#mattress orange county

[ocmattusa]

Queen mattress in orange

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[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 | 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader [established relationship]

Summary: During a getaway from the bustle of the city, you can’t shake the looming suspicion that there’s more behind this sweet escape [3.6k]

A/N: Haven't written for Bucky in a while, but it's where it all began. If you like fluff, sensuality, and a reasonable helping of angst, this one’s for you. Enjoy!

Summer seems to have slipped away before you’ve had the chance to say goodbye. But it lingers in many ways, one of your favorites being the gentle tan of Bucky’s skin. Reminiscent of days at the beach and lingering outside simply because you can.

The air has grown much cooler now, the sun at least seeming to have slipped further away. It’s a suitable enough excuse for the way you’ve become more persistent in your pursuit of his warmth, even now, as you tuck your nose into the center of his bare chest. Or maybe it’s your way of quelling the irrational fear that he too would somehow slip away. 

No matter how many new beginnings there were, how many times he walked away from the call of duty, the same inevitability circled back around. One that entailed him leaving to be who others needed him to be. You’d taught yourself to worry less, to enjoy the now. 

The eggshell sheets sink off your frame as you force yourself away from him, sitting upright and welcoming the slight stiffness that comes along with a good night’s sleep. The curtains are drawn closed, and it's early enough in the morning that light doesn’t pour in too strongly from around the edges. There’s an ambience to the dimness, one the mourning doves outside contribute to with their calls. 

Sensing your withdrawal, Bucky rolls onto his back, the soft linen pooling at his hips. They fall just beneath the faint protrusions of the bones. But he doesn’t open his eyes. Not even when you brace yourself, mattress dipping, to lean down and press kisses along his waist in plush light drops. You trail them up to his jaw, his face growing hotter with each kiss, leaving no hope of quelling the tingling beneath his skin.  

Just as his eyes flutter open, you straighten up and slip out of bed away from his reach. He watches the pretty line of your back as you saunter towards the bathroom—laughing. First at him, then with him, as you peek over your shoulder to where he lays flushed with a blossoming smile. Moments later, you find yourselves under the warm spray of the shower. 

By the time you make it outside, there’s a fleeting ombre of colors in the sky. Pink and orange closer to the horizon and pale blue everywhere else. It’s something you have to make out through the trees as you sit on the porch bench. They’re everywhere, tall and strong. Your legs are draped over Bucky’s lap. He absentmindedly strokes your shin with his thumb as you redirect your gaze back to the travel brochure you’d carried out with you. 

It was something you’d picked up at the welcome center earlier this week when you arrived in Chicot County. The last stint at this safehouse was brief. A result of a threat that ended up being dissolved almost as soon as it arose. This time around, the two of you were here because you wanted to be. Some time away from the city, Bucky had said. So you packed up the truck, secured his motorcycle in the bed, and hit the highway. 

Upon noticing the distant way he’s begun looking out at the yard, you point to a name listed under the breakfast directory. A promising diner. “I feel good about this one,” you say. 

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You sure? ‘Cause I don’t know if I can survive room temperature eggs again.” His amusement remains from yesterday’s pick. The eggs might not have been hot off the stove, but you’d been smiling across the table from each other nevertheless. Grateful for good company and a solid playlist playing overhead. 

“Could’ve fooled me. Your plate was spotless by the time we left.” You poke his side. When he hardens himself against reacting, you do it again. 

“Okay, alright,” Bucky says through a smile that betrays him, curling in on himself.

Satisfied, you admire the way his hair falls past his ears now. Only his beard is peppered with specks of white. The black shirt he’s wearing loosely contours around his muscles, and he’s got black cargos to match. He looks good like this in the early morning light. 

Swinging your legs from his lap, you scoot closer with the intent to kiss him. But he leans away with the ghost of sparkle in his eyes. It’s as good a poker face as he can manage. 

When he stands, you follow, the porch creaking under your footsteps as he leads you back inside. The moment the front door shuts, he presses you against it, dipping his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss. He never gives in fully, remaining right on the cusp of where sweetness surrenders itself to the deeper urgency of desire. 

“Can we take your bike?” you murmur against his warm lips. 

He pecks the corner of your mouth, your chin. “Whatever you want.” He punctuates with a final peck on your lips. 

•••

Everything about the diner is lovely. The food, the staff, the patrons. That’s what makes time seem to glide by so fast. Pictures of people from the community hang on the walls, and different shelves bear charming trinkets. The two of you are seated in a booth along the front window, watching people flutter in and out as your meals begin to digest. Bucky’s legs brush against your own where they’re extended beneath the table. 

Soon, a minivan pulls up right out front. After the couple gets out, the back doors slide open and five kids pour out wearing smiles. The oldest boy can’t be any more than twelve. The two youngest are still in their pajamas. Bucky’s lips upturn. 

“I used to want a bunch of siblings,” he admits.

You turn towards him. “Really?”

He nods, almost shyly. “Always seemed like it’d be a lot of fun,” he says. “Nevermind we lived in a shoebox in Brooklyn.”

You offer a fond tilt of your head. “Would you still have wanted to be the oldest, or the youngest?”

His answer doesn’t take long. “Oldest.” The sound of laughter marks the family’s entrance. “I was eleven when Becca was born and it was the best day of my life.” He’s quiet for a moment, reminiscing. “She’s what made me realize there was something outside of myself that I wanted to protect.” 

A small smile pulls at your lips. “That’s really sweet.” 

He nods, tapping his knuckles against the table a few absentminded times. Then a weighted look settles in his eyes, like there’s something else he needs to say. It evokes a sense of knowing within you, even though nothing has revealed itself. The suspicion doesn’t unsettle you. Instead, you ride the wave, figuring if you’re swept out to the sea and the two of you diverge for a short while, it’s nothing you haven’t braved before.

You extend your hand across the table and leave it face up. Bucky takes it, calloused palms against your softer ones, rubbing the back of your hand. No words pass between, and you’re happy to join him in his silence. You’d wait forever if you had to. 

He gives your hand a squeeze. “Just thinking.”

“You do that quite a lot.” There’s a lilt to your voice. 

On your way out the diner, the oldest boy from the family locks eyes with Bucky, face glowing with recognition. But the kid doesn’t say anything or make a scene, just lifts his hand in a wave that barely rises above the table. Bucky waves back. And the boy grins, knowing he’d just seen a superhero in the flesh. 

•••

The ride back to the house is even prettier than when you first came. Bucky takes a different route so you can pass alongside the calm waters of Lake Chicot. There’s no words to express how beautiful it is, especially with wind rushing against your bodies. Bucky is steady and solid where your arms are wrapped around his middle. There’s a practiced ease to the way he mans the handlebars as the engine rumbles on. 

When you make it to the straight shot half a mile away from the house, he accelerates for the thrill of it. It feels like you’re flying. But Bucky isn’t taking you home at all. He zooms past the turn that leads to the long driveway and continues onwards to an unknown destination. 

Dust kicks up behind you when he eventually turns onto a narrow dirt road. It grows dimmer, the trees stretching upwards on either side blocking out the sky. Bucky slows down to an easy cruise. Despite the questions that arise in your head, you continue hanging on and enjoying the ride.    

You eventually pull onto a plot of land that rests along the lake. There’s a makeshift parking pad that overlooks the water, and a sloping trail that leads down to a grassy space that sits closer to the bank. Tucked into the trees is a small wooden cabin with a thick lock on the door. 

Once you climb off the motorcycle and secure your helmet on its hook, you take a thoughtful look around, relishing the breeze. A comfortable silence lingers between you until Bucky combs a hand through his disheveled hair, gaze falling on you. 

“I never had the chance to bring you out here. It’s real peaceful.” He pauses for the soft slosh of the lake’s shore, the rustling of the trees. “Thought you’d appreciate it.” 

“Where exactly is here?” you ask. 

Chuckling, Bucky nods in the direction of the cabin as he begins heading that way. The dirt crunches beneath your feet until you reach the grass, twigs snapping. Rather than pulling out a key, Bucky presses his thumb to the underside of the lock and it releases. 

The air is thick as you step inside, having been shut in for so long. Even then, as it thins, you can smell the familiar undernotes you always associate with Bucky’s skin. Almost everything is contained within the four walls of one main room. There’s a small kitchen composed of a couple cabinets, a sink, and a stove. The kitchen table is small with one chair. A twin sized bed constitutes what could be a living room. 

As you soak it all in, your eyes catch sight of a polaroid picture on the wall near the bed. You take a few steps closer, footsteps clunking gently against the wood. 

“Awwww, it’s us.” Both of you look so different. Bucky’s hair is shorter. “Back in Brooklyn before we started dating.”  

His stomach flutters when you peer back at him, still gushing. “Yeah. I used to stake out here during jobs.” The look in your eyes insists he continues. “Liked the town so much I eventually requested another safehouse. A nicer one that’d accommodate the two of us—the one we’re staying in now,” he says, thoughtful. 

“It’s definitely been a while.”  

You hum in agreement as you walk around. There isn’t much, but it’s enough. “What about the bathroom?” He points to a door that you’d completely glossed over, the grain of the wood blending in with the rest of the walls. 

Then, in the corner of the room, a small handle on the floor catches your eye. Bucky follows your gaze. “There’s a storage room down below.” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, debating with himself. “For weapons. Did you wanna see that too?” 

You lift an easy shoulder. “Why not?” 

After pulling the hatch door open, Bucky descends the ladder first to get the lights. The rungs creak with his movements. When it’s your turn, he stands at the bottom, guiding you down with his hands hovering at your waist. 

Back on the ground, all you see are guns. Everywhere. Different makes and models. They span every inch of available space on the walls, forming an extensive array. Some look so intricate and peculiar that it’s hard to believe they’re functional. A glass display case rests in the center of the room that houses an impressive collection of knives. The blades are so clean they glint. 

The entire room is a testament to a skillset that exceeds the most practiced among men. Defying the very bounds of human capability and teetering over into a league of its own. Yet for all the times you’ve ever looked at Bucky, you’ve never perceived him as a threat. Or as anything other than human even though the hands of science had sought to strip that away from him. 

He’s already looking at you when you turn back to him. “Wow.” You breathe out a laugh. Bucky’s eyes nervously flitter to the ground. “Do you know how to use all of them? Like, even the fancier ones?” 

His bicep flexes as he rubs the back of his neck. “I do.” Then, he finally comes around to the fact that you’re impressed, not afraid. He smiles a little too. “They don’t hand ‘em out to just anybody.” 

A snort escapes you, and you push his chest. He captures your wrist in the process, guiding your arm up to hook around his neck. You raise the other on your own accord, taking a step closer as his strong hands settle on your waist. He touches his forehead to yours. 

“Can’t go around talking about this place now that you’ve seen it.” He feigns seriousness because he knows you never would. 

“That's a bummer. I was thinking about hosting a potluck.” 

A startled laugh bubbles out of him, coated in fondness. There were no secrets regarding who he was or what he’d done, but reality had a way of piercing through to the bone when the evidence was as tangible as these four walls. When it was hanging all around you, each weapon having been graced by the hands that now held you. 

He exhales. “I love you.” 

•••

The two of you end up on a blanket down by the lake. You, on your back with your knees propped up, and Bucky upright with his legs stretched out. Yet again, having fallen into thought. You remain like that for a while, embracing the stillness. Soon, he can feel your eyes settle on him like you’ve figured something out. 

“This whole trip,” you start, groaning as you sit up. “It’s not really just because, is it?” Only a small fraction of your tone is unsure, willing to welcome the possibility that you’d been reading into his contemplative hazes all wrong. 

“You have to go away again.” 

Bucky shifts, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt. There’s a few seconds where he doesn’t say anything at all. “Yeah, I…yeah.” It’s the truth. That’s all he’s got left, all he ever offered to you. It was just harder to present it this time. “At the end of the week.”

This past year of simply existing and traveling with you had been a luxury that settled deep in his bones. He didn’t want the thought of his departure to taint what time you had left.  

“A few weeks ago I ignored a call,” he starts. “Then the same unknown number kept calling and calling.” He motions with his hand as he speaks. “So I finally picked up the phone.” 

In your chest, seeds of suspicion have taken root and grown into a realized truth. Snaking through your rib cage, settling beneath your skin. “And you agreed to whatever they asked.”

He nods, eyes meeting yours. 

“I was trying to gauge when to tell you. Didn’t want it to be the only thing on your mind.” Guilt spreads through him when your jaw ticks and you look out towards the water. He continues with a slight waver in his voice. “I figured if I at least got us down here, we could stay until I got a better idea of what’s going on.” 

“In case anybody tried to bother us in Brooklyn,” he adds. You hum a small sound. 

“You can go back if you want. That’ll be your choice to make,” he realizes. “I’m sorry.” 

As a gentle breeze passes through, you take his hand and pull it closer to you. He watches as you open his palm and trace the lines there. Your touch is so light it sends small currents of electricity up his arm. 

“You wanna know something,” you murmur, his fingers twitching as you continue on with your slow, thoughtful trails. “I had a hunch. I don’t know if that’s better or worse than certainty.” His breath stills when your finger does. “I guess now I know for sure though, right?” Your acceptance is underscored by a soft edge. 

“Yeah.” It’s a rasped breath. 

He almost doesn’t believe your somber smile because there’s a hint of levity woven around the outskirts, stuffed between the cracks. “You could’ve told me sooner so you wouldn’t be ruminating about it.” You raise his hand to your lips and press a kiss to the center. “I promise I would’ve been okay.”  

You’d already experienced it all—unexpectedly waking up alone, seeing him off within a moment's notice, being told in July that he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. Maybe things were different this time because he’d gotten such a profound glimpse of what life would be like if he hung it all up. Both of you knew there was really no such thing, but it was nice to pretend. Your brains couldn’t tell the difference. 

“So are you okay?” he asks. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky huffs a low laugh at that. 

Going on missions didn’t phase him. He knew how to fight. It was something he did well. Sometimes he hated himself for the primal rush it gave him, the itch it fulfilled. There was something about being presented with a target—an objective—even after all these years, that he could never back away from. If there was a job to do, he was going to get it done. By being an equalizer, an asset. 

You, with your pretty smiles and steady convictions, were the first person to truly make realize that wasn’t all he had to be. Fighting was easy, but being still was harder. He’d realized he wanted a balance of both, and that he was allowed to have it. There was no judge waiting for him to choose one over the other. Being in a relationship with him meant nurturing this duality without attempting to sever the two ends or stomp one out. They formed a worthwhile whole that was embedded within his being.

“Only if you are,” he finally says. 

“I’m okay,” you promise. Then you tilt your head. “You look like you don’t believe me.”  

Bucky exhales. “I really was gonna tell you sooner, I just…couldn’t,” he says, shaking his head in hindsight's clarity. “You have the right to be upset.” 

“I’m not, Buck. I wish I could be, but I’m not,” you admit. “You’re still here. It’d only be a waste of time.” You angle more towards him, leaning in a little closer. “I think something might be a little wrong with me anyways. I kinda just want to kiss you...” 

His brows pinch together before he smiles all boyish, unable to help it. Like he can’t quite believe you’re real. “Is that what you wanna do? We can do that.” He cups your cheek, running his thumb along your lower lip.   

You hum, leaning into his touch. “But maybe that wouldn’t be productive given the circumstances.” There’s a playful lilt to your voice that he’s grateful for. That you’re grateful to have found yourself. It was mending in times like this. “Feels like you should be doing target practice or something. Or maybe I can hold up some boxing mitts for you—” 

In what feels like seconds, he has you on your back, hovering above you. Your purse your lips to keep from breaking into a lovesick smile. “Wrestling works too,” you manage. There’s a flutter in your stomach from his display of strength alone. 

Bucky’s eyes are the prettiest shade of blue as he gazes down at you. Lines gather at the corners of them as he smiles, his hair falling in a short curtain framing his face. Right along with the warmth in his chest, settles the premature weight of missing you. He doesn’t let it take over, or try to push it away. It’s the very thing that grounds him in the moment all the more. It would eventually be the spark that made him find his way back to you.

He runs a finger along your jawline, making you shiver. Then he whispers against your lips, “I liked your first idea.” As your lips part further in an exhale, he nips at them one at a time, licking just past them. Testing the waters before diving in.  

You disappear in the warmth of his lips, his tongue, the scratch of his beard. He squeezes your thigh, your waist, then cradles your jaw as best as he can. Everything is tender. Like he’s aware of the solidity of your presence but distantly afraid you might break. Bucky’s always been that way.

He eventually pulls away, allowing you to find your breath. Rolling off onto his back as the warmth simmers in his cheeks. Rather than finding words to fill the space, you bask in this secluded moment, both staring up at the same sky. Grateful that, at least for now, you still had a little more time.     

-

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

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[morbidology]

On Christmas Day of 1951, it was the 25th wedding anniversary of Harry and Harriette Moore from Mims, Florida. The couple were pioneer activists and lead re of the early civil rights movement in the United States. Unbeknownst to them, later on that night, they would become the first martyrs of the movement.

In 1934, Harry founded the Brevard County, Florida, National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) chapter. NAACP worked towards achieving equal pay for equal work for teachers of any race and fought to have lunching prosecuted and attempted to register voters of colour in the region. Harry saw some success during the nascent civil rights movement; voters of colour doubled in Florida during the last half of the 1940s and lawsuits started to be filed to challenge the policy of paying teacher of colour less than their white counterparts.

Due to their civil rights activity, both Harry and Harriette were fired from the school where they both worked. Orange County was a hotbed of racism and violence during the 1940s and early 1950s; the Orange County Ku Klux Klan was gaining popularity and turning more violent by the day.

On that fateful Christmas afternoon, Harry and Harriette had celebrated their anniversary with Harry’s mother and their 24-year-old daughter. They spent the evening eating cake and chatting. At around 10:15PM, the couple climbed into bed and switched off the light. Moments later, there was an almighty explosion; somebody had planted 3 pounds of dynamite under the bedroom floor of the couple.

The force of the dynamite tore open the floor and slammed the mattress to the ceiling before crashing back down. The bedroom was completely obliterated, the front porch had been shredded and the frame of the house destroyed.Harry died on the way to Stanford hospital in the back of a relative’s Buick; Stanford hospital was the closest hospital that would treat people of colour. Harriette died nine days later due to massive internal injuries; she lived long enough to see her husband be buried.

When police arrived at the scene, a sniffer dog picked up a scent which led to nearby Dixie Highway before abruptly stopping. Sure enough Sheriff H.T. Williams found footprints alongside the scent but since he walked through them, the plaster imprint made was useless. Officially, the murders remain unsolved but according to FBI documents, the Orange County Ku Klux Klan are responsible.

Four suspects were known high ranking members of the Ku Klux Klan: Earl J. Brooklyn, Tillman H. Belvin, Joseph Cox and Edward L. Spivey. Despite the evidence against them, no arrests were ever made and all four main suspects are now deceased.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

From Mattress Actress to Couch Surfing VICTIM

Canellecitadelle @Canellelabelle

"Meghan is her own worse enemy and that in itself is her karma. Here is a women who at 43 years old, STILL cannot do her mea culpa, take accountability for her own failures, learn from it and move on. She exists in 3 modes only:

Perpetual victimhood

Race baiting

Lies on lies

The same dishwasher story that has already been debunked, she continues to tell it, like the compulsive liar she is.

But then again, Meg was always a liar (even as a child):

A Class project directed by a teacher, demanding ALL students write a letter to submit to Proctor & Gamble. Meghan changed the story to "she decided to write the letter after witnessing injustice toward women at 11 and her letter changed the course of advertisement history" what an insufferable bore

A failed actress who couldnt even afford a house or car in her name successfully marries into the RF after catching a Dim and desperate prince. She is given status and titles

YET she manage to lose it all after bullying female staff and creating drama out of everything in her jealousy over the future Queen; meghan changed the story to "she was bullied and Everyone hated her because she was the best at royal life and she was black" Best at what? she couldn't even be arsed to learn the first 6 lines of the British anthem

Meanwhile For the Past 6 years, in online orchestrated hate campaign, in interviews, books and netflix docuseries, Meghan has not stopped attacking and harrassing Catherine, at every turn; But she is a "Feminist."

More to the point, Meghan is always sitting on other people's platform to babble. At least, if you are going to appropriate, other people's work, projects or platforms, use it to promote some type of work or project you have going on. NOTHING.

Meghan goes from couch to couch, from coast to coast, moaning about her 18 months (70 days of employment) in the RF because she simply has NOTHING going on for herself.

Mrs 'unemployed and unemployable' is Living off manufactured drama to hide the fact that she has nothing else to do.

That is why she is retelling ad nauseam the same lie she told when she was 11 years old; that is why she is holding onto her titles and the Royal family with the might of her veneers.

Meghan has Nothing going on for herself Beside being prince Harry's wife. NOTHING And that does NOT make her a Feminist.

No meg, It actually makes you just another shallow "Real Housewife of Orange County."

[anyways-wonderwall]

Album of the Week #74

Canned Wheat

(1969)

by The Guess Who

Overall Rating: 8.5/10

TL;DR: Who knew a voice that incredible belonged to someone named Burton from Manitoba. 

(Look I get you're from Manitoba but this cover is a little too silly. also why the sticker about the single? 5/10)

Overall Thoughts

We’re staying in 1969 for this week, with an album that initially felt a lot like last week’s Flying Burrito Brothers album, but quickly veered off into something with more personality and intrigue. Well, for some of the tracks. 

One of the things I’m most critical about in music is a white man’s voice. That may be a little bit stupid given most of the music I listen to is (unfortunately) sung by white men, but we all know they are given way to many chances to be genuinely awful singers. Lou Reed is well respected, and Rolling Stone had the audacity to put John Lennon as the 12th greatest singer of all time and Bob Dylan at 15. Clearly if you’re a white guy who can write a decent song singing ability is optional, which means I will immediately point out if some guy has an obnoxious voice. That makes it all the more remarkable that I was just taken aback by how amazing Burton Cummings voice is. 

The Guess Who was originally marketed as blue-eyed soul, something that breeds melodramatic vocals, but Cummings doesn’t fall for that here. He’s always on pitch (even live), never self-indulgent, smooth, with just enough feeling to make you falter. The instrumentals on these songs were good, but often nothing remarkable. You have talented people on every part, every once in a while a bassline that’s interesting enough that I’ll start nodding along, but it was really the vocals that kept me listening, not something I expected from a 70s rock group. 

Well so what is interesting on this album? Not “No Time,” which was later put on American Woman as a single and became one of their most famous songs, despite sounding like a B-side off of the Flying Burrito Brothers album. “Laughing” and “Undun” ended up forming the single record for this album and are the ones that are actually worth listening to. The first leans blue-eyed soul and was marketed as a follow-up to “These Eyes,” and is wonderfully crafted if you ignore the 30 second fade out. “Undun” is the real star of the show and the reason I wanted to listen to more of The Guess Who. I just adore how consistently driving it is, with guitars that feel latin in a way I can’t quite put my finger on, a voice that gives me goosebumps, and MULTIPLE FLUTE SOLOS!!! That’s right, in case I wasn’t sure if I was in love with Burton Cummings (very unfortunate name), he plays the flute and adds solos to multiple songs on this album. I just need everyone to watch this live rendition of it that I have watched 3 times in a row already. Just incredible. 

The album ends with a eleven-minute song “Key,” which with a run-time that long is fighting an uphill battle to get me to like it. And the lyrics are biblical? Well now double the steepness of that slope. Weirdly though, I was interested the whole time, even through the 5 minutes of miscellaneous percussion sounds. After that song ended and I was left confused on how they were able to grab my attention that long the final song “Fair Warning” comes on with bedroom pop perfect guitars (think Rex Orange County) that make me sink deeper in my mattress. I’m not able to fully relax though because then voice with an exaggerated scottish accent comes in warning me to not become a rock star. Its somehow soothing though, the way he says “dohn’t be a staaaa.” then the album goes quiet. Up until that point the album is pretty straight forward, and serious, leaving on that note makes me eagerly want to flip the page to the next chapter. 

(I should also mention that while it is not in the standard album the 2000 rerelease includes the song “Silver Bird” which is so peaceful that it is the only song that was new to me on this album that got added to my liked songs. God I love Burton Cumming’s voice. I just wish his name wasn’t so god awful.)

Next week's review: In The Right Place (1973) by Dr. John

[junkremovalorangecount]

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[ecocleanhuntingtonbeach]

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Our Hot Carbonating Extraction (HCE) process uses a cleaning product called The Natural®. This water-based product releases millions of tiny bubbles into upholstery, which lift stubborn dirt and grime to the surface. We then use our exclusive PowerHead® technology to whisk the dirt and grime away, leaving your furniture fresher, cleaner, and healthier.

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And while steam cleaners often leave soapy residues behind — which encourages re-soiling — that’s not a problem with Chem-Dry! Our cleaning solution contains no soapy detergents, helping your furniture stay cleaner for longer. The bottom line? With upholstery cleaning from Chem-Dry, you’ll enjoy a deeper, drier, and healthier clean for your home!

Specialty Upholstery Stain & Odor Services Chem-Dry offers a wide range of specialty services for upholstery and furniture.

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In addition to cleaning your furniture, we’ll apply a professional stain protectant. This forms a shield around upholstery fibers. When spills happen, you’ll have a window of opportunity to soak up the spill before it penetrates the fibers.

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clutter needs

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garbage collection

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Junk Removal Orange County offers top-notch services for all your clutter needs, specializing in Irvine CA trash removal and efficient junk removal in Irvine CA. Our experts provide prompt and reliable Irvine CA junk removal, including hassle-free mattress disposal in Irvine CA. Trust us to keep your space clean and organized with our professional services.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Mother of 6 Found Guilty Of Neglect," Windsor Star. July 8, 1943. Page 3 & 6. ---- Court Hears of Young Children Devouring Garbage; Baby Girl Undernourished ---- Neighbors of Mr. and Mrs. Carmen Sutton, of 1641 Central avenue, in city police court Wednesday afternoon, told of how children of the couple ate out of garbage cans and went scantily clad in winter, Parents of six children ranging in age from 15 months to nine years, the Sutton's were tried on charges of neglecting their offspring.

LEFT FOR VACATION Representatives of the Children's Aid Society told of how Mrs. Sutton went off on a vacation leaving her three youngest children neglected at home, and of how the 15-month-old baby was found ill, unwashed and undernourished on a dirty mattress.

Mr. Sutton, an employe of the Ford Motor Company of Canada, works steadily at wages of 85 cents an hour, and between January 1 and June 30, his gross earnings totalled $1,053.69, according to a statement from the Ford paymaster's office, which was read in court,

After reviewing the testimony Magistrate J. A. Hanrahan dismissed the charge against Mr. Sutton, found Mrs. Sutton guilty and remanded her in custody until Saturday morning for sentence. In the meantime she will remain in the county jail. The magistrate found Mrs. Sutton's interest in a former boarder in their household at the bottom of her neglect of her children.

Mr. and Mrs. Sutton both pleaded not guilty and were defended in court by Alan C. Bell. On the witness stand Mr. Sutton sought to defend his wife and to assume some of the blame himself, but the testimony of neighbors was chiefly centred on Mrs. Sutton's neglect of the children.

MRS. WARREN TESTIFIES Mrs. Kathleen Warren, investigator for the Children's Aid Society, told of conditions she found in the home when she visited there on June 17 while Mrs. Sutton was out of the city with the three oldest children. She stated that a 14-year-old neighbor boy had been delegated by Mrs. Sutton to look after the household while Mr. Sutton was working, but had refused to sleep there nights because of the "stench in the house."

Mrs. Sutton had been away two days when she visited the house on June 17, stated Mrs. Warren. She found the three little children dirty and the 15-month-old baby, Victoria, on a dirty mattress on an upper floor. The baby was pale, her abdomen bloated, and her arms very thin. A bottle of cold sour milk stood by the bed. The baby was taken to Faith Haven, Salvation Army institution, for treatment.

The other Sutton children were identified by Mrs. Warren as Carmen Edward, nine years old; Matilda, seven years; Betty, six years; Peter, five years, and Elaine, three years.

In conversation with Mr. Sutton, the witness testified that he told her he had consented to his wife going away on a vacation because "her nerves were bad," that he had sold a $90 bond to finance her trip.

DR. G. W. DUFFIN Dr. G. W. Duffin, who attended little Victoria at Faith Haven, testified that the baby weighed 12 pounds when brought there, whereas a normal child of the same age should weigh 21 pounds, that her skin was pale, loose and dry, her abdomen protruded, there were sores on her neck, and she was lacking in the number of teeth she should have when a year old. Since being at Faith Haven, the doctor said the baby had been fed properly on milk and vegetables and had gained 10 ounces in weight.

MRS. ZONA WILCOX Mrs. Zona Wilcox, of 1657 Central avenue, stated that often she had found two of the Sutton children, Peter and Matilda, eating out of her garbage pail. The first time she heard them she said she thought a dog was rummaging out of the pail, When she investigated she found the two children devouring orange peelings. In winter she said she saw the children sometimes without stockings and wearing shoes with holes in them.

The witness stated that the children had occasionally come to her door at 3 o'clock in the afternoon complaining of being hungry, saying they hadn't had anything to eat. She stated that she always fed them at such times.

When counsel for the defence suggested that even well fed children had big appetites between meals and it was not unknown for children to rummage in garbage pails, Mrs. Wilcox replied: "There are between 50 and 60 children in our neighborhood and the Sutton children are the only ones who come to my garbage pail. They were very hungry."

MRS. MARY MCCORMICK Mrs. Mary McCormick, of 1653 Central avenue, the mother of six children, testified that the older Sutton children in winter wore worn- out shoes with their toes sticking through holes. She had given them two pairs of shoes which her own children had outgrown. She said: "Mrs. Sutton goes out all the time and lots of times at night. She beats them with straps and once locked them indoors on a hot day."

Mr. Bell asked Mrs. McCormick if it were not true that Mrs. Sutton had offered her $5 to look after her children while she was out of town on a holiday. Mrs. McCormick denied this - he admitted that her 14-year-old son had undertaken the job, but had refused to sleep in the Sutton house at night "because of the stench."

PRIVATE ELI KOSIWOSKY Private Ell Kosdwosky, of 1673 Central avenue, a soldier stationed at St. Luke Road Barracks, told the court of how he had seen Mrs. Sutton chase one of her children and strike the child twice across the back on the street corner. He had remonstrated with Mrs. Sutton at the time. He said the oldest Sutton child, nine-year-old Carman Edward, a cripple, went around in winter without stockings wearing rubber boots.

MISS NANCY CLARK Miss Nancy Clark, of the Children's Aid Society, told of how she had gone with Mr. Sutton to the house on June 19 to look for clothing for six-year-old Betty and five-year-old Peter, after they had been taken to Faith Haven, but couldn't find anything but some worn garments. They had no summer underwear and their shoes were torn, said Miss Clark.

MES. ALINE WALD Mrs. Aline Wald, of 1669 Central avenue, a mother of three children and a trained nurse, said that when she first visited the Sutton home last October there was "a terrible odor" in the house and the rooms were cold at a time she had heat in her own home. She said the Sutton children had eaten scraps out of her garbage pail and she had fed them sometimes in her own home. "I could tell by the way they grabbed at the food how hungry they were." She added, "I have seen Mrs. Sutton beat one of the children across the bare back with a fly swatter." She said the children werepoorly clad in winter, but one of them did have a windbreaker.

Mrs. Wald testified that she was the one who notified the Children's Aid Society of Conditions at the Sutton home, after Mrs. Sutton had gone away on a vacation. After the society had taken charge of the children she said she had a conversation with Mr. Sutton.

"He broke down and cried, and told me what a wonderful wife Mrs. Sutton had been before they came to Windsor," said Mrs. Wald. He blamed a man who had boarded at their house for breaking up his home. I have seen Mrs. Sutton leave the house and go away in a car at 1:15 am. Mr. Sutton told me that his wife had promised that if he let her go on a vacation she would return to him and be a good wife." "He put in two telephone calls to his wife while she was away and he told me she had agreed to return if she would be allowed to retain the friendship of the other man."

While Mrs. Wald was giving her testimony, Mrs. Sutton, who was seated beside her husband, reddened and turned her face away from him.

MR. SUTTON Taking the stand in defence of himself and his wife, Mr. Sutton testified that he earned around $2,300 a year, adding: "Practically all my money goes into my home." He said his wife looked after the groceries and he gave her money whenever she asked for it. He spoke of "a gentleman friend"of his wife's who had boarded with them for a month.

He had agreed to his wife going on a vacation to Nova Scotia when he felt satisfied that she would not be with the former boarder while she was away. He said his wife had taken the three oldest children to her mother's and then had visited "girl friends" in Stratford and Tillsonburg, and had not gone to Nova Scotia.

Denying that the baby had been neglected, Mr. Sutton said a doctor had been called in to attend the baby last winter and that his wife had followed the doctor's prescriptions in feeding the baby milk and prepared vegetables and other preparations for infants.

Dealing with the condition of the baby while his wife was away, Mr. Sutton said: "I gave the baby milk but I guess I gave her too much."

DENIES PUNISHMENT SEVERE Mr. Sutton denied that his wife had ever punished the children severely. "She never left a mark on them. I'm the only one who ever left a mark and that was once when a red mark was left on the skin of one of the children after he had been spanked." He said that his wife provided adequate meals and put plenty of food on the table. He got 870 In wages every two weeks and his wife never lacked for funds. He said he had reprimanded his children for taking food scraps from the neighbors garbage pails. As for the children being fed by the neighbors between meals he said: "So have we given the neighbors kids stuff to eat."

On the question of clothing Mr. But ton said, "My wife makes lots of clothing for the children. My oldest boy had shoes to wear in the winter, but he insisted on wearing his rubber boots." MRS. SUTTON Mrs. Sutton, a buxom young woman, next took the stand and made and made a general denial of neglecting the children. She said she bought three quarts of milk and four loaves of bread daily for them. She said the baby had been in poor health for some time following an attack of chickenpox and had suffered from an an abscess as a result. She had given the baby prepared cereals. She said she asked Mrs. McCormick to look after the children at nights while she was on vacation, but Mrs. McCormick did not agree to do this but consented to have her 14-year-old boy stay at the Sutton house at night, Mr. Sutton being a night worker and away from home overnight. She said the former boarder in their home was "just a friend."

COUNSEL ARGUMENTS In summing up the case on behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Sutton, Mr. Bell said that if there had been been any any neglect on their parts, his clients had learned a good lesson and he was certain that in the future there would be no cause for complaint about them. If there had been neglect he was not prepared to say who was responsible, but he was certain that in the future, under strict supervision, conditions at the house would be entirely different.

The Crown, in summation, said that the circumstances of the mother going away on vacation and leaving the three youngest children at home were at sufficient in themselves for a verdict of guilty. It was very unusual for children to eat out of garbage cans, the Crown submitted, and indicated that children were not properly fed. A mother was usually held responsible how for the care of the youngest children and it was the duty of a father to see that money was properly spent. In giving his verdict, Magistrate Hanrahan said he could not find enough evidence to convict the husband, and he thought the story told by one of the witnesses of Mr. Sutton's remarks about his wife represented a true picture. Undoubtedly the lack of care of the children, said the magistrate, was the result of Mrs. Sutton's interest in another man who had been a boarder in their home.

In remanding Mrs. Sutton in custody until Saturday morning, Magistrate Hanrahan said that he would be glad to hear at that time what she intended to do in the future about looking after her children.

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How to Control Bed bugs and Rodents in San Diego, Los Angeles and Orange County Locations

Controlling bed bugs and rodents requires a comprehensive approach that involves both preventive measures and targeted interventions. It would be better to use general strategies to help control bed bugs and rodents in the San Diego area:

Bed Bug Control San Diego: 

Confirm the presence of bed bugs through visual inspection. Look for small reddish-brown bugs, molted skins, and tiny white eggs in seams and folds of mattresses and furniture.

Reduce Clutter: Declutter your living space to eliminate hiding spots for bed bugs.

Wash and Heat: Wash bedding, curtains, and clothing in hot water and dry them on the highest heat setting.

Use Mattress Encasements: Encase mattresses and box springs in bed bug-proof covers to prevent infestations.

Vacuum Regularly: Vacuum your home frequently, paying special attention to cracks, crevices, and seams. Dispose of the vacuum bag or empty the canister in an outdoor trash container.

Chemical Treatments: Consider using insecticides labeled for bed bug control. Consult with a professional pest control service for safe and effective application.

Rodent Control San Diego:

Seal Entry Points: Inspect your home for gaps and holes and seal them with caulk or other appropriate materials. This helps prevent rodents from entering.

Remove Food Sources: Store food in airtight containers and clean up crumbs promptly. Ensure that garbage is stored in sealed containers.

Trim Vegetation: Trim trees and shrubs away from the house to eliminate potential pathways for rodents.

Use Traps: Set traps in areas where rodents are likely to travel. Snap traps and electronic traps are commonly used.

Professional Extermination: If the rodent infestation is severe, consider hiring a professional pest control service like Payne Pest Management Pest control who they come and assess the situation and implement effective measures.

Maintain Cleanliness: Regularly clean and declutter your living spaces. Rodents are attracted to areas with food debris and hiding spots.

General Tips:

Consult Professionals: Seek advice from a licensed pest control professional Payne Pest Management Pest Control service in San Diego, Orange county and Los Angeles. They can conduct thorough inspections and provide effective treatment plans.

Follow Local Regulations: Be aware of and comply with local regulations regarding the use of pesticides and pest control methods.

Educate Yourself: Learn about the biology and habits of bed bugs and rodents to better understand how to prevent and control infestations.

Remember, successful pest control often requires a combination of methods and ongoing efforts. If the infestation is severe or persists, it's advisable to seek professional assistance for effective and safe pest control measures.

[ledenews]

The 'Greenhouse Getaway' - The 1992 Escape from the W.Va. Penitentiary - Part One

PREVIOUS ESCAPES There were countless escapes from the West Virginia Penitentiary.  Some means of escape were going over the tall walls with rope ladders, digging under the walls burrowed ten feet deep into the earth, through the Wagon Gates, dressed as women, one was even buried underneath a pile of stinky garbage in the outgoing garbage truck. One inmate attempted a creative escape.  He fashioned a hot air balloon out of mattress covers and took it to the top of the Industry Building. His escape was not successful as he couldn’t get it airborne. His attempt, as well has his spirit, deflated. While the inmates supplied the labor to build the gothic like architecture of the penitentiary from 1866 to 1870, there were 103 escapes and forty-six were never captured. According to The Tour at the West Virginia Penitentiary, there were 538 escapes from 1960 to 1995. In the late 60’s, prisoners who escaped were required to wear gray shirt and gray pants upon their return. The shirt had two white patches on front and one white patch on back that measured twelve by eighteen inches. The purpose of the patches was so Correctional Officers in the towers could easily spot them and watch them carefully. When a new inmate asked what the patches meant, he was told that those inmates were E.T.’s. Inmates with ‘escape tendencies’.  Camp Fair Chance, the 212-acre prison farm, had 160 inmates supervised by only four Correctional Officers. Since the escapes occurred frequently and were so easy, the farm was mocked as “Camp Sure Chance.” Those who did escape from Camp Fair Chance were rebuked by the other inmates who successfully escaped from the penitentiary. The Camp Fair Chance evaders were told, “You didn’t escape, you just walked off. You are a ‘walk-off’.” There were many other notable escapes but one fascinating one was perpetrated by Fred Hamilton, Tomie Mollohan, and David Williams.  All three inmates were convicted of murder and serving life sentences. Hamilton remains incarcerated today in the state's only maximum-security facility. FRED HAMILTON Frederick Dean Hamilton was born on January 22, 1958 in Greenfield, Ohio. As a young man, he excelled athletically. During Fred’s senior year of high school, he was ranked the third best golfer in the state of Ohio. Guy Sivert, the golf coach for Davis and Elkins College, recruited him on a full scholarship.  Fred’s future was bright. Blessed with athletic talent and a gregarious, popular young man in college, Fred appeared as if he had a perfect life.  Something snapped within him when he was nineteen years-old and he dropped out of college and began committing crimes. During his malicious six-week stint, Fred kidnapped car salesman Robert Kamauff of Cumberland, Maryland. He didn’t harm Kamauff and eventually released him on a deserted Maryland road.  Fred was arrested on October 12, 1978 for armed robbery and kidnapping when a stolen orange corvette was found in front of his house. He was initially housed in the Randolph County Jail. Two days later, Fred was taken to the Tucker County Jail by West Virginia State Trooper Bruce Brown. At the Parson, West Virginia jailhouse, Fred began devising a plan on how to escape and became unruly. Another State Trooper, Corporal Marshall Davisson stepped in to assist Trooper Brown in subduing the cantankerous young man. Fred pushed Trooper Brown aside and quickly snatched Trooper Davissons’ .357 caliber handgun from his holster. Both officers immediately grabbed Fred and two shots rang out. The first shot fired struck Corporal Davisson’s metal belt buckle and didn’t injure him. The second shot Fred fired hit Trooper Brown in the chest causing him to stagger to the nearby stoop where he collapsed. Four hours later, he breathed his last breath. When Tucker County Sheriff Darl Pine saw the commotion, he fired at Fred and struck him in the leg. Once Fred was hit, he stopped fighting and surrendered to them.  In a matter of several minutes, Fred’s bright future drastically dimmed. Once a gregarious, likable college student, now a convicted cop killer. Fred’s impulsive violent choice robbed Trooper Brown, a young man only 25 years old of his future.  Fred had previously escaped from the penitentiary in July 1984 while being medically treated at the Reynolds Memorial Hospital in Glen Dale, West Virginia.  When he exited the restroom in the prison ward of the hospital, he snatched a walkie-talkie from a correctional officer and absconded down a fire escape. He hid along Little Grave Creek and then surrendered to law enforcement authorities three days later. Inmate #3568074, Frederick Dean Hamilton, is now incarcerated at Mount Olive Correctional Complex in Montgomery, West Virginia. Mollohan's sentence was extended, of course, following the 1992 escape, and he later died behind bars. TOMIE MOLLOHAN Tomie Lee Mollohan was born in Miami, Florida on March 10, 1942 and eventually traveled up north to the Mountain State of West Virginia. He earned money by doing odd jobs for people and had a mechanical aptitude to fix things. Unfortunately, Tomie became tired of making a meager living and made a tragic choice. While milling around in Brounland, West Virginia, a small unincorporated town just thirteen miles southwest of Charleston, Tomie murdered Cebert Pauley. Tomie was staying in his cabin and on June 13, 1973, Pauley was discovered dead. His cabin was ransacked and his trouser pockets turned inside out. Pauley was known to carry a large amount of cash in his pants and that was missing when his body was found. Tomie’s fingerprints were found on the outside of a can of potted meat inside of the cabin. There were several witnesses that placed Tomie in the vicinity of the cabin before the murder. Tomie was arrested on March 19, 1973 in Manchester, New Hampshire by the police. West Virginia State Troopers Haynes and Shaw were sent to transport him back for trial. During the trip back, Tomie confessed to the troopers he was the one who murdered Cebert Pauley according to the court case, State v. Mollohan, no. 13927. Tomie later recanted his statement but the court felt there was sufficient evidence to convict him.  He was sentenced to life in prison. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time Tomie took someone’s life. In Bluefield, West Virginia, there had been a widely publicized unsolved murder that occurred on December 28, 1972.  66-year-old, Mary Osborne, a member of the First Church of God on South Street, helped clean the church. She was found at the church savagely beaten to death with a hammer.   Tomie testified he took the bus and traveled through Bluefield the day of the murder but had not gone to the church.  The Mercer County Prosecutor stated the church is only fifty feet from the bus terminal. In September 2017, the F.B.I. was able to close this cold case by connecting Tomie’s fingerprints near the scene of the crime. Tomie was convicted of this murder as well.    The greenhouse getaway was not the first time Tomie escaped the penitentiary. He, David Williams, and Bobby Stacy, who killed a Huntington police officer in 1982, escaped on April 3, 1988. They broke into the basement of the old Administration building and found bolt cutters in a metal locker. They then jumped through a side window and landed behind a large ventilation unit that was being installed. When the coast appeared clear, they ran to the chain link fence along Jefferson Avenue and cut their way to freedom. When Tomie left the penitentiary, he headed south to a town called Cameron, which is approximately nineteen miles away. He had been spotted a few times and police found lean-to shelters he probably built by Fork Ridge.  He also broke into at least two homes where he stole guns, blankets and clothing. At one of the homes, he left a note which detailed what he stole and that when he got some money, he would pay them back. Two weeks after escaping, Tomie was almost captured near Beeler’s Station off of U.S. Route 250. Marshall County Deputy Denise Hart saw him with a suitcase and stopped him asking for identification. While she checked his identification, he ran into a thick wooded area and escaped.  Deputy Hart fired five shots at him but missed. Tomie was apprehended on May 9, 1988 by Cameron Police Chief Charles Kotson. Tomie returned to the West Virginia Penitentiary until his next escape in 1992. After his capture then, he did not escape again and died at the Mount Olive Correctional Complex in Montgomery, West Virginia. The Old West Virginia Penitentiary at Moundsville is very popular tourism destination today. DAVID WILLIAMS David Williams was a hard-working coalminer who kept to himself.  However, the terrible choices of one evening changed his future.  David and an accomplice crossed the line of civility and committed a horrific crime. On Sunday, December 7, 1980, Harold Testerman returned home to Marytown in McDowell County.  He had been hunting and he told his neighbor he would be going to a wake of a neighbor at approximately 5:30 p.m.  But his truck remained in his drive-way all day which caused suspicion. At 11:15 p.m., a neighbor saw two people recklessly driving away from Testerman’s house.  Fifteen minutes later, another neighbor reported a fire at Testerman’s house.  After the fire was extinguished, the firefighters and police noticed the house was extremely disorderly as desks and drawers were tossed haphazardly through the rooms. Then there was a ghastly discovery of the charred remains of Testerman in the living room. At Testerman’s autopsy, the coroner, Dr. Ivin Sopher, revealed his cause of death was severe head injuries with a blunt object.  He was alive when the fire began but would have passed away because of the intensity of his wounds.  Several witnesses came forward and stated that David Williams and Floyd Franklin had been seen at Testerman’s house after he returned from hunting. Floyd Franklin was arrested first and charged with murder, arson, and robbery.  Franklin admitted to stealing from Testerman but claimed he had nothing to do with the fire or the murder.  In April 1981, Franklin is convicted of charges of robbery but acquitted of the murder and arson charges.  Franklin received forty years in the penitentiary. Williams could not be found at first but was tracked down to his family’s house in Big Jenny Hollow in McDowell County on January 16, 1981.  When the police arrived at the residence, they were told he was not there.  They did consent to a search of the property and Williams was found hiding under a bed in one of the bedrooms.   When Williams was tried, he was convicted of first-degree murder, arson, and robbery.  He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.   Williams constantly attempted to escape in the penitentiary.  In 1983, he tried to climb over the wall by Tower 4 with a rope fashioned from a sheet.  In 1985, a plot was discovered where he was going to escape from the prison dining hall.  He, Mollohan, and Stacy were successful in the 1988 escape but he was captured in McDowell County shortly after they escaped. It has been reported that David William committed suicide by hanging himself in his cell at the Mount Olive Correctional Complex on December 18, 2018. Read the full article

[person4924]

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pretty boy - the neighborhood

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best friend - rex orange county

i wanna be yours - attic monkeys

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[galaxyedging]

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Stupid Halloween fluff with Frankie.

Mentions of smut, nothing explicit. Mild spoilers for Hocus Pocus I guess?

The Witch is Back

"Another glorious morning! Makes me sick." A barely open brown eye peeks out from beneath the covers, a eyebrow raised quizzically over it. As your smile threatens to outshine the autumn sun streaming through the window, Frankie's brain catches up with him.

"Really? This early?!" He groans glancing at the alarm clock on his dresser.

"I told you, we're making this a day long event." His arms still wrapped in the blanket came up to wrap around you too, as you crawled back over the bed to him. Between the ease of your weight sinking to the mattress and the warmth of Frankie's embrace it was so tempting to slip back in beside him. To let sleep claim you once again, safe in the arms of the man that was your home, your rock, your world but some things were even more important that laying in the arms of your love.

"We have to get up! There's so much to do!" You shoved playfully at his firm chest.

"I have a few things, I'd like to do." He nuzzled your neck before trailing his lips over your pulse.

"Later." You shrugged him off.

That's when he knew you were serious."Really?!"

"Twenty-nine years, Frankie! Twenty-nine whole years I've been waiting for this! Now get dressed. I'll go start breakfast." You lumbered off the bed and dissappear out of the door before he could respond.

The scent of cinnamon, chocolate and powdered sugar wafted up the stairs as Frankie made his way down.

"Here. Get 'em while they're hot!" A plate was placed in front of Frankie before you span away in the direction of the fridge to retrieve the orange juice. Frankie eyed his pancakes for a moment. Since you had discovered how to make pancake art, every occasion had it's own specially designated pancakes. By your own admission they were far from perfect but Frankie could always tell what you were trying to make. He found the quirky cartoon shapes adorable. A broomstick, a cat and a spell book sat on his plate.

"Cute." He commented before covering them in chocolate syrup and dusting them with powdered sugar.

"You are." You smiled wiping the powder from his mustache after his first bite.

Once breakfast was done, there was the important mission of buying the Halloween decorations. Since you both hated putting the Christmas tree up and covering it with lights only to take it down two weeks later, you had convinced Frankie to let you put it up for Halloween as well. Themed tinsel and spooky decorations for Halloween before swapping them out for bright, multi coloured ones for Christmas. The black Christmas tree in the attic was perfect for both occasions. Thanks to you, the Christmas decorations were already neatly packed away in storage box. Frankie's previous storage system was to dump them all in a trash bag and forget abut them for a year until they needed detangling. Upon discovering this, you had questioned him about it. It was strange to you that the unusually neat and methodical Frankie would bundle the delicate decorations so carelessly. He'd lay the book his was reading on his chest and sheepishly glanced over at you. "I really like the holidays. People are different, kinder, more hopefully. Families get closer. Taking the tree down when everything is done just makes me feel, well, sad. I take it down, bag it up and shove it in the attic so I can forget what I'm missing."

Just when you thought you couldn't love Frankie any more, he'd drop something like that on you.

Frankie truly was the sweetest man you had ever met. Even when his dark side rose it's head, when he got so angry that the veins popped in his neck and he balled his fists so tightly that his knuckles went white. When he soft, warm eyes morphed into dark, harden gaze. When those eye's seemed to hold the stare of someone far away or someone else entirely. When you had no doubt that the man in front of you was a killer, for his county or not, that was the truth of it, you still couldn't lose sight of the sweet man that he was. If he was angry, he would take himself as far away from you at possible. He never wanted to subject you to seeing that side of him. No matter how much you reassured him, that it doesn't change how you feel for him, he simply didn't want to put you through the upset of seeing his moods. You were never afraid that that anger would be turned on you.

One night, when his thoughts were tangled somewhere else while his body was tangled with your's, he had woken with a start, he pinned you to the bed with an iron grip, one hand on your hip the other gripping the back of your head, before he realised where he was, that he was safe, at home, not in whatever nightmare memory his subconscious had dragged up. When you'd stuttered out his name in shock, he finally came back to you, eyes wide in the dim, moonlit room. Seeing the fear on your face broke him. Mutterings of 'I'm so sorry, Baby. So sorry. Forgive me.' spilled across your skin as he kisses every inch he could find. You had wrapped you arms and legs around him to ground him, holding him in the present, not letting him slip back to his grim past. Eventually, he had fallen back asleep like that, only to wake up early in the morning to make love to you. Each loving kiss and gentle caress, his attempt to replace the those kisses and touches given in his woeful state.

Frankie really was the sweetest man, anyone could tell by the way he indulged you as you skipped ahead down the aisle. Excited calls of "Frankie, look!" Being tossed over your shoulder as you went. The two of you must have spent over an hour, looking at the decorations, pressing every 'Try me' button, much to the annoyance of some of the other customers. When your fascination with the buttons became a threat to the mental wellbeing of the staff, you called it a day. Frankie insisted on carrying your haul to the car as you occasionally held his Bubble Tea out for him to sip. Something that you had given him a taste for.

It was easy to navigate the Saturday morning foot traffic, while absently managing both your drinks. As a woman you were always hyper aware in public but in exchange for a taste for Bubble Tea and a passion for the cinematic classic the 1999 version of The Mummy, Frankie had taught you to hone that awareness. It was less of a panicked tangle at the back of your brain and more a guiding voice, like Frankie's, deep and reassuring.

Lunch was burritos snagged on the way in and eaten while enjoying today's matinée viewing, Hocus Pocus. Frankie grinned around a mouthful as you joined the sisters in cursing Thackery, with an animated wave of you head. He tugged you closer in mild jealousy when you got excited at Billy's arrival. He giggled along with you at your inability to belt out I Put a Spell on You like Bette Midler. When it was over and the remnants of lunch were cleared away, Frankie climbed the attic ladder to retrieve the tree. He passed the large but thankfully not heavy box down to you which you promptly dropped as you too bust staring at his ass to take notice of how you were holding it. His head shot around as he heard it hit the floor.

"Sorry." You put an exaggerated grimace on your face.

"For dropping the box or staring at my ass?" Frankie really was aware of everything in his surroundings. "I did still have a few things planned for today."

He descended the ladder slowly, his cute little butt highlighted with every step. When he reached the bottom, he smiled mischievously "Trick or treat?"

"How about a little of both?" You whispered in his ear before biting the lobe. That was all it took for Frankie to drag you to your bedroom.

A few fun filled, and eventually, nap filled, hours later you came back down to start the decorations. The tree cast shadows on the wall as the lights shone, nestled between the branches. When Frankie was satisfied the lights were working and positioned properly, you began to drape the tinsel over them. There was length of white with little ghosted cut outs sticking out from it, a length of orange with pumpkins and, your personal favourite, a length with tiny bats fluttering from it. The tinsel glistened as the shaped threw more shadows on the walls. Frankie stood behind you, his shadow being softly cast on the wall by the only other light source in the room, the warm glow of a table lamp. You studied his shadow out of the corner of your eye. All broad shoulders and cocked out hip. You'd know that man anywhere.

It was still so hard for you to believe he was yours. You'd been in a pretty dark place when you met, no where near the level Frankie had once been at but it wasn't a competition, you had your own scars and battles. While helping Frankie heal his, you'd do some work on your own. He drove you to be better, you had to be to support him, to be the partner he needed. In turn, Frankie had done the same, he'd pushed himself out of his comfort zone, he'd believed in himself when he didn't think he could. He would do anything to be worthy of you.

Smiling over you shoulder as you hung some rubber bats on the branches, you caught Frankie looking at you, seemingly from a world of his own. "What are thinking about?"

"You." He said simply before stepping in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to draw you close to him. He stayed like that, moulded to your back for a long moment. He did that sometimes it as if he needed a moment to take in that you were here with him, real flesh and blood in his arms. Taking a steady breath in, he placed a kiss to your shoulder. "So where do you want the little skeletons?"

Frankie knew better than to just haphazardly dive in, you would no doubt already have a plan in your mind of how it should look. "Just dot them around, not too close to each other. We want a good mix of each one in each section of the tree. We have the pumpkins and the black cats to go too."

"Yes, Ma'am." He nodded before proceeding to carry out you orders.

With the two of you working together, the tree was done in no time. The last touch was a Ghostbusters-esque ghost to go on top. You had no trouble reaching the top of the not overly tall tree, yet Frankie had insisted on lifting you up anyway, making sure to cop a handful as he picked you up and put you down. "Frankie!" You mock scolded.

With the tree looking exactly how you wanted it. It was time for the main event. Frankie fetched the Halloween candy and chips from the kitchen while you got the film queued up.

Frankie tried his best to keep up with the movie, he really did. It was just so hard with you bouncing excitedly next to him. The giddy little wriggle as the characters came back. The way your face lit up with each reference to the first movie. The way your curves jigged as you literally jumped for joy. The way your soft, warm hand slide perfectly into his as if to tug him alone in your enjoyment. Frankie was only mildly aware of the movie but he was completely aware of you and how much he loved this time with you.

"Did you love it or did you love it?" You squealed once the credits rolled.

"I loved it." He grinned before kissing you deeply.

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom

The title is a nod to me writing again. Still putting my series writing on hold for a little while. I'm gonna just write random stuff for fun. Let me know if you don't want to be tagged.💕