#House Cleaning Houston

[keepitgreenmaidservice]

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[housecleaningcompany]

House Cleaning Company Houston Texas

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[racefortheironthrone]

Re zoning regulation reform: could you go into detail as what that would look like in terms of wiping the slate clean. I feel like it would be better to go the houston route and just be zoning free

You do not want to go the Houston route.

Houston may claim to be "zoning-free" - and to be fair, it doesn't have some of the more common regulations on land use, or density, or height restrictions (more on this in a minute) - but the reality is far more complicated and the status quo is not one that's friendly to the interests of working-class and poor residents, or to the possibility of sustainable urbanism.

The answer to NIMBYism isn't to abolish all regulations and let the free market rip, it's to surgically target zoning, planning, and litigation that is used against affordable housing, public/social housing, mass transit, clean energy, and walkable neighborhoods, and to replace it with new forms of regulation that encourage these forms of development.

So let's take take these categories in order.

Zoning

As I tell my Urban Studies students, zoning is both one of the most subtle and yet comprehensive ways in which the state shapes the urban environment - but historically it has been used almost exclusively in the interests of racism and classism. Reforming zoning requires going over the code with a fine-toothed comb to single out all the many ways in which zoning is used to make affordable housing impossible:

The most important one to tackle first is density zoning and building heights limitations. The former directly limits how many buildings you can have per unit of land (usually per acre), while the latter limits how big the buildings can be (expressed either as the number of stories or the number of feet, or as both). Closely associated with these zoning regulations are minimum lot size regulations (which regulate how much land each individual parcel of real estate has to cover, and thus how many how many housing units can be built in a given area), and lot coverage, setbacks, and minimum yard requirements (which limit how much square footage of a lot can be built on, and what kinds of structures you can build).

the other big one is use zoning. To begin with, we need to phase out "single use" zoning that designates certain areas as exclusively residential or commercial or industrial (a major factor that drives car-centric development, makes walkable neighborhoods impossible, and discourages the "insula" style apartment building that has been the core of urbanism since Ancient Rome) in favor of "mixed use" zoning that allows for neighborhoods that combine residential and commercial uses. Equally importantly, we need to eliminate single-family zoning and adopt zoning rules that allow for a mix of different kinds of housing (ADUs, duplexes and triplexes, rowhouses/terraced houses, apartment buildings).

finally, the most insidious zoning requirements are seemingly incidental regulations. For example, mandatory parking minimums not only prioitize car-dependent versus transit-oriented development but also eat up huge amounts of space per lot. The most nakedly classist is "unrelated persons" zoning, which is used to prevent poorer people from subdividing houses into apartments, which zaps young people who are looking to be roommates and older people looking to finance their retirements by running boarding houses or taking in lodgers, as well as landlords looking to convert houses from owner-occupied to rental properties.

So I would argue that the goal of reform should be not to eliminate zoning, but rather to establish model zoning codes that have been stripped of the historical legacies of racism and classism.

Planning

Similar to how zoning shouldn't be abolished but reformed, the correct approach to planning isn't to abolish planning departments wholesale, but to streamline the planning process - because the problem is that right now the planning process is too slow, which raises the costs of all kinds of development (we're focusing on housing right now, but the same holds true for clean energy projects), and it allows NIMBY groups to abuse the public hearings and environmental review process to block projects that are good for the environment and working-class and poor people but bad for affluent homeowners.

As those Ezra Klein interviews indicate, this is beginning to change due to a combination of reforms at both the state and federal level to speed up the CEQA and EPA environmental review process in a number of ways. For example, one change that's being made is to require planning agencies and environmental agencies to report on the environmental impact of not doing a project as well, to shift the discussion away from petty complaints about noise and traffic and "neighborhood character" (i.e, coded racism and classism) and towards real discussions of social and environmental justice.

At the same time, more is needed - especially to reform the public hearing process. While originally intended by Jane Jacobs and other activists in the 1970s as a democratic reform that would give local communities a voice in the planning process, "participatory planning" has become a way for special interests to exercise an unaccountable veto power over development. Because younger, poorer and more working class, and communities of color often don't have time to attend public hearing sessions during the workday, these meetings become dominated by older, whiter, and richer residents who claim to speak for the whole of the community.

Moreover, because community boards are appointed rather than elected and public hearings operate on a first-come-first-serve basis, an unrepresentative minority can create a false impression of community opposition by "stacking the mike" and dialing up their level of militancy and aggression in the face of elected officials and civil servants who want to avoid controversy. (It's a classic case of diffuse versus concentrated interests, something that I spend a lot of classroom time making sure that my students learn.)

Again, the point shouldn't be to eliminate public hearings and other forms of participatory planning, but to reform them so that they're more representative (shifting public hearings to weekends and allowing people to comment via Zoom and other online forums, conducting surveys of community opinion, using a progressive stack and requiring equal time between pro and anti speakers, etc.) and to streamline the review process for model projects in categories like affordable housing, clean energy, mass transit, etc.

Litigation

Alongside the main planning process, there is also a need to reform the litigation process around development. In addition to traditional tort lawsuits from property owners claiming damage to their property from development, a lot of planning and environemntal legislation allows for private groups to sue over a host of issues - whether the agency followed the correct procedures, whether it took into account concerns about this impact or that impact, and so forth.

As we saw with the case of Berkeley NIMBYs who used CEQA to block student housing projects over environmental impacts around "noise," this process can be used to either block projects outright, or even if the NIMBYs eventually lose in court, to draw out the process until projects fall apart due to lack of funding or the proponents simply lose their patience and give up.

This is why we're starting to see significant reforms to both state and federal legislation to streamline the litigation process. The categorical exemptions from review that I discussed above also have implications for litigation - you can't sue over reviews that didn't happen - but there are also efforts to speed up the litigation process through reducing what counts as "administrative record" or by putting a nine-month cap on court proceedings.

Again, this is an area where you have to be very surgical in your changes. Especially when the politics of the issue divide environmental groups and create odd coalitions between labor, business, climate change activists, and anti-regulation conservatives, you have to be careful that the changes you are making benefit affordable housing, clean energy, mass transit and the like, not oil pipelines and suburban sprawl.

[galwaygremlin]

STORYTIME PART TWO

well, part-two to this specific story

TLDR I fixed a car problem in a very Lise way

went to my old roommate’s house to pick up my mail and catch up with him, borrowed his drill while I was there to try and get the stripped screw out of my air filter housing; that Did Not Work and in fact we made it worse. he tells me to go to a junkyard to replace the whole air filter housing. I spend this morning calling every used auto parts vendor in Houston to find this Apparently Very Specific car part, only one place has one and it’s in Pasadena, I drive over there pleading with my truck not to break down on the highway, pick up the part, scoot to a mostly-empty parking lot to do my repairs, and discover the part I’ve picked up is about 90% similar to the one I already have.

The 10% difference ends up being PRETTY CRUCIAL. I can’t connect the box to the hose that like, sends air in there or whatever. I dismantle the one I already have and put my NEW mass air flow sensor on the new one, which fits, but just barely. I take the MAF sensor that was still attached to the new box and spray that (by itself) and the old one (still in the old box) with MAF sensor cleaner, hoping that helps at all. I then just kinda... start poking at the old box with a flathead screwdriver because I have, like, MOST OF A SOLUTION HERE but I don’t know what to do.

In the middle of this some guy in a van rolls up and asks me for directions to a post office but his Google Maps was set to, like, Virginia? So I tried to help him out, I hope he got where he wanted to go.

Poking things with screwdrivers has generally worked out well for me in the past and it CAME THROUGH FOR ME AGAIN as a viable plan of action, because I ended up brute-force-ripping the old MAF sensor out without damaging the air filter box.

I’m not sure how many times I’ve used the phrase “Well I’ll be damned” in my life, but this afternoon saw that phrase skyrocket into my vernacular, because I did not think that strategy would work out so well.

Put the new sensor in the old box, put everything in my engine block back together, rolled out, no more check engine light, HAPPY DAYS.

[mmmaidcleaning]

You Should Consider Getting House Cleaning Services- Here’s Why

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[beemaids]

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[weepingglittermagazine]

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[laurfilijames]

Worst Way

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Mention of mutual masturbation/video call sex. Unprotected intercourse. Will in that polo shirt.

Summary: Will comes home from doing a stint of talks and his only priority is getting his fill of you, your time apart making him need you in the worst way.

A/N: I've been listening to this song on repeat and needed to write about it, and the character I felt that fit it the best was our Captain Miller. We'll consider this a little early birthday treat to myself, I was going to wait until Tuesday to post it but I'm too excited! A big thank you to @spaghettificationandpretzels for making me the beautiful banners to use!

---

In the grand scheme of things, five days was a blink compared to the amount of days he’d been away from you before, but as he drew closer to being home, Will’s impatience to get there was becoming nearly unbearable.

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, the leather feeling cool to his palm that was hot from his eagerness and holding it in the same spot for too long now, glancing at his watch on his wrist where he calculated he had exactly two hours and fifty-three minutes left until he would pull in the driveway.

Each day had been the same; driving from base to base all along the coast from Tampa to Houston, waking up in an uncomfortable motel bed he tried hard not to think about how many other people had laid in doing god knows what, and giving his memorized speech to a different room full of candidates considering signing on to be part of the Special Forces.

It was all automatic by now, having said the same words one hundred and ninety-two times, his mind able to drift off to what you were doing as he spoke without a second thought, wondering if you were making coffee in the kitchen wearing just his hoodie and your underwear, or if you were cleaning the house, feeling jealous of your fingers grazing over every surface and all the belongings that made up your home.

He imagined your smile; greeting the cashier warmly as you placed groceries onto the belt from the cart, grinning as you said thank you to the older gentleman who held the door open for you as you left the store, and knowing he was so close to seeing it for himself again kept him hanging on to get through each long day without you.

Late night video calls and texts sent between lectures helped carry him through, feeling grateful to at least have that compared to what little communication he would have when he was deployed, a crooked grin tugging his lip up as he thought to your last video call from the night before; both of you laying naked in your separate beds, touching yourselves in ways that were instructed by the other, the sounds of your moans brought on by your own hand still repeating in Will’s mind now.

He adjusted in his seat, his right foot pressing on the accelerator with slightly more pressure, the need to get home and have you increasing to a level he couldn’t tolerate anymore than he already had.

Rain started speckling on the windshield, a few drops at first before turning into a steady fall, the streams of it on the glass reminding him of all the showers you had solo in his absence, feeling envious of the water running down your skin and every curve, imagining you slipping into your bedsheets with drops still clinging to you and marking the cotton with darker spots.

Will wondered if it was raining at home, too, if you were sitting on the porch watching it pour, always loving the sound of the rolling thunder and the tapping of each drop on the roof, or if the skies were clear as the sun started to go down, picturing the pinkish-orange light casting on your skin to make it glow in its golden hour.

With a sigh, he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, accepting that no matter how much he continued to dream about you, it wouldn’t bring him any closer to home any faster, accepting that he had to live through each of these minutes in full until he was able to have his hands on you again.

With the sun now tucked behind the horizon and the ground saturated with water, Will slammed the door to his truck, leaving his bags in the back seat to get tomorrow, nothing more important than getting inside the house and getting his hands on you.

His boots ground against the wet pavement as he took purposeful strides to reach the front door, quickly inserting the key into the deadbolt and unlocking it, the smell of home and of you filling his nose as soon as he turned the handle and stepped inside.

Before he could close the door behind him, you walked around the corner from the hallway leading to your bedroom, your smile making his heart leap in his chest as you locked eyes with him.

You rushed into his arms, your body warm and soft, the feel of your hands carding up his back making goosebumps break out on his skin. You both peeled away from each other slightly, exchanging a look that spoke more than words could before crashing your lips together, a shared moan transferring between your mouths as the desperation you both felt finally set in.

Will kicked the door shut with his foot, making it slam so hard the walls shook, his hands tearing to get to your form that was covered by an oversized t-shirt and quickly discovering that was all you had on.

He growled against your lips, his hands squeezing your bare ass and spreading your cheeks slightly, feeling you press your hips forward into his in a silent request for more.

Your chest rubbed against his body, the tight fit of his polo allowing him to feel how hard your nipples were through both of your shirts, your arousal clearly having built up as much as his had in anticipation of his arrival.

He felt drunk with lust, his senses working primally as everything about you made him feral, your scent and touch breaking him down to be nothing more than a man who needed his woman in the most raw and cardinal way.

Will grabbed at the hem of your shirt and ripped it up and off of you, his hand gripping your jawline when he met you in another claiming kiss, hearing your breathy moan die out in his mouth.

He forced himself to stop, his chest heaving as he broke the seal of your lips, seeing yours already puffy from his beard chafing against them and wet from his kiss.

You looked heavenly standing before him; naked and stunning, equally as vulnerable as you were strong, your frame small in the shadow of his. But what made him feel powerful was the love and lust held in your eyes, your heavy gaze consenting for him to take you how he needed, knowing you craved him as much as he did you as you shifted on the spot you stood, squeezing your thighs together while arching your back so your chest stook out.

A crooked, half-smile dressed his lips as he took a step toward you again, backing you up against the wall and shoving his thigh between your legs, watching with complete satisfaction as you closed your eyes at the feel of your bare sex contacting the rough denim of his jeans.

He dipped his head and latched onto your neck, sucking and nipping at your tender skin, making you squirm against him and begin to ride his thigh, his hand slapping the painted drywall beside your head.

His fingers dug into the flesh on your hips with his other hand, clawing at you in a way he knew might leave bruises but that you also loved, aiding your movements on him as you ground back and forth.

“Will…” you whined, his name the only word uttered between you so far, the sound of it coming off your tongue so desperately in combination with how your hands clawed at his shoulders encouraging him to kiss your neck even more and press his leg up harder against your core.

His mouth traveled upward along your throat and under your chin, pulling your earlobe with his teeth before making his way back to your lips, growling when your hands ran over his straining cock in his jeans and then tugged at his shirt to untuck it from his waist.

He lifted his arms for you to whisk it over his head, returning to your mouth instantly while your soft hands smoothed over his bare chest, his skin feeling like it was lit on fire wherever your palms had laid.

You worked next on his belt, the sound of the metal clanking undone and then his zipper sliding open almost lost in the wet smack of your lips, your fingers sliding behind his back to pull his jeans along with his boxer-briefs down over his ass. They fell at his feet and he stepped out of them as quickly as he could, holding your face in his hands to try to keep you near him, but feeling you sink away from him as you dropped to your knees.

The look in your eyes as you stared up at him made his cock throb even more, and when you took it in your hand and stroked it while bringing your lips to the tip, he knew he couldn’t go a second longer without being inside you, having you take him in your mouth not even enough to sate his need.

Will knelt in front of you, grabbing your face again as he kissed you hard, leaning his body forward to guide you back to lay you down beneath him.

Spread out beautifully for him, he covered you, his cock finding your entrance without assistance, and with the slight movement of his hips, he pushed inside your wet hole and stretched you out.

Your cry was suffocated by his tongue, your back arching off the floor as you succumbed to his size, and Will allowed no time for you to adjust, pulling out of you before slamming back in again.

His thrusts were powerful and unbroken, determined to give you everything you needed while taking from you everything he could, his pleasure controlling all of him and blinding any restraint he had left.

You met him with equal fervor, rolling your hips with his with a similar goal in mind, chasing what only he could provide you, feeling you get wetter by the second and already soaking his dick and groin.

Will held onto you tight, nearing his end, his hands grabbing at any part of you he was able to keep you as close to him as he could while he hammered into you, your cunt clenching around him in a way he knew that signalled you were about to come apart too.

Your nails scratched his back wildly, muscles tensing and straining in both of your bodies as you rode through your climaxes, Will continuing to pump in and out of you frantically as he coated your walls and filled you completely.

Feeling you contract around him again, he didn’t relent, fucking you more with all he had left as a second orgasm took hold of you, the feel of his cum leaking out of you extending your high in the most addicting way.

His panting breaths filled your mouth as your kisses began to slow, feeling you relax under him as he settled his pace until he eventually stilled in you, his hand smoothing over your forehead where he looked at you smiling sweetly at him after he’d peeled his face away from yours.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he purred, finally giving you a proper greeting.

You giggled softly, your finger tracing the crease beside his mouth. “Welcome home, Will.”

---

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

@paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics

@spaghettificationandpretzels @whatever-lmaoo @steviebbboi

[bradshawssugarbaby]

All Dressed Up - Capt. Syverson x Reader

A/N: based on a thought I had while watching Sand Castle earlier and a discussion with @nouis-bum from a couple of days ago. I couldn't help myself, sorry. Also, we decided for the purpose of my writing, his name's Luke.

pairing: Capt. Syverson x fem!reader

warnings/content: oral (m & f receiving), no use of y/n, no real mention of reader's features other than long hair.

word count: 1.8k

“Honey, have you seen my blue shirt?” Luke Syverson called out to his wife, his icy-blue eyes squinting as he tried to think of where his dress shirt could be. He was sure he’d checked every laundry basket, every drawer in the dresser, and both sides of the closet. He bounded down the stairs, heavy footsteps echoing through the house as he headed for the laundry room. His brows knit together as he thought about any stone he may have left unturned in his search. He didn’t dress up often - in fact, the missing dress shirt in question was his only dress shirt. He had always gotten by with an old t-shirt and a pair of jeans when he went out, which wasn’t a regular occurrence until you’d entered his life a few years ago. 

Slowly, you’d begun to introduce new things into his closet, replacing his tattered old Houston Texans jersey was the first step - he’d kept the old one, of course, for nostalgic purposes, but it hardly fit, and the deep navy blue fabric had gained a few holes here and there over the years. The new one had been a birthday gift from you that first year you were together, and he treasured it. The dress shirt was introduced the second Christmas the two of you were together. You had a work Christmas party and he was home from his latest tour for a 6 month break until the next one came around. He’d never met any of your co-workers before, and wanting to make a good impression and keep you happy, he’d reluctantly agreed to go shopping with you to pick out something better suited to wear than a tattered cotton graphic tee he’d had for at least a decade, and a well-worn, faded pair of jeans. 

As he squatted down in front of the dryer, opening the door to look at the contents inside to see if his shirt was somewhere in amongst the clean laundry waiting to be folded, he heard footsteps come up behind him, followed by a wolf whistle. He smirked to himself, closing the dryer door after yet another unsuccessful search. He stood upright, his full 6-foot-something frame straightening up as he turned to face you. His bulking muscular figure was still toned from the years of military service he’d just retired from, although now, he stood a little more solidly, having grown accustomed to more than just black coffee and shitty food while he was away. His arms folded across his chest, muscles bulging as he stood before her. His wife stood in front of him, batting her eyelashes as she donned his blue button up shirt, sitting oversized on her, drooping off her shoulders as grinned at him. His eyes scanned over her, taking in the sight before him. His lips curled up into a smirk, framed by his thick, curly, dark beard, the chestnut coloured hairs recently trimmed to look less wild than they usually did. He noticed that the shirt stopped just above her knee, and it didn’t take more than a split second to realize that the shirt was the only article of clothing she was wearing at the time. 

“Now, darlin’, why exactly have ya got my shirt on?” His voice carried a teasing tone to it as he spoke, the smirk on his face remaining unchanged as his piercing blue eyes continued to gawk at her. 

“Thought it made for a kinda cute shirt dress, don’t you?” She teased, twirling a long strand of hair around her index finger, “Besides, kinda fun watchin’ you run around half naked lookin’ for it.”

“Sugar, don’t get me wrong, it looks great on ya, but I can’t exactly go out for dinner lookin’ like this,” Luke gestured to his naked torso, his hand stopping just above the waist of his dark-washed jeans.

“Fine, but, before I take it off,” She began, her lips curving into a devilish grin as she dragged her fingers lazily over his skin, gently raking through the brown curls that adorned his chest, “I want to make you feel good first.”

“Darlin’, you’re killin’ me here,” He shook his head, laughing as he looked down at her. 

Luke watched as she gently pressed her lips to his collarbone before slowly slinking down to her knees before him. He took his belt in his hand, undoing the metal buckle and sliding the long leather material through the belt loops around his waist. He dropped it to the ground, the sound of the buckle clattering against the hardwood flooring echoing through the room. 

He undid the button on his jeans with urgency, dragging them down just enough to allow his wife the space she’d need to pleasure him. She yanked the elastic waistband of his boxers down with a smirk, his hardened cock springing back as she freed it from its cotton restraints. She pressed her lips to it, leaving a tauntingly delicate kiss to the sensitive, red tip, her hand firmly gripping the base. She licked a long, wet stripe up the underside of his length, beginning at the base and ending in a swirling motion around the tip, giving him a doe-eyed gaze as she looked up at him, watching for his reaction. He tilted his head back, letting out a deep, low growling moan before turning his head back to look down at her, grunting her name as she guided his member past her lips, creating suction on the tip with her mouth. 

She began bobbing her head along his length, her cheeks hollowing as she pushed his erection further into her mouth, saliva beginning to drip down it as she took more of his length past her lips. She pulled her mouth back off his cock with a loud popping noise, smirking up at him as he grunted upon the loss of contact. 

“Fucking Christ, babygirl, you’re killin’ me here,” Luke rasped, shaking his head as he looked down at her.

Luke grabbed a handful of her hair, gripping it as he guided her mouth back onto him, pushing her further down his erection and guiding her back off it at a rhythmic pace, building in speed as she went. Luke was struggling to keep himself composed as she continued working his orgasm out of him with her mouth. Her eyes began to water as his tip brushed the back of her throat and the moment his sensitive cap made contact, he felt his knees buckle, swallowing hard as he tried to hold off his orgasm as long as he could. Her gaze never left his face as he tossed his head back, her name falling from his lips like a prayer as thick, warm ropes of cum shot down her throat. His eyes shut for a brief moment, completely lost in his own pleasure. He looked down at her, watching as she slowly backed herself off of him, dragging her tongue lazily against his underside as she did so. 

“Darlin’, I think it’s only fair I return the favour for ya now,” He gave her a mischievous smirk as he offered his hand out to her, helping her stand to her feet. 

Luke gripped her hips and hoisted her up onto the metal top of the dryer, grinning at her as he took his turn kneeling on the floor. He pulled her forwards by her hips. He tapped the inside of her thigh with his hand, indicating to her that she needed to spread her legs to allow him to fit between them. His blue eyes watched her as he dragged two thick fingers along her wet folds, his voice in a low hum as he spoke, amused at how aroused she was. Luke used his fingers to part her lips gently, letting out a deep exhale as he stared at her, taking in the sight before him.

“Look at you, darlin’, pussy all wet for me, just waitin’ for me to take care a’ya, hmm?” he cooed as he watched her part her lips, allowing a soft moan to escape from her mouth.

“Luke, please, baby,” she mewled, whimpering as he circled the pad of his fingertip against her swollen clit. 

The sound of her whimpering, soft moans were music to Luke’s ears, and he wasted no time in pressing his lips to her sensitive bud, lapping his tongue against it, tasting her sweet arousal as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thigh. He dipped two of his fingers into her now dripping core, lazily fucking them into her as he sucked on her nub, waiting for her to beg him to give her more. 

“Luke, fucking hell, stop fucking teasing me, please?” She whined, her voice raising in pitch as she let out another whimper.

Luke pumped his fingers into her faster, pressing into her soft spot as he continued to lick and suck at her clit, his bright blue eyes never leaving once leaving her face as he watched, feeling himself become more aroused by seeing her face contort and hearing her vocalize her pleasure. He felt her leg tremble under his free hand, and he continued to fuck her with his fingers, pulling his mouth off of her clit just enough for her to hear him speak.

“Soak my fingers for me, sugar,” He husked, watching as he continued to thrust them into her wet folds, an animalistic grunt escaping his lips as he felt her clenching around him.

She tossed her head back as her arousal coated him, a loud, passionate scream of his name echoing through the air as she climaxed. Luke pulled his fingers out, licking them clean before ducking back between her thighs, delving his tongue inbetween her folds to clean up the mess he’d made of her. Once finished, he pulled back his head, sitting back on his feet for a moment as he grinned up at her, his bearded chin glistening with her arousal as he looked at her. 

“Now, sweetness, you’re gonna have to take my shirt off of ya now, or else we’re never gonna make it to dinner. They might notice us being missing.” He smirked, shaking his head as he stood up.

Luke reached his hands out to grab her by the hips, nodding as he helped her down off of the dryer. He cocked an eyebrow up at her, watching as she slowly undid the buttons of the shirt before shrugging the blue material back off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as she exposed her bare skin to him. Unable to control his impulsive urges, Luke grabbed her by the waist, gripping her body tightly as he pulled her in against his frame. 

“Well…maybe we can be a few minutes late?” 

[sempersirens]

yes, chef | part three

summary: domestic bliss doesn't last long with a man who doesn't know how to regulate his emotions at the idea of losing someone he loves

pairing: no-outbreak!au, chef!joel x f!reader

content/warnings: lots of angst, swearing

a/n: omg as a brit writing stories set in the US i always forget how far states are from each other.... wym you can't just hop on the train from houston to new york?

In theory, you'd always wanted to be a morning person.

You envied the ease of Joel's body slipping out from the sheets each morning, never fighting with his eyelids for just five more minutes of rest.

The break of dawn was probably your favourite time of the day; you just preferred to soak it all in warm and semi-lucid from Joel's bed. The ambience of car engines on the street below slowly waking up mixed with Joel's coffee pot singing on the stove felt like a hymn sung only for you. You'd shut your eyes - only momentarily, before hearing the door creak open and the large white mug you'd claimed as your own being set down beside you on the nightstand.

Strategically, it was lucky that Joel always had to get to the restaurant hours before you. But each morning you wished you could pull him back under the duvet and sink yourself into his chest until it was impossible to decipher where you ended and he began.

Showering after spending a night with Joel felt like sacrilege. If it wasn't for the sweat and other fluids clinging to your skin, you would wear the remnants of his touch and scent on your body like an expensive French perfume.

The restaurant was always hectic, but now nearing the festive season everything seemed to intensify rapidly. However, screwing the boss did have its perks; you'd managed to sneak a couple of days off last week to visit a friend from culinary school in New York.

While you were there, she'd taken you to one of her favourite spots in the city, introducing you to the head chef who was a friend of hers. He'd asked about your current role and you told him everything about working for the Joel Miller - strategically omitting the parts where he has you pinned against the stove after hours.

You'd thought nothing of it after that, knowing it would mostly be inconvenient to hire someone halfway across the country when culinary grads were lurking on every corner in the city. You didn't want to leave Joel, either. You didn't plan on staying at his restaurant for the rest of your life - even he didn't, but things were good. You felt secure for the first time in your life.

Finally arriving at the restaurant, you sang a chirpy "Mooorning!" into the kitchen before dumping your things into your locker. As you tied your apron around your figure, Joel emerged from the office, eyes dark and trained on the floor.

"Good morning, chef." You cooed in a low tone, letting your voice rasp every so slightly.

He kept his eyes on the ground, grunting something inaudible vaguely in your direction before stalking into the kitchen.

Weird.

Whenever you and Joel got a moment alone he would always take advantage of your solitude, even if only for a couple of seconds. He'd seemed fine at the house this morning, you'd heard him singing along to The Supremes while making breakfast. Maybe the wrong amount of stock had been delivered; the tiniest of setbacks were often enough to dictate his mood for the entire day.

You pushed the encounter to the back of your mind, redirecting your attention to your prep for the day.

"Has anyone seen my boning knife?" You shouted over your shoulder after all but turning your station inside out.

Before you could turn your head, a heavy hand slammed the knife in front of you.

"Was on the floor when I got here this mornin'. Watch your shit and clean your station." Joel growled, loud enough for the rest of the kitchen to hear.

"Yes, chef." You bowed your head, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

You were more than familiar with his sharp tongue and short temper, but there was something about the way he spat his words at you that sent an unease through your body. He'd made you feel small. Why couldn't he have left the knife on your station for you when he found it? It seemed like such a petty thing for him to do.

Not wanting to let his mood rub off on you, you brushed it off and carried on with your tasks before service started.

The morning rushed past in a haze, and soon enough orders were coming through. Joel had remained eerily quiet for the majority of the morning, you almost wished he would shout at you to simply acknowledge your presence.

He hadn't found a single excuse to touch you, an act of affection he often employed while he made his rounds through the stations. You felt like you were a child being given the silent treatment by your mother, all of a sudden you were six again, tugging at the hem of her dress begging for her to look at you.

You were in the midst of prepping a monkfish and kohlrabi main with cauliflower and dates, almost ready for it to go to the pass, when you felt his presence behind you.

"Sauce ain't reduced enough."

"With respect, chef, it has two more minutes on heat."

He left before returning with a spoon, dipping it into your saucepan of monkfish stock.

"Needs lime."

"I'm going to add lime before it goes on the pass. As I said, it's not finished yet."

"Fuckin' useless." He muttered quietly under his breath, but you caught it.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"I said you're fuckin' useless. Slow, no attention to detail, don't know why you're still in my kitchen."

Your heart sank deep into the pit of your stomach, sweat coating your palms. All eyes were on you both, and the sizzle of your burning sauce on the stove was the least of your worries.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" You fought for your voice to not waiver.

Was this part of your act? Had he taken the game you both played too far? There was no softness in his eyes, no remorse or realisation that his words had stung you.

Before he could dismiss you from the kitchen, you untied your apron and threw it to the ground, letting your hard work char and spit on the stove.

You didn't say a word as you snatched your things, bustling through the back door without another glance.

"Where the fuck d'you think you're going? You don't get to walk out of here mid-service just because y'needed more damn lime." Joel called from behind you.

"This isn't about the fucking lime, Joel. How could you speak to me like that? I thought, I thought-"

"You need to get some thicker skin. They ain't gonna coddle you like I do in New York."

The words must've slipped out of his mouth judging by the way his eyes widened at the mention of New York.

"What are you talking about?"

"They called me this mornin' - for a reference. Told me how impressed they were meetin' you."

You wanted to reach out and touch him, to console him and tell him how this was all just a horrible misunderstanding. Then his words replayed in your head. Every time you looked into his big, angry eyes all you could hear was useless, fuckin' useless.

"Grow up, Joel. Maybe if you'd have talked to me about it like a fucking adult I could've told you it wasn't like that."

"Oh yeah, what was it like? You plan on fuckin' your way to the top there too, or that just with me?"

He was being unjustly cruel and he knew it. This wasn't a power play for you, and he knew that. Although you'd never said it, you loved him, and you were almost certain that he loved you too.

But this was too much - he had pushed you too far this time. There was no coming back from this.

"Fuck you, Joel."

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Are you ready to move? This is not an impulsive decision. You are finally ready to take the plunge! For this purpose, you have been preparing and packing for several weeks. You know that you will have to deal with numerous boxes. Packing up can be exhausting; irrespective of the number of boxes you have in mind.Read the complete Pdf: Why Should You Hire Moving Cleaning Services Houston Texas?

[cherry-holmes]

RIVER - Javier Peña x f!Reader

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña

Chapter —

MASTERLIST

Summary: Javi took you to his favorite place on earth: heaven.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word count: +3k

Warnings: Angst with happy ending (sad!Javi) Parent loss. | SMUT. Again, there's a lot of plot before the smut😅P in V sex. Unprotected sex. Rough-ish sex. Fingering. Sex in a public place -ish. Breeding kink. Praise kink. Pregnancy talk.

A/N: Hello, Hola! First of all I want to thank all of you for the support you gave me on my first work! Muchas gracias! I been writing for almost ten years now, but I haven't publish anything since my first fanfic on Wattpad in 2017😅

I hope you like this one as much as the first one!

I repeat, I'm not a native English speaker, but I'm a translator student so I hope I'm doing it well!

If you wanna send me a request, my box is open!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Several daily high temperature records were broken Tuesday in Texas, including at Houston Hobby Airport, Corpus Christi, Laredo and Del Rio. Laredo hit 115 degrees, marking its 10th consecutive day of record highs...

Indeed, as the reporter mentioned on the radio, those were incredibly hot summer days. The air was dry and the sun was burner, it drain all your energy.

You tried to be helpful at the Peña's Ranch during your work vacations, but the chores felt like torture. Javier and his father used to spend hours under the unforgiving sun, repairing fences, tending to horses, herding cattle, and dealing with clients looking for meat animals. The life of a ranch owner was undeniably tough but prosperous.

Sunday arrived with the thermometer hitting nearly 115 degrees. When you woke up that morning, you anticipated a challenging day ahead. However, Javier woke up with a plan in mind. He mentioned knowing about a river around 22 kilometers from the ranch were he used to spend all summer with his cousins when he was a child. You hadn't explored much of the city since you'd been living there for five months since your return from Colombia. So, you were excited about the idea of discovering your new home state, and most importantly, having a day off to immerse yourself in nature. He was delighted that you had agreed to the plan and suggested that you wear sportswear for hiking and a swimsuit.

You inquired him if his father would join, but he explained that Don Chucho would attend the morning mass and then spend the rest of the day at his brother's house.

"It's just you and me today, mi vida," he promised, his large hands squeezing your hips as he left soft kisses on your shoulders as you prepared containers with cubes of watermelon and mango seasoned with lemon and chile Tajín.

Javier placed a small cooler in the back of his '94 Dodge Ram and filled it with beers, water, the fruits you had prepared, and some tamales you had bought and had leftover from the night before.

You jumped into the passenger seat, and Javi turned on the radio as the truck roared to life. The sound of cumbias tejanas played softly as you admired the view of Laredo's countryside. The wind blew through your hair, and Javi drummed his fingers on the steering wheel syncing with the rhythm of Bobby Pulido's song. You felt his free hand touch yours, and when you looked at him, he took your knuckles and placed a kiss on them. He briefly took his eyes off the road to gaze into yours and said, "You look so beautiful today."

Your cheeks turned red as you laughed shyly, but you couldn't resist teasing him, "Only today?"

He grinned and replied, "You've always been a beauty, chiquita."

Thirty minutes later, Javier parked the truck in an improvised parking lot used by visitors to the river. You grabbed your backpack, which was packed with clean towels and dry underwear, while Javi carried the cooler and his own backpack. As you followed him through the lush vegetation and the cool water of the river, you welcomed the fresh air and the shade of the trees. Families and groups of young friends, some with dogs and others who appeared to have camped there overnight, were scattered about. But you notice that Javi didn't follow the same path as the rest of the visitors.

Curious, you asked Javi, "Where are we going?"

He grinned and replied, "It's a surprise."

You continued hiking uphill, leaving the main river trail further and further behind. However, you could still hear the gentle rush of the river. The air was filled with the fresh aroma of blooming flowers and damp earth. Butterflies fluttered everywhere, and you spotted squirrels and birds with vibrant-colored feathers.

After thirty minutes of hiking, you began to feel very sweaty and tired, especially in your knees due to the rocky path.

"Javi," you called to him, noticing he was climbing effortlessly. "Javi," you called again, a bit more concerned, "Are we lost?"

"Be patient," he responded, sounding a bit agitated but not as much as you were. "You hear that? We're almost there," he encouraged.

You focused on your surroundings, and you could perceive the sound of a waterfall nearby.

You followed him through the large rock formation, and before you knew it, a lagoon fed by a waterfall appeared in front of you. The sun reflected on the surface of the crystal-clear water, making it shimmer. The breeze from the waterfall caressed your face, a soft wind drying your sweat with a gentle, cooling touch, rustling the leaves around you.

The warmth of the sun on your skin and the cool breeze from the river created the perfect atmosphere. It felt like heaven on earth, like an Eden. And the fact that you were there with the person you loved the most made it all feel ethereal.

"You like it?" Javi asked gently in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as he wrapped his broad arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

"Oh my God, Javi, it's so beautiful," you exclaimed, "I love it."

"Nobody will find us here, mi vida," he promised, "People follow the marked path, not all of them explore the surroundings," he explained. "As I told you, it's just you and me. Wanna take a swim?"

"Oh God, yes!" you exclaimed as you placed your backpack under a tree. You were wearing a black swimsuit under your shorts and oversize sports crop top, so you just had to take them off, and you jumped into the water.

The water was so clear that you could see the rocks at the bottom perfectly, and the shimmer of the sun on your skin. You swam to the center of the lagoon, and you heard the distant splash of another body jumping into the water. By the time you surfaced, Javier was already at your side, hugging your body and placing a peck on your lips as you wrapped his torso with your legs. You combed his hair disheveled by the water, running your fingers through his black hair. Then, you caressed his face, passing your thumbs on his mustache and bottom lip. He closed his eyes, absorbing your gentle petting. Your fingers wandered through the freckles painting his broad chest and shoulders. You cupped his face with your hands and kissed him with the perfect combination of tenderness and passion that you knew drove him completely dumb for you.

When he opened his big brown puppy eyes, he looked at you as if you were everything he had ever known.

"Te amo mucho, flaquita," he expressed tenderly.

"Yo también te amo, mi corazón," you promised.

"Are you hungry?" he asked after a couple of minutes of tender kisses and sweet nothings in the water.

"Very much," you laughed and started swimming to the shore.

Javi placed a towel on a rock near the water, and you both sat down to start eating and drinking what you brought. You even fed a squirrel with a piece of tamal, which made Javi laugh as he watched you melt in cuteness for the little animal.

"So, you used to come here with your cousins?" you asked him, eager to learn about his youth and his family. He nodded.

"We used to climb to the top of the mountain and swim in the river that everyone knows," he explained. But his expression shifted from a normal nostalgic sentiment to almost sadness in his eyes. He fell silent for a moment, and you regretted asking and potentially ruining the great moment you were having. However, he continued, "After my mom passed away, I was very angry with the whole world. I started being rude with my father and I started to smoke and get drunk with my friends." He let out a laugh, but it was empty. You knew little about how he lost his mother, since he didn't like to talk about it. He had told you that she was sick, that he was fifteen at the time, and that his father never married again. "One day I had a big argument with my dad. He was very angry because I failed all my exams, so I ran away and came here to the river. I was so angry and lost in thought that I didn't notice I had taken the wrong trail and got lost. So, I kept walking until I found this place."

He looked at the waterfall and the treetops, and you felt a shiver and a lump in your throat.

"I sat on this very rock and cried my eyes out, thinking about how much I missed my mom and that I was ashamed of my behavior towards my father," he added. "This place became my refuge. I used to come here every time I felt anxious, tired, or sad. I never told or brought anybody to this place, not even my father."

You couldn't help but wonder if he had ever brought Lorraine here. After all, she had been his first fiancée, and you wondered if he had considered sharing this secret place with her. However, you didn't dare to ask him, afraid of his response or of making him lie just to please you.

But he knew you so damn well, almost as if he could hear the unspoken question burning in your mind. He loved your low-key jealousy.

"Not even her," he clarified. His hand took yours and caressed your still-wet fingers, then he placed his big brown eyes on yours, so devoted to you. "The very first moment I saw you, I swear that you reminded me of this place. I don't know if it was the heat of the Colombian summer or the blue dress you wore that day, but seeing you seated at your desk brought me a peace I haven't felt in a long time."

You felt tears of happiness gathering in your eyes, butterflies in your stomach, and your cheeks turning cherry red. Javi moved closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his intense gaze still on your bright eyes.

"In that moment, I told myself that I have to bring you here, as my wife. Today is the first time I came back in seven years since I left for Colombia. And you are the only person I've ever shown my most precious secret."

Your hands reached for his face, making him stay still as you kissed him deeply and passionately. His hands went to your back, pulling you closer and kissing you back. You tasted the saltiness of your tears in between the kiss, but so did Javi, so he wiped them away with his thumb.

"I promised to you to be worthy of you, baby, and I intend to make it last forever," he promised.

"You have my heart, Javi," you promised back. "You're everything I have."

He leaned in to kiss your lips again, and then he stood up, pulling you up too.

"Enough of crying, babygirl. Let's swim," he said as he stepped into the water, but you let go of his hand, making him frown.

"Wait," you said, looking around, "Are you sure nobody knows about this lagoon?"

"I'm damn sure, baby. What's the matter?" he said, a bit confused, until he saw you taking off your swimsuit. His eyes darkened as they roamed your completely naked body, and you noticed his Adam's apple moving up and down.

"Is it okay?" you asked him, a mix of innocence and naughtiness that made his cock throb inside his shorts.

"You're amazing," he said as he started taking off his own swimsuit and then pulled you to him and into the water.

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your chest, and you felt his cock half-hardened against your lower belly. But he let you go, and instead of diving straight into sexual matters, you both swam all around the lagoon, drank all the beers, bathed under the stream of the waterfall, and explored the depths searching for weird-shaped rocks. Sex was an amazing experience in your relationship. You both enjoyed each other's bodies and could spend hours tangled in your shared bed, on the couch, or in any other intimate place. The two of you also knew that there were many ways to make love, and not all of them were about sex. This was one of the connections that Javier learned from being with you. He adored your naked body, and it turned him on. There were days when he just couldn't keep his hands off you. However, he also learned to appreciate it in a way that went beyond lustful desires, reaching a level of intimacy that felt almost divine. He saw you through your nakedness, connecting with your soul, and vice versa.

But when you do fuck, you mean it.

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the lagoon. You felt his bare body behind you, his arms around your torso as he kissed your neck. You began to rub your buttcheeks against his cock, making him hiss.

Javi's hands disappeared under the water, looking for your core. His index and middle finger found your clit and began to traced gentle circles as he squeezed one of your breasts with his free hand.

You let out a couple of soft moans, trying to keep as quiet as possible, but Javi fastened his touch, making it so hard for you.

"Don't worry, nobody will hear us," he assured you, whispering to your ear, "C'mon, bonita, let me hear you begging for my cock."

"Javi...", you whimpered, feeling his dick slipping on your ass and his fingers between your folds.

"You're such a Goddess," he praised. Javier knew every detail about how to make love to you. He was proud of knowing every corner of your body, every angle, every freckle and every beauty mark over your body. He knew how to made you whimper and scream, and how to make you undone. Yet, he never get bored, not even after three years of relationship and the most wonderful four months of marriage. He would never had enough of every aspect of you.

"I... I need to... feel you inside," you whimpered.

He wanted to made you cum with his fingers and his mouth first, as he always do. But the scene was so kinky and erotic, making his cock throb so painfully.

"Fuck," he hiss, as he carried you, making you gasp, and took you back to the towel.

Javi laid down and you jumped on top of him. His cock was lying on his belly, so you started rubbing it between your wet folds, massaging your clit with his head. His hands captured your hips, so tight you think it would let bruises with the shape of his fingers. But you didn't care, it felt so good.

"I don't brought condoms, baby," he confessed.

"Are you telling me that you planned all this so I let you cum inside of me?", you teased, he shrugged playfully. "You're such a bad boy."

"What are you gonna do about it? Don't tell me that you don't want it too, feel your tight pussy filled with my cum," he whispered, making your core throb around his cock. He grinned, feeling you become even wetter. "I was thinking about starting to build that second bedroom I told you about. How does that sound?"

That was the signal. You and Javi lived in a house that he build years ago. It was at three kilometer from his father's ranch, and since he was not planning to get married at that time, the house only had one room. But now that the panorama had changed, the house was about to transform from a bachelor house to a family home. Starting for make a baby's room next to the the main room.

And just like that, Javi was asking you about starting to try. You answered with a nod and a shaking sigh, your body reacting to his words.

"C'mon, cowgirl, let's put a baby on you," he added, as you took his cock to your entrance. You moan hard as you felt his length stretching your walls, clenching around him. "Fuck, I love that pussy," he groaned.

He was also mesmerized by the view of you on top of him: your skin glowing at the sunlight, drops of water over your shoulders, your wet hair waving with soft air, your hands on his chests, your hardened nipples and your drop-shaped breasts. You looked gorgeous as always.

"You feel so deep, Javi," you moan, starting to moving back and forth, up and down with gentle movements. His pubic hair caressing your swollen clit, his hands over your hips and waist. "I want you to fill my pussy with your cum."

His cock felt different without a condom. You were a married couple, but you still had intercourse with protection, given that you didn't have plans to have a baby until now, and Javi wasn't selfish to make you take pills full of hormones and side effects. He always tried to have condoms on hand, and even though he had insisted that you didn't have to take morning-after pills, you both had sex without protection a couple of times. You always let him know how much you loved his bare cock inside of you and you knew how much he loved it too.

Your whimpers mixed with the sound of the waterfall was music for Javi's ears. He began to push his hips up at the same time as you went down, meeting each other halfway. The air was filled with filthy sounds of wet bodies and moans and whimpers. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, as he watch his cock disappeared inside your dripping cunt.

"I'm comin'... I'm... fuck...," you cried, as you felt a knot buildup on your lower belly.

"I know baby, I can feel your pussy clenching for me," he said. Javi took control of the situation, as you let him fuck you nice and deep, one thumb on your clit and his free arm around your waist to make you stay still. You placed your hands at both sides of his head, so he was able to capture your nipple with his mouth, making you cried and soaking wet.

"Don't you fuckin' stop, Javier! Just like that, me gusta cuando me coges así," you pleaded as he fastened his thrusts.

"Quiero verte corriéndote en mi verga," he commanded.

You reached your climax with a silent scream as the waves of pleasure washed over you, squirting over his cock. You pulled your hips up unconsciously, but he pulled you back down again, buried so deep into you. You felt him almost rubbing your cervix as his warm and thick load painted your walls.

He was also growling and letting out soft whimpers as he watched your pussy dripping a mix of his cum and your honey.

Javi pull out and placed your body beside him, kissing your collarbone and caressing the curves of your waist as you came down from your cloud of bliss.

"That was amazing," you murmured after a minute, your cheeks burning. You cupped his cheeks and kiss him on the lips again.

"I wanna swim again," he said, starting to stood up taking your hand to follow him.

But you pulled him closer, pressing his chest against your breasts as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, your tongues entwining. "You're not going anywhere. I told you that you were a bad boy, and you must be punished for that behavior, mister."

He grinned devilishly as you placed your hands over his shoulders and pushed him down your body.

[doublekanble]

hunted

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 2.7k

more of a continuation of hunting, but can be read without. no alastor in here but the idea is there. you take your own life

Even now, as you lie on your back, waiting for mid-day to arrive. You can still hear it ringing in your ears, the reverberating sound, akin to a lone firework. You’re sure the sounds of canon can’t be as bad, as personal as the shot of a hunting rifle. His hunting rifle.

At the time, you manage to get by the police questioning with excuses after excuses, something you’ve rather fortunately picked up on under his guidance. The only thing he would've chastise you for it’s the fact your eyes wasn’t on anything or anybody in that moment except for your hands and how the red is still staining your skin.

Your little companion of the day, lovely little Houston, sitting at your feet completely ignorant to whatever else going on. Always the silly sweetheart she is once a hunt is over, she happily and diligently waits for your next command with a clean and bloodless mouth while the policemen bid you goodbye and walk away from your doorstep. At some point, it hit you that you’re having a marginally much easier time getting by because the news was so downright heartbreaking and disturbing even to the people who was supposed to be questioning you. Under their shock and your near-flawless alibi, you slipped right by as another unfortunate victim. Poor, weak and frail you, rattled by the news of a close friend betraying everyone’s heart.

(no, you've never managed to learn how to hold a gun. no, you were in your house for the time, they can asked the neighbors. yes, you’re completely in shock that your friend and darling radio host of New Orleans is capable of such heinous crimes)

You weren’t a believer, you never thought you would be, but you starts to consider that maybe after all this time, God finally hear your prayers and deemed you a cause worth helping. You thank Him in your head as you sat in a nearby cafe, hands still shaking and eyes wide watching people talk about the bodies they find under the makeshift graveyard alone. Briefly, you hope God will do something about the odd pigmentation on your hands too.

The most common sentiment amongst the public is that almost nobody saw this coming, especially him. He's someone you would trust your newborns with, someone to rely on. Many still believes that this is nothing but a mistake or a setup from whoever it was that pump him with lead; others, with less than an open mind, cheer for his death. Not the murderer, him. You can’t fathom just how hard this is for people like him, already struggling as they were under this sort of world and looking up to him as a shining star. But there was no time to dwell on any of your pity or worries, because the moment the police finally cleared you of all suspicions; you would find yourself on his mother’s doorstep with suitcases in hand, an address you hope you would never have to hand over, and half a prayer for her to listen to you.

(as much as a mother to him as she always will be to you. if only you knew her without him, then maybe...)

You remembered a weary frame and eyes filled to the brim with more agony and grief than you’ll ever see on anyone else and falter. There’s no doubt in your mind she have been hounded to no end by the news and police about this, let alone the injustice someone in her position have to go through alone. But in front of her son’s murderer she stand tall and look at it with such compassionate and caring eyes, and it’s enough for you to forgo the pleasantries and all but begged her to please let you take her with you to California where you already secure a place to stay. It won’t be as nice as her or your house but it’s better than a lifetime of scrutiny someone like her never deserves.

(a lifetime of scrutiny for the crime of giving birth to a child you thought you knew)

Afraid of staining her house and her memories of everything more than you and him already have, you shake your head and try to pressed on when all she did was inviting you in for one last meal with her before you go. This will be the final time you two will ever meet again if she doesn’t go with you, you said. Please, please let you do this one thing for her, she doesn’t even need to do anything, you’ll take care of her and give her the life she deserves, the life you took from her.

It wasn’t until she reach a hand out and gently wipe your tears away that you'd realized why your face was all wet. And it took everything in you to not fall onto the floor and held onto her feet as she gives you a wistful smile and wishes you well in the new place. She trust that she doesn’t have to explain herself to you, you wishes she would’ve.

After shoving more than half of what you have left into her hand, you found yourself hurrying along the growing weed infesting her lovely pavement and tries to swallowed down the thought that this might be her new normal. She calls out to you when she gave up on the idea of chasing after you, and you feel your heart broken all over again, for a different reason this time. And as you leave without a word, you wondered whether she would ever find it in her heart to forgive you if she knew.

(“Honey, I-“

“Please, ma’am. Just let me do this for you.”

“…oh dear…”

she hold the hundred bills in her hand, you know she’ll never uses them. but it’s all you can think to do.

“If you ever want to change your mind. Just come to this address, they know how to contact me.”

you want to walk away without looking back, but she calls your name at the gate.

“Honey…” she hesitate, “did you know?”

you can’t find it in your heart to answer. but you adjust your grips and wipe your eyes and bid her goodbye for the final time.

“Thank you, for being his friend.”

you can’t reply, she wouldn’t be able to understand you over your wavering will anyway)

After it all, you then go on to live out the rest of your life in the undeserving peace and quiet of the countryside working with a small plot of land you secured for yourself long before everything was properly planned out, barely touching the funds you collected for yourself. Every morning, you get up and prepared yourself, mid-day, you take care of the farm, by night, you sat by your writing desk and look through books you got from the library far from your little plot.

Sometimes, you would write letters to his mother, asking her about her days, what’s her favorite food now? How’s her life? did she manage to get her mailbox fix? But the courage to send all of it to her would only be found two days before she reportedly collapsed by the foot of that same rusty mailbox and never wake up again. You crumbled the paper as you try to forget the headline. Her first and last letter to you is still under your pillow and the money that came with it placed in a jar to take with you once you die. Every night from then on, you pray to every single one of the God and Goddesses you can’t find the strength to believe in that she made it to those pearly gates the people at church kept talking about.

The ringing in your ears became commonplace at some point, you soon work through your day with it becoming an afterthought. Except suddenly, one day, there was something else. A noise that rises above all else, the thumping and bumping of something at night, too large to be a rat, too controlled to be a dog.

At your beloved writing desk, when you can’t sleep because the gunshot replayed in your mind and the echoing of everything is too loud; you would try and occupy yourself with something, anything at all. Sketching out dear old Houston drooly face when she sleeps, or her energetic running across the field, putting down list of grocers and what you want to eat for the next day, noting down what’s in the corner today, writing out stories and poetries, love in every word for the love you lacked in life that lead you to fall into his hands. Eyes forever watching the moving shadows as the ever-growing nightmares seeping into your waking days.

(you have vivid daydreams about his eyes when he catches yours in the moonlight, before his head jerks back and hit the ground. your first successful shot, and soon to be your second)

The shadows follows you everywhere you go, yet not a soul would believe you. You swear to God you can feel its hand, emerging from your shade, trying it’s best to brush hair from your face in the middle of the day despite its mist-like form. Its distorting voice, chattering nonsense into your ears at night, incomprehensible yet filled with so many feelings you can’t identify. No one have ever talk to you with such a specific cadence, from the way it pauses, to how it lifted it voice. Sometimes it would chuckle, and sometimes in groans. Even without understanding, you know for sure that there’s no longer a single living person in your life that talks like it does.

But you were ok with it, truly. You're good at adapting and living on in this hazy misery, and you would’ve grown complacent, too. If not for how a week ago, the cold mist-like hand held onto yours, solid in the middle of July’s heat. After that, you stop praying for anything at all.

(your hands shakes a bit, but you mend and steel your resolve for once. you thought about the stupid books and poems you wrote to fight agaisnt the cold of the night, hopefully someone finds them comforting, hopefully they won't ever learn of your name)

For most of your life, you’ve lived like a ghost, and it was something you’ve long since grow comfortable with. It’s ok that you’re not going from place to place, downing drinks after drinks and dance on the dance floor like the ladies and the men were doing. You’re a simple person with a simple life and you were much, much more fortunate than most people in your time, with a stable job and a house to returns to. You would’ve been more than happy to live out the rest of your life, content with the mundane and the ordinary day-to-day, not a complaint to your heart. There’s not a fault to any of it, living a normal life.

(the shadows growls, but they can’t do anything at midday when you’re on your back and there’s not a space for them to take their form)

Then suddenly, a single good nature chat outside a coffee shop turn your life upside-down. It woud've been a good life, even if it's an odd one, if that was all that there is to it. But then one night, you walked down the wrong alleyway. Ever since, you can’t find that gentle and comforting sense of mundane anywhere anymore, not without a permanent stench of rust and metal alongside it.

(a cowardly way out, but all of your bravery have long since turn to dust after that day)

If there was a day that you can pin down for this wrong turn, for the red on your hand that you ignore day after day since. It wouldn’t have been the day you two met. Even with everything that happened, there was a point where it was still normal. Where you two can pretend like his slip of the tongue is nothing more than quirks and jokes that doesn’t land itself. Where you're still just a bit too unfamiliar with him, just enough so that he would only held you by the shoulder. No, it wouldn’t have been at the beginning. Because if every chance encounter is predestined, you could’ve done nothing to remedy the fact that you two ever met at all, or about everything else.

There’s no remedy for your torment and the sight of bodies you can’t barely remember the name of. For the body that sank and rotted under the lake’s surface and the love he choose to gives you as a reward for a job well done. You've scrubbed at your hand until it's red and stinging but the red just won't leave it and no matter how you rubbed at your eyes, those rotting faces won't disappeared, the ringing in your ears won't ever going to stop ever again and it's all his fault.

You hope that it’s true, that you’ve gone insane as a result of it all. It’s an exceedingly comforting thought, much more than the alternative could ever be. The shadows and the stitched smiles behind your eyelids, the nails in your throat. The cacophonies of screams in the night and the crackling of unseen fireworks in the day. Everyone brushes you off and said it’s simply nothing. It’s you not being able to rest or sleep well. But surely, all of it, a result of ever letting yourself near him after that day. And this utter misery that tainted your mundane life and surely will follow you through the rest of your living days could’ve been something else of its own, if only you have the courage to shot the man dead with the rifle sitting in your closet. If only you have the courage to bite before you ran into the bear trap.

(suddenly, you recalled, something odd was on your desk, tucked neatly by the unnamed books you binded by hands. for the longest time, you never pay any mind to it, the thing blend right into your distorting normalcy)

It could’ve been, but it’ll never be, because you didn’t shoot him dead the day you found out. But you’ll take what you can get. The sun hanging in the middle of the blue, your finger on the trigger. It shakes as your ears suddenly catches onto the sound of faint static coming from inside your house. You pull the trigger.

----

An echoing sound, just loud enough to stir the scenery, it runs through the field as someone walks by. Birds found themselves taking off into the air into the opposite direction while an old man make his way towards it, stumbling and clumsy.

There’s no mistaking it, the gunshot came from your farm. He try to walk faster, pushing through the aching of old bones. You're a confused and anxious thing the old man been taking under his wings for some times, and he grows fond of you quickly despite your less-than-normal paranoid demeanour. His weathered old eyes tries to look for you, only to hear an excited bark. Following that instead, he finds a dog leashed to a tree. Houston, your beloved dog that you pampered every time he saws you, sat herself on a blanket all cute-like. Her favorite food and water bowl by her sides. Houston pants happily, tail wagging as the old man feel cold sweat running down his back.

(as you fall through the darkness and feel your skin tears away at itself and reformed anew, it hit you that you don’t have a radio. and as the remainer of your body pulls itself up from the dirty pavement, stitching muscles and bones back inch by inch, you hear a voice calling your name. familiar and welcoming, you gaze upon the red hue of the sky as a red figure creep into your vision. as he smiles, you realized that you would've been ok with the thought of scrubbing the skin off your hands next time, if only you'll never have to see those eyes ever again.

the last you’ll ever see the blue sky is under the barrel of a pistol. the last you thought you’ll ever see him is behind a hunting rifle)

@duck-den

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