#omaha preferences

[morelikesin]

♥️ The Queen of Hearts and the King of Clubs ♣️

-

I was gonna write a short blurb but. Dios mío I got too deep in the paint. Because of that the writing will be under the cut mwah

♥️ The Queen of Hearts ♥️

The clattering of chips rang a little uncomfortably in his ears, but Max would be remiss to not acknowledge that that wasn't always a bad thing with him.

Besides, he wasn't going to be pushed out of the pot just yet - regardless of what Tycho thought.

Above everything else, the Heavy's quiet tut and unconvinced glance down at the flop, and Strong Bad's low "Ohh-kayyy..." pumped full of uncertainty, Max was playing for one thing - the poker princess leaning on the table looking like a meal and dessert beside him being his greatest motivation right now.

"If I know my little buddy, he can pull a miracle out of anything," Sam reassured him, all sweet and deep even if he knew deep down Max was holding out for something wildly not in his favor.

The deck was taken into Tycho's hands so he could deal the turn, though it didn't come with some thoughts of his own: "And lemme guess, eye candy: that "anything" is none of my damn business?"

Where Sam had made an amused snort, Max felt his expression stiffen and his mouth pull into a grimace. Eye candy?

The turn ended up being a 6 of hearts.

Sam sure as hell was - Max threw half of his chips in with an angry fist - and part of himself was complimented, knowing what a dime his puppy was - Tycho actually called him, the prick - and it wasn't like him and Sam didn't normally like the attention they got - and now the river was a 6 of diamonds - because God knows that there's a bit of ego boosting in having a total babe on your hip-

"All in."

Strong Bad immediately whistled, and Tycho, much to Max's delight, looked utterly bemused. The quiet and pensive hum Sam had made was all the lagomorph was playing for at this point - and maybe a good dose of shoving it in Tycho's face.

And just like he figured, Tycho called him with a sense of strangely-confident confusion because what could Max possibly have, right?

Cards face up, Max.

Tycho's hand was a pair of kings made with his hole cards and the flop; Max's hand was three of a kind sixes made with his hole cards, the turn, and the river.

"You're fucking kidding me."

Max's laughter was loud and his holding out on a dream never tasted so sweet - besides maybe the enthused "Suck on runner runner!" Sam had remarked in the wake of his winnings.

Eye candy.

Taking Sam's hand into his, he kissed his knuckles, and thereafter the man had rested his hand on top of Max's shoulder.

Yeah, he knows.

♣️ The King of Clubs ♣️

Brock's wrist twisted gently, stirring the contents of his whiskey on the rocks - contemplative and unexpectedly hesitant. The flop was a jack of spades, a 9 of hearts, and a 10 of hearts; the turn was a 5 of hearts. "What'd'ya got? If it's another case a' hole pocket rockets, I'm gonna' make a case t' skip past you bein' dealer the rest of the tourney."

Against his better judgement, eyes narrowing as he studied the flop as if it would change with enough willpower, Brock bet a healthy sum. The decision, however, came with a sigh.

"'Pocket Rocket' is my second favorite thing t' call Sam on a Friday night; right after 'Good b-'"

Sam was quick to shut Max up with a call being thrown towards the main pot - Ash and his sentient arm had long since gone all in with what little he had left. That chattering, snorty laugh Max had made upon the man's sudden bravado was profit enough for him tonight; not that he'd say no to being a couple thousand dollars up and a victory pampering; though, Max could probably benefit from making his staring into his unbuttoned collar less overt.

Willing himself to not smile, puffing at his cigar - it sure wasn't a Regius Double Corona, but it got the job done enough - Sam grabbed the deck again and put out the river: a two of diamonds.

The man across from him was a hell of a guy to read. His hand, fingertips holding the rim of his glass, swirling the melting ice and liquor, was about his only read besides maybe his strong brow. Despite it all, unfortunately.

Brock was slower to toss a bet in this round. That was all Sam needed.

One self-assured call later, and Sam was working with a jack high heart flush: his hole cards were a 2 and jack of hearts. Brock worked with a 10 of spades and a 5 of diamonds, making two pair.

The frustration when the man knocked back the rest of his whiskey was palpable - and so were the chips underneath Max's hand being corralled his way.

"That's an extra treat for you tonight, big girl," was the praise of choice coming out of Max's mouth, and for some reason Sam didn't mind the publicity of it all too much right now.

[embersareout9]

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE ALL YOU LITTLE FUCKS

Anyway here's just an idea i had about the dagger ducklings and mavdad/Icepops. I feel like Ice prefers Christmas Eve to Christmas day. (I really really like the idea of Ice being Jewish and celebrating both Hanukkah and Christmas). Christmas Eve is when all of the ducklings (And flyboys) come over for a Christmas eve dinner. Ice cooks (obviously), and Mav gets in the way (again, obviously), and nobody would have it any other way. They always watch Charlie Brown Christmas, and Mav keeps trying to get them to watch Die Hard (because "Iceeeee it takes place during Christmas how is it not a Christmas movie). This has been a years-long debate in the Mitchell-Kazansky House. (For the record, Mav, Bradley, Pheonix, Fanboy, and Omaha are staunchly on the side arguing that is it, Everyone else does not agree).

They also exchange presents, because not all of the daggers will stay for Christmas day. (Mav gives the most elaborate presents)

[radio-ghost-cooks]

hi tumblr, your friendly neighborhood culinary student here! the inaugruation luncheon menu is perhaps the single most politically-charged menu i've ever laid eyes on, and i want to deconstruct it. so without further ado:

a culinary student's analysis of the 2025 Inaugural Luncheon Menu

First course: Chesapeake Crab Cake with tomato tartar[e], bay sauce, pickled vegetables, romanesco, dill, and chive oil

right off the bat, we're presented with a single-option menu, which from an event planning (and thus business, which i'm majoring in) standpoint is already a horrible choice. it's also very indicative of Trump's view on choice. my way or the high way, even if its impossible for you. it's immediately alienating people with a shellfish/seafood allergy. this is going to be a common trend here. (also, note the misspelling of "tartare." tartar is a mayo-based sauce. tartare is a finely chopped vegetable dish, which the tomato element is far more likely to be.)

Second course: Greater Omaha Angus Ribeye Steak with Thumbelina carrots, broccoli rabe, carrot top herb sauce, red wine truffle jus, and potato gratin

this course is the most obvious display of values. we start with the omaha steak. statistically, men (however my professor is defining "men") are more likely to prefer steak to other meats, while women (however my professor is defining "women") are more likely to prefer lighter proteins like chicken or fish. it's very in-line with actions taken against women's rights and reproductive health, like the removal of resources.

similarly, this also declares a support of the beef livestock industry, which is the most negatively-impactful sector of the food and beverage industry on the climate. for years, there's been a push to promote alternative meats or make more plant-forward dishes to reduce the impact of beef farming. this is the exact opposite of that. the meat draws the attention in this menu.

this also excludes anyone who cannot eat red meat, or follow diets that exclude it for health, environmental, or political reasons.

then we move to the jus, which is a sauce made primarily using the juice lost in the pan during the cooking process of a meat, normally beef or veal. in this instance, it's combined with red wine and truffles, both viewed as luxurious foodstuffs by most. the dish radiates the vibe of a classic steakhouse dish. very "i'm so high-class, look at me! i'm protein-heavy and full of fancy things!" a very plain meal under a veneer of costly ingredients and percieved value.

Third course: Minnesota Apple Ice Box Terrine with sour cream ice cream and salted caramel

my immediate question, as someone who grew up in NY, is why they went with Minnesota apples as opposed to NY apples when NY is far more known for the fruit. the answer is quite simple. Trump doesn't like NY. NY voted against him, so they chose another state's apples. (this isn't to say that Minnesota apples are lesser than NY ones at all. it's simply a matter of expectation when NYC is the Big Apple and cideries litter the local landscape.)

and again we see the exclusion of those with dietary restrictions with the sour cream ice cream. good luck to anyone in attendance with a dairy allergy or lactose intolerance.

and lastly, a note on the wines. all four were from the USA. not a French or Italian or just generally foreign one in sight. two of the four were California wines, likely as a nod to his Silicon Valley friends. the other two were Virginia and New Mexico.

the menu overall reinforces what we've already seen: a highlight on the rich, the exclusion of anyone who isn't a cishet white man, and even then alienation of anyone who isn't physically flawless. this is fascism in a menu.

[aisling-saoirse]

Plant Profile: American Sycamore - Platanus occidentalis

No hot summer day at the creek would truly feel right without the solid white trunks of this wonderful species clinging to eroded banks. I've covered American Sycamore before but with winter coming it's the perfect time to spot their ghostly branches

The American Sycamore is a resilient fast growing yet strong wooded river's edge tree that can reach staggering sizes. The tree itself is easily recognized for its flakey bark that turns solid white as it stretches up into the branches with browns/greys/green splotches throughout. Sometimes called Buttonwood for it's seed ball fruit which are present throughout the winter, inside is full of fuzzy windblown seeds; as a kid I didn't know this and used to plant the balls in the ground whole, I never got a tree from it. The leaves are palmate, maple-like, typically more solid form yet a little pointed, staying light green and changing to a vibrant orange in the fall. These leaves can reach comically large sizes (See my hand compared to one below) and are also one of the preferred food sources for riverine invertebrates. The flowers are similar to the fruit, essentially rounded balls usually reddish in color which can be either male (erect stalks) or female (lax stalks) on the same tree.

P. orientalis (Aka Old World Sycamore) and London Plane (a horticultural hybrid between both species P. occidentalis × P. orientalis) are the closest trees visually to American Sycamore. If you're in the American east you won't really see the Eurasian Old World Sycamore, it's a Mediterranean species, you'll see London plane which usually has more shades of dull grey/tan brown/yellows in the bark (see image 4 below). Leaves of the London Plane are smoother, more distinct and flatter where the stem connects to the leaf (it looks like a norway maple leaf), P. occidentalis has its bottom two pinates stick out more at a sharper angle making the stem look further centered in the leaf (Image 3 above). Lastly the London Plane and Old World Sycamore usually have seed balls that come in pairs (just like us!) while American Sycamore has solitary fruit.

Native to the Eastern United States, the American Sycamore has a very large natural range. Reaching it's Northern most extent at the northern border of Massachusetts west to the Missouri River in Omaha, South to East Texas into San Antonio with a southeastern most range in (barely) Northern Florida. This tree is most commonly found in riparian zones or on alluvial river banks, best known throughout the Piedmont, sometimes in locations or elevations one would not expect. I've spotted it in Appalachia in Georgia and the Adirondacks of New York, on mountaintops in Pennsylvania and in Texas valleys, it can also grow as far south as Mexico.

In the many cities, Sycamore and the more common London plane (shown on a West Philadelphia street Image 5 below) grow so large they choke the sidewalk and cover our avenues. It can be tolerant of salt, drought, heat, and flooding. It has characteristics of early successional floodplain species without the weak wooded downsides. Sycamore grows fast, lives long and reach massive proportions (Image 6 is the largest Sycamore in CT, image by Marty Aligata) it's not unusual to find giants on historic colonial properties.

Culturally I can think of no better tree that captures that homey feeling of southern Pennsylvania better than a Sycamore. Those twisting shallow streams framed by massive pale branches dotted with lime green leaves floating gently in a humid breeze. Famed painter Andrew Wyeth in his painting "Pennsylvania Landscape" thought of no better tree to represent this better than our Sycamore, though he called it 'Buttonwood'. (Image 7 below courtesy of the Brandywine art museum) Most of my images come from the same Brandywine river of which the Wyeths based their studio (I liked hiking in Chester county).

Ecology: The American Sycamore is rather important within it's range, the root systems often prevent erosion along stream banks (see Image 1). The tree serves as nesting/dens for a variety of bird and mammals species as interior cavities are common on living trees. The tree is host to multiple moth species. The fallen leaves of American sycamore are some of the more common food sources for stream based invertebrates, second only to American ash species (Fraxinus) which have a low tannin leaf content.

Sycamore are often a pioneer species on disturbed floodplain sites, however, it will not disappear from these communities like typical early succession species as it can live an extremely long lifespan. The fast growth capabilities allow it to survive into later stages of succession and will outlive any competition. It has the third fasted growth rates of any eastern species, loosing only to Cottonwood and Black willow (both short-lived). Older Sycamores can grow massive, develop multiple trunks, grow sideways, and survive getting hit by a house in flood waters (Image 8 above along the Brandywine). I really can't emphasize enough this tree is a survivor.

In Appalachia studies have shown that Sycamore may be a useful species to grow in reclaimed coal mining sites due to its low leaf browse and growth rates (doi.org/10.1016/j.foreco.2010.11.018). Unfortunately the tree tends to also capture a lot of heavy metals in its leaf content.

Uses: Primary commercial uses for sycamore are for pulpwood, veneer, and butcher blocks. I was told as a scout that you can drink the sap as purified water in an emergency however I've seen people do this with cottonwoods and vomit, so I won't recommend. My indigenous peers don't have sycamore where they live so I have nothing to report on Indigenous relationships which I typically cover. This may be because the wood also rots easily, it is not edible and so its uses are limited.

Propagation: American Sycamore is super easy to propagate, In late autumn after leaf fall try to take a cutting from a young branch and place it in the ground. They can take without rooting hormone and can easily grow to 6' in a few years. The seeds are also reliable but have lower viability.

Landscape Value: I've beat to death the point that I love this tree and it will remain beautiful for centuries likely outliving us all. Sycamore has excellent form (image 9) and fast hardy growth, but has three suburban downsides: it can displace sidewalk, its shedding bark, and introduced disease. Plane Anthracnose Disease, a European pathogen, is affecting this species in the Northern portion of it's range. This won't often kill a sycamore but will form unsightly defoliation and cankers causing a 'witches broom' cluster of new growth branches. Londonplane is resistant to this disease however it does not have the same ecological value to the lower area of the food chain. This however has caused the American sycamore to become less common in nurseries.

So this has been my piece on the American Sycamore, look around your rivers and streams for those distinct white branches, pick up a sapling if you want a fast growing hardy native. Happy hunting :)

[unseededtoast]

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Twenty Two

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross posted on my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those formats. Here is a link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted.

"But that night you got hurt, I enjoyed killing them. I liked hearing them die in front of me, their blood staining my hands."

Joel and I don't stay in the town for another night, we continue on. Our pace is slower than what I've become accustomed to, but Joel's wound isn't completely healed yet. The two of us have been silent after our discovery, Joel didn't have anything to say after I declared my death threat. No, instead of saying anything, he just handed me the photos and nodded solemnly.

With the two of us getting closer and closer to Omaha, I find myself feeling appreciative of Joel's slower pace. This gives us opportunities to find things we may have otherwise missed. And it also gives me more time with him. Since his near-death experience, I find myself trying to memorize the way his eyes shine golden in the sunlight, the way his voice sounds in the morning, how his shirt clings to the broadness of his shoulders, just small details. The small details are the ones I know will fade first, and I want to be able to hold onto them for as long as possible.

I know this to be fact because I can no longer quite remember what Ryan's voice really sounded like, and I can't quite remember just how soft Lucas' hair was. The simple things about them have slowly faded from my mind without me realizing it, until I thought about them one day and could never truly remember. I've never been able to forgive myself for forgetting, and I know I don't want to forget these things about Joel. After all, he's the man who has kept me alive all this time.

A part of me wishes I could be there when he's reunited with his pseudo-daughter. I wonder if he's going to tell her about this, or never mention it to her at all. She would have no idea I exist, or that Joel and I took this trip together. I know Joel is trying to protect her from the people of this world due to her immunity, so it makes sense if he never tells her about any of this. She's still a child at the end of the day, and no child should hear that there's a bunch of crazed men out there trying to find and kill them. Even if she never knows about me, or any of this, I know I'll still be able to rest peacefully at night with the knowledge that I helped protect her.

"This okay for tonight?" We stop walking as Joel points out a small, run-down gas station. It's likely the only building for miles, and so I agree to stop here for the night.

As we set up our makeshift camp, I continue to think about the girl waiting for him back in Wyoming. After hours of on-the-road thoughts, I can't help but to be fascinated with someone who is immune. It's glaringly obvious that she's one of a kind. Sure, I've known for a while that she's immune, but I think it just took some time to process it, to really understand what it means and the ramifications of it. But mostly, I just want to know how it happened. What caused her to be immune and why it's not being replicated anywhere else, that we know of.

My eyes follow Joel's form as he starts the fire for the night, my thoughts anywhere but the present. I watch how he situates the flammable material while wondering what his life is like in Wyoming and if he's excited to be back. Obviously, he's probably eager considering he's got family waiting for him. He lights the fire and the amber glow illuminates his features in soft light. His eyes look warm and inviting, the curve of his nose beautifully adorns his face with unique character, the plumpness of his lips reflect with the drink of water he just took. As if he feels my eyes lingering on him, he looks over and meets my gaze.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, shifting back from the fire a few feet as it takes flame. My eyes dance between him and the fire, debating if I should confess or not.

"I um, I've just been thinking about a lot of things." It's not a complete lie, I guess. Orange flames rise and dissipate, crackling in front of us.

"About what? You've been quiet since this morning." Instead of confiding in him my most recent thoughts, I decide to unload the other thing that's been bothering me for a while now, since he was stabbed. With a sigh and a quick lick of my lips, I tell him my moral dilemma.

"I've never been one to enjoy taking a life. Didn't like it when I was on FEDRA gate duty, and I didn't like it when we ran into the Fireflies. But that night you got hurt, I enjoyed killing them. I liked hearing them die in front of me, their blood staining my hands. And I've been having these thoughts of what it's going to feel like to kill these people. It's almost anticipatory." Our eyes stay locked on one another as I speak, my words quiet and somber. With a shaky breath, I continue,

"And I'm not sure what that makes me. Am I really any different from them if I look forward to killing?" My throat constricts, like my body doesn't want me to voice my fear. The silence between us is palpable and dread grows in me with each second Joel doesn't say something. Not being able to handle the criticism when he opens his mouth, I focus on the fire.

"Doesn't make you a bad person, if that's what you're worried about." He finally speaks, and his words catch me off guard, the total opposite of what I was expecting.

"Then what does it make me? Because it isn't good." My voice cracks. I know it's not fair to be asking him these questions, but, I can't stop from asking them. He shifts his weight to his other side and leans forward slightly, looking deeper into my eyes and I fear if he looks too hard he'll be able to see right into my soul.

"Makes you human. Means you have purpose, something worth protecting. Or, in your case, a ledger to balance." There is no trace of anything but authenticity as he speaks, his words settling into my mind. My eyebrows come close together as I mull over what he's said and I realize he may be right.

"You know I really thought you were going to die that night." I change the subject slightly, not wanting to admit to him that he's becoming my 'something to protect' and a part of my 'ledger to balance'.

"And if I did I suppose it was just my time." He relaxes his posture as if the thought of death is no more stressful than deciding what he's going to wear the next day.

"Don't say that." I shake my head, not wanting any more images of his dead body in my mind. The one from this morning, from the photos, still haven't left my mind. Each time they pop up behind my eyelids, it instills a new fear in me each time.

"You did a damn good stitch job." He tries to lighten the mood, pulling up the hem of his shirt to show the still intact sutures.

"It's a wonder you didn't bleed out. Do you even remember what happened?" I'm not entirely sure how much he saw, or what he remembers. To answer my question, he shakes his head.

"Not really, just remember you gettin' there and the rest is just kind of-" He motions with his hands that his memory of the night has become scrambled.

"One of them got you real good with their machete. I stuffed the wound with my shirt to try to stop the bleed and then I had to get you to another building. On the ground just outside of where we ended up there was one of their torches, barely still burning on the sidewalk. So I took it and heated the blade of my hunting knife, then I cauterized the cut. Found the sewing supplies when I was looking around and just did my best. Truthfully, you lost a lot of blood, like, way too much." I give him the brief recounting of the night. His fingers lightly trace the stitching before he meets my eyes again.

"Thank you." He tenderly says, dropping the hem of his shirt.

"It was the least I could do." I shrug one of my shoulders. The silence between us returns for a few more moments before Joel announces that he's going to get some sleep for the night. I tell him I'm going to as well, but end up staying awake.

After a while, the flames of the fire begin dying off but my eyes remain affixed to the back of Joel. The shirt across his shoulders is drawn tight, battling to stay intact. His dark curls are barely brushing the collar of the shirt, more prominent from the humidity of the day. As my eyes wander down his solid form, the chain around my neck seems to burn my skin. Disgust with myself boils up from within, and I force myself to look away from Joel.

My gaze turns up to the ceiling and I try to flood my mind with how Ryan sounded, how he felt, how he loved me. Bits and pieces come back, like how his hand felt on my cheek, how solid his chest felt when I hugged him, but I cannot remember his voice. I can feel the timbre of it, but can't place the true tone and inflection. Tears well in my lower lash line as I accept that I genuinely can't remember him fully anymore. I've known for a while that certain things have faded, but I never took the time to mourn that loss, I have not allowed myself to mourn Ryan the way I should have all those years ago.

My hands curl into frustrated fists, my nails digging crescent shapes into my palm as silent tears run down my face. Tears of guilt for forgetting, tears of sadness because I can no longer remember all of my husband. Tears of fear because I realize that I may be falling in love with another man; one whom I cannot be with. I grit my teeth together in lieu of screaming and a hollow feeling opens in my chest.

Moving faster than my mind can keep up, I go outside where the air hits the wetness of my face and sends a shiver down my spine. Once I'm sure that I'm far enough to where Joel can't hear me, I let myself cry. With each ragged breath I take my chest heaves up and down unevenly. Tears uncontrollably run down my face and I grip the chain around my neck tightly, wishing I could just have one more second with my family, wishing I could feel the warmth of their skin on mine, to tell them how much I love them one final time. Hoping and praying that my love for them and their absence is enough to stave off the feeling blooming inside of me for Joel.

All through the past ten years I've yearned to have my family back, there's been a hole in my heart, a void that has never been filled since outbreak day. A void that hasn't been hurting as much the past couple of weeks. I've always missed Ryan and Lucas, but lately their absence has been a dull ache as opposed to the sharp stabbing I'm used to. I'm not sure what this means, because I know I love and miss them vehemently. But I also know how I feel about Joel.

Unable to stay standing, I lower myself to my knees, burying my face in my hands. My eyes squeeze shut and the tears fall off the ends of my eyelashes. Guilt overtakes me as I remember how on outbreak night Ryan protected Lucas and I to the best of his ability. How he told me he loved me, and that we were going to be alright. If only I had turned that corner first. Why was I the one to survive, but they had to die?

Guilt burns into anger and I blame myself for what happened. If only I had been brave enough to go first, then maybe they would still be on this Earth. I know they could've forged a life for themselves somewhere. Meanwhile I was content being shipped everywhere and ended up being a lowly pill runner. Why couldn't that FEDRA guard have shot the infected two seconds earlier and spared them? It just isn't right.

Sobs strain my throat while I try to stay quiet and I use the sleeve of my button up to wipe my nose. The stars above me shine brightly and I stare at them, stray tears falling down my cheeks. If only they could reach out to me and let me know that wherever they are, that they're together and they're not suffering, that they're not angry at me for feeling this way about Joel.

Ryan and Lucas will never be able to be replaced, they will always occupy a special place in my heart. I know I can never have them back with me physically, yet I know that they are forever with me, tethered to the very fiber of my being. But I feel that my heart is opening up a new spot, and I'm not sure I'll be able to kill whatever is blooming. I'm not sure I want to.

With wide eyes I search the sky for some sort of sign, some indication that my feelings are right or wrong. But my search is cut short when I hear the door of the gas station open. Quickly, I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my face and hope that the darkness of night will conceal my puffy face. As my head turns to face Joel, I can almost swear I see a streak of light in the sky. But by the time I do a double take, whatever I thought I saw, is gone.

"Are you okay?" Joel's voice cautiously asks as he slowly approaches me. The stars are shining so bright tonight that I can see the familiar crease between his brows. His boots crunch softly on the loose pebbles on the pavement and I nod my head, trying to stabilize my breathing.

"I'm okay." My voice betrays me as I speak, it comes out hoarse. Joel comes to my side, and lowers himself next to me, crouching instead of resting on his knees.

"Why don't you come back inside? I'll get the fire started up again." I feel his eyes on me as I stare back at the sky, one last lone tear sliding down my cheek. Joel's words are smooth as honey, calming and soft. A gust of wind blows past us, sending another shiver up my body.

Joel must see the slight quiver as the breeze passes, and he puts an arm around my shoulders, the other under my elbow, and he helps me back to my feet. He keeps his arm gently wrapped around me as we go back to the gas station, and I lean into his touch out of instinct. Before we enter the building, I stop and take one last look at the sky, hopeful to see whatever it was that zoomed past when Joel stepped outside just to confirm what I think it was. But nothing happens.

I step back into the building in front of Joel, who works to get the fire reignited. My body begins to physically calm down from my crying, jagged breaths turn into hiccups. The first one shocks us both, but after the second I think I can almost see a tiny smile on Joel's face. However, when he turns to me after the fire is rebuilt all signs of a smile are gone and is instead replaced with a caring expression. Joel's dark brown eyes are wide and I see how his eyes look over my face, his shoulders aren't tight and rigid, he almost looks relaxed.

He walks over to me and leads me to what I've claimed as my spot for the night, marked by my backpack. Gingerly, he sits me down and crouches by my side once more, moving a rogue strand of hair out of my face that was plastered to my cheek from the tears. His fingers are warm against my face, and he lets them linger there for just a second longer than he needs to. My eyes slowly blink, appreciative of the contact. He licks his lips and his eyes look over my face once more, trying to piece together what's wrong.

"You don't have to tell me why, but I just need to know that you're alright, that you're not hurt." I look into his eyes that are inches from me and I nod with another hiccup jolting through me.

"I'm not hurt." My hoarse voice confirms to him and I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand to dry them fully. I feel that my eyes are puffy, my lips swollen from keeping quiet and I hope I don't look as disheveled as I feel inside.

"Okay." Joel nods and only then does he back away from me. Though I wish he would stay. However, I know that with my uncertain emotions, that it's probably better he that he doesn't. For his sake. He doesn't need to be roped into my personal shit show.

Every few minutes a hiccup interrupts the quiet, and each time I see Joel struggle to keep a smile at bay. I'll admit, they do sound a little ridiculous and if I weren't so upset I'd probably laugh at them too. But as my hiccups calm down, I find myself transfixed by the dancing flames.

Perhaps I needed to come to terms with my reality, accept my losses, and understand how Ryan and Lucas are still a part of me to be okay with something new. And perhaps this something new is for the better. Even if it doesn't work out, at least I know I'm still human enough, capable enough, to keep going.

Twenty Three

[fighterpilothoe]

His Sweatshirt - Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!reader (Part 1)

A/N: I’ve had this idea for a while and I finally got it executed. I’m actually really excited for this and I hope that it turned out okay. Like, reblog, follow – do whatever but please don’t steal my work. It’s taken me forever to finally get my idea down and formulated correctly. 

Please, let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Ankle injury and a swear word, I think.

The summer sun was beating down right through the open top of your Jeep as you drove to the Hard Deck. It was a hot day in San Diego, so what better way to spend it other than playing dogfight football with the Dagger Squad? You had woken up to a text from Rooster saying that since it was so nice out, he had requested a “team-building” day and Mav had approved. Even though you weren’t a Navy Aviator, you were always invited.

The Dagger Squad had taken you in as one of their own after Rooster had accidentally spilled his beer all over you one night at the Hard Deck. He felt so bad, in his drunken stupor, that he insisted that you come back to his group of friends with him, literally not taking no for an answer.

Ever since then, you have become one of them. You were included in the squad group chats, invited on outings and general hangouts, and they even gave you a callsign: Duck. Fanboy was actually the one to coin you your callsign, solely on the fact that you and Rooster had become really close friends and he thought it was hilarious; Rooster and Duck.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you saw that you were one of the last ones to arrive. You pulled into a spot that was between Rooster’s Bronco and Hangman’s F-150. After putting the Jeep in park, you pulled out your phone to see where everyone was meeting. Phoenix had texted the group chat 5 minutes ago, saying to meet on the back patio of the Hard Deck to figure out teams. After grabbing your beach bag and water bottle, locking the Jeep, you started towards the back deck.

Walking around the side of the Hard Deck, you were met with a chorus of laughter and basic conversation. Making your way up onto the deck, Rooster was the first to notice you, walking over to greet you with a hug. “There she is! Glad you could make it, Quacks.” For some reason, he preferred to call you “Quacks” versus “Duck,” which you didn’t mind.

-

After hanging out and talking for a bit, the teams were picked and everyone made their way down to the beach. The teams consisted of Rooster, you, Coyote, Bob, Harvard, Fritz, and Payback versus Mav, Hangman, Phoenix, Fanboy, Omaha, Halo, and Yale. Mav and you had an unspoken rule that with one look, you’d both retire out of the game for two reasons: you weren’t in as good of shape as everyone else and as Mav put it, he’s “old.”

With everyone lining up against their designated person, you saw that you were lined up with Hangman. He looked across to you and gave you a megawatt smile that stirred your stomach up. With a blush that seemed to come out of nowhere creeping up your neck, you gave him a small smile back. He seemed to notice your body’s response to his smile and lightly chuckled.

Apart from what everyone else said about Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, you and him got along really well. He was always kind and nice towards you, never sending unwanted and unwarranted banter your way. On nights where you’d hang out with the squad at the Hard Deck after a busy day, he always made a point to ask about your day. He would check in on you to make sure you were doing okay, seeing if you needed another drink or some company. It was the same way on other gatherings between the squad. He always seemed to be in your corner.

The group didn’t know what to think of his mannerisms when you were around. He was sweet with you but to others, he was his normal self. You really didn’t know what to think of it either. On one hand, him being sweet had your heart thumping and your head spinning. On the other hand, you didn’t think he thought of you any more than just a friend.

The sound of a whistle brought you back to reality. The footballs were snapped back and everyone was scrambling to get open and also block their person at the same time. Hangman was on you in a second, blocking your line of sight to Rooster. He, however, had a perfect line of sight to Mav, and being that he towered over you, he was able to catch the football with no problem. He took off towards his end zone with you trailing behind. Being that he was taller, he had longer legs so he made the touchdown in no time.

After Hangman had scored three more touchdowns, Harvard and you switched so you were now guarding Halo. Hangman had a small frown on his face as you switched places with Harvard but quickly shook it off. With another snap of the ball, everyone was in motion. Halo and you were on the far side by the water, taking your time moving around each other. What neither one of you failed to notice was Coyote and Omaha barreling your way, trying to catch an in-air ball. They hadn’t noticed you either.

What happened next, happened in slow motion. Omaha plowed into you and Coyote plowed into Halo. Being that both you and Halo were on the smaller side, the impact sent you both straight into the shallow water, soaking both of you. You felt a sharp pain shoot up your leg from your ankle.

Another whistle blow and you’re being pulled from the water. Coughing up the water that you had inhaled, you look up to see Hangman holding you, bridal style and carrying you to the set of towels on the beach. “Are you okay?” Concern was laced in his tone as he set you down on the towel.

“Yeah, I think so. I felt a sharp pain shoot through my ankle, though.”

“Let me take a look. Which ankle, darlin’?” The nickname sent your heart racing.

“Uhm, the right one.” You choke out with a stutter. He doesn’t seem to notice though as he looks down at your ankle.

“Well, it’s not broken. But there’s some serious swelling and bruising that’s starting. I’m going to run up and see if I can snag some ice from Penny. I’ll be right back, okay?” He looks back up to your face, studying your expression.

“Okay. Thanks, Jake.” You say with a small smile.

While he ran up to the Hard Deck, Rooster came over to check on you. “Hey Quacks, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. How’s Halo?”

“She’s fine. Just wet and annoyed.” He responded with a laugh. With that, Jake came jogging back with a bag of ice in his hands.

“Hey, I got some ice for your ankle.” He sat down by your feet and put the ice gently on your ankle.

“Thanks, Jake. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem, darlin’.” He sent you that megawatt smile again, still holding the bag of ice on your ankle.

The others decided to call it after Halo and you had taken a plunge. Rooster had the idea to start a little bonfire in one of the nearby pits. Everyone agreed, not wanting to leave yet.

The sun was starting to set and so the San Diego heat was starting to fade away. The fact that you had gotten slammed into the cold Pacific Ocean and now, had a bag of ice on your ankle, sent shivers through your body. Jake noticed your body trembling and looked up at you. “Do you have a sweatshirt with you?”

“No, I didn’t pack one with me. I wasn’t planning on getting soaked.” You say, laughing.

“I guess that’s fair,” Jake responded with a smile. “Tell you what, we’ll head over to the fire that Rooster’s got going and I’ll run back to my truck and grab one for you.”

“Jake, I don’t want to take your sweatshirt from you-” He stopped you by holding up his hand. “I have a couple in my truck. It’s okay, really. Now, let’s get you up.” With that he stood up, extending his hands out to you. You grabbed onto his hands and he pulled you up. Being that one ankle was out of commission, you stumbled forward into Jake’s chest.

“Woah, I gotcha.”

Sheepishly, you looked up at Jake and smiled. “Thanks, Jake.”

“Not a problem, darlin’.” Once Jake made sure you were steady, he turned around and crouched in front of you. You gave him a questioning look before he told you to hop onto his back. With a giggle that developed into full on laughter, you found yourself hugging Jake’s neck and breathing in his scent. He was careful as he walked over to the fire, finding an Adirondack chair to place you in. He gently set you down, working to prop your foot up so it wouldn’t swell any more.

The rest of the squad watched all of this unfold while standing around the fire. They all shared knowing smiles and went on to different conversations once Jake pulled away from you.

“There we go. Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You respond meeting his eyes and smiling.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” And with that, he made his way back to his truck. You watched him walk away as you became deep in thought. Rooster sauntered over to you and sat down in the Adirondack chair that was next to yours. “What’s going through that head of yours?”

“I don’t know what to make of Jake, Roos. I can’t tell if his affection is stemming from friendship or something more and it’s driving me crazy. I really like him, and my feelings for him just keep growing. I don’t want to lose him as a friend by saying something. What do I do?” You look at Rooster with pleading eyes.

His gaze softens as he grasps your hand in his. “Quacks, I can say for certain that you wouldn’t ruin your friendship with him. Just talk to him and be honest about how you feel.”

“Thanks, Roos. What would I do without you to keep my head level?”

Laughing, he responds back saying “your head would probably explode, if I’m being honest.”

-

While Jake walked back to his truck, he couldn’t stop thinking about you and your cute little smile. He had taken a liking to you soon after the squad had adopted you in. You were always welcoming and sweet to him, which was something that he wasn’t used to. Other women would throw themselves at him, but all they were were uniformed chasers. They wanted the bragging rights that went along with sleeping with a Navy Officer, nothing more. Yeah, Jake gave in to a lot of them, but they meant nothing. He always dreaded the next morning, and the conversations that would follow. They only wanted him for his rank, they never wanted the real ‘Jake.’

You had been the only person, outside of the squad, that actually wanted to sit down and get to know him and who he was outside of the Navy. It made his smile thinking about the night that you both had played drunken 20 questions at Phoenix’s apartment. The giggles that erupted from your mouth had him smitten.

When he made it to his truck, he found a beach blanket and his Navy Academy sweatshirt. He wore that sweatshirt more than he cared to admit, but it was extremely comfortable. He did a smell check on the sweatshirt, and when he decided that it smelled fine, he made his way back to you.

When he arrived back at the beach, he could hear your beautiful laughter, mixed in with laughter and commotion from the others. From a distance, Jake could make out your beautiful smile and he felt his chest flutter. God, he was so far gone.

-

Rooster had just finished telling a story about how Fanboy would sing show tunes throughout their last deployment and how Phoenix threatened to throw him overboard if he didn’t stop singing “Let It Go” from Frozen. Your sides had started to hurt from all the laughing, which you’d think you’d be accustomed to by now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jake make his way back to the bonfire. You met his gaze when he got close to you and gave him a small smile.

“Here ya go, darlin.” He held out a sweatshirt for you, which you happily accepted. After slipping it over your head, you were overwhelmed with the smell that was Jake. His body wash and his cologne were prevalent smells. It took everything in you to not pull it up to your nose and inhale it all. He wrapped the blanket over your lap, being careful not to bump your ankle.

“Thank you, Jake. I really appreciate it.” You say with a smile, meeting his gaze again.

“It’s not a problem, darlin’. Honest.” He responded with a smile that reached his eyes.

With that, you both joined back into the conversations that were going on around you. Jake stayed close to your side throughout the rest of the night, checking on you to make sure you were okay.

-

A yawn had pulled Jake from his current conversation with Coyote. He looked over to see that your eyes had started to droop a little and you were curled up, as best as you could, in the beach blanket.

“Are you tired darlin’?”

“I’m getting there, yeah,” you responded lazily.

“Do you want me to take you home?” He asked.

“Honestly, that would be great. It’s been a busy day,” you say with a little laugh.

Jake stood up and helped you up, his weight supporting yours. Once you were good to stand on your own, Jake crouched in front of you again. With the blanket in your hand, you slowly crawled onto his back. Once you were situated, you both said your goodbyes and headed for Jake’s truck.

Sleep seemed to consume you for the little journey back to Jake’s truck because the next thing you knew, Jake was buckling you in and placing the blanket back over your lap. He looked up to you and gave you a heartwarming smile before closing the door and jogging over to his side of the truck. You rested your arm on the center counsel, supporting your head while he pulled out of the parking lot.

The radio was playing a 90s country music station at a low volume while Jake drove. Sleep must’ve pulled you under again because the next thing you knew, Jake was waking you up.

“Hey sleeping beauty, we’re at your apartment. Do you want some help getting upstairs?” You responded with a mumbled “mmhmm.” With that, Jake jumped out of the truck and helped you down from his passenger seat. He gave you another piggy back ride up to your door. He smiled when he felt you snuggle into his back and give a content sigh. When he arrived to your door, he asked for your keys.

Once you were both inside your apartment, he easily found your bedroom. He had been to your apartment a few different times for dinner or movie nights with the squad so he knew his way around. He loved how your apartment was decorated exactly to match with your personality, and how it smelled exactly like you.

He slowly sat down on your bed, moving your hands from around his neck and laying you back on your pillows. He smiled to himself when you let out a discomforted grunt and scrunched up your face. With the loss of contact, you slowly opened your eyes, looking up at him. Jake moved to prop up your foot with an unused pillow, then he came and sat back down by you. He brushed some of your hair out of your face, studying it as he moved the strands. Your voice brought his out of his thoughts.

“Jake?”

“Yes darlin’?”

“Thank you for taking care of me today. And helping me get home. I really appreciate it, and you.” Jake didn’t know how to respond so he leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered closed and sleep threatens to take over again.

“Sleep beautiful. I’ll text you in the morning to see how you’re doing.”

That was the last thing you heard before you let sleep engulf your mind and body. Jake quietly got up and made his way out of your apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him.

[mrsbradshaw-seresin01]

Omaha: You have your weirdly sincere humility.

Bob: I prefer the term "self-loathing", actually.

[o-my-heart-daily]

what do you prefer more Omaha, cupcakes or cookies? :3

[missathlete31]

Nowhere to Run Chapter 1

Once the Daggers are allowed to be a permanent squadron, Maverick expects everyone to want to join. When Cyclone tells him he has one hold out, Mav decides to question the lone pilot, leading to a confrontation of epic proportions.

The Dagger Squad will never be the same

(Aka Bradley probably shouldn’t have gone on the mission and Jake states why)

In hindsight, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell should have known this was going to end badly. It wasn't that he had gone into the hanger expecting such a confrontation but he should have known that cornering any pilot, especially Jake "Hangman" Seresin was a dangerous move. So dangerous in fact that he wondered if their Dagger Squad would ever recover.

It all started when the team was called back after their three week courtesy leave from the Navy. They were told to report to Top Gun where Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates met with each pilot and gave them the offer of joining the Daggers permanently. It seemed the Navy was impressed by what they were able to accomplish during the Uranium Mission and felt it was advantageous to keep this elite squad together. Maverick was overjoyed when he heard the news, it meant that Bradley would be stationed out of North Island, close to Maverick and Penny while also getting to stay with his friends. When Captain Mitchell was then offered to run the squadron (only in training, no more missions for him), the older man thought he couldn't be happier.

Maverick knew he shouldn't expect everyone to agree. These 12 pilots were the best of the best and had squadrons they trusted, postings they liked, or families that needed them elsewhere. He tried not to get his hopes up too much, chatting up Penny's ear whenever they had a private moment about how Payback might prefer a station closer to home, how Yale was always going to want to be on the East Coast, how Halo and Omaha might not have like flying together, how Pheonix and Bob might want to head to Lemoore, or any other excuse he could think of for each pilot. Penny would humor him each time with a patient smile that told him he was over thinking it and that he would just have to wait and see. Pete Mitchell hated waiting.

So when the day came and Simpson and Bates called him into their office, Maverick took a deep breath and waited to hear that the squadron wouldn't be happening. Too many no's, too many other squads or other plans or other choices. He was so ready to be turned down that Pete was shocked when Simpson began the meeting with a congratulations. So much so that the Captain missed most of everything else the Admiral was saying.

"-so the 11 will start and then when we find a replacement-"

Maverick zoned back in time to hear Simpson's last words, "wait" he held up a hand and tried not to smile as Beau rolled his eyes at being interrupted, "11? Who said no?"

"Lieutenant Seresin opted out of the squadron."

"Hangman? Really?" Pete couldn't contain his surprise. After the mission, after Hangman defied orders and saved Maverick and Rooster, everyone could see the way the man had changed. He was more open, less hostile, still cocky as anything but at a more accepting level. Hell Maverick was even growing rather fond of the kid. It stung a bit to think Seresin of all people would have declined working with them all. Though Maverick didn't know much about the Vigilantes, he assumed Hangman would have jumped at the opportunity to be a part of the best of the best. Pete tried not to show his disappointment, "So Seresin's going back to his old squadron then?" he questioned curiously.

"Actually" Bates drawled from the corner, "Lieutenant Seresin didn't request to go back to his squadron either."

Maverick's face turned quizzical, "so where does he want to go?"

The older of the Admirals shrugged, "he asked for a bit more time to think."

"Which is why" Simpson cut in, "we were hoping you could try talking to him."

"Me? Really?" at the flash of annoyance on his CO's face for yet another interruption, Mav gave an apologetic smile, "sorry Sir, but I mean, you think talking to me will help?"

"We are hoping he might be more forthcoming with you. It seems like the team as a whole has been much more receptive to each other since we've docked back in Miramar. If there is a hesitancy to get back in the cockpit, Seresin might find it easier to share with you than either I or Admiral Bates."

"You think he doesn't want to fly at all?"

"We're not sure" Cyclone motioned to the papers on his desk, "he passed his psych evaluation but we fear perhaps the mission was a bit more for him to work through than originally thought."

Bates nodded from the back, "And he did get another kill” the older man added solemnly, “that could be affecting him."

Maverick cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Taking a life, even in the armed services was a hard task, one that was also rare in their section of the Navy. Besides himself, Seresin was the only other active duty pilot with two to his name. While the psych evaluation was meant to look for any difficulty in the processing process, it wasn't foolproof. It could be very likely that Hangman was struggling with what he had to do in the air that day. If there was any doubt in his mind about his role or duty, as his CO and as someone that had grown to care for the man, Maverick knew he had to talk to him. "I'll talk to him this afternoon Sir" he offered Simpson.

"Good, let us know if you need anything on our end."

Maverick nodded, saluted them both and headed down to the hangars. When he arrived he was happy to see Hangman was the first to arrive, sitting in his usual seat in the front. Pete strolled down the aisle, trying to stay casual as he thought about the best way to start the conversation without seeming like a full fledged confrontation. As he got to his row, Jake looked over, offering a nod and a small greeting, "Sir" he acknowledged.

"Seresin" Mav answered back, "how you doing kid?"

The blonde shrugged, a look of suspicion in his green eyes, "fine Sir, you?"

"I'm alright-" Pete's voice died away in his indecision of how to broach the next subject. He knew the rest of the Daggers would be in any minute, so he had to ask fast, "Look Seresin, can we talk after the hops today?"

For once the blonde pilot refused to meet his eyes, instead looking nervously down at his hands,"Is something wrong?"

Pete leaned down on the desk, feeling like he was dwarfing the other pilot as Jake sank further in his chair, "I wanted to talk about you declining the Dagger squad. I was hoping we could discuss it together."

"With all due respect Sir" and Hangman was officially flushing in unease, "I made my decision on that matter."

Pete leaned back, surprised at the tone, "From what I hear from the Admirals," the captain broached delicately, "you seemed to make no decision. You don't want to join the squad but you don't want to go back to the Vigilantes either. Is it the flying Jake?" Maverick tried to move down to meet the man's eye a bit more, "are you nervous to fly another mission?"

"No" he shook his head, "I plan on going back to my old squad. I'm fine-"

"Jake" the other Daggers were filing into the hangar but Maverick didn't want to let the conversation stop right here. He knew it wasn't the smartest move but Maverick wasn't known for thinking things through, "don't you want to fly with your friends?" he continued to press, "Coyote? Omaha? Halo?"

"Of course I do."

Pete shook his head, not understanding, "Then why won't you join the Daggers?"

"It's because of you."

Of all the things Hangman had said in the weeks Maverick had known him (and it's been quite a bit from the talkative blonde), nothing had floored the seasoned pilot more than what he just uttered. He was so shocked he didn't even notice that the room had gone silent, the rest of the team catching the tail end of the discussion and was now listening with interest over the interaction. Pete cleared his throat, "I don't- what do you mean because of me? What did I do?"

"I don't trust your judgment Sir" and there were a few stunned gasps from the back of the room.

Mav ignored all the others, his eyes zeroing in on the pilot in the front row, "Is this because you were only the spare?"

Seresin moved his eyes to the floor, an obvious tell if Maverick ever saw one. When he didn't reply Maverick pushed again, "tell me that you aren't turning down an amazing opportunity because you're upset you weren't picked for the mission?"

"Wait, Bagman you're not joining the squad?" Phoenix asked in obvious surprise and then suddenly the room seemed to erupt with noise. Omaha was asking what the blonde was thinking, while Fanboy yelled about being a sore loser. Pete could see he was losing his moment, losing his chance to finally get into the infamous Hangman's head and see what the normally cocky Texan pilot was thinking. He raised a hand and looked to the rest of the room, "quiet" he ordered and everyone took their seats with closed mouths. "Jake" he turned back to Hangman, noticed the hitch in the man's shoulders, the way he was tapping his foot and playing with his fingers on the desk. "Let's go have this discussion in my office, okay? I'm fairly confident that if you really think about it, you'll see that being part of this squad would be the best place for you. I know that your ego was hurt not being picked but letting it ruin this chance for you-"

Green eyes flared up at him, an anger that he never saw in Hangman before appearing within them. "This isn't about my damn ego-"

"Jake" Coyote was standing up, the uncharacteristic display of emotions from his best friend making the other pilot instantly want to jump to his side, "we should go get some air. Sir, can you excuse us for a minute?"

"No" Jake rose too and flashed a look at Javy before motioning towards Machado's chair, "no, Javy sit, he wants this discussion then let's all have this discussion right?" He turned back to Maverick, a shark like smirk on his face, "you want to know the truth?"

"I do."

"Fine" the blonde slammed his hands down on the table dramatically, "You didn't pick me for the mission, fine. Did it sting? Yeah, it freaking did but you know I could have gotten past it if you had picked someone that deserved it instead of trying to use the spot to buy forgiveness."

At first the room was silent. Then as everyone processed Seresin’s words, the room seemed to explode again. It didn’t last long before a voice rang out louder and more pissed than them all combined. "Oh well fuck you Seresin-" Rooster began as he stood from his chair so quickly that it fell back behind him. The image of it all took Maverick's mind back to the eerily similar altercation during training. Except this time Hangman didn't look on smugly, he looked livid. "No" Jake turned around to face Bradley head on, "I'm getting this out Rooster so help me fucking God, so sit your ass down and shut the fuck up."

"I'm not going to let you talk about us like this" Bradley's brown eyes flared, no intention of backing down, "I'm not going to let you talk to Mav like this-"

"Then you can leave for all I care Bradshaw, if you're too cocky to listen-"

"Cocky ha!" Rooster looked around the room as though he was on a hidden camera show, "that's rich coming from you."

Jake shook his head like a disappointed parent, "you don’t get it."

“What don’t I get?” The other man egged on, his temper flaring, “that you’re still nursing your wounds from not being picked team leader or even a Dagger that you need to come in here and attack me and attack Maverick’s decision making?”

The blonde shook his head in exasperation, “you really don’t see it? How you should have never even been out there?”

“Screw you, I earned my place here!”

“No you were picked so Mav could win back your affections-“

Bradley looked murderous as he stared down Jake with visceral disgust, “Screw you, you asshole! Don’t even pretend to think you understand anything about our relationship!”

”You shouldn’t even have a relationship!” Hangman yelled back, his normally non-existent temper on full display now, “I’m sorry but there’s a reason that the Navy makes you disclose personal relationships with others especially your COs, to prevent conflicts of interest-“

”There was no conflict of interest!" Rooster yelled even louder, as though the higher the volume the more right he was in his convictions, "I was chosen because I did what needed to be done and got everyone home!”

”Is that really what you believe?” Jake asked despondently, “Jesus I always knew you were stubborn but I didn't think you were that oblivious. You need a wake-up call"

Rooster's eyes turned to slits, "I'll give you a fucking wake-up call-" he moved to take a step but Payback was holding his arm to keep him back. "Easy" the sidelined man urged but no one seemed to listen, their anger and emotions making them almost feral.

"Guys!" Phoenix was standing now too, looking to Maverick with a pleading expression for him to intervene. "Guys come on-"

"Yeah come on man," Billy called from the back, "let's all just take a minute-"

"No," Bradley brushed off Reuben's hand and moved to the aisle. He squared himself up facing Jake noticing both Coyote and Harvard moving to defend if necessary. Maverick though still stayed silent in the front of the room, whether shocked still or just watching how everything would proceed, no one could tell.

Hangman and Rooster locked eyes, inches apart. Bradley gave a sneer, "Okay I'll play along, let's let Hangman of all people tell me how I wasn't the right person to go on the mission. Go ahead."

"You were the only one who never made the time Rooster" Jake spoke viciously, his voice dangerously low.

"Excuse me?"

"You never made the course under the time. Not once in training-"

"I made it when it mattered!"

"Did you?" Hangman took a step back, "Maybe you don't remember but I sat on the carrier that day and listened to Payback and Fanboy beg you to speed up. Beg! And what did you do? You still slowed down!" The blonde walked away from the other pilot, pacing as he ranted to the shocked silent room, "You know what else I heard?" Jake continued, "Command, when they noticed that Payback had to rise up in the air to avoid hitting you. You know how close he was to hitting the SAMs threshold? Two feet. Two feet higher and we would have had two empty coffins to bury in the ground. No one talks about that huh? No one cares? Well I fucking care."

Before anyone could respond, Hangman turned swiftly back to his CO, Maverick shifting just the tiniest bit with unease when he was locked with devastating green eyes, "you asked us every damn day what would we tell our wingman's families" Jake reminded him, his voice sounding purely demoralized, "Well what would you have said to Payback's fianc�� Jacqueline? Or Fanboy's parents Marco and Marcella? Hmm? That their fiancé and their son died because Rooster was having an existential crisis during a mission that he should have been disqualified for from the start? That he was chosen by the man that was the closest thing he had to a father growing up in a clear case of nepotism?"

Jake watched as Rooster instinctively turned to look at Payback and Fanboy, both looking pale as the truth came out. With the happiness of the mission being deemed a success no one talked about how close things came to falling apart. "You spent all of training convinced that your way was the right way Rooster, you didn't even listen to Mav-"

"And you did?" Rooster asked back incredulously, "you left everyone hanging- like you always do. Like you're known for. But I'm supposed to listen to you criticize me? You, the least team oriented man in the world?"

"I'm a lot of things and you can say what you want but I tried to do better. My last hop with Phoenix and Bob- we gelled perfectly, you all said it yourselves." Jake turned to the two other pilots, Phoenix watching him with wide eyes and a pained expression on her face, Bob with knowing eyes. "The two of you said it that last day too, 'It felt good, it felt right', you know you did, because we all listened to each other, we listened to Mav." Neither voiced an agreement but Jake just continued on with his argument, shifting to the back rows, "and Fritz with Payback and Fanboy, they were smooth and hit bull's-eye each time. They were the stronger team! Rooster was the only one who never had a successful run, who refused to even try to hit the time, who stubbornly insisted that going slower was fine."

"Fuck you-"

But Jake refused to stop now that he had gotten it going, "And how about the bombing? You didn't even give Fanboy a chance to lock on-"

"We had no time."

"You did" Hangman insisted, "It took Bob a few seconds too but Maverick waited. You didn't Rooster. You took the shot blind, a huge risk, all because you had no faith in Mickey."

Rooster's face blushed and he spun around to face the man in question, "That's not true" he told Fanboy but the man just stayed silent. Bradley turned back to Hangman, rage in his brown eyes, "I took the shot because the laser wasn't working. It wasn't Mickey's fault."

"I know it wasn't his fault."

"It wasn't my fault either asshole-"

“It could have been” Jake argued, “Rooster it was an almost impossible shot-“

“Yeah and I made it!”

”What if you didn’t? What if you going in blind, what if you not waiting, not giving Mickey a chance, meant the mission was a failure?” Hangman dropped his eyes to the floor, before he looked back at the others, “I know it wasn’t the case but does that mean we don’t talk about the risk he took out there? We don’t talk about all the ways it could have gone wrong?”

When no one replied, not in agreement or argument, Jake signed and turned back to Bradley. "How about coffin corner" the blonde edged, "was that your fault?"

Bradley paled, "what about it?"

"Dagger three and Dagger four came back with flares intact, you know why? Because you refused to even let them try to defend themselves-"

"I was protecting them you self righteous dick," he pushed into Jake's chest harshly but the other man held his ground, "I was protecting them like a good wingman does" Rooster pointed behind him, "like a teammate does. You wouldn't understand-"

Jake shook his head, "You're right I wouldn't have done what you did. I actually have faith in all the other pilots on this team. I wouldn't follow Phoenix's shadow or Payback's wing unless they called for me, unless they needed it, because every pilot in this room is the best of the best and knows how to evade. But not you Rooster, you didn't even try to get out of there, you put yourself and your team in more danger trying to cover them all and then when you really needed it, you had no flares for yourself. You forced Maverick to risk himself to save you. He was too compromised not to."

The room was deathly silent.

"And then you went back against orders, because you were too compromised to listen. You both should have never been allowed to serve together. You both could have died a million different ways. You both could have caused the deaths of other pilots on the squad as well." Hangman shifted, the last part of his argument directed right to Maverick who's green eyes looked sad at the way the conversation had turned. "So that's why I don't trust your judgment Sir," Jake began sadly, "I'm sorry but I can't."

"Seresin-"

"And the worst part" and somehow, embarrassingly, Jake realized that he had started to cry during his ranting. He wiped at his greens eyes stubbornly, "the worst part is that I want to be on this squad so badly, I want this team." He shook his head, "but I can't, it already compromised me as well.”

"When you flew out against orders" Maverick supplied gently. The blonde nodded, swallowing roughly, "I can't have that. I can't. I can't get attached to you all and then almost lose you. I can't have your relationship with Rooster mean I have to bury a friend. I need to be detached, I need separation-"

"Jake-"

But the blonde was done listening, all his fight was gone. "I don't belong here" he told the group, "and you don't want me anyway. Let me be Hangman, let me be the one man squad, it's better this way." He picked up his things from his desk and moved forward. Rooster, the only one still in the aisle, stared him down before moving to his left allowing the other to pass. Jake, for just the briefest moment thought someone would speak up, someone would stop him but they didn’t. Instead Hangman continued his walk out of the hangar as he left the best team he ever was a part of, the best chance he ever had at a family, behind.

[jeannereames]

Dr. Reames! I read where you promised you wouldn't put up a Tumblr paywall and haven't created a Patreon either, because your school pays your salary so you can answer asks here for free.

That's cool, and super generous. Seriously. I've learned so much. The level of detail in your posts I wouldn't expect outside a university class or buying a book. So if, yeah, you get paid by them, is there a way your followers here who aren't your students... but kinda ARE ...support what you're doing? Other than buying the novels (which is actually how I found you to begin with).

Also, do you have any online classes on Alexander like those "Great Courses"? I'd love to take an online course with you if you have lectures.

Thank you!

I’m delighted people read these things! Ha. Some are rather long. But sometimes the answer is complex. (I should make a couple polls; I’m curious how much/many of these people do read.)

Anyway, to answer the questions:

No, I don’t have any online ATG class at present. I am working on putting up Alexander the Great and the Macedonian Origin (e.g., from early Macedonia/Alexander I to ATG). But you’d need to be enrolled with UNO to take it. It’s still a couple years out, at least.

As for other ways to help.

First, buy the books. (The asker said they already have.) Ironically, I get greater royalties from ebooks than paper. Sometimes people buy paper thinking it helps me more. I prefer paper books myself, so certainly buy paper if you also prefer them, but don’t pay the higher price for paper just because you think that benefits me.

TALK ABOUT THE BOOKS … on both Tumblr and TikTok (+ Bluesky and Twitter). I understand Song of Achilles had only a minor following until it blew up on BookTok. So, if you have a TikTok and really liked the books, talk about them and tag it #booktok & #historicalfiction (et al.). There have been a couple BookToks done in Italian, but I’ve not seen any in English. Doing one would be fantastic. On Tumblr, people have mentioned it and shared lines from it in the past, and some folks have found it that way. Word of mouth works. The recent Alexander Netflix series has brought new people looking for fiction (and queer-positive fiction) about him.

Rate (and review?) the novels on Goodreads and/or Amazon (or elsewhere), especially if you liked them enough to give them 5-stars. But of course, be true to your honest opinion. If there’s a fair bit of skepticism about the value of Goodreads/ Amazon ratings in the publishing industry, agents and publishers still (perhaps hypocritically) pay attention to them.

Last, and not book related, but if you read and enjoy my posts here on Tumblr, and feel you’ve learned something from me, keep in mind that it’s the University of Nebraska-Omaha History Department that’s making this possible by paying my salary. 😊

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Events In The History And Of The Life Of Elvis Presley Today On The 20th Of June In 1977.

Adios Lincoln Monday, June 20, 1977, 8:30 pm, Lincoln, NE, Pershing Auditorium sadly these were some of the final live tours and live shows performances concerts Elvis Aaron Presley would do here in is very short lifetime.

Most of Elvis'Presley's musicians prefer not to talk about Elvis Presley's final tours, but whenever they do, they usually agree that the final tours was ones that should have never been undertaken. It was simply one tour too many. At this stage it was impossible to hide the fact that Elvis Presley was in serious problems. However, the Lincoln concert is one of the finest shows from that last tour. Elvis Presley sounds much better than in Omaha the day before. Surprises include a well-sung 'Help Me' and arguably the best ever version of 'Unchained Melody', which for the first and only time was performed before the band introductions. Interestingly, and completely unknown until now, is that Elvis Presley asks J.D. Sumner and the Stamps to perform 'Walk That Lonesome Road' during the band intros, which is very unusual for the time frame in 1977.but like Elvis Presley said to is tcb band members backing singers many many times you are all just important as me and this why had them join him as the lead vocalist musicians as well what an amazing and an incredible human being he was. rare live in action! two fans and audience members candid photos of Elvis Presley here at this show and this venue wearing the aztec mexican sundial jumpsuit and white silk scarfs and also a blue one and the matching belt.

[royalpain16]

Seven things poor people waste their money on by Warren Buffet

High-Interest Debt: Avoiding debt, especially high-interest ones like credit card balances, is crucial. High interest can quickly erode your financial health.

Get-Rich-Quick Schemes: Buffett warns against trying to make a quick buck and falling for schemes that promise high returns with little risk.

Unnecessary Luxuries: Living below one’s means and not spending on things that aren’t necessary is a principle Buffett has always lived by.

New Cars: Cars lose value rapidly once purchased. Buying and maintaining a reliable used car can be more economical than always opting for a new one.

Paying Unnecessary Fees: Whether it’s investment fees, bank fees, or any other kind of service charge, Buffett believes in keeping costs low.

Brand Loyalty Over Value: Not overpaying for brand names when a lesser-known brand offers the same quality at a lower price is a value-oriented approach Buffett endorses.

Eating Out Excessively: Frequently eating out, especially when done out of convenience, can add up over time. Preparing meals at home is often more economical. Buffett prefers the cheap value of fast food.

[kolajmag]

FROM THE ARTIST DIRECTORY

The Importance of Personal Narratives

Omaha, Nebraska, USA. Although Carol Fettin has been an artist for most of her life, she recently transitioned to working with analog collage. Her materials include found objects, old ephemera, discarded images, paint, scissors, and glue. She prefers to work in the abstract as it presents more of a challenge and allows viewers to interpret her work through their own life experiences. Personal narratives, whether they belong to individuals, communities, or places, have always been important to her. Her art is a reflection of these stories, conveyed through the images she selects and the marks she makes. Read More

*****************************

Kolaj Magazine, a full color, print magazine, exists to show how the world of collage is rich, layered, and thick with complexity. By remixing history and culture, collage artists forge new thinking. To understand collage is to reshape one's thinking of art history and redefine the canon of visual culture that informs the present.

SUBSCRIBE | CURRENT ISSUE | GET A COPY

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[108garys]

Sherman battle

So for an entirely silly little poll I'm pitting the Shermans against each other to see who gets voted the ultimate Sherman, both are off screen characters from subplots that died decades before the main story and are at best depicted as corpses(also you learn about them through recordings)

First up we have Sherman Crow, "the bulldog of Omaha beach"

A WWII vet, a gun nut(he named they machine gun in hoa Bessie), fist fights in bars for money in his spare time, probably brought the dynamite on the expedition, definitively has a mustache(is actually named Sherman), interested in ancient history

Our second contender is Manny Sherman, "the beast of Arkansas"

A serial killer and (fake)Realtor, Prefers knives, is an artist and puts a lot of thought into his schemes, Cool voice, refused a last meal out of spite, sometimes has a mustache(not actually named Sherman), interested in the Victorian era(mostly HHH but probably architecture too)

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Monty and Mangle Date 2

Monty? is there, and incredibly British. And a waiter. If it’s really Monty, they refuse to break character

FMonty? says their name is Montfathery, and leads them through the whole restaurant before seating them near the entrance.

Monty? insists that the orders are raw meat and vodka. Mangle ordered steak (didn’t get to say her preference) and water, and Foxy didn’t get to order.

This is still better than the one with Forkface.

Monty? brings them strawberry lemonade, because they’re out of water. Monty? claims to have drank it all.

Foxy and Mangle bond over their mutual hatred for Gregory.

Monty? violently throws pancakes at their table, claiming they’re steaks. And then starts yeeting drinks at them in the name of refills

Monty? runs up and grabs Foxy’s neck. Then picks up a plate of pancakes off the floor and sets it back on the table.

Foxy lost his drink. Mangle finds him a blue one at the table behind them. Both their drinks are so thick they aren’t really liquids anymore.

Monty? brings them a whole goose. Foxy asks them to fuck off and let them enjoy their dinner. Monty? is not pleased.

Foxy suggests just ignoring Monty? from now on.

Monty? is doing something with the goose in the kitchen, that involves beating it with a frying pan.

Foxy and Mangle decide to sneak up to the upstairs lounge while that’s happening.

Another Monty shows up on stage and starts performing, wearing their Daftpunk 2 costume that they got a lawsuit for.

Daftpunk Monty get stuck. Foxy takes their mic.

Monty calls Foxy. Foxy mutes his phone.

Mangle was sleeping in backroom of the Fazcade and the vents near Glamrock Chica’s room for awhile.

Daftpunk Monty starts up again. They start singing without the mic.

Mangle now sleeps in Glamrock Chicas room. I am behind on that channel, too, but apparently Glamrock Chica was kicked out of the Plex because she kept damaging herself and the repairs were getting too costly.

Daftpunk Monty leaves.

Monty appears! For real! And needs to talk to Foxy.

Mangle has to use the men’s room because the other bathroom is backed up.

Daftpunk Monty was there to distract Foxy and Mangle while Monty fixed things.

Mangle made a mistake when she ordered steak. Waiter Monty is currently on a killing spree in Omaha county to make steaks.

Monty leaves, they’re finally alone. It’s almost peaceful, but there’s something awkward about it.

Waiter Monty is back, spying on them from the stairs. They’re holding a phone, dialing something.

Foxy and Mangle decide to leave.

Waiter Monty approaches them with a $2000 bill. Foxy and Mangle decide to dine n dash.

Foxy kicks Waiter Monty in the shin. Waiter Monty makes it weird.

Waiter Monty: Alright, I have an available table for you, in July, 1988.

Mangle: 1988?

___

Foxy: Why is it Every. Single time I do anything, it gets weird?

___

Waiter Monty: Your mother *censored* in hell.

___

Foxy: right in the shin, just *kicks Waiter Monty*

Waiter Monty: *horny noises* Harder!

PFFF “horny noises”

[skywestairline]

What is SkyWest Online, and how can I use it to book a flight with SkyWest Airlines?

Flights on Sky West Airlines!

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