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sailor-aviator · 6 months

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Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Eight

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger posse of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Swearing, ANGST, Violence, Derogatory terms towards reader, More Angst, Some Fluff, Jake Seresin, Even more angst.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: I warned y'all so many times this was going to be rough. But, anyway, we are officially halfway through the series!! As always, reboots, comments and likes are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator! If You're feeling kind, please consider donating to my ko-fi!

Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The room was dark and and cold. You hadn’t bothered to light a fire or one of the lamps in the parlor. No, you found the silence comforting as you sat on the couch off to the side. Christmas morning was usually a happy time for you, but it had been a week since Henry’s impromptu proposal.

“You had no right,” you began, but he cut you off with a scoff.

“Please, Scout,” he scowled. “This was inevitable, and you know it. We make an excellent match, and I’m willing to overlook your little excursion out west with your brother.”

You made to say something, but he held up his hand to stop you. Sighing, he fixed you with a look.

“I know you love your brother, Scout, but it’s time to be realistic. You need someone who can take care of you and provide for you. I can be that. You’d never want for anything, and you’d never have to work a day in your life. What do you say?”

You stared down at him, saying nothing. Henry heaved another sigh as he got to his feet. He met your gaze, pocketing the ring, and running a hand through his dark hair.

“Just think about it, alright?” he grumbled, shooting a small glare your way. “I’ll expect an answer at the Christmas party next week.

And there you sat, holding the wooden horse in your hands. You smoothed your fingers over the grains, running them down to the carved initials. A year ago, you wouldn’t have had to think about your answer to Henry’s proposal. He was the obvious choice for your future at the time, making your heart jump every time you saw him and putting your thoughts at ease. But now?

Now it was the sight of this tiny, wooden horse in your hands that caused the emotions in your heart to swell. You had never been so vexed by a single person in your life, and you had certainly never been as bold as you were when you were near him. No one had ever made you laugh or cry or your heart pound the way he did. No one had ever accepted, let alone embraced, the wild side of you. No one had ever been willing to change themselves for you.

“You’re up early.”

You jumped, placing a hand on your chest to calm your thundering heart. The room was no longer drenched in darkness as the sun began to rise, casting a calm, blue glow into the room through the window. You looked up to see Jake standing in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. You hummed, setting the horse down on the table beside you.

“Yes,” you whispered, looking back at him, “I suppose I am.”

Jake walked over to sit down in the chair opposite you, green eyes boring into you as he studied you.

“You must have a lot on your mind,” he pressed.

You sighed. “Not really. Nothing of importance, anyway.”

“You don’t think a proposal is important?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge his emotions.

“A proposal is very important, Jake,” you murmured. “That’s why it deserves due consideration.”

“Do you think he’ll make you happy?” He asked you quietly. You stared at him.

“I think Henry is able to provide a comfortable life to whomever his future wife may be,” you said finally. Jake frowned.

“But does he make you happy, Scout?”

“I think,” you started slowly, “that there was a time in my life where I would have been content to have him as my husband.”

“And now?” He asked, green eyes shining in the morning light. Your breath caught in your throat as the sun peaked over the horizon, causing a halo to form around his figure. Your heart ached with an emotion that you didn’t quite understand, You had never felt this way before about anything, but while the thought would have frightened you about anything else, the sight of Jake in front of you filled you with a sense of ease, of acceptance.

“Now, I want other things,” you replied firmly. You saw a smile twitch on his lips, but the moment was interrupted when a maid scurried into the room. She stopped when she saw the two of you, clearly not expecting anyone to be up at that hour.

“My apologies, Miss, Sir,” she blushed, eyes darting between the two of you. You waved her off with a smile.

“No need to apologize, Lottie,” you told her, glancing at Jake from the corner of your eye. He was still watching you intently. “We were just finishing up here.”

Jake stood up and walked with deliberate steps over to you, offering you his arm with a cheeeky grin. “May I escort you back to your room, miss?”

You giggled, slipping your arm through his, allowing him to pull you to your feet. “You may, sir.”

The dress you wore brought a smile to your face, not only because it was lovely, but because the green of it reminded you of a certain someone. It was a soft, mossy green that draped down your figure, the ends of the skirt shimmering like starlight. You looked a vision, and you knew it, but that didn’t stop the bubble of nerves in the pit of your stomach. You ran your hands over the dress, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles as your eyes darted to the piece of cloth placed carefully at the foot of your bed. It was a simple, white square that you had embroidered with wildflowers and a simple border to the corner. You had finished it before the trip, intending on bestowing it to Jake as a Christmas present long before he had even agreed to accompany you on the trip.

You imagined it must be difficult for him to be so far away from home during this time, and you were forever grateful to him for choosing to come with you. You certainly didn’t want him to feel left out while everyone was exchanging gifts. So, you took a deep breath and grabbed the handkerchief off the bed before making your way out of the room.

You could already hear the murmur from the party below grow louder as you drew closer to the staircase. It seemed the party had been going for quite some time by the looks of the empty glasses of wine strewn about the different rooms. You greeted people politely as you made your way through the growing crowd, trying to spot anyone you would be willing to have a lengthy conversation with.

“Scout!”

You turned with a barely suppressed groan as you spotted Henry making his way to you. He wore a navy blue coat with white trousers and a dark blue bowtie. He smiled as he drew near and you answered it with a polite one.

“Henry,” you greeted him, hands clasped in front of you.

“You look ravishing tonight, Scout,” he beamed. “I brought you a little something.”

He opened his coat to pull out a tiny, crystal bottle with an attached pump. You recognized it instantly as one of the many expensive perfumes sitting in one of the department stores in the city. You took it from him gingerly, eyeing the bottle apprehensively.

“Merry Christmas, Scout,” Henry smiled, chest puffing up at what he thought was a job well done. “I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I asked the clerk which one was the most popular.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile, gesturing for one of the maids to come over. She did so promptly, and you handed her the bottle.

“Will you take this up to my room, please?” You asked her. She gave you a nod before scurrying off. You turned back to the man in front of you. “Thank you, Henry. That was such a kind gesture. I apologize for not getting you anything in return.”

“Well, I hope you’ll give me a bit of good news later tonight,” he smirks, causing a wave of ice to run over you. Henry shot you a wink before turning to go and mingle with some of the older guests. “I look forward to hearing it.”

You watched him walk away, a frown at your lips. It would be advantageous to accept his proposal, really you’d be a fool not to. You missed your friends and family desperately, and there was also the matter of what your father had wanted. You could go back to your old life, pretend that nothing had ever happened or changed. But still, there was a voice inside you that you hadn’t heard since you were a little girl. It called out to you, begging you to consider the alternative.

You chewed on your bottom lip, wrestling with the conflicting emotions inside of you. You startled when you felt a figure step up beside you, turning to see Jake standing next to you. He matched your dress with his frosty green vest and white shirt. A white ascot complimented his attire along with a beige set of trousers. He watched the crowd, slyly linking his pinky with yours. The gesture filled you with a sense of ease, and you smiled gratefully up at him. He smirked down at you, a soft look in his eyes as he took you in.

“Did you intend to match me, sir?” You teased him. He let out a low chuckle, bumping your shoulder slightly with his.

“Your aunt insisted that I wear this tonight,” he smiled. “And now I know why.”

“She does have a way of getting what she wants,” you mused. He hummed, still looking at you.

“You look really pretty tonight, Scout,” he murmured. You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment, and you ducked your head down to hide your smile. You wondered how he managed to make you feel like a schoolgirl all over again with such a simple compliment.

“Just pretty?” You looked up at him, batting your eyelashes. “Not beautiful or ravishing?”

Jake let out a low chuckle, leaning into you as you pressed your back against the door jamb of the parlor.

“No,” his smirk turned flirtatious. There was a time when that same smirk would have had you screaming at him, but now it just made your skin feel like it was on fire. “Ravishing is for when you look like you’re going to tear my head off or when you shoot a bucket from fifty yards off.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued.

“Beautiful is for when you’re on the ranch, knees deep in the earth of your garden, dirt covering your face and dress. Or when you fall asleep on my shoulder, not a care in the world on that face of yours.”

Your blush came back with a vengeance, and you were sure you looked ridiculous. But Jake looked at you as if you were the sun itself, shining just for him.

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to think of anything to say in response. He continued to smile softly at you, and the both of you turned when someone tapped on your shoulder.

“You’re under the mistletoe, dear,” an older woman giggled at you, pointing up. You looked up to see the tiny sprig of green and white hanging above your head. You glanced quickly back at Jake, who was still looking up at the plant. You looked around at the few people who heard the exchange, spotting Lucy grinning widely from where she stood with her parents.

“It’s bad luck if you don’t!” She called, and the people around her agreed. You turned your attention back to Jake, his eyes now boring into you. You swallowed nervously, your eyes eyes fluttering to his lips.

“We don’t want you to have any bad luck,” he murmured, his own eyes darting down to yours.

“No,” you said with a shake of your head. “We wouldn’t.”

Jake slowly lowered his head towards yours, stopping just shy of putting his lips on yours. You glanced up at him, and he watched you, waiting for you to close the distance. You reached up and placed a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to his. He hummed at the feel of you, and you relished in his familiar scent of clean linen and tobacco. You pulled away after a second, looking at him starry eyes. He gazed back at you with a dreamy expression, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Scout!”

You turned to see Lucy bounding towards you, giggling excitedly as she pulled you away.

“Come!” She grinned, gesturing for Jake to follow as well. “I want to give you your present!”

You allowed your best friend to pull you further into the parlor and up to the tree where a smattering of packages laid out waiting to be distributed. Lucy plucked a small box off the top of a larger one, handing it to you excitedly.

“Open it!” She squealed. You smiled at her as you carefully tore the paper away from the box, opening it. Inside sat a beautiful copper hair pin fashioned into the shape of a rose and greenery around it. You gasped at it, smiling widely at the redhead in front of you.

“Lucy, this is beautiful!” You gushed, holding the pin close to you.

“I knew you’d love it! You always loved flowers,” she giggled at you. You set the box off to the side and plucked a small box you had set aside for her. She ripped the paper open and gasped as she held a gold hairpin with a ruby attached to the end.

“Great minds think alike, I suppose,” you teased. Lucy wrapped you in her arms, squeezing you tight.

“Oh, thank you, Scout!” She grinned, pulling back. You glanced at Jake who still stood beside you and felt the nerves begin to crawl up your spine.

“I have something for you too,” you told him quietly. He raised an eyebrow at you as you dug out the handkerchief you had tucked away. You handed it to him with both hands, not able to meet his eyes as he took it gently from your hands. “It’s nothing fancy, but I’ve never seen you use one. I thought you could use it while you work around the ranch.”

You glanced up to see Jake studying the white square in his hands, face unreadable. He lifted his green gaze to yours.

“You made this?” He asked in a whisper. You nodded nervously, starting to fidget with your fingers.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” you rushed out. “I know flowers aren’t the most manly thing, and a handkerchief is such a common thing to have. I should have-”

“I love it,” he smiled at you, tracing his fingers over the square. He tucked it into his pocket as you released a breath of relief. “I have something for you, actually.”

Jake reached down and picked up one of the larger boxes on the ground. Now it was his turn to look nervous as you took the parcel from him, gently unwrapping the paper covering. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you.

In your hands rested a wooden box. The top had been carved into the shape of different flowers, the details extending down into the base of the box. A simple, golden latch sat at the front, and you ran your hands over it as Lucy gawked behind you.

“I know it’s not anything fancy like perfume or clothing,” Jake started, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I thought you could use something to keep your jewelry and trinkets in. It took me a while to find the right kind of wood I wanted to use, and then it took me a couple of weeks to carve-”

“Wait,” you interrupted him, eyes shooting up to meet his startled gaze. “You made this?”

A blush crept onto his cheeks as he nodded sheepishly at you.

“Jake,” you murmured, looking back down at the box, running your hand over it once again. “This is so beautiful, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered, smiling. You gave the box to a maid, instructing her to place it carefully on your bed.

“It’s very important to me,” you told her, and she nodded solemnly as she went to put the gift in your room.

“Are we exchanging gifts?”

You turned to see Aunt Jo strolling into the parlor with Uncle Walter close behind her. She smiled at your tiny group in greeting before picking up her own little box amidst the rest of the presents. She gestured for you all to follow, and you did so, sitting down in the collection of sofas and chairs by the fireplace. You sat in the same spot as you had that morning, Jake sitting in a chair off to your right as Lucy took up residence on your left. Aunt Jo handed the package to Uncle Walter who then rose to hand it to Jake. The younger man blinked in surprise, looking at you for guidance. You nodded at him encouragingly, and he slowly began to tear at the paper.

“We found that just the other week,” Aunt Jo proclaimed, smiling as she watched Jake. “Walter and I discussed it, and we knew you had to have it.”

You peered over at Jake who had stilled in his seat. He reached down gingerly to lift up a silver pocket watch into the light. Your heart stopped as you stared at it. The outside was carved with intricate designs amongst different leaves. At the bottom right, a humble sparrow was paused in mid-flight.

“Where did you find this?” You asked Aunt Jo, tears welling in your eyes. Jake looked over at you, concern etched into his features at your apparent distress. Aunt Jo smiled warmly at you.

“We found it amongst some of your father’s old things,” she explained. “Benjamin was insistent on having his own, and it would be such a shame for that beautiful piece to just sit and gather dust. We can think of no one else we’d rather have it then Mr. Seresin here.”

You looked over at Jake who was still looking at you uncertainly. You sniffled, fighting back your tears as you smiled at him.

“It was my father’s watch,” you whispered quietly. Understanding dawned on his face and he whipped around to look at your aunt and uncle. Aunt Jo turned her smile to his and Uncle Walter clapped him on the shoulder with a smile of his own.

“I don’t know what to say,” the blond man murmured, eyes darting around the room.

“Say that you’ll accept it,” Aunt Jo told him. “Elias would have wanted you to have it.”

She gave you a pointed look at that, and you nodded with a smile.

“Yes,” you agreed. “My father would have been so happy for you to have it.”

“I believe I just saw a maid carrying a rather poor looking box upstairs.”

You all turned to see Henry making his way over to where you all sat. You frowned at him, already knowing what box he was talking about.

“It was a rather garish thing,” he continued, earning a glare from Lucy. “An eyesore really. No wonder it was given to the maid. I think it was handmade too.”

“It was handmade,” you bit out. “And it was given to the maid to put in my room for safekeeping.”

“That retched thing was yours, Scout?” He chuckled, and you saw Jake clench his jaw.

“Yes,” you hissed. “It was a gift from Jake, one that I happen to adore. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the value of making something with your hands.”

Henry’s smile wavered. “Whatever do you mean by that, dearest?”

“I mean,” you continued, sitting up straighter, “that it takes a special kind of man to not see the value in someone else’s hard work. I don’t know if I could ever see myself marrying someone like that.”

Henry’s smile was completely gone by the time you finished your sentence. He stared at you coldly before fixing a glare at Jake. Jake sat still, no discernable emotion on his face.

“Cousin Scout!”

All of you turned at the sound of your young cousins running up to you. The tension in the room was lifted slightly as you watched the young ones giggle up at you.

“Yes, my darlings?” You smiled down at them, grateful for a reprieve from all the drama.

Thomas, the oldest boy, pointed at the table next to you. “What’s that?”

You turned to see the wooden horse you had forgotten that morning. You reached out to grab it, smiling at it fondly.

“This,” you told them in a hushed tone like you were telling them a secret, their little bodies crowding in to hear you, “is a very special treasure that was given to me.”

“What does it do?” Asked Mary, eyes as big as saucers.

“It drives away bad dreams,” you smiled at her, giving her the figurine to hold. She held it gently in her small hands, the other children staring at it in wonder.

“Who gave it to you?” Thomas asked you. Your gaze shifted over to Jake with a small smile. He watched you fondly, his own smile dancing on his lips.

“A dear friend made it for me some months ago,” you whispered, earning a scoff from across the way. Henry stalked over and ripped the horse out of Mary’s hands, earning a cry of protest from the young girl.

“You shouldn’t be filling their heads up with nonsense, Scout,” he tsked as he walked over to the fire place, examining the horse. “I thought you knew better than that.”

He frowned when he saw the initials on the belly of the horse, features turning into a sneer that you had never seen from him before.

“Ridiculous,” he spat, tossing the horse into the fire. You let out a shocked cry, lurching forward as tears sprang to your eyes. The commotion had drawn the attention of the other party goers, but no one was prepared for what happened next.

In the blink of an eye, Jake was on his feet, slamming Henry into the mantle with such a force as to rattle the chandelier that hung from above. Several people let out gasps at the scene, and you vaguely registered the tears that poured down your face. You had loved that horse, and now it was gone forever. Lucy shushed you as the scene continued to unfold. Cousin John ran forward just as Uncle Walter stood up, both making their way to where the two men stood.

Henry’s jaw was clenched as Jake glared at him, nostrils flaring.

“What is it?” Henry sneered. “Did I hurt your feelings? There’s no need to get so worked up over some trollop who will go around kissing and defending anything.”

Jake’s hands clenched around Henry’s suit even harder at his words. Uncle Walter placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder as Cousin John watched the two wearily, ready to step in should anything happen.

“Let him go, son,” Uncle Walter murmured, quietly enough that you could barely hear him. “He’s not worth it.”

Jake didn’t take his eyes off of Henry, instead he leaned in closer, murder in his eyes.

“If you ever come near her again, if you ever make her cry again?” He spat before giving a humorless chuckle, fixing Henry with a deadly serious look. “They won’t ever find your body.”

A flash of fear ran over Henry’s face at the words, eyes darting around to the crowd. Jake let go of Henry, dropping him from where he had been raised against the mantle. Jake sniffed, turning to look at you, his face softening considerably as he took you in. You watched as he walked over to kneel in front of you. He took your trembling hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asked you, eyes trying to find the answer to his question. You nodded slowly, looking around at the room. All the guests were whispering to one another, eyes darting from Jake, to Henry, and then to your aunt and uncle. You felt your lips press into a thin line before standing abruptly.

“If you all will please excuse me,” you said with a polite smile before walking through the parting crowd and out into the garden. The night was cold, typical for December, and the snow crunched under your feet as you made your way further into the shadows.

“Scout!”

You kept walking.

“Scout, please.”

You stopped at the edge of the hedges, looking out into the hills.

“Dammit, Scout,” Jake pleaded, grabbing your hand. You yanked away, whirling around to fix him with a glare.

“How dare you!” You hissed at him. Jake looked taken aback by your outburst before his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“You just embarrassed my family with that little scene you caused,” you snapped, gesturing back towards the house. “What will people say now?”

“Who cares what a bunch of snobby, rich people say?” Jake scoffed, frowning at you.

“I care!” You shrieked. “Have you forgotten that I used to be one of them?”

Jake shook his head, taking a step forward. “You’re nothing like them, Scout. You don’t want the same things. ”

“Then maybe you don’t really know me,” you stated, causing Jake to reel back. “Maybe you don’t know what it is that I want.”

“I know you,” he said firmly, eyes running over you. “I know who you really are. They don’t. You don’t want this, honey girl.”

You met his gaze steadily, feeling the words leave your lips before you could stop them. “Maybe this is exactly what I want.”

Silence surrounded you, and you wished you could take the words back as Jake stared at you like you just crushed his heart in your hands. You saw the greens of his eyes start to shine as he stared at you, the wind blowing his hair across his forehead. He pressed his lips into a firm line before nodding, turning to walk back into the house.

Your tears came in droves as you clutched yourself, desperate to keep from falling apart in the cold, windy night. The wind howled, echoing the sound of your heart as you watched him walk away from you. For the first time in months, you felt truly alone.

It was late, and you had retired to your room hours ago. You sat at your vanity, absentmindedly running your brush through your hair when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” you croaked, your voice still hoarse from all the crying. The door opened slowly to reveal Aunt Jo. She gave you a small smile, closing the door behind her before walking over to where you sat. She took the brush from your hand and began slowly working it through your locks. Neither of you said anything for a few moments.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered quietly, and Aunt Jo looked at you in the mirror, brow furrowed.

“Whatever for, my dear?”

“For the scene earlier today,” you sighed. “I know that must have been so embarrassing for you and Uncle Walter. “Hopefully things will die down here once we leave in the morning.”

“Scout,” Aunt Jo frowned, “are you under the impression that your uncle and I are upset with you and Jake?”

“Yes?” You questioned her. “Why wouldn’t you be? He caused such a spectacle in front of everyone tonight.”

“My dear girl,” she chuckled, setting the brush down on the vanity. She pulled at your shoulders so that you turned around to face her. “If anyone should be ashamed and apologizing, it would be Henry Cargill.”

“What?” Your eyes widened at her.

“Henry is the one who caused the scene, Scout,” she continued. “Not Jake. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Seresin was defending my niece’s honor and I made that perfectly clear to everyone here tonight. Henry is the one who made a fool of himself tonight.”

“I suppose I did as well,” you muttered, earning a questioning look from your aunt. “Oh, Aunt Jo. I’m afraid I said such horrible things to Jake.”

“I’m sure it’s not anything that can’t be fixed,” she reassured you, but you shook your head.

“You didn’t see the look on his face,” you cried, bottom lip wobbling. “He was so hurt, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted anything to do with me ever again.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case,” she smiled, patting your head gently. “That boy is so smitten with you, sweetheart. Everyone can see it. Just talk to him, and I promise everything will work out.”

You sniffled. “Maybe I should just move back here. I keep managing to make a fool of myself. I know what I’m doing here.”

Aunt Jo wiped your tears away gently, resting her hands on either side of your face. She made sure your eyes were locked on hers before she continued. “I think you would be the world’s biggest fool if you did that. Only the weak throw away their chances at happiness, you know, and you, my dear niece, are not weak. Just because things here are familiar, does not mean they’re right for you. You have become a more radiant version of yourself since you moved away. The west did that. Jake did that.”

“So you’re telling me not to move back?” You asked her with a watery smile. She chuckled, hugging you close.

“I’m telling you to choose happiness, Scout.”

You sat in the carriage as Jake loaded the rest of your luggage onto the back of the carriage. Aunt Jo and Uncle Walter had already bid you goodbye and now waited for the blond to finish his task before Aunt Jo enveloped him in a tight hug. He seemed a little taken aback, but returned it, frowning in confusion at something she whispered to him. She pulled back with a smile as Uncle Walter stepped up to shake his hand.

You shifted in your seat eagerly, ready to apologize to him when he stepped up into the carriage with you. But that moment didn’t come.

Jake waved to your aunt and uncle, casting you a sideways glance as he hopped up to sit with the driver. You met your aunt’s gaze and she offered you a sympathetic smile before waving as the carriage began to move. You waved back at her, settling in for the ride.

Jake still refused to acknowledge you even after the two of you settled in for the train ride to St.Louis, and you were beginning to grow irritated. You heard the girls giggling over him from a few seats behind you, but Jake paid them no mind as he continued to stare out the window.

“Jake,” you said, leaning forward. He glanced at you with a hum. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, looking back out the window. “We’re going to go back to Maverick, and you’re going to get ready to go back to your old life.”

“What?” You asked him, eyes widening in shock.

“Isn’t that what you decided?” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. You stared at him, biting your cheek to keep from snapping at him.

“Well, if you would listen to what I have to say-”

“Sorry, darlin’. I’m not really all that interested in hearing about your plans for the future at the moment,” he sneered. You felt your temper start to boil. To prevent yourself from creating a scene in the traincar, you stood up abruptly, causing Jake to look at you.

“Where are you going?” He grumbled, watching you.

“When you’re ready to talk to me like an adult,” you hissed, “you can find me in my cabin. Until then, goodnight, Mr. Seresin.”

Jake rolled his eyes, grumbling something under his breath. You felt your resolve start to crack, and without thinking you raised your foot, stamping it down on Jake’s. He cried out in pain before looking at you incredulously, hands gripping his foot. You glared at him before stomping down the aisle and out of the car.

If he wanted to be childish, then two could play at that game.

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visit-new-york · 3 months

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The Great Blizzard of 1888, Madison Avenue and 40th Street, New York City.

The Great Blizzard of 1888, a winter tempest that battered the Atlantic coast of the United States from the Chesapeake Bay to Maine in March 1888, left an indelible mark in history. Inflicting over $20 million in property damage in New York City alone and claiming the lives of more than 400 people, including about 100 sailors, the blizzard was a catastrophic event along the Eastern Seaboard.

Following a mild winter, a convergence of a western snowstorm and a southern warm front gave rise to one of the most severe winter storms in American history. The onslaught commenced on the night of Sunday, March 11, with New York City accumulating 10 inches (250 mm) of snow by Monday morning. The storm persisted, eventually enveloping the city in a 22-inch (550 mm) snow blanket, while other regions experienced staggering accumulations of 40 to 50 inches (1,000 to 1,250 mm). Relentless high winds, coupled with temperatures well below freezing, intensified the perilous conditions. New York witnessed winds averaging 40 miles (65 km) per hour, gusting up to 80 miles (130 km) per hour, resulting in the destruction of power and telegraph lines and colossal snowdrifts reaching heights of 50 feet (15 meters).

Despite the escalating weather, many New Yorkers unaccustomed to blizzard conditions attempted to navigate the city for work. As the situation deteriorated throughout Monday, workers found themselves stranded on the streets, trains, elevated transit cars, and at their workplaces. With closures affecting shops, government offices, courts, Wall Street businesses, and even the Brooklyn Bridge, people sought refuge in overflowing saloons, hotels, and prisons.

The profound impact of the blizzard led survivors to gather annually until 1969 to commemorate its anniversary. Recognizing the vulnerabilities exposed by the storm, officials implemented measures such as placing power and telegraph lines, as well as public transit, underground. The Great Blizzard of 1888 became a transformative event that reshaped urban planning and disaster preparedness in the years to come.

#new york #newyork #nyc #new-york #new york city #ny #urban #manhattan #city #usa #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture #Great Blizzard #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

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xipiti · 1 month

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Part of the Francis Scott Key Bridge in Baltimore collapsed early Tuesday morning after a 948-foot container ship, the Dali, crashed into it, sending cars and people into the water in what authorities are calling a "developing mass casualty event." Here's what we're following:

The catastrophic bridge collapse was caught on video.

Upwards of seven people are in the river, said Baltimore Fire Chief James Wallace. Rescue workers have retrieved from the water two so far — one very seriously injured.

Authorities say the search and rescue mission, complicated by rising tides, will continue until divers determine they have reached the "non-survivability point."

The 1.6-mile bridge — named after the writer of "The Star-Spangled Banner" — is part of I-695, an artery of Interstate 95, a major highway running north-south along the Eastern seaboard.

youtube

#holy shit #Baltimore #Francis Scott key bridge #key bridge #March 28 2024 #Youtube

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nosti-hate · 3 months

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For @saline-coelacanth 🌩️ and their ⚡Storm Vessel AU⚡

Villain Jay is something they we need for Dragons Rising

And i had already told it, but it gives me my old storm!Jay au in seaboard. Nostalgia :)

(Have no clue how but) Your au get me out from art block, bcs i don't remember when i draw so much in 2-3 days

Thank you girl 😍😘

#nostihate #traditional art #art #character art #jay ninjago #jay walker #ninjago jay #jay fanart #ninjago art #lego ninjago #ninjago #storm vessel au #i like this au

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beatrizonfilm · 2 months

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FILM RECOMMENDATION FOR THE GIRL BLOGGERS

thw sweet east (2023) Directed by Sean Price Williams

A picaresque journey through the cities and woods of the Eastern seaboard of the U.S undertaken by Lillian, a high school senior from South Carolina.

this film feels like lana del rey sun, sofia coppola rising, otessa moshfegh moon

MY LETTERBOXD: TRIZONFILM <3

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year

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Hiiiii! I would like to request <<person b trying to cook person a's fav dish>> with Max Lord please. I can see that flashback scene in WW84 with his business Blacc Gold Cooperative, trying to make everything perfect. Get well soon! Thanks so much!!

A rare Max Lord ask in the inbox!

Maxwell Lord knows he’s worthless.

He hides those feelings underneath a glib façade, a blustering bravado. He talks a good game. He schmoozes with the best of them. And yet, when he goes to sleep each night, he knows that he’s nobody special. He’s nobody of substance; he’s just an empty shell in a slick suit.

And if he was nobody before the Dreamstone, before Black Gold went bankrupt, then what is he now?

He’s less than nobody now.

He lives in a shitty apartment in Baltimore, and he works a shitty job in a grey cubicle. He sees his son every other weekend. His nice cars, his private plane, his fancy suits and giant mansion? All gone.

Despite it all, he found you: his neighbor in his shitty apartment complex, a sweet, gorgeous woman who teaches at the nearby university. You know who he is, what he’s done…and you still seem to like him. You haven’t broken up with him yet.

Which is why he’s struggling right now. It’s your birthday, and the old Max would have taken you on a shopping trip in New York, or flown you to Paris, or taken you out to the most exclusive restaurant on the eastern seaboard. New Max doesn’t have that option, so he tries his best and plans an entire evening in.

The plan? Cook your favorite meal. Use your favorite flowers as a centerpiece. Open a bottle of your favorite wine. Then watch your favorite movie on VHS before taking you to bed. It’s all supposed to be a surprise, but when you walk through the door that evening, the plan is in shambles.

Your favorite meal is a charred mess smoking in the sink. Your favorite flowers—wildflowers he picked along the river—are limp and already shedding pedals. He punched through the cork in your wine and ruined it. And Blockbuster was out of their only copy of “All About Eve.”

When you walk through the door that evening, you find Max sitting on the floor of your kitchen, his head in his hands.

He waits for you to break up with him. He waits for the words—stupid, worthless—to fall from your mouth the way they’ve fallen from everyone else’s mouths. He waits for cruel laughter at his pitiful attempt to make your birthday special despite having no money, no talent. It’s just like those pathetic early days with Black Gold, how hopeful and naïve he’d been, how stupid—

“This seat taken?” you ask quietly, and you don’t wait for him to respond before you sink down onto the linoleum beside him.

“Rough day?” you ask, and your voice is still quiet, but you’re right beside him. A beat later and he feels it—your hand brushing his hair away from his face, then a gentle press of your lips to his temple. Then you settle your head against his shoulder and just…sit. You just sit with him, neither of you speaking for a long moment.

“Just wanted to make it special for you,” he finally says, and his voice is rough with emotion. Frustration. Sadness. Everything bubbling up at once, everything he’s pushed down…it’s all threatening to come out now.

“Who says it isn’t special?”

He scoffs, gestures helplessly around you.

“You know, my last boyfriend never even thought to make me dinner for my birthday. So, if I say it’s the thought that counts…that’s the truth,” you tell him.

“The thought means nothing,” he snaps. “It’s action, results…thoughts are worthless.”

This should make you break up with him too: him getting snippy and edging against an argument. But you don’t rise to the bait. You settle your head against his shoulder again, and you tell him a story about your childhood, how your mother had been in the hospital for your eighth birthday, how your father was away for work. How it seemed that no one remembered your special day until a girl in your neighborhood—older than you, far cooler than you—saw you crying on your front porch.

“She was a high schooler,” you explain softly. “Literally the coolest girl in the neighborhood. She dressed like Stevie Nicks and had a voice like Blondie. I was just a little dork that no one noticed, but she did. She was driving past in her beat-to-shit Beetle and saw me sitting alone and crying, and you know what she did?”

“What?”

“She asked me what was wrong, and when I told her, she drove away.”

Max scoffs again. That sounds right to him. The world is a cruel place.

“And then ten minutes later, she came back,” you continue. “She went to Dairy Queen and got me a banana split. Remember those giant banana splits they used to make? She bought one and sat on my porch and we ate it together. She didn’t have a candle, so she held up her lighter and made me blow it out.”

“That’s really sweet,” he tells you, begrudgingly.

You shift your head from his shoulder and you reach out, grip his chin lightly. You turn his face and make him look at you.

“It’s the thought that counts, Max,” you say, and your voice is more stern now. “Being seen? Being remembered? That means more than any gift or whatever is smoldering right now in the sink.”

“It’s a soufflé. Or was.” As bad as he feels, he can’t help but smile at you.

You roll your eyes. “Why on earth would you try to bake me a soufflé? You can barely boil water.”

“I thought—” he starts, and then he catches himself, realizes what he’s saying. You catch it too, and you grin back at him.

“See? You thought of me. You see me. That’s all I need from you.”

He wants to say that you deserve so much more—diamonds and designer dresses and expensive purses and luxurious trips to exotic locales—but you don’t let him reply. You lean forward and kiss him, and the feeling of your mouth on his does what it always does: it pushes the anxious thoughts away, makes the self-doubt melt under the ardor with which you kiss him.

“Now c’mon,” you say once you break away from him. You stand up and offer your hand, and you help him stand too. “There’s a Dairy Queen three blocks from here. You’re buying me a banana split, and you’re gonna eat the pineapple bits because I hate pineapple.”

#ask game #max lord #maxwell lord #maxwell lord imagine #maxwell lord x reader #wonder woman 1984 #tropes and tales

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dduane · 2 years

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When the writer freaks herself out

I’ve been working on an entry for Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms this afternoon. It’s a recipe for honey-candied apples (which appear as a sweet on a farmhouse dinner table in Tales of the Five 2: The Landlady). (With cream, and an imported apple-based spirit.)

So this is part of what I wrote:

On our Earth there are only a few species of bees that make honey—or more accurately, enough honey for humans to safely harvest without harming the colonies from which it’s obtained. One of these, and the one most kept for commercial uses both here and in the Four Realms, is Apis mellifera: what we call the Western or European honey bee. However, the Kingdoms’ continent is shared with their version of A. mellifera by two other honey-making species.

Widespread in the cooler southern regions is a larger variant of the eastern- and southeast-Asian giant honey bee, Apis dorsata, which builds tremendous comb-filled nests in trees of the southern Darthene and Arlene mountain-cedar forests, and on cliffs in the Steldene Southpeak foothills. (Apis dorsata medioregnis, fortunately, does not entirely share the blindly vicious temperament of its Earth-based congener.) Meanwhile, in the semitropical northern regions, a variant of the stingless bee Tetragonula mellipes is widespread from the mouths of the Darst and the northern shorelands of the eastern Waste, right along the Darthene northern Seaboard to the North Arlene peninsula. Because of its higher water content and low glycemic index, this bee’s honey is runnier and less sweet-tasting than that of A. mellifera and A. dorsata, but also has a unique tangy/citrus flavor that’s much prized.

So there we go, thinks the writer. That’s enough worldbuilding for the moment. Now we can get on to the recipe.

...Or not. As without warning, things go a bit green and dark in the writer’s head, and she suddenly sees what she’s just installed in her unsuspecting world:

...Forests. Mountain forests. In this one, unnumbered broad-canopied cedars are the uprearing deep-ribbed pillars of a high, shadowy-roofed cathedral a league and more wide. And suspended from the branches, almost completely hiding the upper reaches of the trunks, hanging pendulous and tremendous from the branches, in swags and curtains an arm’s-length thick... the hives.

There may be twenty or fifty of these in a single tree... maybe a hundred or more, in the oldest and tallest of the forest monarchs. And the hives are as social among themselves as the bees who live in them. The queens of a tree’s many hives make up their own small self-aware swarm. They have ways of communicating without ever leaving their hives. Some say their souls speak together, and with the queens of other trees’ hives... soundless, wordless, needing no words to discuss what matters to them: the prosperity and the safety of their colonies and their kind.

The naked hives themselves, and the brood-combs and honeycombs inside them, are not easy to see. This is because each hive is covered a handspan thick by a hundred thousand warrior-workers or more, endlessly alert for danger. Even the average worker giant bee is the length of the top joint of your thumb; the warriors can be twice that size. These too have obscure modes of communication that bind them together. If an enemy approaches, all the warrior bees of a whole tree’s hives will rise together to defend their homes. All together, they will fall on the marauder and cloak it as thickly in their furious bodies as any hive... and then will come the stings.

Fortunately you will hear the hives singing long before you see them. If you hurry, you will still have time to turn back before the scout-bees find you.

If you are hunting their honey, though, your only chance of escaping unharmed is to make the bees understand that that you have not come to harm their brood, but only to harvest and share some of the honey they do not need. You cannot lie to them. If you do, they will know.

So when you meet them, speak to the bees. Tell them what you desire... and pray that you speak truly.

...

And meanwhile, a long way away from the forests in the foothills of the Southpeaks, a writer sits staring at the computer screen and thinking:

WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?!

...And then goes off to get some tea.

With SUGAR.

#bees #Middle Kingdoms #Middle Kingdoms meta #Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms

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exquisiteserotonin · 7 months

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Footsteps to Follow

Part 3: Something Between Us

Series Summary: The loss of a loved one lasts forever and every person finds different ways to heal.

Pairing: Alice York x Foodtruck owner! Joel Miller

Warnings: MATURE, this chapter is mature simply for the use of expletives. As always this series is strictly for adults and will feature violence, sex, and other mature themes. If you are UNDER 18, please DNI. MDNI!!! AU Joel Miller where there is NO outbreak. Also there is roughly a 15 year gap between Joel (42-43) and Alice (27-ish)

Word Count: ~2.3K

A/N: My little Dave York adjacent universe/Alice York's Wonderland (TM) is growing. So much character and relationship building. This is part is pure romance and fluff, mixed in with the tiniest bit of angst. Thank you for everyone who is encouraging me on this series.

So much love to the Collective. 🧃💜

@youandmeand5bucks @magpiepills @pink-whiskey-woman @legendary-pink-dot @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen @imalrightllama

Taglist: @drewharrisonwriter

Also if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates on this one, please let me know!

The morning sun began to take her respite as the moon began to rise gloriously to the sky. The last beams of sun danced with each wave of the river, their lights shimmering against the dusky sky. City lights zoomed past Alice’s window, becoming colorful neon streamers as she drove. The muffled rumbling of her car’s engine along with the zooms and swooshes of the traffic were the soundtrack to the backdrop of the city skyline. In one place or another along the Eastern seaboard, people were winding down from long workdays, some sitting down to dinner alone, some with significant others, and some with families. Still others were coming alive, freed from the shackles of their 9 to 5 grind, indulging in conversation, drinks, and overnight rendezvous.

Alice was awake and alive by biological standards, well-rested enough from her “excursion” to France to confidently meet her duties at her “day job” as a nurse at one of the biggest hospitals in the city. As far as jobs were concerned, it was the perfect cover for her “contract” work. She was at the hospital less days than she was at home during the week. Her medical knowledge came in handy for any injuries she might suffer in the field. The sharp and painful memories where she had to stitch her own injuries were sparse but unforgettable. She had even worked out that in the unthinkable event she got stuck after finishing a job, she could easily pass herself as a passerby with first responder medical knowledge.

After arriving in the parking garage, Alice walked in through automatic sliding glass doors. Her sneakers squeaked against the clean, beige colored floors of the hospital. The bright lights, tall windows, and light-colored walls stood in contrast to the darkening sky. She made her way to the women’s locker room of her department, tossing her purse and backpack in her locker before making her way to the nurses’ station.

“Hey Alice,” greeted Joanna, a pretty, blonde co-worker with kind blue eyes. “How was your visit with your family?”

“It was…brief,” she answered, carefully choosing the word to describe her time with them.

“That bad, huh?” Joanna grimaced.

“Well, family isn’t always blood, is it?” Alice mused as she rubbed her thumb along the pen in her right-hand pocket. “Anyway, any interesting patients I should be on the lookout for?”

“Nothing terribly interesting,” Joanna replied, but her eyes quickly transformed and glimmered with excitement. “There’s one patient in 512 with a head injury from a bar fight; he’s kinda cute.”

“A head injury from a bar fight?” Alice asked, raising her left brow. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Ok, Miss Judgey!” Joanna teased. “No wonder you’re single.”

“It’s a valid lifestyle choice,” she shrugged her shoulders with nonchalance. “I’m going to start my rounds.”

A lightness lived within Alice whenever she worked at the hospital. It carried her along to each patient in her care. It often perplexed her how she could so easily flip from one side of a coin to another. Trying to reconcile her violent acts with her duty to treat, save, and comfort patients, some who were even facing death, was a heavy process. The tight feeling of anxiety squeezed at her shoulders and chest, in response she took a few cooling and cleansing breaths in and out through her nose as she walked in and out of patient rooms.

Like her contract work, Alice never knew what one shift would be like from one day to the next. There were days that were more intense than others. Keeping a needle sized focus on treating her patients was the easy part. The sea of emotions that ebbed and flowed, sometimes crashing like in a storm, was the most challenging. There were days when patients wailed out in pain while family members cried, and still others took out their frustrations on her and the other nurses with anger, anxiety, and fear. And then there were the doctors and older nurses, who somehow believed that by mere virtue of their years of experience and so-called ‘seniority’ that they had the right to bark out orders and belittle her. Yet it was the quiet moments that filled her: the simple touch of a patient’s hand as she held it for as long as they needed, the desperate hug a family member fell into when they had no words for their despair or relief, or when she and her coworkers quite literally had to lean each other because the stress was just too much. Truthfully, she’d take this stress any day over her contract work.

Alice tucked her pocket-sized notebook back into the deep, front pocket of her wine-colored scrubs and moved onto the next room, 512. The patient folder was tucked safely into the wall-mounted box just outside the door. The patient’s name was clearly printed on a label on the outside of the file: Miller, T.

Alice read the notes inside his medical record, noting he had been transported to the hospital due to injuries from a bar fight. The scribbled, but legible notes indicated trauma to the head, ribs, and back. The inner monologue in her brain took note of things that she needed to look out for, but walked in with the knowledge that she needed to make sure that the patient was recovering well from his concussion.

The room was mostly dark as she stepped in save for the lights of the monitor her patient was connected to and a dim light behind the bed. Hearing some light snoring, she stepped quietly inside, calling to her new patient from the door.

“Mr. Miller?” she called, “Mr. Miller, are you awake?”

She stepped fully inside, looking behind her as she closed the heavy room door. As she turned around, she heard shuffling and noticed the barely illuminated form of someone in the reclining chair next to the bed. A family member, significant other, or friend she surmised.

“Hi, don’t mind me, Mr. Miller I’m just doing r—rounds and---” Alice’s voice vacillated when she saw a man turn towards her, “oh my goodness---Joel? It’s Joel, right?”

He stopped himself in his tracks, hands smoothing down the back of jeans. His eyes squinted at her in recognition while his mouth dropped open in pleasant surprise.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting,” she stammered. “I’m Alice; do you remember---?”

“‘Course I remember you,” Joel nodded as he stepped towards her. “You’ve got that kinda face---sorta hard to forget.”

Alice looked up at him with half intrigue, half suspicion. She moved past him and quietly approached her patient’s bed, “I’m assuming this is your---”

“Brother,” he answered quickly, with a cough to clear his throat, “Tommy’s my brother.”

The temptation to focus on Joel dangled before her like bait hanging from a hook. Much like her activities in Paris, she dodged it deftly as she lightly pressed the pads of her fingers to Tommy’s wrist to count his pulse. On his face, his injuries weren’t so bad except for a black eye and a lumpy bruise on his forehead. She examined him with gentle touches, brushing a wisp of his black curls from his forehead. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled a temporal thermometer and held it just above the center of his forehead until it beeped.

“No fever,” she related to Joel. “That’s a good sign.”

She looked at the vitals on his health monitor, scribbling in her pocket notebook as Joel watched her intently from the other side of the bed. His hands gripped the handles of the bed so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“How has he been?” Alice inquired, her voice remaining even and professional, leaving Joel noticeably flustered. “Is his head doing OK? Any lingering complaints about headaches or nausea?”

“Uh--um, no ma’am,” he continued politely, “so far, so good.”

“Obviously, concussion is our biggest concern,” she informed. “I was reading the notes, looks like the injury was from a fight?”

“Yeah---it wasn’t his fault, for a change,” he replied, a twinge of frustration rattling his voice. “Some guy took a swing at this waitress. Tommy, dumbass that he is, stepped in and got the worst of it: a punch, a chair to the head. Coulda been worse, somehow me and another fella were able to break it up.”

“It’s a good thing you were there,” Alice stated as she moved in closer to look at him through the stubble on his rugged and handsome face. “Somehow, you managed to get out relatively unscathed. I hope you don’t mind.”

Alice pointed to his cheek bone, and he nodded in acquiescence to her request. She stepped closer and brought the same gentle hand that had just touched his brother’s face to the bruise that colored the left side of his own. The touch she gave him was so soothing that Joel found himself instinctually closing his eyes. Through the quiet examination, she could hear the deep, constant inhales and exhales that came from him as he breathed. It reminded her of evening waves at the beach rolling in and receding. For a moment, their eyes were compelled to meet.

“Is he gonna be alright?” Joel asked as he opened his eyes, wide and almost pleading.

“It’s a good sign that he hasn’t complained much, and he has no fever,” she answered with an informative but comforting tone. “We just have to keep monitoring him, wake him up maybe every two hours to check on him.”

Joel placed his hands at his hips, breathing out a sigh composed of equal parts hope and fear. His eyes moved to his brother becoming glassy with the inevitable onset of tears. With a long deep inhale through his nose, he fought to stifle their arrival. Alice looked carefully into his eyes, sensing a sudden familiar feeling within her. His eyes glimmered with the familiar memory of loss. She walked towards the foot of the bed as she reached into her pocket to retrieve a tissue for him. As she handed it to him, her fingers brushed lightly against the palm of his hand in understanding.

“You’re a good brother, some of us aren’t so lucky.” Alice declared, looking up at him through her lashes. “I’m on this shift until the morning; so, if Tommy, or you, need anything just buzz me.”

“I really, really appreciate it, Alice,” he said with a deep and grateful nod.

She stood in front of him, her feet moving to the side a few centimeters as they both looked at each other in an awkward silence. It was the kind of silence where the words from two people fought to fill the space between them, instead they flitted around like two birds chasing each other. A low, rumbling groan filled the space where their words wouldn’t.

“I swear to God, Joel.”

It was Tommy, speaking with exhaustion roughing up his voice,

“If you don’t fucking ask this girl to go with you for a coffee during her break, I will personally kick yer ass.”

“Mr. Miller,” Alice smiled at his interjection nearly jumping as she parted from the closeness of Joel. “You’re awake! I’m Alice, one of the nurses. How are you feeling?”

“Well, his mouth ain’t broken that’s for sure,” Joel grumbled, but at a volume loud enough to hear.

“Don’t you listen to a thing he says about me, ma’am,” Tommy sighed, grogginess still overtaking him, “it’s all a lie.”

She met Joel’s eyes with a smile and then looked back at Tommy, letting the warmth of their banter fill the air.

“Is he always this charming?” Alice asked Joel, her laugh ringing out like a melody.

“Well, that’s a helluva way to put it,” Joel replied as he rubbed his forehead.

“This conversation is a good sign,” she affirmed with a comforting nod of her head, “Mr. Miller, I already told J---I mean, your brother, that if you need anything that you can buzz me.”

“Just give him your number so he can do that, all right?” Tommy added as a grin formed on his sleepy face.

Alice laughed with a scrunch of her nose as she tucked the blanket tightly at Tommy’s sides, looking back to see Joel rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. After ensuring Tommy had everything he needed, she quietly made her way towards the door, Joel following behind her. A polite, southern sort of thing to do, she assumed. He opened the door for her, both lingering for a moment.

“So, um, coffee---,” Joel started and then squeezed his eyes closed, “shit, I’m no good at this sorta thing.”

“Ethically, I really shouldn’t,” she spoke, almost laughing at the ridiculous juxtaposition this request posed against her life itself.

No distractions, no distractions, no distractions. She heard her own voice trying to remind her, to convince her to protect herself.

“Since your brother is a patient,” she added, “some people might say I have a conflicting interest.”

“Well, my brother ain’t asking you out,” he added with a charming smile revealing itself to her, “and technically we knew each other before this; that’s gotta count for something, don’t it?”

“Ok, well, there is that loophole,” Alice entertained his thoughts with her words.

With a tenderhearted sigh, Alice reached into her pocket for her notebook and opened it to a blank page. She looked to her left and right, assuring herself that no one was observing them. The last thing she needed was a nosy nurse or doctor writing her up for an ethics violation. Quickly, she wrote her cell phone number inside along with her name before tearing it out and pressing it to Joel’s chest.

“Don’t lose this, Joel Miller,” she teased, her smile soft, refreshing, and authentic.

He watched her walk down the hall as he leaned against the doorway, “I swear on my life, I won’t, Alice York.”

#juice collective #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york #equalizer 2 #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #alice york's wonderland #alice york #murder daughter

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trashmenace · 12 days

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Strange Powers of the Mind by Warren Smith

Strange Powers of the Mind by Warren Smith 1968 Ace Star

Anecdotal feel to a lot of these entries, with names changed, mostly of predictions. A few good entries.

There's the Copenhagen Hypnosis Murders, in which a man made a fellow prisoner a hypnotized slave and supposedly forced him to kill - they both ended up in jail for the murders.

There's the story of Mrs. Sarah A. Hand who believed if she removed her head, both her head and body would continue living. She attempted to decapitate herself, and failing that, laid across a railroad track. She left a note to make sure her head didn't get squished because then it wouldn't work. Her experiment was a failure.

There are several predictions - all of the clairvoyants' previous prophecies have come true, of course, so let's take a look at the future predictions. Some have no date references, so they could still be true in the future, and some are so vague ("important political figures will be replaced") I couldn't point to any and say if and when they came true.

LBJ fails to be re-elected (got this one right, extra points that he didn't lose the election, he didn't run)

President Nassar of Egypt assassinated in 1968 (1970, heart attack)

Russia and China fight an all out nuclear war in 1970

Religious war in India between Buddhists and Muslims at the end of the 20th century

Eclipse in July and August, 1999 (got August right), in which a masculine female becomes ruler of Russia.

An American will lead England by the turn of the century (Boris Johnson was 19 years too late).

NYC and the Eastern Seaboard will be destroyed in the 1990s.

Lemuria will rise in 1968.

The Soviet Union will lose a war against 10 million Middle Eastern Muslims (closest was Afghanistan, in Asia with about 250k fighters)

America wins the Vietnam War in 1967

Armageddon by 2024, still time for this one

From Amazon

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crane-posting · 13 days

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One of the biggest questions faced to the academic world today is the role of professional ethics in research.

Yesterday, a joint scientific conference in Gotham on the future of cryogenic technology was unceremoniously interrupted by the presence of Dr. Fries, a man who first robbed everyone present then, in doing so, proved the operating theory the lecturer had spent five years of their life trying to prove.

Two weeks before, three luxury cars belonging to a visiting oil tycoon were thrown through the wall of the Gotham Police Department by one Dr. Isley. If the power of what she can do could be harnessed appropriately the hole in the ozone layer could be patched within the century.

The best neurosurgeon on the eastern seaboard (and possibly farther if not for the limited access he has to modern medical developments) currently sits in Arkham Asylum where he could be perfecting new life-saving techniques.

What do all these have in common? They can't get published. Since the rise of masked villainy many decades ago, as it is called in certain circles, universities have been quick to reject the academic degrees and qualifications of anyone deemed likely to use their proficiencies for less moral experiments. Our fields of study have become academic black marks on anyone who would look upon them, whilst the more toothless of our findings are quickly taken by those who would claim credit.

Most will likely die with the vast majority of their research hidden from the world. This is nothing short of a travesty.

The best thing to do here, then, is a platform to document my areas of research. Luckily, as I cannot get published anyway, the burden of actual proof is lower and I do not have to go searching for research papers to cite. A little unfortunate as I actually did enjoy writing my (now removed) thesis, but I do not have much time to go searching anyway.

Some of the dictation will be less than formal, due to time constraints and personal preference.

#crane-posting #gotham rp

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rebbellsinchad · 24 days

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California Map Shows Where State Will Become Underwater From Sea Level Rise

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sailor-aviator · 7 months

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Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Reader

Warnings: Jake flirting, suggestive language, talk of theft, talk of hangings. I think that's it.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I know y'all have been begging for it, so here you go! Just a reminder to everyone that my 100 follower celebration is going on through the rest of the weekend, which means my ask box is open for requests of drabbles or just to talk about those fine af Top Gun men! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

If there was one thing you absolutely hated, it was the heat. You hated how it made you sweat. You hated how it made everything stick to you. Most of all, you hated how you could never seem to find any relief. You mulled over all of this as you stabbed into the dirt beneath your fingers, making a hole just big enough to plant your newly acquired seeds. Hondo had been excited to show you the new variety he had gotten in the previous morning, and you had eagerly purchased multiple packs.

Now, you were covered in dirt, sweat dripping down your brow. You leaned back, tilting your head towards the sky as you wiped your arm across your forehead. Your temples pounded from the exertion, and you were sure most of your hair had come out of the bun you had secured it in that morning.

Your mother had loved gardening, and she would always drag you outside to the small patch of land your father had set aside to do so. She taught you the different names of the flowers she kept and how to tend to the different vegetables.

“They’re just like people, Scout,” she had said with a smile, plucking a ripened tomato from the vine in front of her. She had handed it to you to put in the basket, and you had done so obediently. “Every single plant has different needs, and if those needs aren’t met, the plant can’t flourish.”

You hadn’t understood what she had meant by that, and you still weren’t sure you did as you kneeled on the ground. Sure, different species of plants needed different amounts of things like water or sunlight, but two tomato plants should be treated the exact same way in order to grow. You weren’t much of a gardener, however, but you had taken it upon yourself to continue to do it after she had passed. The thought of nothing growing when your mother had always worked so hard to make sure life was ever plentiful caused a pain in your chest and tears to prickle behind your eyes.

A low whistle caught you off guard, and you jumped. Snapping your head to the far side of the fence that surrounded your tiny garden, was none other than Jake Seresin.

“Well, aren’t you a vision?” he drawled, looking you up and down. You felt a different kind of heat rise on your cheeks as you fixed him with a scowl.

“What do you want, Jake?”

He pushed off from the side of the fence and casually strolled to where you had left the gate propped open. You moved to stand, attempting to brush the dirt off of your skirt in the process.

“Just thought I’d come and see how my best girl was doin’ today,” he said, shooting you a wink. Your lips pursed as you took him in.

“I’m not your girl,” you said finally, taking in the stubble that was starting to grow on his chin. “You need to shave.”

Jake hummed as you pushed past him and towards the barn. “You don’t like it? Martha told me last night while we were down at the saloon that she thought I should grow it out. Said it would make me look rugged.”

“Then grow it out,” you grumbled. “I really don’t care either way.”

Jake came up to your side and fixed you with a mirthful stare. “You don’t have an opinion at all on it?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That’s strange,” he chuckled. “Most girls have an opinion one way or the other. The ones who like their men clean shaven like it ‘cause it gives their men a nice, boy next door kind of charm that’s hard to resist. The ones who like a little growth, though…”

You opened the door to the barn, but Jake stepped in front of you, halting your movement. A sly grin had broken out on his face, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He was so close, you could smell the mix of smoke and and fresh linen on his clothes. It was an oddly comforting smell. His lips brushed against your ear and you felt a shudder run up your spine as he said, “they like how it feels against their skin when we’re alone.”

A beat of silence passed between you two before Jake pulled away from you slowly, looking at you with an amused smirk. You scowled up at him before pushing past him and into the barn.

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed, moving towards the ladder to the second floor where you kept the hay.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, darlin’,” he laughed as you began to climb the ladder. You looked over at him with a sour look, and he huffed another laugh. “I was talkin’ about whether or not you like your men clean shaven, sweetheart.”

“I really haven’t, Mr. Seresin,” you said as you hoisted yourself up onto the ground of the second floor. Jake followed you up the ladder and stopped when he saw you attempting to pick up a rather large bale of hay. He rushed to your side, grabbing it from your hands and walking over to the edge of the floor.

“I don’t need your help,” you protested. Jake threw the hay down onto the first floor with a loud thump and turned back to look at you with a scowl of his own.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, already moving to grab another bale, “you’re getting it.”

You huffed but allowed him to throw down the second bale. He turned to you as if to ask if he needed to get another one, and you shook your head. He allowed you to move down the ladder first before following suit. Once you two were on the ground floor, you moved to start dispersing the hay amongst the stables for the horses. You heard Jake scoff behind you, and before you could even touch the hay, you felt a pair of hands land on your waist.

“Jake!” you screeched as he picked you up. Turning with you in his arms, he sat you down on the workbench that had been shoved against one of empty stable doors. You moved to stand back up, but Jake shoved you down gently by your shoulders.

“Stay,” he commanded, giving you a look that left no room for argument. You huffed, but complied, watching him as he began to work.

“Does your brother know you’re doing all of this?” he grumbled.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course he does.”

“He hasn’t thought to hire any ranch hands?”

“He’s working on that part,” you mumbled. “Besides, it’s not like there’s much to do around here yet, and I am more than capable of doing it all for the time being.”

“Right,” Jake responded sardonically. “And when you keel over from exhaustion, then what?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Sure it won’t,” he said, throwing the last bit of hay into the final stall. He dusted his hands off and walked over to stand back in front of you. Placing his hands on either side of you, he leaned in so that his warm breath ghosted over your face. A smirk tugged on his lips. “So, do I get some kind of reward for helping you out today?”

“What is it you want?” you asked suspiciously, eyes flickering down to his lips momentarily.

“Let’s see,” he hummed, thumb stroking over the back of your hand where it rested on the table. He leaned in even closer. “I can think of a few things.”

“Don’t,” you said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jake moved away only slightly. “I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

“And what kind of idea would that be, pretty girl?” he smirked.

“The kind that can ruin my reputation.”

Jake scoffed out a laugh, and you frowned. “I’m serious, Jake. A woman’s reputation is all she has in this world.”

Jake studied you for a second. “I think you have more to offer this world than just your reputation, sweet girl.”

“Yes, well,” you stumbled, feeling your cheeks flush yet again from the intensity of his gaze. “You would be one of the few people to think so.”

“That’s a cryin’ shame,” he murmured, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, almost cupping your cheek as he stared at you. He really was so unfairly handsome.

“You should go,” you whispered, eyes darting between his own.

Jake stroked your cheek slowly. “Yeah? You sure you don’t want me to stay.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, almost breathlessly. Clearing your throat and shaking your head in an attempt to clear it, you said more firmly, “I mean, yes. I need to get ready for dinner at Maverick’s tonight.”

Jake gave one last stroke of his thumb to your cheek before pulling away completely. He fixed you with a mischievous grin. “Need any help getting ready?”

“Jake.”

“I’m only teasin’, pretty girl,” he laughed, already moving to leave the barn. Looking over his shoulder and back at you, he gave you one last wink. “Don’t be a stranger, Scout.”

Maverick and Penny’s home was humble, but no less spacious than your own. Maverick was a kind man with an air of assuredness about him that put any of your worries about your brother’s ranch at ease.

“I’ll help him every step of the way, y/n,” he said with a smile.

“Please, Maverick,” you had smiled back, “call me Scout.”

Two other men had joined your group for dinner that night - Sheriff Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and U.S. Marshal Beau “Cyclone” Simpson. Sheriff Kazansky was a quiet man, and you learned that he and Maverick had a friendship that spanned back decades.

“I wasn’t going to let this scoundrel found a town without someone there to make sure it didn’t all go to hell,” the sheriff had laughed. Maverick had rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at his old friend.

“I was a bit of a wild card back in those days,” he admitted.

“‘A bit’ is the understatement of the century,” laughed Kazansky before launching into a story about the time Maverick had taken it upon himself to go bull riding.

“So,” Penny had started once the laughter had died down. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company tonight, Mr. Simpson?”

The marshal finished chewing his food before answering. “Well, ma’am. I’ve been tasked with rounding up a group of wanted outlaws that have started making a name for themselves out here in the western territories.”

“Oh?” Maverick questioned, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead.

“Yes,” Simpson continued. “A group calling themselves “the Daggers,” in fact.”

You felt your blood run cold. Taking a steadying breath, you spoke up. “The Daggers, marshal?”

“Yes, miss. They’ve stirred up quite the ruckus over the past couple of years. They robbed a bank about a hundred miles north of here just a few months ago.”

“Really?” you breathed, setting your fork down. Simpson offered you a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, miss,” he said. “We’ll have in custody in no time.”

“So, what brings you here to our small town?” prodded Kazansky, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, the word is that this town is where they like to come and set up shop. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“If I did,” the sheriff smirked, “you’d be the first to know.”

“What do you plan on doing when you catch them?” you asked.

“We’re going to hang’em,” Simpson answered plainly. Your heart stopped, and you felt your eyes grow wide before you could stop them. You heard Penny’s breath catch and Maverick became eerily still as you all stared at the marshal.

Mr. Simpson, to his credit, seemed to grow uncomfortable at the sudden change in atmosphere. With a clear of his throat, the marshal stood and offered Penny a smile. “This was a mighty fine meal, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’ve got some work I need to be getting back to.”

“Of course,” Penny smiled. With a nod to the table, Beau Simpson turned and walked out of the house.

Maverick groaned, resting his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill those kids.”

“Pete,” Penny started, but he shook his head.

“I can’t keep bailing them out, Penny. I don’t know how many more favors I can call in.”

“I might have a few,” grumbled Kazansky. “But nothin’ I can guarantee.”

You gulped. “How many times have you had to rescue them?”

Maverick bit out a humorless laugh as Kazansky grimaced next to him.

“Enough times to where that’s how Jake earned the nickname ‘Hangman,’” Maverick stated, casting you a solemn look. You felt the color drain from your face. You weren’t sure why this whole situation made you feel sick. Perhaps it was due to the mentions of the gallows. You had seen hangings before, and you never understood the amusement people got from going to watch them. You found them horrible, feeling nauseous at the memories of the bodies as they writhed in the air.

“Are you alright, Scout?” Penny asked quietly, noticing the change in your demeanor. You took a deep breath and offered her a small smile.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you replied, turning to look back at Maverick who continued talking.

“That boy has been on the business end of a rope more times than I can count. I keep tellin’ him to keep his nose out of where it doesn’t belong, but does he listen to me?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“Maybe he just needs something to help keep him grounded and out of trouble,” Benjamin offered.

“Something,” Penny hummed, casting you a knowing glance, “or someone?”

Sheriff Kazansky let out a booming laugh as Maverick chuckled at his wife’s suggestion. “The day Jake Seresin hangs up his womanizing ways is the day I eat my hat,” he said, tone filled with mirth. Penny smiled knowingly.

“Would you like it stewed or fried, honey?”

“I’ll let the chef decide,” Maverick had scoffed. Penny looked like she was going to say something else, but you cut her off.

“Maverick, I wanted to talk to you about the children in this town.”

“What about’em?” he smiled.

“Well,” you started, “I noticed that they seem to be running around town all hours of the day. Shouldn’t they be in school?”

Maverick grimaced. “Yes, they should, but unfortunately we don’t have a schoolhouse, and we don’t have anyone who knows the first thing about teaching.”

“I see,” you murmured. Maverick offered you another smile.

“I promise, we’re working on it. Have you thought about teaching?”

“Goodness, no,” you laughed with a shake of your head. “I don’t think I’d have the patience for it.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied. “Well, I’ll guess we’ll keep lookin’ then.”

The rest of dinner passed by quickly, and before you knew it, both you and Benjamin were bidding farewell to the older couple.

“Come by anytime, you hear?” Penny called after you as you made your way home. Benjamin wished you a good night before retiring to his room, and for the first time that evening, you were left alone with your thoughts. You washed your face in the basin you kept in your room before quickly changing into your night dress. You cracked the window open in hopes that the cool, night breeze would offer your heated skin some relief. You snuffed out your candle and moved to lay in bed. Staring up at your ceiling, you couldn’t help but to think back to the conversation with Marshal Simpson. You thought about the things he said Jake and his friends had done.

“That man,” you growled to yourself. “That stupid, stupid man.”

You thought of how infuriating said man could be with his attempts at flirting, his snarky comments, his broad chest, his surprisingly soft fingers that held your cheek oh so gently…

You felt a burst of warmth pool in your stomach as you thought about how soft his lips had been on the shell of your ear, and how rough his stubble would feel pressed against your-

“Stop it,” you hissed at yourself, placing your pillow over your face and yelling into it. You laid there for a second, willing your thoughts to stop focusing on the man you were sure you hated more than anything. He was a scoundrel, after all. You placed your pillow back in its original position, closing your eyes with a deep breath. Sleep soon found you, dreams filled with green eyes and quiet sighs of your name falling from his lips.

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nitannichionne · 8 months

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Ransom's Redemption (Chris Evans Fanfiction), Chapter 22: Drinks & Dinner & Drinks (Ransom POV)

I am greeted by Callida and some other woman for dinner. The "dinner meeting" seems legit with her there, but the other woman is definitely for Paul's entertainment. We did discuss where to take pictures in the place, it was a photogenic site, and in winter, that's something. The pretty blonde named Rubia Fresa, which means "strawberry blonde" in Spanish. Her natural auburn streaks attested to her Scottish-Spanish descent, and she was pretty and young, just Paul's type. Rubia was nice enough, though, and could even keep up a conversation.

I missed Mimi, hints of wildflowers when she moved, how she strokes my back when I talk, and how when she is tired, she doesn't complain, she just puts her head on my shoulder and sighs. And when she wears those little nighties...

"Ran."

"Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted to start at the Design Lounge," Paul says, leaning forward. "All that red velvet, got that kind of sensual, mysterious feel to it."

"Yeah, I saw it on the website, looks good."

"We got night work and day work," she says. "I don't know about you, but I wanna get home."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I chuckle. "I hated leaving Mimi."

"Oh, that's right- you're married."

"Yeah."

"You two are still newlyweds, huh?"

"And with a baby on the way."

"Oh my God!" she hugs me. "Congrats!"

"Thanks," I smile.

Rubia sighs, "Wow, in love and married--"

"Yeah," Paul exhales, kissing her hand. "The town awaits, love." He rises. "Ready ?"

"Okay," she smiles brightly.

This leaves Callida and I alone, and we chuckle.

"Looking forward to tomorrow," she tells me.

"Yeah," I nod. "This money is going into the college fund."

"College fund?"

"Mimi's expecting," I tell her.

"Oh, my God!" she gasps and then hugs me. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," I smile.

"Planning the future?"

"We have two businesses, then I sell art and model here and there.'

"Busy." She is clearly impressed.

"Yeah, kinda," I shrug. "but it's worth it, can't wait for the end of probation."

"Paul told me about that."

"What did Paul tell you?"

"It's more of what I realized." She covers my hand with hers. "You're so happy," she gives a gentle smile. "And how you've really grown, Ransom. You've grown. I hope things work out with me and my boyfriend. He designs and makes furniture."

I smile at that. "Glad you're doing okay--" Suddenly the phone rings, and a melody plays. I smile.

"Oh, my God!" sha laughs.

"Yeah, we set each other's ringers," I shrug. "She won't tell me what the song is, and I know I've heard it before, but--" I laugh. "Hold on." I click on. "Hey, baby."

"Hi," Mimi says softly.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"I'm better," she sounds tired.

"Been hydrating, right?"

"Yeah, and I'm eating fine," she says softly. "I told you, I think the morning sickness is over."

My breath catches. She was dressed in a nice nightie before l left. Did she want me before I left? "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think so," She sniffs.

I take a deep breath, and on my exhale, I feel...horny. I'd been trying to wait, I had, but I didn't realize how much I wanted it till now, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. "Aw, babe."

"THere is a storm coming."

"Yeah?"

She giggles at my tone. "It looks pretty bad."

"Does it?"

She laughs. "I'm serious!"

"So...I should try to get home as soon as possible."

"Yeah."

I check my weather app. "Shit!" The big blurb moving and swirling is definitely headed for the eastern seaboard. "Global warming." I turn to Callida. "We need to do this, like yesterday."

"What?" Callida frowns over my phone.

"Who's that?" Mimi asks.

"The model I'm working with," I answer. "Callida."

"Oh, my God," Callida looks concerned. "We both need to get out of here. Anton is in London, waiting for me. We are supposed to go to Italy so I can meet his parents!"

I give a low whistle. "Whoa."

"Ran, we gotta get out of here!"

"Baby, I'm still at the lounge with Callida," I tell her. "We gotta get a plan together."

"Oh."

I hear her tone. It wasn't good. "We're just catchin' up."

"Well, I'll leave you to it," she sighs.

"As soon as I get upstairs, I'll call, okay?"

"Okay," she says softly.

"Love you, baby."

"Love you, too."

We click off and I sigh.

"She okay?" Callida asks.

I sigh again and shake my head. "I don't know. Pregnancy hormones, I don't know."

"Paul said this was a marriage of convenience."

"What?!" I couldn't believe he said such a thing. "No, no, we are childhood sweethearts. We were each other's first kiss."

"Wow."

I call Paul.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

"We want to start early," I tell him. "We want to shoot from sunrise to sunset."

"What?!"

"There's a snowstorm coming and we need to get out of here tomorrow night."

"Aw...okay, hey, guess who's in town?"

"Who?"

"Fiona."

"Fiona?"

"Yeah, she just sold her grandparents' condo, put that real estate license to use," he says happily. "Huge profit, she's having a party there."

"Oh, okay."

"You comin'?"

"I am getting up tomorrow morning for a shoot, Paul!"

"C'mon, stop by, at least."

"Paul--"

"Can't you congratulate Fi?"

I exhale. Checkmate. "For a few minutes."

"See ya there, Ran!"

He clicks off and I exhale. "I gotta go to--"

"Seal the deal?" Callida finishes. "Thanks, Ran."

That told me I was on my own. Great.

I hail a cab and call Mimi as soon as I get in.

"Hey!" I hear the smile in her voice.

"Hey."

"You don't sound like you're back in your room."

"HEading to a party--"

"A party?"

"Fiona sold her grandparents penthouse by Times Square," I blurt. "Paul is there, and I'm hoping to get him to come back with me so we can shoot all day and I can be home--"

"Oh."

I close my eyes and try to stay calm. "Seriously, baby."

"Okay."

It's not ha-ha funny how her monosyllabic answers feel like paragraphs. "I'm doing this so I can come home before the storm--"

"Why not postpone it?"

"Deadline."

"I see." She is quiet. "Good luck, then."

"Thanks, love you."

"Love you."

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