#"southern f

[that-one-random-writer]

Rowdy Romance

Masterlist | A Southern Jake Series Here

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x (Southern!F)Reader

Part 2

Summary: You are visiting with a friend and find yourself alone in the Hard Deck. You're both what he was expecting and not.

Warnings: Cursing, flirting, mentions of shotgun, bull riding, and one hunting reference to killing and preparing a deer. Word count: 1,291

The Hard Deck was full. The sun had dipped down below the water line. Your vacation had slowed down. Your friend had made plans with her husband. She was visiting while her husband was stateside.

He had been on deployment for the last year. You had come with her for moral support when you both would have to leave without him.

You found yourself at the beach during the day and spending your nights out sight seeing alone. You can't blame her for spending all her time with her husband.

The couple had just a few more months until he would be back home before being restationed. You weren't excited because she would be moving back out to wherever he was stationed, but at the same time you are excited for her.

You found yourself at the bar that all the locals raved about. Each store owner, that you had spoke to that day, all said that Friday nights were spent at the hard deck. You were at the bar sitting in one of the bar stools. A few locals, and khaki uniformed men had offered you a drink.

There was no interest. Daddy had always said "if he can't skin a deer then how is he gonna feed you when the government crumbles?" Old Southerners still remember the great depression and hold the doomsday prepping dear to their hearts.

You had noticed the sign and kept your phone off the bar. It laid in your back pocket of your dazzled jeans. They had rhinestones in the shape of bull heads. You had an old, tight wife beater top on that cropped a little above your belly button. You looked very out of place in San Diego. You caught a few eyes for that very reason.

The next pair to land on you leaned his arm against the wood beam. "You're from my neck of the woods. Miss, How'd you find yourself up here in California?" His drawl thick.

Your eyes caught sight of the mystery man looking up slowly. His khaki uniform definitely added a nice touch to the voice he carried. "I'm here for a friend of mine." You didn't go into too much detail.

"Well I'll have to thank your friend for sending an angel my way. Can I buy you a round as a welcome to California?" You smiled softly. "Jack on the rock." He smirked. "Your daddy must carry a shot gun wherever he goes for an order like that." He chuckled. "Yes sir, it's on the rack in his truck, or in his hands."

"Penny, can I get two jack on the rocks please?" She smiled. "Sure thing, hangman" your lips curl up. "Hangman... is that what your called round here" His classic smirk finds it's way toward you. "Yes ma'am. That's my call sign."

A small giggle erupts. "I'm not even gonna ask." His smirk still showing. "It's better that you dont." You break the touch barrier slapping his arm softly. "Honey don't say that. You'll make me want to know." Your Laughs strike between your words.

He grabs the two glasses from Penny. "Thank you, Miss Penny." You call out as she goes to the next customer. She smiles and waves as a you're welcome. "Come on, we're gonna go out by the beach." You follow him.

"I told you not to bet him dumbass." Pheonix chuckled at coyote. "Rooster had spent five minutes trying to serenade her, and the new guy tried buying her a drink too." Pheonix popped up. "Thanks for the piña coloda, FNG" pointing to the Fucking New Guy. Coyote continued. "She had walls up to the roof. There's no way he could have got her in 5 minutes flat."

Pheonix laughed resting her chin on her knuckles. "He just did." She scrunched her nose up. "He is an asshole but he is good at picking up women." She flicked a straw wrapper at Rooster chuckling at him. They all began playing pool, and the guys keeping a check on hangman judging his game, making bets on if you would end up going home with him by the end of the night.

Your eyes followed the shoreline, meeting up to the stars. Lights lined the edge of the patio. You stood at the rail leaning in to smell the saltwater, and hear the waves crashing. "Your Jack." He handed your drink to you. "So you know my name, what's yours?" You took a sip of your drink, and tell him your name. "But you can call me, Minnie. That's what they call me back home." You smile brightly.

"Where does that come from?" He leaned against the rail next to you. "Oh no no, if you want to know mine then you have to tell me yours, hangman." Eyebrow arched searching his eyes for a back story. He chuckled and flashed a genuine smile. "Well, I'm a pilot and we get call signs. They call me Hangman, but the 'a's are blank so you can fill them how you like. Thats how I got it." He looked down finishing the innuendo. You laugh wickedly.

"Hungman, How many California girls has that really worked on? How did you actually get that name?" His head shook, chuckling. "Okay, okay, my friends say I hang them out to dry in the sky. They are exaggerating, they're fine. I got their backs. What about you, Minnie?" He looks out to the ocean then back to your eyes.

"My family owns a farms in Texas. When I was about three, I walked around the farm in nothing but a diaper and Minnie hat. They called me 'Minnie', and it stuck." You giggled at the memories of the picture with chickens crowding around you with your Minnie hat on. "Texas? You around the Rusk area?" You nodded. "We're out in Lufkin."

"No way, my family has a pretty big cattle ranch out in Rusk. Small world." Your eyes widen. "The Seresin cattle ranch?" He almost spits out the sip he had just taken. "Umm," he chuckled through the next few words. "Yeah, that's it." He met your eyes again. "My family moved their farm to Lufkin about six years ago, we go to the rodeos and see your family there every year. I've been bucked off jóse a few times. We have had dinner over at their house. They mentioned they had a son in the navy. I'm guessing your Jake..." You trail your words.

"That's me." He chuckles, thinking about you riding on Jóse the bull. "Your momma is so proud of you. Your daddy is too." You smile thinking about how much his momma had to say about her baby jake. "She never got around to show me a picture, but she was very adamant that you are handsome and single." You took your stare back to the water to keep the burn of the cheeks down. "One of them is right.. " You trailed.

He placed a hand at the small of your back leaning against the rail with his other arm. Your bare skin tingling where his hand was. "Both of them are." He smirked while glancing down your curves. "I'm guessing these California girls ain't amounting to what you thought they'd be." He spoke slowly while playing with the hem of your shirt. "No ma'am, they are not." Your eyes met his, and you rounded into his arms and placed your hand on his shoulder.

He leaned up, allowing him to pull you closer to him, his arms wrapped around you. Your southern drawl thickened. "Well, I guess you better find yourself a cowgirl." Your Eyebrow raised, and a smirk crossed your lips. "I think I found one."

No permissions to share the story as your own. Do not repost to any site. Don't steal from aspiring authors that makes you a 'C U Next Tuesday'!

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I just said "oil" outloud because I'm making bacon and now I'm losing my mind because I did the thing of the "hahaha southerners pronounce 'oil' funnily they just can't say that word!!" And I just. OIYOL. OIYOL. NOT OUHL.

The pain and perjuries of only sometimes having a Southern accent and it only coming out and particular moments.

I'm amusing myself thinking about my non-southern F/Os reacting to my occasional pronunciation of words and sentences. Nonethless when it comes out more strongly like that.

[chambergambit]

"As I flipped through the pages I realized, my God, it's all scenes of [Nazi] occupied Paris. And I knew I'd found a treasure," she says. "And then I read the little note in the front. 'If you find this album,' it said, 'take care of it and have the courage to look at it.' I thought, someone sent a message in a bottle and I just found it." But there was no indication of who had taken the pictures, and with good reason. During the German Occupation of France, the Nazis strictly prohibited outdoor photography; taking pictures without an official permit was punishable by imprisonment or death. Colaux told NPR she felt compelled to learn who had snapped the mysterious photographs. So she called her friend Philippe Broussard, an investigative journalist with the respected daily newspaper, Le Monde. Together, they embarked on a four-year search for the unknown photographer.

Fascinating article, highly recommend.

[partisan-by-default]

The search for the unknown photographer began in the summer of 2020, with the discovery of an old photo album at a flea market in the town of Barjac, in the south of France.

Documentary producer Stéphanie Colaux had long enjoyed looking through old photos, haggling over the price of an album and imagining the stories behind the weddings and birthdays of the everyday past.

But this time she found something extraordinary and precious —and it came with a challenge.

"As I flipped through the pages I realized, my God, it's all scenes of [Nazi] occupied Paris. And I knew I'd found a treasure," she says. "And then I read the little note in the front. 'If you find this album,' it said, 'take care of it and have the courage to look at it.' I thought, someone sent a message in a bottle and I just found it."

Inside the album were 377 black-and-white photos taken between 1940 and 1942. They included street scenes with civilians and ubiquitous German soldiers, going about the business of Occupation near some of the most recognizable landmarks: Montmartre, the Place de la Concorde or the Champs-Elysées.

[suntuusita]

What inspired the choice of her name?

There's been some variations of her name but the idea is similar. When I first created Mer, it was Mireille—a French name that meant "to admire (mirèio)" which came from the Provençal dialect. It stuck around for a good bit, I enjoyed it, everyone enjoyed it, but then...the light bulb lit up.

Since m/o/naco is located near southern f/rance, it made sense to me that she would co-exist with the language alongside with m/onégasque. So the name Mirèlha came into existence as it was the alternative spelling for Mireille--the kicker is, that this name was invented by a French poet in the 1860s soooo (my) Mirèlha really did not adopt that name until way afterwards. It's most likely that she saw the name, went 'hell yeah', and adopted the spelling.

Prior to that, her name flip-flopped a bit depending who she was with at the time. For most of her life, she followed the Italian spelling and saying of her name as she resided in Italy most of her youth. Mirella was the name she was adopted with (Genoa had some part in this for her). Once she came under French rule, she adopted the French spelling and saying of her name--thus she was called Mireille for a hot minute.

Her middle name was just a funny given since she's right near the Mediterranean sea. Though, if you really want to get into it is, the name was inspired by the Greek God of the river ocean, the Mediterranean sea being one of them.

And finally...Biancheri. It's an Italian surname which just means "blank" or "white." It's an alternative to Bianchi, which means the same thing. It's stuck with her because it's italian, but if you try (from an American perspective), it can sound French. It's a popular name in the region she grew up, so it just a nice connection to have.

She goes by the nickname Mer, Mél, and Mira. Genoa, Seborga (her twin), and Italy tend to call her Lela as a childhood name. She's honestly very fond of Lela but that's only within "family". Everyone else just calls her Mer.

[guerrerense]

Kansas City Southern - Shreveport, LA por d.w.davidson Por Flickr: Happy Friday! Kansas City Southern F-units in the engine terminal at Deramus Yard at Shreveport, on October 1, 1986.

[floridensis]

this Phyla/Lippia stoechadifolia, southern f(r)ogfruit, was mislabelled as Phyla nodiflora, turkey-tangle f(r)ogfruit.

Phyla nodiflora is THE native groundcover lawngrass replacement. all-star. you gotta have it.

this kind, though..... it spreads just as much as everyone's favorite groundcover, which is a lot, but as you can see by the one in the pot, it maybe doesnt like to stay crawling on the ground like it. its a BEAST. in no time that little potted plant will be a sprawling monster 2-3 feet tall and as wide as it can manage, and even taller if it can climb on something. and it WILL climb. its also got way thicker stronger stems!

i love my beast but i would love it a whole lot less if i planted it thinking it was the dainty little groundcover. i hope its posture makes it obvious to buyers that its not actually that one. i have to say im a little disappointed that the tropical audobon plant sale made such a mistake

the consolation if you bought that hoping for the little one is that you can find the little groundcover one literally anywhere and everywhere. its probably impossible for you to look on the ground and not see any. but this big beast is rare and endangered! another reason i wish it was properly labelled......

[reasoningdaily]

Mystery uncovered of photographer and forbidden photos of Nazi-occupied France : NPR

[that-one-random-writer]

That's My Kind Of Night Chapter: 1 |Complete|

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x (Southern!F)Reader word count: 1,932

Summary: Jake takes leave and goes back to Texas. His friend is now married with a woman. This woman's friend gets under his skin and he loves it.

Warnings: cussin', flirtin', heavy banter, angst, mentions of a lot of southern recreations in this series, Sexual tension. Mature

Southern Chronicles Masterlist

Jake throws a bag in the back of his truck. He hopped in the driver's side. It roars to life, sending vibrations all through the cab. He pulls out of the driveway and sends a text to let the boys know he's heading out.

Hangman is on leave for a month. There is a party with some of his life-long friends and their new women. Jake had stopped to grab a couple of cases of beer. It was going to be a night like his younger years.

The group is meeting at the lake. Four wheelers will be muddy, Beers will be passed around, swimming in the lake, the ladies might even start mud wrestling in the pit, and of course, ending the night with a bonfire.

Jake parked the truck next to a few of his buddies out in the pasture. He hopped out and grabbed his things. "Jake!" Blake yelled out. They grabbed hands and pulled each other in, then out for a quick hug. The two friends hadn't seen each other in quite some time.

"Man, it has been a minute. How have you been?" Jake happily greeted Blake. He had joined the Army, while Jake had opted for the Navy. They looked polar opposite. Blake's black hair contrasting to the lighter shade of Jakes. The brown eyes are much different to Jake's seafoam green.

"I've been great, man. Missions have been a little out there, but nothing I can't handle." Blake had an ego, but not near as mighty as Jake's.

"I know the feeling, man. I've saved a couple of lives myself." He chuckled deeply and puffed up ever so slightly. "I'm one of the few that have had confirmed air to air kills. I was the only one, but a few of my coworkers had a stroke of luck." His face beaming with pride.

"Good on you, man!" Blake exclaimed. Clapping his shoulder. "Hey, come on. Come meet my old lady. She is hell on wheels. Her friend ain't much better. They are firecrackers."

Jake nodded. "Show me the way home, Blake." Blake's chuckle bellowed. The roots showed in the women in Fightertown.

They just weren't quite like the southern belles of Texas. It was quite noticeable when the pair came into view of the tracks. Two women stood tossing handfuls of mud at one another. He could tell they were playfully bickering.

They were both covered in dirt, wet, and dried. Their pants were tight on top and boot cut loose to fit their boots on the bottom. Their tank tops matched with one wearing pink and the other wearing purple. He could barely tell a difference with all the mud. The pair of women were definitely about to start wrestling. They both laughed as one tackled the other. "You'd better not." The girl that pounced said. The one on the ground that had been tackled looked up and noticed the men at the other side of the track about 30 feet.

" Ooo Honeybee, look at what we have here." She was shouting to you, the pouncer, with the nickname you had been graced with years ago. "You must be Jake. I'm Vanny, The new Mrs." She held out her hand.

Jake took it softly in his and winked at her. "Very nice to meet you, Vanny." Vanny blushed. "Blake, honey, you are right about him being a charmer." She smiled back at her husband.

Vanny then introduced you by name, "but everybody calls me Honeybee." You cut her off before she could add anything too embarrassing and smiled politely at the handsome stranger. You held out your hand as well and had a tight grip while you shook his hand.

Jake kept his poker face but was surprised at the firm grip. Expecting the delicacy Vanny had shown.

"She stings a little." Vanny made reference to your nickname. "You'll get adjusted to it Jake. From what I hear, you're a bit of a biter too." Vanny spoke up again. She giggled as Jake looked up at Blake with an eyebrow arched. Blake had told her he had a bit of a mouth on him, even Jake himself couldn't disagree. "Ooo Blake baby, look at the time, drive me up to the dock. We've a party to get ready for. Honey bee, why don't you let Jake drive you up to the house to grab the stuff."

You giggled brightly. "That's funny, Van." You had started making your way back to the four-wheeler following the pair.

"Im driving!" He calmy made his way to the four-wheeler. He started strapping his bag and beers down. You looked that man up and down. Appreciating how this man looked. His body was sculpted. His biceps are far too big for that tiny shirt. It was enough to make you crumble. "No, you're not." You called back to him, wrapping your legs around the seat. He raised an eyebrow. Looking up from the straps. "I'll tell you what doll face. You get to ride in the front." He hopped on behind you. You could feel his body press against yours, your ass pressed so close to him. His minty breath was so cool against your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

"You just better hold on, Darlin."" He whispered softly. This man was gonna get you in trouble.

He had grown up around Blake's family lake house. He knew the trails like the back of his hand. He drifted down the side of the path, cutting off Blake.

You held up a bird passing Vanny. Your irritation materialized. She's giving this man ideas. Vanny wiggled her fingers to wave you off. She knew what she was doing. The couple already decided that they wanted to play Cupid in your life. You had been mad at first. You're starting to rethink your emotions, seeing him up close and feeling him so close to you. You're hard-headed, so you'll still give her hell about it later. "So you know where you're going?" You yelled over the engine.

"I've been here as long as I can remember." He yelled back over the loud vibrations.

"Good, can you take me down by the campsite. I left some things down there." He took a turn down a trail, and you knew he heard you.

The four-wheeler stopped once the tents were in front of you. "You had a whole lake house, and yall camped last night?" He leaned back to make room for you to hop off.

"Yeah, a bed isn't the same as a hammock. Im out here any chance I get." You walked to your hammock and grabbed your gun, slipping it in the holster on your belt. You put your ball cap back on your head. It was distressed and had the words Mama tried on the front in bold letters.

"Don't worry, I took a shower this morning." You called back with a laugh, grabbing a couple of other blankets, lighter fluid, and matches.

"It sure don't look like it." He chuckled, looking at your mud covered curves. He had to admit, those jeans definitely complimented you well. Especially when you bent down. The mud was accentuating all the rounded edges.

"And you look like you just hopped out of a Barbie doll box, Ken." You put everything on the back of the four-wheeler strapping it down. Then leaned against it. "Blake made it seem like you're more G.I. Joe, the way he talked about you." You got back on in front of him. You made a dramatic sad face. "Bless your heart, Malibu Barbie must have had her way with you..." Your voice got much softer into a whisper. "One too many makeup testers at the beauty shop." You giggled softly at the banter.

Jake smirked and looked up at you. "Honey, G.I. Joe is scared of me."

You matched his smirk. "Prove it..."

He turned his attention the trail and then pressed the gas, knocking you back into his chest. He made sure to hit the mud puddles a little harder, causing mud to splatter all over the pair. "How's that for a Ken doll?" He called over the engine.

He drifted and parked right in front of the house. You both made your way to the door. He opened the door and held it open for you. "You look better." You patted his chest and complemented the mud on his clothes, walking through the door. Your eyes lifted with your smile.

You walked into the kitchen and leaned against the kitchen counter. Cool air blasted from the A/C. Confidence seeping out of Jake's aura, he followed behind you. "Tell me about yourself, Y/N." He glanced around the house. It was just like he remembered. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer in the fridge. You took it in your hand as he offered it to you. He grabbed one for himself. You popped the top.

"Well, I'm 27, and I own a hair salon in town." You started. Then, you paused to take a sip. "What about you? Tell me about the life of a handsome ken doll."

Jake smirks and leans against the door frame. His elbow is against the frame, placing his hand behind the nape of his neck. His biceps filling up the tight sleeve of his tee shirt. You didn't hide that you were checking him out as your eyes dragged to where his shirt lifted. "I'm a naval aviator. I've had two air strike kills in the past six months." His chest puffed. "We've been on some pretty crazy missions here lately. A lot of classified information. I'm thinking about taking an instructor position I've been offered. The school is up in California."

You were impressed but held the poker face. You giggled to yourself when he stopped at California.

"I knew I smelt malibu Barbie on you..." you muttered giggling, you then spoke back up continuing,"Naval aviator, That sounds like a dangerous career. My momma would smack me if I didn't thank you for your service." He nodded his head, acknowledging the appreciation. "I guess I stand corrected. G.I. Joe might just be shaking in his boot. When you're back in California, make sure to say 'hello' to your girlfriend Barbie in the dreamhouse for me."

He stiffled a laugh from exiting his plump lips. "I'm still waiting for a Barbie to complete my collection. I do have the dream house, though. I just bought it about a month ago. If you ever want to take a vacation in San Diego, let me know. You can come play Barbie with me. You have a G.I. Joe, that might be scared of me? "

You bit your lip, looking him up and down. You placed both hands on the counter, leaning forward comfortably. Your chest is displayed with a glow from the sweat and mud. "I'm not a Barbie Doll type, and G.I. joes dont quite do it for me. I need something a little more intimidating, " You whispered softly.

The teasing was very tempting. His eyes shifted down to where cotton didn't cover. The glow was so inviting. His smirk raised back to his face when he met your eyes again. He was lost for word. Your teasing had got him. You had won in his mind, and that both infuriated him and intrigued him. Especially when that just confirmed your relationship status to be single. The only words he could muster came out in a low growl. "I think I know a guy."

CHAPTER 2

Tumblr ate my post. 😒 Trying this again...

No permissions to share the story as your own. Do not repost to any site. Don't steal from aspiring authors that makes you a 'C U Next Tuesday'!

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

"Broussard says this is more than just a story about about one man taking pictures during World War II.

"As I flipped through the pages I realized, my God, it's all scenes of [Nazi] occupied Paris. And I knew I'd found a treasure," she says. "And then I read the little note in the front. 'If you find this album,' it said, 'take care of it and have the courage to look at it.' I thought, someone sent a message in a bottle and I just found it." @NPR

[sitonmyfacelikeagoodgirl]

Mystery uncovered of photographer and forbidden photos of Nazi-occupied France : NPR