thank U Very Much. Mike McCartney's Family Album)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI)

***'I remember the headmistress saying how good the two boys were with younger children,' says Jim, 'always sticking up for them. She said Michael was going to be a leader of men. I think this was because he was always arguing. Paul did things much quieter. He had much more nous. Mike stuck his neck out. Paul always avoided trouble.'

(The Beatles: The Authorised Biography by Hunter Davies, 2010, Updated Edition)

They were four tough kids from Liverpool who’d learned their craft playing in hotel-cum-brothels in Hamburg. I mean, they were tough. They grew up in Liverpool, which was a tough city. It’s like growing up in Detroit or somewhere. Somewhere, that toughness always comes out. <…> This just goes back to where they came from. Liverpool is a tough town. I wouldn't particularly want to run into Paul McCartney in a dark alley, if he didn't like me.

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg, May 2024, interview with Rob Sheffield for Rolling Stones)

[goodoldroyalty]

The Duke and Duchess of York with Sir Hugh Bell and Lady Florence Bell at Stockton for the Railway Centenary 1925

‘Replying to the welcome extended to him at Darlington on July 2, 1925. The Duke of York said that the exhibition which the town ha got together would bring vividly before every one the amazing progress which had been made on British railways. He paid tribute to the pioneer work of Edward Peasse, “the first railway statesman.” and to George Stephenson, “the railway locomotive engineer.” The world owed to these famous North countryman a debt of gratitude which it would be impossible to repay.

Their Royal Highness were greatly interested in the Exhibition, which provided a study in contrast. The models lent by the Great Western Railway Co. included one of the engine “Alma,” dated 1850. There was also a model of the “Jenny Lind,” which has a sentimental and industrial association with the railway men: and which was carried in procession around the city of york to celebrate the inauguration of a nine-hour working day, which came into forse in 1872.’

THE BRISBANE COURTIER

Lady Bell, The Duke of York, Viscount Grey. The Duchess of York and Sir Hugh Bell, seated in the Grandstand, await the arrival of the procession. In the foreground are silver models of "Locomotion" and the crude coach used by the Stockton and Darlington Railway Committee on opening day 1825. These mementos were presented to The Duke and Duchess by Viscount Grey at the end of the procession.

[citylighten]

My Pietro and Sal gameplay have both been interesting and led to me having so many different headcanons. I’ve always struggled playing Fallout 4 because my main gripe is that I can’t recreate ANY oc want due to them having a set backstory and dialogue that reinforces certain plot things, but Pietro has a pretty good Sole Survivor AU. He's canon divergent though. More undercut!

-Pietro Impellizzeri was an notorious and powerful gangster Pre-War. He’s similar to Vito Corleone of The Godfather in the sense that he immigrated to America as a child and rose to the top of his community’s underworld.

-He had crossed paths with the human Nick Valentine on numerous occasions over ‘missing people’ as well as a ‘dirty money trail,’ but Pietro always knew how to throw the detective off. They were neither enemies nor friends, just merely people who kept a tense eye on one another.

-As a Boss, in terms of his conduct, Pietro was a composed, fair man but he was also known to be ruthless when the situation called for it. Outside of public events, he was seldom seen. If his men saw him it meant something bad was going to happen. Despite having such affluence and respect, Pietro's over-indulgence in the finest things (liquor, media, women) kept him blind to the things going wrong in his personal life.

-Pietro was married to Jasmine, who was a pinup model before marrying him. Their marriage was based on sex, possession and material interests. Ultimately, Pietro was a largely inattentive husband due to the demanding nature of keeping things afloat in his criminal empire.

-As a nuclear war approached, Jasmine began a series of affairs with men. Some powerful, some were Pietro’s enemies. Her wrongdoings ranged from supplying large sums of money to her lovers, to telling inside secrets. There came a moment, days before the bomb dropped, when Pietro (at his limit) considered murdering his wife. However, this did not come to be as the bombs fell over America.

-Needless to say, when Kellogg shoots Jasmine, Pietro feels guilt. Yes, he was plotting to murder her, but he knew that line of thinking wasn’t right. He doesn’t come into the Wasteland in the pursuit of being a better, kinder man, instead his decent actions come largely from the need to survive and understand the world he’s in.

Whereas Sal comes out Vault 111 ready to murder and massacre anyone in Eve’s name, Pietro’s mentality is: “I need to understand what civilization is like now. I need to know who is in charge of things.” Especially because since Pietro has been at the top for so long, it’s been years since he was doing dirty work for himself, let alone personally killing others on a continuous basis.

-When Pietro meets Nick Valentine there’s tension. But, they recognize they need each other to find Shaun, however there isn’t full trust between the men. Gradually, as the two spend more time together, Nick believes that Pietro can become a good man in this new world and often pushes the idea that Pietro is kind. Pietro does not believe himself to be kind, because he’s not burying the man he used to be before the bombs fell.

-There are times when Nick and Pietro split and his companions become MacCready, who reminds him of a lackey he would’ve used Pre-War, and Preston, who is yet another character who believes there’s an inner goodness in him. As a result of Preston and Nick - plus an envy for the mayor of Diamond City, Pietro decides to invest time in building the Minutemen and building settlements to lead. Despite possessing aspirations to lead, Pietro is shifting morally. Often, Nick helps him on Minutemen quests which strengthens their relationship.

-While helping settlements, Pietro meets Rosaria at Covenant. The woman is a secretary for Jacob Orden, the town’s mayor. Even when Pietro seems like he could be trouble for the settlement, she helps him learn more about the Amelia Stockton case with her insider information. After that, she leaves Covenant to affiliate herself with the Minutemen, which allows Pietro to see her more often. Time with Rosaria [who enjoys farming] has Pietro nostalgic about Sicily and as a consequence, he grows to enjoy things about nature as well as treasure the present he gets to spend with her.

-And that’s all for now because I haven’t completed his run yet 😘

[torchlitinthedesert]

Not Beatles, but shoutout to rock’n’roll girlies in the north of England in 1958:

…the 14-year-old Lorna Stockton (later Sage) went with a friend to Stockport:

Gail and I spent all our time and pocket money dashing from one jukebox to another to make sure that Pat Boone’s chaste hit ‘Love Letters in the Sand’ would be drowned out all over the windswept town by ‘All Shook Up’. The one was sweetness and light, the other inarticulate, insidious bump-and-grind… All the Elvises groaned and whimpered at once, and the waves rushed in and obliterated Pat Boone. And we clung to each other in a shelter smelling of orange peel and piss on the promenade, and shrieked with glee, like the Bacchae who dismembered Orpheus.

From David Kynaston, Modernity Britain 1957-62.

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Your Vampire: Chapter Six

The Boy Next Door

(Max Phillips x f!reader)

Words: 1,159

Summary: this is a flashback chapter, sorry (not sorry)

Warnings: college aged Max, several references to musicals, reader has no y/n but has the nickname Garland, mild angst

Check out masterlist here

As long as you’ve known Max Phillips, he was always seen wearing a suit. He was always one to make a good first impression and on his first day of college, he made one. But he wasn’t just a pretty face in a second-hand suit, he was also smart.

Everyone liked to talk in quotes to show off how much of the reading material they had memorised. You didn’t participate in this as you preferred to understand the material. Max liked to quote other things and one day you recognised one.

“Moses supposes his toeses are roses. But Moses supposes erroneously.”

You replied with, “Moses he knowses his toeses aren’t noses. As Moses supposes his toeses to be.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment before Max said, “Are we going to break into a dance number?”

“Not with my clumsy feet.”

He shrugged, “We’ll just be friends then.”

The two of you spoke in code which was easy to decode if anyone watched any movie musicals.

While everyone else was out partying, the two of you made PowerPoint presentations of various musical themed topics. Max lost his topic of ‘Eliza should have ended up with Freddy’ to your ‘Micheal Crawford was the worst Phantom’. But he realised that he should have spoken with more passion so next time, he won on the same topic against your ‘If I Were King of the Forest added nothing to The Wizard of Oz’.

“So why are you into movie musicals?” you asked one day.

“I grew up in the city, so I had ample opportunity to visit the theatre. But my family didn’t have the money for that so, like you, I absorbed movie musicals. And I find it amusing that anyone could just burst into a musical number. I always wished we could do that in real life.”

“It would be fun.”

“It was when I saw a clip of Clark Gable singing Puttin’ On the Ritz that I realised there’s something debonair about the ones where men wear suits.”

“Classy and romantic.”

“It’s what I aspire to.”

Looking him up and down, you said, “I can see that.”

“My dad said he’d kill me if I got into anything musical, so I decided to become very rich instead. Then I can pursue any kind of musical pursuit.”

“Performing or producing?”

“Hm,” he raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I could do both. But I’ll definitely go see all the musicals I want. And you can come with me.”

“Really? You’d think we’d still be together then?”

“Sure,” Max coughed something that wasn’t in his throat, then asked, “So how did you get into them?”

“I grew up in a small town. Super small. My musical experience came from doing background work in my high school ones. Then I discovered movie musicals, and I just absorbed as many as I could.”

“That’s a nice way to spend your time.”

“You know, everyone says you’re only nice to me because I’m the only girl in class.”

“I’d be offended if I wasn’t so humble. No, I’m nice to you because you’re the only one here not full of grandiose bullshit. And you’re smart and kind of pretty.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Not as pretty as me,” he raised his eyebrows, pulling at his suit jacket.

You gave out a small snort, “Let’s just say I’ve grown accustomed to your face.”

The nickname came about due to a misunderstanding when Max misheard where your hometown was.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Garland,” you corrected him. “Oh shoot, sorry. You just look like Dorothy to me.”

Looking down at your attire, you’d say you were more Jo Stockton from Funny Face than Dorothy Gale from Kansas. It could have been the braids.

“If I’m Dorothy, then you’re the Tin Man.”

“What? I have a heart.”

“You can’t be Scarecrow because you have a brain, and I don’t think you’re the Cowardly Lion.”

“Fine. I’ll be Tin Man.”

But the nickname stuck which you didn’t mind. It was better than what he was calling everyone else.

One person he hated as much as his roommate was another classmate. He loathed Jacob with a seething hatred. He was so obvious he hadn’t read the material, but he was somehow able to bluff his way through the course. Being nice, you offered to help out but quickly, you ended up doing his assignments. Max wanted to give him a few words about him taking advantage of your kindness, but he got distracted with his own studies.

The year might as well have been a musical, the time went by so quickly. Before you knew it, exams and come and gone and now the whole class was celebrating. The bar chosen to celebrate had a karaoke booth in the back. Everyone ignored most the music being performed as they were more focused on getting as drunk as possible. Like Max, you preferred eating the food and listening to the music.

“Oh, I know this song!” you exclaimed.

“You do?”

“We did Chess my final year,” you jumped up and looked at him. “It’s a fun duet.”

He noticed you were looking at him, “You want me to sing it with you?”

“Why not?”

“I hate karaoke,” said Max.

“It’s with me so it’ll be fun,” you ran off to sing it, not looking back.

“Looking back, I could have played it differently. Won a few moments, who can tell?” you felt lonely there all on your own but you continued on nonetheless.

But it took time to understand the man. Now, at least I know him well. Wasn’t it good?”

“Oh so good,” in jumped Jacob.

“Wasn’t it fine?” you replied back, stunned.

“Oh so fine.”

Max was almost fuming seeing that leech of a man sing with you. He could see the joy on your face. He left the bar and didn’t look back.

“Isn’t it madness, he can’t be mine? But, in the end he needs a little more than me.

He knew there and then that he had sabotaged the perfect moment. There would never be another perfect moment. It was stolen because he was a coward. He further sabotaged himself by making some stupid mistakes. His roommate’s girlfriend always had a small crush on him so as soon as he saw her in his room alone, he threw caution to the wind and slept with her. Then he got caught so his roommate got revenge and Max got kicked out of college due to false cheating allegations.

He knew for sure he would never see you again, but luck seemed to be on his side. You had joined the company so he thought he would maybe have a chance at a perfect moment. But then he saw the ring on your finger, and he knew his moment would never happen.

Or so he thought.

Luck gave him a break this time.

Previous Next

Lovingly tagging @chaithetics @cevans-is-classic @galaxyedging @letsgobarbs @peepawispunk @missladym1981 @kirsteng42 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @ericamarie093 @yorksgirl @popcornforone @allthe-ships @clowncummiess @permanentlydizzy @readingiskeepingmegoing @elegantduckturtle

[remembertheplunge]

Pandemic and Protest And an Altered State Of Living.June 2 to June 4 2020

June 2, 2020 Tuesday 6:14pm Jail Lobby

Barricades are up near the entry door to the lobby..Like, they are trying to protect from being rammed into.

I just invented a new term: Trump-demic! Inspired by the “oh fuck” Trump pandemic meteor hurtling at earth post card I sent to Zoe recently.

This edition of the Journal is the Protest edition. Protests rage across the country. 

Jared Is not happy that I spent $60 on this journal.

End of entry

Notes : 7/8/2024

I wrote the above entry in the lobby of the Stanislaus County Jail 5 miles West of Modesto. Large cement barricades had been set up to block an attempt to forcibly take the building by Black Lives Matter protesters.

My sister Zoe and I liked to send humorous post cards back and forth to one another. On portrayed a meteorite racing toward earth entitled “oh fuck”. It was the Trump Pandemic meteor!

I had paid $60 for the leather bound journal that I wrote the June 2020 entries in. Jared was my law clerk and business manager and was not happy with the investment.

________________________________________________________

6/3/2020 Wednesday 7:10pm 

NPR: Market Place is on. The Pandemic--Protest is in full swing!

I was up in Stockton at the jail. a fellow defense attorney said police are surrounding the court house. She told me not to come to Stockton tomorrow for court. Too dangerous. She will appear for me.

Meanwhile, Jared said a protest in Oakdale today went violent.

The feeling out here is shaky.

The protests flair here. The virus flairs there. But you never know where or when.

End of entry

Notes 7/8/2024

NPR was National Public radio and Market Place was a show on that station. I listened to Market Place a lot in the early =days of the pandemic. They had honest reporting of how the Pandemic was unfolding.

Oakdale is a town in eastern Stanislaus County, California. 

__________________________________________-

6/4/2020. Thursday 5:20pm Rasputiun’s

Cut. Cut. Gone The two trees marked for destruction are gone. Progress? Productivity? Pandemic and Protest Rage, cutting down 2 trees took priority.

Jerad and I had a beautiful talk with the female clerk at Preservation Coffee House this afternoon. She went to the Sunday 11am protest at 1010 10th (down town Modesto, California) and will go to one in Ripon. She told us that“We need to be willing to be injured to push for change.” .

Magnificent.

Jared said that during the Oakdale protest yesterday, Trump 2020 “all lives matter” stood across from “Black Lives Matter” protesters.

People are out in mobs now. 

I think 10,000 protested yesterday in San Fransisco, Thelma and Louise style, racing for the viral cliff’s edge.

I anticipate a spike in virus and in violence.

Mobile Art Gallery just passed

End of entries

Notes 7/8/2024;

Rasputin’s is a DVD record store located near highway 99 and the rail road tracks in Modesto. During the pandemic, when I could no longer write in coffee houses, I would sit in my car, listen to Mavis Staples songs, write and observe. I got to know the area of the parking lot that I would write in very well. Two young trees I often sat near had been marked to be cut down  with white paint rings around their trunks. On June 4, they were gone and I eulogized them in my entry.  There was another man who would at times park there, too in his hot yellow sports car. He would read his  newspaper. He never looked my way, but, I’m sure that he saw me. Pandamic exiles resorting to a parking lot for covid free reverie.

In 2020 I started noticing Graffiti on the trains as I drove up and down  Highway 99. In March 2020, when the State was in  lock down and the highway electronic signs were screaming out “Stay home and live!”.  I had to be out and drive for court. I never sheltered in place. Besides, I wanted to see the world in its grip of fear. It was fascinating. But, scary , too. And there were the trains. And the Graffiti art work on the train cars. And they were comforting. A message written from before the time of the plague , barreling along as if to say, come follow me . I will lead you to safely out of the virus veil. 

Preservation was Preservation Coffee in Modesto where pre pandemic I spent many hours writing. Post pandemic I have rarely returned and never to write there.

Thelma and Louise was a 1991 movie in which two wild intense women go on a crazy vacation that finds them hurling over  a cliff in the end.

[christinescupofcoffee]

dead man walking

chapter twenty-three: absence of light

“I really hope Krista’s okay,” Alex muttered aloud. He nestled down in the passenger seat next to Eric, who had offered to drive them down the valley for the night. They had left the neighborhood in Berkeley at shortly after ten-thirty at night. A four-hour drive down to Los Angeles in the morning, but Eric insisted on having his car back among other things. 

“It’s been two weeks,” he told Alex. “I kind of want wheels again.” 

“Don’t blame ya,” he assured him as they headed out of the pool room and into the dark night outside. The thick, soupy bank of San Francisco fog had swept over the hills and all around the valley floor around them. “I also don’t blame you for wanting wheels in this fog, too,” Alex added. 

Without another word, they headed back to the house and his parents had returned home for the evening. He told them where they planned on going; Arlene threw her arms around her son and held him close to her. 

“You boys drive safe,” she told Alex right into his ear. 

The 580 out of the Bay Area took them out towards Manteca, and Alex wondered if they would take the 99 or the Interstate down to the southern end of the Central Valley. 

“Same length of time but I reckon the Five will be faster, though,” Eric assured him. “Look at it this way, it gets us back home faster.” 

“Well, I ask because it’s more isolate on that side of the Valley,” Alex told him. “I’ve taken the Five up by myself before—there's a whole lot of nothing there, Eric.” 

“It’s not as isolated going up to Sacramento.” 

“Yeah, but we’re not going up to Sacramento—or Stockton, for that matter. We're going down to the south land. The Golden Empire. With that in mind, I doubt we’re heading back home soon enough, too.” 

“I’ll head back home if you’d like,” Eric suggested. 

“Yeah, but I don’t really like doing this whole thing with me and Krista alone, though.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I kind of feel in over my head with all of this, especially since you and I keep on seeing that ghoulish green light time and time again.” 

“What even is that?” 

“You’re asking me...” Alex’s voice trailed off and he folded his arms over his chest. Eric flicked on the heater and a rush of warm air swept over them. The four-lane road ahead of them extended out into the cavernous darkness: every so often, little lights twinkled up on the horizon and the fog broke which in turn revealed the night sky overhead. Stars twinkled and the space between appeared darker than usual. 

At some point, once they reached the turn-off at the town of Tracy, Alex felt his eyelids droop down. He fluttered them back open and gazed out at the window to the darkness once more. The Bay Area faded out to the shadows behind them. They were the sole ones on the road. 

Eric flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and sank back into the seat. The highway curved around a series of low hills: aside from the stray house nestled back in the brush, darkness surrounded them all the way down. Alex's eyelids drooped once more: he found it harder and harder to keep them open, and the monotony of the road in front of them only added to the difficulty. He finally drifted off to sleep there in the seat. 

It only felt like a few minutes before he opened his eyes again. 

Lights glimmered up from Alex’s side as they neared the town of Santa Nella Village. Beyond the village stood the O’Neill Forebay followed by the San Luis Reservoir: two bodies of water nestled in the hills and yet as dark as the night that surrounded them. He went back to sleep right then and he thought for sure that he was dreaming when he heard Eric’s voice slice through the darkness like the blade of a knife. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey?” Alex sniffled and he rubbed his eyes. “I have a name, you know.” 

“Did I fall asleep?” Eric asked him in a broken voice, to which Alex stopped right in his tracks. 

“I dunno, did you?” 

“We’re still driving,” Eric replied and he shook his head about a bit. “—and I just realized that we never wrecked out once. I don’t even remember any part of the road behind us.” 

Alex opened his eyes some more and he glanced over at Eric: the back glow of the headlights shone on his pale face and he took a glimpse over at Alex, his eyes wide with fear.  

“You fell asleep at the wheel but we never went off the road,” Alex followed along, and Eric slowly nodded. The former opened his lips to say something but no sound came out. Eric let out a low whistle. 

“H—H—How?!” Alex finally managed to sputter out. 

“Perfectly straight road, I would assume. There hasn’t been a single curve since we left Santa Nella.” 

“YOU FELL ASLEEP WHEN WE LEFT SANTA NELLA!” Alex shrieked, and he scrambled into an upright position. 

“Last thing I remember seeing was one of those truck weigh-in... things, off to the side of the road. The 152 interchange, too. It's just been a straight shot all the way down—I don’t even know where we are.” Eric swallowed and he glanced over at him with a shuddered breath through his parted lips. “Dude, we got lucky.” 

“Dude, that’s an understatement,” Alex retorted. 

“Well, I see a bunch of lights over there—I'm gonna take a shot in the dark and say that's either Fresno or Hanford. When we come back up, we’re definitely taking the 99.” 

“And I hope we leave in the daytime, too,” Eric pointed out. “What the hell was I thinking?” 

“Well, you wanted your car back—and I’m having to make trips out to L.A., and I'm gonna be going back to New York here pretty soon, too.” Alex ran his fingers through his dark hair and pushed those fresh tendrils over his forehead back away from his face. He shifted his weight and slid his legs closer to the edge of the seat. 

“At least it’s not foggy,” Eric said. “This part of the valley gets so foggy this time of year.” 

But Alex still shook at the thought of Eric having fallen asleep at the wheel. The thought of dense tule fog around them seemed the least of their problems at that point. A sign emerged through the blackness on the side of the road and Alex held still to keep himself from shivering anymore. 

“Kettleman City—okay, so we’re past Hanford,” he followed along. “That's gotta be Visalia over there.” 

“I’m glad I have you with me,” Eric declared with a shake of his head. “Travelled the world and yet I'm still trying to figure out all the towns out here in the valley.” 

“And you know the way around the Bay Area like it’s the back of your hand, too,” Alex added. 

“I really do! Chuck and I both know the roads around San Jose as if they’re part of us.” 

They sank back into silence for a time before signs for Lost Hills and the lights of Bakersfield emerged through the darkness, and at that point, it was almost midnight. 

“You getting hungry?” Eric asked Alex. “We’ve got to stop for gas, too.” 

“Kind of. I'm also wanting some coffee for the two of us.” 

“Agreed. I ain’t risking it with falling asleep at the wheel again, either.” They took the next exit for Lost Hills, the cozy little town nestled back in the eponymous hills and a hole of a valley on its own. The first fuel station off to the side of the road and Eric bounded into the driveway as if he was a racecar driver. They pulled up to the pump and he killed the engine. Both young men leaned back in the seats and breathed out sighs of relief. 

“Plain old espresso or a latte?” Eric offered him. 

“Latte. Mainly because I'm not the one driving.” 

They both climbed out of the car in unison, and Eric strode up to the front glass door of the gas station to pay for the pump as well as their coffee and late-night snacks. Alex stood there with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets to keep the warmth in his body. Even though they were down in the southern end of the Central Valley and the mercury in the thermometer on the side of the building there only read to right above the halfway point, he still fell a bit cold from the thought of Krista having gone off somewhere without telling him about it. He could only assume that she had left for someplace with Mrs. Jones, but then again, he would have heard something from either of them. 

That was his assumption anyway. 

Eric soon stood at the door and gestured for him to take the pump. Alex nodded and did just that. He took the nozzle out of the holster and he swore there was another flash of green around the corner before him. He stood upright and he gazed around the pump to the corner of the building. Nothing there. 

Then again, it was late at night. Late at night on their way to Los Angeles and neither of them had any idea as to where any of it came from or what it had to do with anything. 

Within a minute, the nozzle clicked and he returned it to the holster, and he made his way into the minimart to wash his hands. Eric stepped outside for himself. 

Alex stood there over the wash basin with the warm water over his hands and every so often, he took a glimpse up at himself and the young man with the deep-set blue eyes and the faint plume of light hair over his forehead that took a glimpse back at him. Twenty-five years old and still quite boyish, even with the light patch over his brow which stared back at him like Medusa’s stone-cold stare. 

At one point, he took a glimpse into the mirror and he spotted something engraved on the tiles behind him. He rinsed off the rest of the pungent soap on his hands and then dried off his skin with one of those brown paper towels, and he doubled back to the tiles in question. Another inverted heart shape with a stem out of the bottom. 

The ace of spades. 

Perhaps it was the fact it was so late at night and he had been jarred awake, or perhaps it was the obliviousness to Krista’s whereabouts, but something about the shape frightened him and sent another shiver down his spine. He tossed the paper towel, and ducked back outside to Eric and the cup of coffee which awaited him. 

Soon, the two of them returned to the road and they headed around Bakersfield and the surrounding farmland. Signs for the Grapevine emerged out of the shadows and they rose up into those hills, shrouded in the blackness of the incoming fog. Aside from the few cars here and there on the other side of the highway, they were the only ones on the road. 

“Alex, forgive me for asking this,” Eric spoke as they took a gentle curve around a bend. “But do you see that green glow again?” 

“I do,” Alex replied as he took a sip from his coffee cup. “Right by the fault line here.” 

“I was thinking we were coming close to the San Andreas,” Eric confessed as he flexed his fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. The headlights grazed over the rock wall on the side of the road: grains of rock that zigzagged in every which direction. The ticking time bomb which awaited the southern half of the state of California and had already struck the Bay Area in the few years before. 

“Lucky for us right now, we don’t have our instruments with us,” Eric remarked with a slight chuckle. 

“Yeah, otherwise it’d be really bad,” Alex added as he shifted his weight again. 

They reached the interchange with the 14 which led back to the Antelope Valley, and then the road dipped and curved around another hill. Within a few minutes time, they had reached the downslope. Another bend around a corner and the orange and golden lights of the San Fernando Valley emerged out of the blackness and shone up on the cloud cover right over their heads.  

“Okay, now do you remember the way to the bar?” Alex asked him as signs for the valley as well as North Hollywood and Pasadena poked up from the sides of the highway.  

“Somewhat,” Eric confessed. “I’m also trying to remember the way I took when I came down here in the first place.” The next exit led them to North Hollywood: through the clouds over the tops of the hills off to the right, Alex spotted the ivory white letters of the Hollywood sign as they poked out through the darkness. 

“Ah, yeah, I remember this place now,” Eric proclaimed. He merged over to the far-right lane complete with his turn signal switched on in spite of the deserted freeway all around them. Next exit, and Alex recognized that part of Hollywood. A few cars dotted the street around them all the way back to that familiar intersection and the side street. Eric hung a right and they rode down the pavement to the spot on the sidewalk before those wooden steps. They killed the engine and they both brought the cups of coffee to their lips. 

“Looks like the place is open?” Eric wondered aloud. 

“It’s a bar in downtown Hollywood, Eric. Of course, it’s open late at night.” 

They both glanced at one another and then tipped the cups of coffee back into their mouths and downed the rest of their coffee in unison. 

“Let’s do it,” Alex declared as he set the empty cup back down in the center console between them. Eric climbed out first, complete with his stark black hair caught behind his head in the form of a tight, spidery twirl. 

The cold wind had followed them out of the Grapevine and into the valley below. The two of them scurried into the bar together, which appeared to be closing for the night aside from a few regulars on the speedwell on the right. 

“Ah, yes, there’s the starlet wall,” Alex pointed out in a hushed voice. 

“Love that picture of Marilyn,” Eric remarked with a slight nod of his head, but Alex lowered his gaze to the one of Elizabeth Taylor, complete with her hands behind her head to show off her armpits and the underside of her arms. There was a time and a place for that, and Alex crossed his legs when he spotted that photo and those violet eyes which gazed back at him. 

That Irish brogue caught his ear right then and he ducked down. 

“Get down, get down,” he encouraged Eric in a hushed voice. 

“What’s going on?” 

“George the Irishman,” he muttered. 

“George the Irishman?” 

“I’ll explain once we get back to the car,” Alex vowed. He led Eric around the other side of the bar and across the floor to the booth he was at before when he eavesdropped on the four the two weeks before. 

“That Skolnick boy...” They both froze at the end of the bar before they could reach the safety of that booth shrouded in total darkness. Eric lingered close to him and they were almost tucked underneath the edge of the bar when George’s grumbling caught their ear. By the sound of it, he was right there at the end of the bar, only a few feet from their heads. 

Neither of them could tell exactly what he was saying right then, or if he even was with anyone for that matter. Alex thought back to the restaurant in England where he and Krista first met him and overheard him speaking to the woman behind the bar. It was easy to make assumptions but it was even easier to make an assumption when Eric noticed something before he had the chance to notice it himself. 

“Is that a knife?” Eric whispered into Alex’s ear. He looked around them and he saw that Eric was looking right into a mirror on the left side of the room: he had never even seen that mirror before when he first came into the bar the first time around. With that in mind, for all he knew, the four may have seen him there and he shuddered to think what they had planned for him and Krista. 

Indeed, George sat there at the bar with what appeared to be a switchblade attached to his right ankle. 

“It is!” Alex mouthed to him. George shook his head and took another sip from his glass. Alex wondered what on earth happened to the bunch of them that warranted a trip to a dingy bar in the center of Hollywood and muttering obscenities under his breath. Given there was no one else there on the left wing of the bar, they both were able to overhear what he murmured to himself. Eric took a glimpse back at Alex, who, even with the dim light all around them, could make out the fear in his eyes. 

“He’s got to be crazy,” Eric told him in a soft whisper. 

“I hope not,” Alex admitted. “It’d be something for us, that’s for sure.” 

He turned his attention back to the mirror on the other side of the room only to find that George had gone. 

“Where’d he go?” he asked aloud, and Eric raised his eyebrows at that. 

“Where did he go?” 

The two of them then turned to the corner ahead of them. Eric pressed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, and then he ducked out first to ensure the coast was clear. He then gestured for Alex to follow him out from underneath the bar and the other speedwell. The bar was vacant except for the one barback near the front door with a bucket filled with dirty glasses. 

But before Alex could ask the question again, the edge of the cold metal caressed against the base of his throat. Another flash of green and he swallowed in fear. Eric glanced over at him and he gasped at what loomed behind them. 

“Don’t even think aboht it,” George growled right into Alex’s ear. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple grazed against the edge of the switchblade. Eric's face switched over to the same color as old porridge. 

“You,” George started again, “faht boy wit’ th’ black hair. Ohpen th’ back door over here. Lahst ting I need is fer you li’l bastards rattin’ out on us.” Eric swallowed and he ducked around them to the back door behind them. The barback was completely oblivious to what was happening there by the second speedwell. 

George dragged Alex out there to the narrow back alley and Eric lingered there with his back pressed against the back door panel: the door stayed open part of the way so they could see what was going on between them. Aside from that, the only other light came from the ambient glow of the streetlights and the surrounding buildings there. Alex pinched his eyes shut and he braced himself for the worst. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Eric begged him. “Please let him go. I'm begging you—let him go.”  

“Shut up, Eric,” Alex said through gritted teeth. 

“I know just what’chu bastards are doin’,” George declared. “Tryin’ t’ snoop around on our bidness as if it means anythin’ t’ either of ya. I hope ya both know that that round of blackjack was s’posed t’ serve as a warnin’.” 

“George, you got Krista and me both involved,” Alex stammered out: the blade was so cold on his throat that he swore if he moved with too much haste that it would cut right through his skin. “You made it our business.” 

“Correction—you goht yerselves involved. We were just doin’ the johb.” 

“What do you want from us?” Eric demanded. 

“Eric, I’m telling you—” Alex started again, and George dug the blade into the front of his throat as if he was about to cut him for real, but it instead cut him off. 

“Stay oht of all of this,” George said, “or I slit both o’ yer fine throats an’ then clean th’ mess ya both made wit’ turpentine.” Alex’s eyes popped open at that. Eric swallowed and he backed towards the back door. George lifted the knife and shoved Alex forward; he almost fell face first into the pitch-dark pavement before him, but Eric instead caught him and held him still. 

“Stay oht of all o’ this or I bury th’ two of ya,” George warned them again. With the amber glow around them as his way out of there, he strode down the alleyway and back towards the street. His dark silhouette loomed further and further away until he vanished into the shadows. Alex and Eric gaped at each other, terrified. 

“What should we do?” the latter stammered in a hushed voice. 

“Be a little more careful next time,” Alex replied with a straight face. 

“Are you crazy?” 

“Nah. Just determined. Like I said, he made it our business. We've got no choice but to continue it.”

[badopenttdideas]

200 years of trains

Apparently, this year marks 200 years since the opening of the Stockton & Darlington Railway, and that's what is considered the start of the railway. So to celebrate, I thought I'd be the one to do something in OpenTTD that's a bad idea, and play a game of OpenTTD from 1825 to 2025. That's around 45 hours of gameplay, so this will take a while. Hopefully I'll manage to stay motivated throughout this whole process as well, this may also be a challenge. To make things easier (and so there is actually stuff to do) I'll be using some mods/NewGRFs (listed at the bottom).

So, here we go! 200 years of OpenTTD with Bicentennial Transport!

Already, something interesting has happened: one of the computer players has built a bridge along a street. Which is something I've never considered doing, so it's neat to see that there is a way to build an elevated railway through a city (as long as the street is long and straight at least).

NewGRF's used:

Timberwolf's UK Trains 1.6.0, UK Trains Community Addon 1.1.0, Roads 1.0.10, Stations 1.2.4, Station Ratings 1.0.2, Tracks 1.2.0, UK Road Vehicles 3.3.0 (these are several different NewGRFs that go together and provide various british road & rail vehicles along with stations and tracks)

Sailing Ships 0.62 (for early 1800s boats)

FISH 0.9.2 (for later boats)

FIRS Industry Replacement Set 5.0.0-beta-2 (for more complicated industry, using the temperate basic set)

Village is Villages game script (to make it a bit more difficult and so the towns don't end up too big)

Other information:

Using the temperate basic map, 512x512 (so it doesn't get too big) and with the English (original) town names

There are going to be several computer players in this as well