#tiny roebuck

[travsd]

Tackling Tiny Roebuck

Theodore “Tiny” Roebuck (1906-1969) was a Native American athlete who dabbled in film acting in the 1930s. A member of the Choctaw tribe, Roebuck hailed from the Lenton Territory in what is now Oklahoma. His nickname was ironic of course; he stood 6’4″, over 270 pounds in adulthood. He became a trophy winning college football player at Haskell University, graduating in 1926 with several…

[letterboxd-loggd]

Torchy Blane.. Playing with Dynamite (1939) Noel M. Smith

August 5th 2023

[enwoso]

COUPLE OF FOOLS! — alessia russo

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your cheek was pressed against the back of your hand as you slept on the plane. the afternoon air surrounding the plane was cool as you napped. you and the england squad were well under way on your journey half way across the world to australia.

and due to you having a rush of energy while everyone was asleep or being sent to sleep by your chattiness when you were wide awake but you now were the one in dreamland while everyone else was either playing card games or watching movies.

as you slept peacefully, your girlfriend, alessia and a few of the other team members: tooney, zel, roebuck and keira were sitting in the row next to you as they played cheat with the deck of cards that ellie had supplied, while a couple others like alex and mary watched.

alessia sat the closest to where you were sleeping as it was her close proximity that got you to sleep in the first place otherwise you would probably be slumped next to her right now watching them play cards. however when a particular loud groan or cheer would occur from one of the girls they would be first to earn a hard death stare from the striker.

ella was so close to winning when she was caught out on her bluff by katie resulting in a loud groan of annoyance from the brunette as she slammed her cards down on the table.

"ah man, for fuck sake!" she groaned out, throwing her cards onto the small airplane table in annoyance a little louder than alessia would have liked as she stared daggers at her best friend who sunk down a little in her seat peering over to you checking that you were still asleep, and luckily for ella's sake you were — for a now.

"oops" ella muttered, as she slowly turned to face her best friend shining an innocent smile at the blonde noticing out the corner of her eye that you were beginning to stir and mumble out some complaints about being woke up.

alessia turning to you as you rubbed your eyes adjusting to the bright lights on the plane taking all of the sleepy energy you hand in you to sit up. frowning as you stared at the tiny screen on the back on the back of the TV.

less came over and sat on the seat next to you which had your legs sprawled across it, as she lifted them placing them on top of hers rubbing her hand up and down them. smiling at the sight of you in her hoodie which was in fact a size or two, too big for you.

pulling yourself up and onto alessia's lap mumbling in the process how you were gonna take care of ella later earning a small laugh from the blonde. your movements were slow and almost zombie-like, your head hanging low as you placed your head on less' chest in hopes to get comfy again.

a few shuffles later, alessia watching in awe at your sleepy figure as you found home on her chest your arms hugging her lower body as the striker without hesitation wrapped her arms around you tracing small circles into your back.

"baby, your not going back to sleep are you?" alessia asked as she ran a few fingers through your head of hair, looking up at her you smiled and mumbled something along the lines of "mhm your comfy."

"i did tell you to sleep when everyone else was love" less poked at your side, you humming as you closed your eyes once again.

ella, keira, alex, ellie and now georgia watched the interaction between the couple from the row beside you and alessia, keira turning to the others, "i think that's the first time she's woke up and not been in a huff"

"yeah i mean she looks pretty content in less' arms!" ellie said making note of your peaceful demeanour. ella who was expecting you to wake up and have a strop, smiled "i mean look at them — they were made for each other." the others nodding there head as they began to restart the game of cards now with one less player.

your body began to relax once again, your breathing starting to slow. alessia feeling your change in movement as you practically melted into the blonde.

"i love you" alessia whispered as she placed a small kiss to your forehead as you mumbled back "i love you too"

lifting your head a little, "i'm not actually going back to sleep" you sighed as alessia scoffed "your eyes are betraying your mouth there love!" a small laughed escaped from her as she looked down to you with your eyes that were still screwed shut.

opening your eyes a little, as the blonde looked at you ad if you were the only person on the earth. feeling the measure of her stare you squinted right back at her

"i just haven't fully woken up from my nap yet!" you spoke as her eyebrows furrowed together, "nap? babe you were asleep for 4 hours!" this time it was your turn for your eyebrows to furrow.

"it weren't that long" you said as she nodded her head slowly at you as you turned your head a little to the screen mounted on the back of the chair squinting a little to read the numbers in the top corner and surely enough it was now 2, you having fell asleep at 10.

"oh" was all you said before alessia was leaning down placing a kiss on your nose causing your face to scrunch making you readjust yourself so that you were sat straighter in her hold moving your arms to be leaning on her chest.

bumping your nose with hers whispering over her lips, "kiss me then" alessia's lips turned upwards in a ghost of a smirk, before she placed them in yours.

one of alessia's hands moving up the side of your hoodie rubbing small circles into your skin as her other hand gripped your waist.

before the kiss could go any further, ella and georgia began to throw the deck of cards off you most of them landing beside you but many of them skimming the top of your head. there aim not being that accurate to hit you in the head.

"oi lovebirds! i know i said yous were cute but that weren’t a cue for yous to start and suck each others faces off!" ella fake gagged as your turned your head shooting daggers as the two as alessia carried on kissing you raising her middle finger towards ella and georgia the sound of snickering coming from the group.

"i'd like to remind you that your committing the crime of public displays of affection!" ella voiced as she directed the attention back to her best friend.

alessia raised her hands in defence, "my bad for showing my girlfriend some love, the PDA police got me!" you laughed at less and her antics . truth be told alessia would do anything to make you laugh and see your pretty smile.

she was in heaven with you grinning at her like that.

"your such a dork!" you smiled as she cupped your cheeks and planted a kiss on your lips. she then trailed up to your cheeks, kissing your nose twice before peppering more kisses on your forehead and chin. holding your face as you giggled and gasped out of breath. "love, stop please less-"

"what? if i'm committing a crime might as well go all out!" she rolled her eyes as she let up on peppering your face with kisses when as she left one last kiss on your lips not before going down to your neck and leaving a single kiss there.

"less." you warned as her breath fanned over your neck lingering where she had just kissed knowing her already what her next move was to do.

"don't" you pleaded, "later."

she reclined and became face to face with you and she whispered so only you could hear, "you'd let me commit a crime for a kiss on your pretty little lips, but won't let me give you a hickey in front of our best mates"

you looked at her twinkling eyes, and reciprocated the same tension she was giving you. you bit your lip still staring at her and nodded, "later, i promise" you whispered.

alessia cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips, "right" she answered.

meanwhile, the others had averted their eyes back to the game they were playing it not being as tension filled as it had been before. giving each other an eyebrow raise and a double glance between you and alessia.

ella deciding to continue the topic of the couple eta seats away from them, "i love them honestly, there biggest supporter!"

"even when they get lovey dovey?" katie questioned seeing the comment the brunette had made jsut minutes ago.

"yeah! thought she were gonna come and chase after me of summit for waking her up" ella said as the other just laughed knowing it wasn't out of the realm of possibility however it would have made for a very short chase considering there was only a small amount of space to be chased in since you were on a plane.

"but instead she's made a beeline for less and look at her now, all calm and relaxed!" ella finished declaring her happiness to the small group of players

"even though it's a little strange walking in on them sucking each others faces, i've never seen them so happy other than when their together!" georgia said providing her input.

"couple of fools in love, as they say!" keira smiled looking over to her two friends. "it's hard to hate them when you hear the way y/n talks about alessia" keira added.

"what! really what does she say?" ella asked nosily wanting some info to be able to tease you about later.

"yeah half the time i forget its literally less she's talking about when we're having a conversation" keira says slightly exposing her friend.

"she's just deeply in love with the girl!”

the four of them glanced at you and alessia on the other row of the plane having your own conversation in your own little bubble, just the two of you.

your arms wrapped around her neck as you lay on her chest looking at her as she was speaking. while one of her hands rested on your back and the other on your waist keeping you in place.

alessia smiling as she talked to you. the blonde knew her friends were having their own conversation, probably about you two. however she didn't think to join in, maybe later.

right now she was with you. the only person she could ever need, ever love. her person. her girl.

liked by keirawalsh and 621,047 others

alessia at least someone was comfy🙄

comments -

yourusername always comfy when i’m with you<3

41m 381 likes     reply

-> alessia aren’t you the charmer since you woke up!

-> yourusername i’m always a charmer😏

[weirdstuffontemu]

Things you don't expect to find on Temu: Tiny buildings. The one on the left appears to be an outhouse, suitable as a changing room and potty near your backyard swimming pool, while the one at right is practically a portable classroom like you had for speech therapy in junior high. I'd like to remind you that a century ago Sears-Roebuck used to sell full houses in their catalog, they'd mail you everything to build it yourself, and did so for this price and lower.

[su-z123]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Sears, Roebuck and Co. Merry Mushroom cookie jar.

[roebuck-estates]

English Sparkling Rosé Perfection by Roebuck Estates

When it comes to the world of fine wines and sparkling beverages, there's a rising star on the horizon - English Sparkling Rosé. One name that stands out in this category is Roebuck Estates. This blog explores the exquisite world of english sparkling rosé and the perfection crafted by Roebuck Estates.

The Resurgence of English Sparkling Rosé

English Sparkling wines have been gaining recognition and acclaim on the global stage. The cool climate and chalky soils of southern England have proven to be a fantastic terroir for producing exceptional sparkling wines. Among them, English Sparkling Rosé has emerged as a favourite for wine connoisseurs and enthusiasts.

Roebuck Estates: A Legacy of Excellence

Roebuck Estates is a name synonymous with quality and excellence. Located in the heart of West Sussex, this family-owned vineyard has a rich history of producing exceptional sparkling wines. The estate's dedication to traditional winemaking techniques and their commitment to sustainability make them a standout choice in the world of English Sparkling Rosé.

Crafting Perfection in Every Sip

The secret behind the perfection of Roebuck Estates' English Sparkling Rosé lies in their meticulous winemaking process. They carefully handpick the finest grapes, ensuring that only the best fruit makes it into their wines. The traditional method of secondary fermentation in the bottle creates those tiny, delicate bubbles that we all love in sparkling wine.

A Symphony of Flavours and Aromas

Roebuck Estates' English Sparkling Rosé is a delightful symphony of flavours and aromas. With notes of red berries, citrus, and a hint of floral undertones, each sip offers a journey through the English countryside. The wine's crisp acidity and balanced sweetness make it a perfect choice for both celebrations and intimate moments.

Sustainability and Environmental Stewardship

Roebuck Estates is committed to sustainable winemaking. Their vineyard practices are environmentally friendly, with an emphasis on biodiversity and soil health. This commitment to the land ensures that every bottle of English Sparkling Rosé produced is not only exceptional but also reflective of the estate's dedication to preserving the environment.

A Perfect Companion to Life's Special Moments

Whether you're toasting to an achievement, celebrating a special occasion, or simply savouring life's everyday moments, Roebuck Estates' English Sparkling Rosé is the perfect companion. Its versatility and elegance make it an ideal choice for any occasion.

Conclusion

English Sparkling Rosé is on the rise, and Roebuck Estates is leading the way with their commitment to perfection and sustainability. If you haven't yet experienced the delight of English Sparkling Rosé, make sure to try a bottle from Roebuck Estates. It's more than a wine; it's a celebration of craftsmanship, tradition, and the beauty of the English countryside. Cheers to English Sparkling Rosé perfection by Roebuck Estates!

Visit our official website to learn more: https://www.roebuckestates.co.uk/

[retropickens]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: vtg 2 TWO 1982 Sears MERRY MUSHROOM Ceramic Jars Canisters Japan.

[oterojgoinfla]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage satin blue tiny flowers 2X gown. Sears Roebuck & Co..

[college-girl199328]

Could prefab homes solve Canada’s housing crisis? ‘It’s like an orchestra’

Canada is facing a housing crisis — the number of homes needed in the country keeps growing but not the number of people needed to build those homes. As homebuilders and policymakers grapple with this problem, some may find answers in “prefabricated” houses, according to experts.

“Prefabricated (or prefab) housing is a form of housing where the building blocks are built in a factory rather than on-site,” Matti Siemiatycki, director of the infrastructure institute at the University of Toronto, told Global News.

“By manufacturing in a factory, it means construction can be done more precisely and it saves energy costs,” he said. Not being constructed on-site also saves labor costs, Siemiatycki added.

Prefab homes have been quite the rage of late. This is from tiny homes being flaunted on Instagram to being the popular choice for an Airbnb stay, to Elon Musk living in one himself.

As of last year, the billionaire was known to be residing in Boca Chica, Texas, in a 375-square-foot, energy-efficient prefab home from the company Boxabl. The model of home, known as the Casita, starts at around US$45,500 and is delivered to the customer on the back of a semi-truck.

Some companies, like Roombus, are even integrating software into their designs to make smart prefab homes. Roombus’ Nest homes are equipped with the company’s RoomOS software that can be used to unlock your house, adjust the lights and control the climate — all with a phone.

Prefab homes have been popular in waves throughout history, like in the U.K. after the Second World War following a housing shortage, according to Siemiatycki.

“There’s a long history of prefabricated homes. You used to be able to buy them from a Sears catalog,” said Siemiatycki, who is also a professor of geography and planning at the University of Toronto.

Between 1919 and 1928, Sears, Roebuck & Company sold home kits from its “modern home program,” according to the James A. Garfield National Historic Site. One home was even named “The Garfield” after the 20th president of the United States.

In Canada, many houses are typically built using the “stick construction” method — in contrast to prefab homes, where the home is delivered after it’s constructed, according to Siemiatycki. It is a construction method in which materials are assembled on-site.

“Interestingly, we’re returning to (prefab) now because we’re in a housing crisis,” he said. “You’re hearing a lot of emphasis on prefab housing, and it’s becoming more popular.” With increased demand, there has been a rise in companies creating prefabricated homes, though one hasn’t exactly dominated the market as of yet, said Siemiatycki.

“These companies have struggled to find a foothold. There’s a lot of talk about this. However, if this is going to catch on, who’s going to become the dominant player is still really up for grabs,” he said.

For 28-year-old Sasha Weekes and her boyfriend, moving into a 608-square-foot prefab home in central Prince Edward Island helped to “cut our expenses back by a lot.” “On the East Coast, they’re quite common, especially now with the housing crisis,” she told Global News.

Weekes’ home qualified for a mortgage through Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation. The biggest hiccup, however, was the delay Weekes faced in actually getting her prefab home delivered amid construction setbacks.

“People think that a prefab house will be a quicker option, but you have to do a lot of site preparations and then you have to wait for the house to be built and you have to wait for it to come,” she said.

When her home finally did arrive, two months were spent getting the septic dug and electrical installations done, before they could move in. “I think a lot of people around our age on the East Coast that have been priced out have had to use this option,” she said.

“They’re built well, and they are a better option (price-wise),” she said, but one must be prepared for the wait. Part of the solution to Canada’s housing crisis could be an increase in supply and according to Siemiatycki, “this is where prefab housing can have a big opportunity.”

Prefab homes can be constructed faster than regular houses, according to Adam Dumond, designer at Royal Homes in Ontario. “It’s like an orchestra,” he told Global News. “The home is built pretty much all at the same time. Framing, windows, and roofing — all of that can be done simultaneously in a manufactured prefab home.”

“It’s a cool alternative to stick framing. The crews are happy your home is indoors being built while the weather’s doing whatever it’s doing,” Dumond added. After the house is constructed, it is delivered in modules to the customers’ property to be assembled.

“A crane comes in and then we pick the home up and put it on the foundation one module at a time,” Dumond said. On average, Royal Homes sees about two and a half modules per house for something in the 1600-to-1800-square-foot range. Each square foot ranges roughly between $350 and $450, depending on where you live, said Drumond.

That means a 1,600-square-foot home could cost between $560,000 and $720,000 and an 18,00-square-foot home, somewhere between $630,000 and $810,000. “We have some homes that are a little bit less (in price) and some homes that are a little bit more. It just really depends on where you want to build,” he said.

In Ontario, the average price of a home sat at $829,934, as of Nov. 2022, according to the Canadian Real Estate Association. Though a prefab home may be cheaper than the average price of a home in the province, purchasing land for it to perch on is also a factor that needs to be considered.

“Every site is a little bit different,” said Dumond. It is necessary to be mindful of properties near water-shedding areas or rock formations, he cautioned. Siemiatycki agrees. “We need to be very careful that people are not buying in places that are prone to flooding or prone to wildfires. We need to be very careful that we’re not building in low-lying areas or areas that are right at the urban wildlife interface.”

In Ontario, nearly two-thirds of residents spend over 30 percent of their household budget on housing, according to a recent poll from the Ontario Real Estate Association (OREA).

Despite the rising cost of living putting pressure on Canadians, seven in 10 non-homeowners in Ontario identify as someone who “really wants to own a home,” the poll found.

And in Ontario, as well as B.C., high-interest rates are expected to continue to hold back homebuyers into the new year, according to a recent report from RBC. When it comes to architecture and design, prefab homes tend to be “repetitive,” according to Siemiatycki.

Putting personal touches on a home can also prove tricky. “There’s always a trade-off with prefabrication about how much customization you want to do before you lose the benefits — the economies of scale of building it in a factory,” said Siemiatycki.

For prefab homes to make their mark on Canada’s housing market, it is necessary to ramp up production, Siemiatycki said. “If a part of the supply is going to be provided by modular, either for single-family homes or multi-units, there’s liable to be a need for a huge amount of capacity in the market that isn’t even available right now,” he added.

Durability can also differ when it comes to prefab homes, according to Siemiatycki. “It does vary depending on how it’s built and what its lifespan is estimated to be,” he said. They need to have a history of being sustainable in places “vulnerable to environmental conditions.”

“We continue to need proper planning and making sure that where we’re building is safe to build and it’s not vulnerable because otherwise, you’ll just be creating real further challenges down the road for everyone involved — the municipalities, the first responders, and for the people that are ultimately living in these homes,” he said.

It’s wise to look for a reputable company, according to Siemiatycki. “This is thinking through (not just) who’s manufacturing, but also who’s assembling it,” he said.

Also thinking about whether the property can be rented out or resold down the road is something to be mindful of, Siemiatycki added. “There’s a lot of research that is involved in buying a home. For many Canadians, this will be the largest purchase they make in their life,” he said.

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe of Clipper Island 1936 (Last 7 episodes of the 14 episodes serial)

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Tiny Roebuck to Meet Sammy Stein,” Kingston Whig-Standard. October 28, 1932. Page 8. --- Sensational Heavyweights in Wrestling Show Here Wednesday ---- No less a personage of the wrestling world than "Tiny" Roebuck, gigantic Indian from Oklahoma, has been secured as the opponent for Sammy Stein, New York Jewish sensation, for the main bout of the Queensbury Club's all-star show at the Armouries next Wednesday evening. The bout is a tribute to the match-making genius of Promoter Jack Corcoran, for it is a Madison Square Garden attraction in every sense of the word, bringing together two of the world’s outstanding heavy-weights. It would not have been so surprising to see both Stein and Roebuck on the same program against inferior opponents, but to have the pair meeting in a finish match is something different again and that Kingston fans will be enabled to see wrestling at its best is now assured. 

There are only three or four wrestlers who were All-American football veterans before taking to the mat game and Roebuck is one of them. He played for the team representing the famous Haskell Institute, to which only students of Indian blood are admitted. In 1925, he was chosen on Walter Eckenall’s All-Western team and also on the Warner-Rockne-Jones All-American eleven. In January of 1927, he was the Individual star of the Shriners annual East vs. West charity game at San Francisco, turning professional shortly after that game. 

Roebuck is the biggest man in wrestling, weighing 375 pounds but in spite of this, he is one of the most beautifully-built perfectly, proportioned athletes in the world and has remarkable speed and gracefulness of movement for such a big man. Both he and Stein have featured shows in the biggest wrestling centres on the continent and each has drawn rates as high as $50,000. Promoter Corcoran promises an all-star supporting program but irrespective of who may appear in the preliminary, the main bout is such that it must be regarded as one of the greatest sports attractions ever brought to Kingston.

[the1920sinpictures]

1917 “Honeymoon Express” design by Lucile for her brief work for the Sears, Roebuck Company. It is a “tailored suit of gros de londre silk, or silk and wool poplin made in navy blue, black, taupe, grey, Russian green or Belgium blue. Price is $37.50. The going away dress is always a problem, particularly so in summer time. So I have designed this lovely suit of silk to take that happy place in the trousseau of my brides this summer. Made of gros de londres, it will shed the dust and keep you neat and trim when traveling. It gives you an opportunity for any number of dainty blouses, such as my “Junetime” shown here, of white satin. The hat “All Aboard” is a simple round sailor of black or white straw with a tiny green or white hand about the crown.” Note that a department store clerk could earn as little as $3.00 a week and a secretary was doing quite well to make $12.00, and you can see that this, even though it’s from Sears, was out of financial reach of most young ladies.

[vintage-tech]

a comment reply

Tiny? It’s precisely 12″ long. :) It’s mostly the flash bringing it out because it’s a bit darker in regular light, but is indeed a redwood color. Check out the red on the gear plate too:

Funny thing, on the larger drill I thought the crank handle was a hard rubber tube over the axle, like a really old piece of garden hose, where the guide handle was real wood. On closer inspection, I think the crank handle might be real wood but it’s just smoother for some reason.

And you see that second socket, the one to the right of the one the gear axle goes into? I thought maybe the handle or the shoulder plate would go into it. Nope, the handle bolt is smaller (and the second socket throat is smooth, not threaded) and the plate is also a socket held onto the tool by a setscrew. Either there’s another handle or plate that slides in, or there’s an axle and gear that would attach in the first socket to change the power ratio and the handle-gearing would go in the second socket. I’m spitballing here, I just see that second socket and wonder what it’s for.

Back to the smaller tool: Here are the bits. Eight of them, not seven.

And if anyone wondered: the larger one doesn’t have any visible branding but it’s green on both sides of the handle’s gear plate; the smaller one is a Craftsman 107 so likely came from Sears-Roebuck.

[wistfulcynic]

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment. 

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge. 

Or, at least, he was. 

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I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic​ Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends. 

Huge thanks to @shireness-says​​ for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite​​ for Just Being Her. 

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this 

on AO3

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The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan): 

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school. 

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity. 

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century. 

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school. 

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it. 

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there. 

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue. 

By the time Miss Emma Swan had finished up in the schoolroom on this particular late afternoon, the floor swept and the board cleaned and lessons all prepared for the following day, the sun was already slipping behind the craggy rocks at her back and casting upon the town a peculiar sort of distended twilight—shrouded in shadows beneath a glaring blue sky. As she made her way the short distance between the schoolhouse and her own cabin—or rather, the schoolteacher’s cabin, perhaps the most compelling perk of her job—a brisk breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt and the few flyaway hairs that had escaped her tidy Gibson bun. The night would likely be another chilly one, and Emma wondered absently if she had enough wood left to leave the fire high for an extra hour or two or if she should resign herself now to another cold, dark evening spent alone. 

The cabin where she lived, she and sixty years of schoolteachers before her, was small and rough like most in Haven and comprised only two rooms: a small bedroom to the rear and a larger space at the front used equally for sitting, cooking, and dining. In this front room was both a fireplace and stove, the latter surprisingly modern and another gift from a different rancher, to the previous teacher. Near this stove sat a small wooden table and two matching chairs; a soft and generous armchair had pride of place before the fire. 

The bedroom was by far Emma’s preferred room. The walls in it were painted, in a pale and soothing blue, and on one of them a charming watercolour of forget-me-nots was hung. There was a white wardrobe with a mirrored door, a washstand and a vanity table, and a large bed with a sturdy iron frame. The curtains on the single window were of dotted swiss that Emma had sewn herself, and in the morning when she opened them she was greeted by the colours of the dawn. 

Emma removed her buttoned boots the moment she was through the door; they pinched her toes and she disliked wearing them indoors. She replaced them with a well-worn pair of carpet slippers then headed for the bedroom, there to change out of her school clothes and into the more comfortable, loose wrap dress she preferred at home. When she entered the room she had already undone most of the buttons on her high-collared blouse and so made straight for the wardrobe, without so much as a glance at the bed. 

The mirror on the wardrobe door as it swung open flashed the brief reflection of a face, just as Emma heard the sound of a chair leg scrape against the bare wood floor. She gasped and spun around, eyes wide and one hand pressed against her chest. 

There could be no question that the man currently in occupation of her vanity chair, sprawled in it with an air as casual as it was deceptive, was one who had followed quite a different path of life than that afforded to the residents of Haven. His untidy hair and the thick scruff on his jaw might not be especially remarkable out in this still-wild corner of Wyoming, but the narrow cut of his coat and the embroidery on the waistcoat beneath it, the silver chain of his pocket-watch and the ostentatious knot of his tie marked him as a man who knew his way around a gambling table for both good or ill and could likely acquit himself equally well in both scenarios. A man who dealt with the hardships of life by shooting rather than working his way out of them—as the gleaming six-shooter currently pointed straight at Emma would most certainly attest. 

Emma forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. Her heart was pounding. The man greeted her with a brusque nod, and cocked the hammer on his revolver. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, love,” he drawled, in an accent that suited this town less even than his clothes or his gun. “By all means, keep going.” 

Emma swallowed hard and with trembling fingers undid the remainder of her buttons. Her blouse hung open to reveal the hooks of the corset underneath. 

The man gave his gun a menacing wave. “All the way now, there’s a good lass.” 

She shrugged off the blouse and let it fall to the floor. 

“And the skirt.” 

She unhooked her grey wool skirt and released it to pool around her ankles. 

His voice rasped. “Take down your hair.” 

Emma shivered.

Three pins and two combs held her hair in place. She removed them, dropped them into the pile of clothing at her feet; the bun tumbled down and over her shoulder. 

“Shake your head.” 

She did, vigorously. The bun unraveled further and strands of silky blonde fell across her face. 

He swallowed audibly. “Now the rest.” 

Emma hesitated, fingers hovering over the hooks on her corset. She wore nothing beneath it but a combination made of thin cotton lawn.

The man raised his gun and growled, “All of it.” 

She tossed her head back, jutted her chin out high in defiance. Her belly churned with a dark thrill of anticipation as she unhooked the corset and flung it away. He chuckled, low and rough. Emma fumbled with the buttons on her combination as he uncocked his gun and set it aside, then undid the belt designed to hold it. His eyes locked with hers as he stood, pale blue and profoundly tired, eyes that had seen far too much. 

She finished with the buttons but left the combination on, parted to reveal a thin strip of pale skin. Her heart thundered as he approached, her breaths short and heaving. He swaggered up and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the dust and sweat on him, so close she had to tilt her head again to see his face. His hand slipped beneath her shift to curl around her waist, fingers rough on her soft skin. 

“I—” Emma gasped as he pulled her closer, flush against him. His voice was a rumbling growl in her ear.

“You what, love?” 

“I was expecting you yesterday!” she snapped, and then she kissed him. 

-

“Gold is dead.” 

Emma’s head shot up from where it had been resting on the bare and hairy chest of Killian Jones. The most notorious outlaw in three states, or so the Wanted posters would have folks believe. Train robber, bank robber, high-stakes gambler—but only the trains and banks and gambling dens controlled by one particular man. A man in whose side Killian Jones had been an exceptionally troublesome thorn for near to six years. A man whose wife Jones stood accused of murdering. A man who was, it seemed, now dead himself. 

Emma stared down at his face, at the sharp definition of his cheekbones and lines of strain around his eyes. Such heavy burdens he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him, but now, despite the exhaustion writ plain on his face he seemed lighter. Relieved, in some intangible way. 

“He is?” she gasped. 

“Aye.” Killian nodded, grimly satisfied. “Shot him right through the place where his heart should be. That’s why I was late.” 

“Oh, Killian.” It wouldn’t do to feel happy about a murder, even that of a wicked man, but Emma found that she too was grimly satisfied. “You did it.” 

“Aye, it’s done. And now I have a price on my head so high I’d turn myself in if I could, and special team of bounty hunters hired by Gold’s son to bring me to him, dead or alive.” 

“Oh.” Her fingers flexed on his chest and his tightened where they curled around her hip. “What—what will you do?” 

“Leave the country.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious, and Emma supposed it was. “I’ve no choice.” 

“Will you go back to England?” 

“No. There’s nothing left for me there.” He paused and his hand slid up her back to tangle absently in her hair. “I was thinking South America. Argentina.” 

“Argentina?” 

“Aye. Land’s selling down there for cheap and I’ve enough saved to buy myself a ranch. I’ve never tried ranching before so it’ll probably be an utter failure, but the idea’s crawled into my head and made itself a nest there, so I think that’s what I’ll do.” 

Emma slipped from his arms and out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her house dress from the wardrobe and wrapped it around herself, as she tied it at her waist with jerky movements. 

“You must be hungry,” she said. 

“I could eat.” 

“Stew?” 

“Perfect.” 

In the front room Emma piled wood on the embers in her stove and coaxed a fire to life beneath the pot of stew she’d left on the hob. She swept the ashes from the fireplace, arranged the logs and the kindling, then struck a flint to light it. She could hear Killian in the bedroom washing and dressing in the spare clothes she kept on hand for him, and by the time she sensed his presence behind her the larger logs were catching nicely and the hearty aroma of stew had begun to waft in from the stove. 

“Shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready,” she told him without turning around. “There’s cornbread too. It’s a few days old, but—” 

“Emma.” 

“—it should still be good if you dunk it in the stew.” 

“Emma, love.” Killian’s voice was soft, full of the tenderness he showed only to her. “Talk to me.” 

“About what?” 

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this day would come, this one or another very like it. She understood the dangers of the life he lived, out on the edges of society, pursued by an influential man with a terrible grudge, and she’d done all she could to make her peace with it. Killian could have died any number of times in the three years of their acquaintance; she had always been aware that every time she bid him farewell might be the last. 

And now she knew for certain that it would be. Nothing had changed. 

She heard him pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down in it, and though she kept her back to him she he knew he would be leaning his elbow on the table and running a hand over his face. She could picture the gesture in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, so often had she seen him do it before, and her heart hurt because she knew he only did this when he was deeply troubled. 

“Emma, you know—you know why I spent so long trying to kill Gold,” he said roughly. 

“For Milah.” Her voice hardly broke on the name. “To avenge her.” 

“Yes. That bastard hunted her like an animal, shot her right in front of me then framed me for the crime, and all because she couldn’t bear to spend another moment as his wife. He took her life rather than allow her to live it free from him, because he couldn’t countenance her finding happiness with another man. And I swore to her as she lay dying that I would make him pay for that.” 

“Because you love her.” 

“I did.” In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the rasp of his scruff against his palm. “I did.” 

Emma had been watching the fire, now dancing merrily in the hearth, and it took a beat or two for his words to register. When they did her heart gave a shuddering thump and she spun round to gape at him. “Did?” she repeated. 

Killian’s lip quirked and humour flared briefly in his eyes before they became solemn again, and heartrendingly soft. “It’s a funny thing, revenge,” he remarked. “It begins as a simple quest for justice but so easily descends into obsession—almost before a man knows what’s come over him, it’s all he’s got left to live for. That’s how it was for me, for years. Until…” 

He trailed off and Emma found she was holding her breath. “Until?” she prompted.

He looked up at her. “Until I met you.” 

She inhaled sharply as their eyes met, his own warm and such a brilliant blue, full of an emotion to which she didn’t dare give a name. “I kept after Gold because of my vow to Milah, yes, but also because I had to, because it was him or me. His life or mine. When that bullet pierced his chest and I saw him fall, I realised that it wasn’t about Milah for me anymore and it hadn’t been, not for a long time. I was fighting for my life, my right to have it and to live it in peace. That’s all I want, just peace and a simple life. And you.” 

“Me?” gasped Emma, blankly and ungrammatically, as she attempted to grasp what he was saying. 

Amusement coloured the tenderness on his face, alongside a hint of exasperation. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why do you think I kept coming back here?”

She offered a weak smile and an abashed shrug. “My cornbread?” she ventured, and he laughed. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, darling, but your cornbread is dry. Try again.” 

Emma elected to ignore this ungentlemanly slur on her culinary skills. “Well… I suppose the town is quite secluded, good for hiding out,” she observed.  

“It is that. But that isn’t the reason, love.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.” Killian stood and moved towards her, slowly as if she were a baby faun he was apt to startle, or possibly a sleeping mountain lion. “It’s you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “You are what I will always come back for. You are the reason my soul is hale and unconsumed by hatred. Because it wasn’t revenge I was after, in the end. It was the future I wanted with you.” 

Tears clogged Emma’s throat and pressed insistently behind her eyes. “Killian,” she choked, “I—”

“Shh.” He closed what small distance remained between them and folded her in an embrace to which she clung tightly, face pressed against his shoulder so the soft flannel of his shirt might absorb her tears. “Emma, I know I have next to nothing to offer you.” Killian stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke. “A tenuous existence in an unfamiliar country, backbreaking work that likely won’t pay off, a struggle for everything we have. I shouldn’t ask this of you. I should have the decency to walk away and let you find happiness with a better man than me.” She could hear tears in his voice now, and when she looked up she saw them glistening in his eyes. “But I won’t,” he continued gruffly. “I can’t, because I am a selfish bastard and I love you. I love you so much, Emma.” His voice broke. “So much. And if you could see your way clear to coming to Argentina with me, I would spend every day I have left on this earth working to make you happy.” 

A rush of joy filled Emma Swan then, joy such as she had never known before. Her tears fell freely and unheeded as she tightened her hold on the man she loved and pressed her forehead to his own. In that stance they remained for some considerable time, until Emma became aware that the silence had drawn out far too long and she must speak. There were words he needed to hear from her, crucial words, and yet Miss Emma Swan, despite being quite a competent schoolteacher in all respects including her vocabulary, had always found words failed her when in the grip of strong emotion. 

“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a ranch?” she blurted, then shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d wished to say.

Killian’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve mentioned it.” 

“My daddy’s place out near Casper,” Emma pressed on. “A thousand acres of cattle, mostly, and some horses.” 

“It sounds nice.” 

“It was.” She snuffled and shifted until her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt cradled in his arms. This wasn’t the speech she’d planned but now she found herself determined to give it. “I was his only child, his only family after my mama died, and he reared me all my life to take over from him,” she continued. “But then when I was nineteen he got married again, and had a son. And suddenly ranching was ‘no job for a woman,’ or so he said, and I should look into teaching instead. Or better still get married and become some man’s pretty possession. Preferably the son of a neighbouring rancher, ‘for the future of our family’s land and legacy’.” She paused, remembering, and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I told him to go fuck himself.” 

Killian’s laugh rumbled through the both of them. “That’s my tough lass,” he said, with a pride in his voice that warmed her, and made her desperate. 

“But you do know what I’m saying, don’t you Killian?” she persisted. “You hear what I’m telling you?” 

“What I hear is that in addition to being beautiful and brilliant and tough as old boots, you also know how to run a ranch. Which would be bloody useful I must admit, as I haven’t got the first faint clue where to start. Is that what you wanted me to understand?” 

She nodded in relief. “That’s it.”

He brushed the hair back from her face with fingers gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “And is that... all you have to say?”

She felt caught in his eyes, and like to drown in them. “There may be one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s that I—I—” Emma drew a steadying breath. “I love you too, Killian, and of course I’ll go to Argentina with you.” A smile broke across his face, that rare and brilliant smile of his that set her heart to soaring and broke the dam that held her words in check. “I’d go anywhere with you,” she declared, laughing as he squeezed her tight. “To the moon. To hell itself, and then back out again.” 

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.” 

He leaned down to her and she swayed up to him and their lips met in a kiss that sang of love and of hope and of a most solemn promise, if something of a dramatic one. He dipped her back and kissed her until she was dizzy and overcome with laughter, and then swung her up again and into a dance. 

Emma put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as they danced to music they alone could hear, all around the cabin with the aroma of stew in the air and hope for the future in their hearts. 

-

The disappearance of Miss Emma Swan, schoolteacher and respected resident, shook the town of Haven, Wyoming as nothing had before. Even the escape and subsequent stampede down Main Street of Mr Murchison’s pigs had caused less consternation, since, as the residents all agreed, for that at least there was an explanation. A rusty gate hinge, investigation later revealed, had been the culprit behind the Spectacular Pig Hullabaloo of 1893, whereas Miss Swan had simply vanished, with no explanation given or obvious method of egress. She owned no horse and had not boarded the stage; no one matching her description had been observed at the train station in Casper or anywhere else that a woman alone on foot might reasonably have been expected to turn up. She had taken nothing with her save some clothes and a few books and left nothing behind but a brief letter hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper—her resignation from her position as schoolteacher effective immediately, and a recommendation for her replacement. 

Haven residents were thoroughly baffled, and for many months afterwards the Fantastical Vanishing of Miss Emma Swan was the number one topic of conversation amongst them. Theories were dismantled nearly as quickly as they had been constructed, replaced by newer and ever more fanciful speculations, and each resident had his or her own pet notion as to how and why the trick was done. Rarely had they felt so stimulated or enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, however time, as it inevitably does, soon began quite noticeably to pass, and the town’s attention moved on to other happenings. For although new events in such a quiet place may never again be as deliciously sensational as the mystery of the vanished schoolmarm, they do possess the not insignificant advantage of being new.  

And thus Emma Swan passed into Haven legend. 

Some years later, on the eve of her wedding, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard—soon to be Mrs David Nolan—sat at the very table where Miss Swan’s letter had been left and composed a letter of her own, to an old friend she’d first met at the State Normal School of Colorado. In her letter Miss Blanchard informed her friend of the imminent blessed day and thanked her for the recommendation that had not only brought Miss Blanchard many years of enjoyable work as schoolteacher to Haven’s children but also led, in that roundabout way life sometimes takes, to her current state of blissful happiness. 

This letter travelled by mail coach from the Haven general store—where Miss Blanchard posted it to the care of a P.O. Box in San Francisco—to the main post office in Casper. From there it went via train to Cheyenne, where it was loaded onto the mail car of the Union Pacific Railway and thence made its journey to the west coast. In San Francisco its fortunes underwent a curious change, for it was redirected by a clerk there, in accordance with instructions, and placed back on the Union Pacific, headed this time for Denver. From Denver it voyaged onwards to Kansas City, then Chicago, and finally to New York, where it abandoned train travel forever in favour of a steam ship bound for Buenos Aires. 

Upon arrival at port it was placed in the charge of a courier who carried it along with a scant handful of others over the rough roads of the Argentinian coast to Puerto Santa Cruz and then inland, where it finally, many months after its departure, came to rest at a tiny, dusty outpost in southern Patagonia. And it was from this inauspicious locale that the letter was collected, at long last, by its intended recipient—a woman none of the residents of Haven nor indeed the erstwhile Miss Blanchard herself would be likely to recognise as Emma Swan. 

The clothes she wore were utilitarian in design and plain in colour, liberally coated in fine brown dust. Her pale hair hung loose and wavy down her back, and her face beneath her wide-brimmed hat was tanned and marked around the eyes with the fine lines characteristic of those who spend a good deal of time squinting into bright sunlight. But these were superficial changes. The woman who collected the well-travelled letter and rode with it back to her ranch, who sat at the table in her kitchen and read it with a wide smile and sincere pleasure at the news from her friend—this woman was happy, as Emma Swan had surely never been. It was a happiness born of deep contentment and the satisfaction of a life lived on one’s own terms. And it was the happiness of a woman who is loved. 

Emma was reading the letter a fourth time when the sound of boots on the porch alerted her to Killian’s arrival; she looked up just as he came through the door with a smile on her lips the like of which neither Mrs Nolan nor any other in Haven could ever imagine her smiling. 

Killian hung his hat on a hook and met its brilliance with a smile of his own. “What are you thinking about, love, that has you so radiant?” he inquired. 

“A letter from Mary Margaret.” Emma indicated the sheet of paper in her hand. “She’s getting married. Is married now, I suppose.” 

“To a fellow worthy of her, I hope?” 

“A rancher, but not one of the arrogant ones,” Emma replied. “I think he is. Worthy of her, I mean. I think they’ll be happy.” 

“That’s good news indeed.” 

“It is.” She set the letter aside and went over to him, tucked her head beneath his chin as he enfolded her in his arms. “But that’s not why I’m radiant, as you say.” 

“I say it only because it’s true, darling.” 

“It’s because I’m happy,” said Emma softly. She nuzzled her nose against his neck; he smelled of sweat and dust and horses. “For Mary Margaret, of course, but also for me. It struck me just now, reading her letter, how happy I am. I’m so happy, Killian.” 

His arms around her tightened and she felt him stroke her hair, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “No regrets then, about abandoning everything you’ve ever known to live out your days on the lam with me?” 

“Nope.” Emma pulled back just enough to look up at him, to caress his cheek with her fingertips and press her forehead to his. “No regrets at all.” 

-

Historical Note: Emma in this fic is based loosely on a woman named Etta Place. Very little is known about her, but she is thought to have been romantically involved with Harry Longabaugh, a.k.a. the Sundance Kid, and to have accompanied him and Butch Cassidy to South America. However, verifiable details about her are scarce—even her real name is uncertain—and only one photograph of her remains. Some believe she may have been a prostitute but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the writer chose to make her a teacher instead, and honestly I have always found that such a compelling tale. A “proper” schoolteacher having a secret affair with an outlaw, then running away with him to another continent? The romance, am I right? 

And thus the inspiration for this story. 

-

@ohmightydevviepuu​ @thisonesatellite​ @katie-dub​ @kmomof4​ @killianjones-twopointoh​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ 

[su-z123]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Sears, Roebuck and Co. Merry Mushroom cookie jar.

[coldercreation]

Okay I spent way too much time finding these pictures and the other set is still not exactly what I was looking for but anyway!!

I think the dream came from me amusing myself by thinking of what animals the four laddies remind me of, and I was thinking about it for a couple of days the other week. I had Kit down as a cat, obviously, and Isac was a bunny. For Nat I wasn’t too sure and kept thinking of different coltish animals but never really settled on anything. And for Liam I was like “is bear too obvious? Is there something else?” 

The dream was pretty simple in what happened, it was more about the vibe and the scenery and the morning dew that I swear I could feel!!!😭 If you have ever walked through soft long grass super early in a mid summer morning when the grass tries to stick to your skin and the air is all misty and fresh and the sun is only just starting to give out that soft pale glow and everything is quiet?? That!

I have no idea where it was, I’ve never been to a place like this, and I was there but also... not(?) There was a strawberry field but it was one of those homely, cottagey private ones, so just one small field with the rows of strawberries, fenced by a forest on one side and long grass and hills on the other. Some parts of the rows were covered with a netting (the kind they use to keep birds away), and basically this was the dream:

This young and gangly looking roebuck (roe deer) was stuck to the netting from his antlers, he was making a whole mess and the netting just kept wrapping worse around his antlers and his forelegs. This tiny hare then showed up all pissy and bossy and swore at me? Just outright told me to piss off lmfao! But since I wasn’t there they somehow also didn’t react to me at all at the same time (dream logic<3). I don’t really remember what happened next, but I knew that the hare helped the deer so he wasn’t stuck to the netting anymore. 

They were off to the forest and somehow I magically knew that they were heading to meet the bear and the black cat (The bear had this long and shaggy light brown fur that looked blond with the sunrise, and the cat was a regular black cat at some point but also a black... big cat? Like a leopard or something? I ended up using a photo of a black serval cat even though it’s a completely different kind of feline, but I just found it so cool that black servals exists and I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t looked up these pictures just now?? So yeah, that wasn’t in the dream, the kitty was going between a house cat and a black leopard lol, as you do. Oh and yeah, I knew who each animal was in the dream, but I didn’t question them being animals hahah) 

The bear and the cat were walking together in the forest and they all just went to hang out together? I guess? I can’t really remember anything else from the dream, there was something else that happened when they went into the forest, like they were chasing something but it was a game?? 

Ahhh don’t remember! But it was all so chill and calming and pretty, so here, have a very random rant about this whimsical nonsensical dream I had lolll xx