#carpet cleaning after water damage

[whitehallcarpetcleaners]

Prevent Mold Growth

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners helps prevent mold growth with thorough carpet cleaning services!

[ur-mousey]

Cross My Heart and Hope to Die~

-Yan!Andrew Graves x F!Reader x Yan!Ashley Graves-

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Part 2 (coming soon) chapter one The Addition

summary Your parents didn’t give two shits where you were. But they made sure to leave you somewhere with someone. And, you found yourself in the care of Mrs. Graves -she was no better.

Upon arrival Ashley despised you and Andrew kept his distance for your sake.

warning parental neglect/familial abuse.

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Friends never came easy to you. But, older brothers proved harder to navigate. They say that blood runs thicker than water but everything ran clear between you and Jared. He despised you. He'd hightailed it on his skateboard, pocketing the cash meant to feed you, the minute your parents left him in charge. It happened all the time. And within a few steps of your lazying fathers slumped form over the suede brown armchair, Jared snuck cigarettes from his pocket and burnt the buds on your inner arm. When your mom caught glimpses of the marking, she would sit to herself on her bed cursing your father's name in vain.

You never corrected mommy and she never said a word to daddy.

One day, Jared left you with a bowl of animal crackers. You scoured the fridge for a juice box after the door slammed and the lock slid in place. But, groceries ran slim, and spoiled milk sat nestled behind a few cans of Corona. You stood on your tippy toes, peaking over the shelves, and nothing resembled juice.

With your tiny fingers stretched out, you try to obtain the carton of milk. You knocked cans down which rolled over the edge, bursting upon impact. You flinched. Tears burst as you fell on your knees. A puddle kissed your tights and clung to your skirts. You kicked the fridge and smashed the bottle under your fist.

Before Jared could see the damages of a four-year-old, hours after your little accident, and before he could clean up to save face, your daddy returned home.

Daddy's rage broke whatever: Jared's skateboards, Mommy's pearls gifted from her mother, and he tore your beer-reeked clothes off.

You were never left alone again.

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"Say hello to your new friends," Mommy used your hand to wave at the two older kids. "The girl is Ashley. She's in the fourth grade and she's eight. Then there's her older brother Andrew. They wanna play with you. Right?"

The little girl scowled but nodded. Mrs. Graves smacked the back of an uninterested Andrew. "Feel free to drop her off whenever. Andrew is such a responsible boy. He's practically raising Ashley."

Your mom giggled. "I wish my son was more like that. He's a mess. I don't know what to do with him. He takes after his father. This one... she's my little mini-me."

Mommy poked your nose with hers. You heard Mrs. Graves quip, "If that's true, she'll be quite the doll."

"She is! You can even dress her up as one too." Mommy's eyes lit at the mention of fashion. You sulked further into the fur lining of her jacket as she tried to parade you around. She pinched your butt as you scufted your Mary Janes on the dirty carpeting. "Don't be shy now. Go on and introduce yourself."

You put your thumb in your mouth and batted tears from your eyes. "Mommy, can't I go with you?"

"Dear..." She brushed her fingers through your hair. She adjusted the burgundy beret until the plaid bow attached framed your face, "It's a busy night, love. Mommy's sorry."

"Daddy-"

"Isn't. home."

"Fine! What about Jared? I'll be home with him," You whined.

"And he'll leave you again. I don't want you alone. Mommy thinks Mrs. Graves and her kids will take good care of you. Don't you trust me?"

You nodded. And with mommy's efforts, you introduced yourself. You were almost seven in a lion's den. But, you'd survived hyenas' quarrels before. What's the worse two siblings can do.

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Mrs. Graves excused herself to the bedroom, claiming fatigue. She muttered under her breath, "Your father should be home soon. He's bringing home takeout. Leave me alone till then."

Andrew whistled in response. The door shut and silence infiltrated the space. You sniffled - once, twice, even a third time.

Ashley erupted, "What are we supposed to do with that!? She's being a huge crybaby! I can't take it, Andy!!" She clung onto her brother and hissed at your watering eyes. Your cheeks redden at the attention.

"Leave me alone," You whimpered. "I'm not crying."

The siblings stared at you. Andrew twiddled with his sister's barrette-filled hair. Ashley wore green overalls a tad too large on her that they looked more like Andrew's size. Both siblings had the complexion of vanilla bean ice cream and their hair was as dark as licorice.

"You so are!" Ashley whined. "Why are you dumped on us? This is so unfair Andy."

Andrew tried comforting his younger sister, "Leave her alone, Leyley. It's only for tonight. Let's just watch a movie or something."

"Why are you defending her? I'm your sister, not her. You do this all of the time!"

"Do what exactly? I'm not defending her. I don't want to hear either of you whine." Andrew stood from his seat on the couch. "How about we get snacks? I'll pop some popcorn."

You tilted your head, watching as the girl sprung to his back, the boy reluctant, relented to giving her a piggyback ride. Your brother would never dare. "I'll act dead. I won't exist," You whispered. You hopped in place, hicking your backpack higher on your shoulders. A little louder you spoke, "You and Andy ca-"

"Don't call him that! He's my Andy. And don't you dare call me Leyley. It's not for a common hussy."

Andrew's eyes, a brilliant kiwi color, flashed towards you. You shook like a leaf in autumn. Yet, you dressed solely with winter in mind. It's mid-March where the breeze kicked at one's legs. He wondered if, in summer, you'd be dressed in the finest floral outfits suited for Easter day.

"Finish your thought," Andrew encouraged.

"I don't want to watch a movie. I'll wait for Mommy by the window." You pointed. And he nodded, walking off with Ashely swinging her legs in the air.

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Daddy's gone. So is brother. Mommy's alone. She still has you. You aren't enough. You are a burden. That's what you think perched on the windowsill. Snow White sang at the water well. She must have thought the same as you. You peeked over at the screen where her Prince Charming caught Cupid's arrows with his chest fully bared.

And as destined, he'll kiss her awake.

Your tummy rumbled and you felt too stubborn to leave your vantage point. Mommy could whisk you away from the rude siblings, and you didn't want to miss the moment. You had taken out your violet cotton bunny plush, waving it side to side between your feet. His floppy ears rolled into his round button eyes. And his belly bore pink with bloat.

He must be full all the time.

Mr. Graves had greeted you with a box in hand of gooey cheese pizza and lemon-peppered wings, which he left on the counter. It's been 20 minutes since the family gathered at the table and you didn't move.

Nor did they ask you to come.

Footsteps pattered from carpet to tile. The TV paused as Ashley left to set her plate in the sink. Mrs. and Mr. Graves continued in hushed voices at the dining table while Andrew sat in front. He scratched at his oversized grey sweater and he used his index finger to poke at his food.

"When is her mom picking her up?" Ashley leaned over the table.

"That woman's a dancer. She'll be out all night. Andrew, you'll have to walk her to school and Nina's getting dropped off in the morning."

Andrew huffed, "Since when were you popular? I gotta get three girls to school now?"

Mrs. Graves hummed. "Sorry kid, that's how it'll be for a while. People are in tough times so they flock to the one not hurting the most. Bare with it."

"You could've said no." Andrew pouted.

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Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo!

This will have multiple parts and smut. Be ready. Please leave suggestions in the comments! I will be taking ideas for this fic! This will be a slow burn but in the next chapter, I might add a glimpse of the future. A.k.a the events of the game.

[dilfguzzler]

john price nsfw headcanons!

i'm currently hyperfixated on john price and want to write more for him. i always like to do an nsfw alphabet to get a feel for the character in my little bird brain

enjoy! open to requests (price and ghost only atm)

f!reader

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

his form of aftercare is definitely quality time. he will have just obliterated you, your mind is in outer fucking space. he'll pull you on top of him, not even cleaning you up yet, just wanting to give you time to come back to yourself.

sometimes the feelings are so much and you'll be crying, just feeling the feels and he'll stroke your back, murmuring how good you were for him, how you're his best girl. once you're fully back to your right mind, he'll get you some water, clean you up and cuddle you until you have a sleep

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

john price is an ass man. nothing else to be said.

he likes his hands. out in the field they cause damage and destruction. but they also keep you safe. they're also the hands that can make you scream and cry in pleasure. he also knows that you have a slight hand kink, so that's a bonus.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

INSIDE. the only time mr. breeding kink will ever not cum in your cunt is if he's coming in your mouth.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he wants to share you. wants to watch you be fucked by his boys while he watches. wants to place you in any position he wants like he's conducting his own porn shoot. he doesn't know if his possessive streak would ever actually let this happen though.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

this man has been around. hoowee he knows exactly what he's doing, knows things about your body that you didn't even now

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

honestly, he's up for pretty much anything. he likes to be in control so even if you're riding him, be sure he's the one really in control.

he loves missionary, seeing your face, and command you to keep your eyes open and on him. he can get some real power behind his thrusts in missionary too, so much that you're limping a bit for a few days after.

also, doggy. see B, ass-man

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

definitely more serious. like he might crack a dry-ass dad joke, but he takes his fucking seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

this man is HAIRY. he keeps it under control but he's a very hairy dude

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

this one is a tricky one because i definitely think he has two sides.

one side is the feral, dominant man who just wants to FUCK.

the other is this old-fashioned guy, definitely still dominant, who wants to be romantic and charm the pants off you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

over his years in the army and the SAS, he has gotten pretty close with his hand. the only difference now when he's away, he has some abso-fucking-lutely delightful polaroids of you. he particularly loves the ones you sneak into his pockets before he leaves. those are always a nice surprise.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

this man is a kinky old boy. as mentioned before he is mr. breeding kink. defo daddy kink vibes although i cant decide if he likes to be called daddy or sir more. i think he has certain moods for each.

like sometimes he's in the mood to wreck you and wants your total obedience, this is when he likes to be sir.

sometimes he feels a little bit softer and wants you to be his good girl, and is willing to allow you a little bit of leeway and let you mess around a bit more or whatever

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

he's a traditional guy. he likes to take you in bed as it's easiest (and god, does he hate to admit it, but his back can't really take anywhere else anymore)

he loves to take you soft and slow on the couch though.

oh, and he'll never forget you sitting on his lap for 2 hours straight, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. he was so proud of you for your minimal squirming and whining.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

simply, you. you literally just wake up in the morning beside him and he wants to fuck you into the middle of next week.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i don't think he'd ever want to hurt you. like he's not against a bit of slapping, bruising you and being rough but he's always very controlled and knows what he's doing. he would never want to genuinely, seriously hurt you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he's a certified pussy eater, i know it. the beard adds so much. but when he eats you out, he's running on his time, he won't stop after one, two, three times. he goes until his jaw hurts.

and while he loves eating you out. fuck it if he doesn't love your mouth on his cock. sometimes he'll just leave you there while he watches the match and smokes a cigar. it's his favourite way to relax.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

as i said above, i think he definitely has two moods. so it depends

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he's a busy chap, so yeah he's up for quickies. it's not his favourite of course but sometimes he just needs to be inside you, and he'll take what he can get.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he's up for experimenting. but he will never put your safety at risk. also, his job requires a certain level of discretion so he can't be doing anything that could jeopardise that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he hates to think about it, but he can't go like he could in his 20s. he can last ages but he needs a bit more time between rounds. but that doesn't mean there's no time for fun in while he's regrouping himself.

if he's feeling mean, he'll pull out your toy collection and use all sorts of fun stuff on you, not giving you a chance to recover

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

yes. you have a toy box full of all sorts of goodies. he loves scouring the internet looking for different things he can use on you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he does NOT like to be teased. but he will tease you omg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's grunter lol. he'll say some nasty, sweet things to you.

although, you'll never forget the time you made him almost squeal when you did something with your hips while riding him. that was fun

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he's kind of a meanie sometimes and he's so glad you love it and love his grumpy side. he never thought he'd find someone he'd align with so well, not only sexually, but in every other way too.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6.5in, uncut, thick but not too thick y'know, kind of curves upwards

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

not as high as it once was. he loves to fuck but he's also 100% content to sit and watch some shite tv with you or watch you make dinner or some other domestic stuff

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

won't fall asleep until he knows you're happy and fully back to yourself. he's also gotten into the habit of needing a cigar after sex. he can't sleep until he ticks certain boxes

[dirtyvulture]

Natasha Romanoff x Male!Witcher!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by Yuni on Ao3: (Translated from French on Google translate, original request below) Hi, I really like your work and was wondering if you can do a The Witcher style male Natasha x Reader covered in scars (one of which is across his face) and tattoos, a mass of muscles and the rest as a result 😳 😅, who returns from the fight and finds Natasha. To this follows a well-deserved part of legs in the air 😆😜. Thank you if you accept, good continuation. (My apologies for so many details)

AN: I've never watched The Witcher, so thanks to @mostlymarvelsstuff for educating me lol.

Original request: Bonjour, j'aime beaucoup votre travail et je me demandais si vous pouvez faire un Natasha x Reader masculin du style The Witcher couvert de cicatrices (dont une lui barre le visage) et de tatouages, une masse de muscles et le reste en conséquences 😳😅, qui revient du combat et retrouve Natasha. �� cela suit une partie de jambes en l'air bien méritée 😆😜. Merci si vous acceptez, bonne continuation. (Mes excuses pour tant de détails)

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You shove your shoulder into your door one final time that almost knocks it off its hinges as you stumble into your room. You throw your sword onto the carpet and have the urge to fall with it until you see Natasha Romanoff waiting on your bed for you.

"Nat?" you ask, fighting against the exhaustion seeping into your bones. "What are you doing here?"

"Here to congratulate you after another successful battle," she says. "I already got your bath ready for you--"

"You didn't have to." While part of you is grateful for her help, you also like to maintain your independency and don't like to be waited on very much.

"Come on," she beckons, standing up and offering her hand. You have no energy left to argue and follow her into the bathroom, where true to her word, the enormous wooden basin is filled with steaming water.

You turn around to let Natasha help you remove off your several layers of armor and clothing. Some of it is splattered with your opponents blood, some of it yours, although you had hardly been injured in the fight. Natasha's hand lingers on your chest, tracing the shell of the wolf medallion hanging around your neck. Her hand travels down your ribs, where you have a thin slash from a sword.

"Let me get you a bandage for that," she says, darting off while you stand there naked, taking a moment to admire your reflection in the mirror. The years of hunts had taken a visible toll on your body, with scars littering your torso and limbs. There is a ragged chunk of missing flesh on your left thigh and claw marks raking across your chest to your stomach. Your most prominent scar could not be easily hid with clothing because it was on your face, crossing your left eye from your forehead to your cheek. But despite the damage from an innumerable amount of fights, you were of good health and strongly built, with sculpted muscles that put most men to shame.

Natasha returns with a bandage and some ointment, but requests that you wash off the blood and dirt in the tub first. You are happy to oblige, slipping into the warm water and closing your eyes in bliss as the heat loosens your muscles.

Natasha conjures up a rag and a bar of soap, wetting both and rubbing them together until a white lather appears. You sit back and let her wash your face, arms, and chest, taking the washcloth from her to finish what's left under the water. She eyes you hungrily as you wash yourself, almost like she's jealous she doesn't get to do it herself.

"You'll get your turn," you promise as you drain the tub of the dirty water. Natasha fills a bucket to present you with clean water to rinse off with, and when you're done you stand up, dripping water onto the ground and Natasha not-so-subtly clenches her legs together.

You go back to the bedroom, allowing her to clean and bandage the cut on your side, and even after that she's still looking at you like she wants to devour you.

"Nat," you say, finally ready to give in to her.

"Hold on. Drink this." Out of nowhere, she conjures up a flask carrying a bright-red liquid and holds it out to you.

"Will this heal me?" you ask, hesitant from the potion's flashy color.

"Yes," Natasha says with a grin, "And it'll help you last longer."

It takes a moment for you to understand what she's referring to, but you eagerly down the potion, cringing at the harsh taste. It doesn't make you feel any different at first, but then a hot warmth spreads to your groin and you realize it's because Natasha's taken your cock in her hands and starts stroking you slowly.

You crawl back on the bed, spreading your legs to allow her to join you. She takes off her own multiple layers of clothing, climbing on top of you and rubbing her bare chest against yours. Her nipples are already hard and you grope her breasts roughly. She arches into you and moans, and you hike your hips up to rub your cock along her smooth thighs.

"Fuck, Y/N," she murmurs, her hands roaming your body as much as yours are on hers. Natasha loves the way your muscles shift and flex under her touch. She can practically feel the individual muscle fibers in your chest straining and popping and your thighs are rock-solid underneath hers.

Her nails dig into the curve of your biceps, trying to keep you pinned down, but of course her strength is no match for yours. You wrap your arms around her waist, flipping her over in one motion and kissing her fiercely. You feel her hands grab at your medallion, then going down your sides and gripping onto your muscular butt to guide your hips.

"Inside," she begs. "I need you."

"Not yet," you tease, rolling your hips slowly so the tip of your cock teases her entrance. But you don't think she's wet enough for you, and with your size, you don't want to hurt her by pushing in too early. Besides, it's fun to tease her.

"Please, please," she begs, widening her legs until you can see her glistening center.

You push two fingers into her and curl them against her front wall; she moans loudly and drops her head back into the pillows. Your cock hardens even more at the thought of her walls clenching around you like that. You roll your thumb over her clit a few times, pumping your fingers in and out, until her thighs are trembling and she's panting and gasping for your cock.

"Now you're ready," you announce, taking her thighs in your large hands and pressing them into the bed, holding them wide apart. You position yourself at your entrance and slide right in, moaning at the heat that clenches at you.

"Oh fuck, Nat," you grunt, overwhelmed by the urge to cum immediately, but you feel something in your stomach tighten, preventing you from release. Knowing this is the work of her potion but not sure how long it will last, you start thrusting in long, hard strokes, filling Natasha and pulling out until you see your tip wet with her juices.

"Yes, yes, just like that," Natasha moans, squirming on the bed as you hold her down and jack your hips into hers.

"You feel like perfection," you say, savoring the feeling of her silky walls dragging up and down your throbbing cock. You know when you finally get to cum, you're going to fill her to the brim.

"So do you," she says, trying to sit up and grab onto your broad shoulders to steady yourself with as the bedframe starts to shudder violently from your motions.

"When can I cum?" you ask, as if she holds that much control over you.

"After I do," she replies with a sly grin.

"Okay." You start to thrust even harder, your abs starting to burn from the effort. "Tell me when," you add, noticing her tensing up beneath you. You feel like you're ready to topple over the edge, but no matter how deeply you thrust into Natasha, you just can't reach the peak.

"I'm gonna cum!" Natasha squeaks, her nails digging into your muscles.

You don't stop thrusting even as she's gushing around you, the slickness aiding your strokes, and finally when her body stops convulsing, your cock pumps cum straight into her womb. The orgasm is so intense and sudden you think you pass out for a moment, finding yourself lying on top of Natasha in a sticky heap.

"Oh no, I am so sorry, Natasha--" you say, trying to push away from her but she locks her legs around your hips so you can't pull out.

"Stay," she says, enjoying the warmth of your body on top of her and the fullness of your cock inside her.

"As you wish," you say, in no mood to argue with her now and shifting to get comfortable.

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AN: This was fun to write! Thanks for the request!

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 31 of 35

2750 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

You unfurl your legs as everyone around you clambers from the back of the taxi. Seokjin extends a hand out for you, and you take it gladly, using his leverage to climb free. You stumble a little as you free yourself, and he takes the opportunity to catch you in his arms and hold you close, making you giggle as you wriggle to free yourself and help unpack the luggage.

"Aish... hold still, let me enjoy one more cuddle before I have to return to my own empty home," Jin complains.

You do as you're told. You cease your movement and instead encircle your arms around his waist. He gives a satisfied hum as he stretches his neck to rest his chin on your head. 

"Maybe you should just stick around doc," Taehyung suggests wiggling his brows.

"Yeah, that's what we did," Hoseok laughs, "The invite to move in really is just a formality, not a necessity here..."

The taxi drives away after Namjoon finishes paying, and the others gather up the bags from the driveway to lug back inside the house. 

Jungkook is the first to the door, excited to be back in his own home again. Unfortunately, that means he is also the first to see the brunt of the water damage. 

The rabbit whimpers and drops his bags on the porch, running into the living room and digging through the sodden scrap to try and find some of the things he deemed valuable. Namjoon and Yoongi sprint in behind him. Yoongi dives for the utility to turn off the water and electrics, while Namjoon pulls Jungkook to his feet away from the wreckage. The leader coddles Jungkook to his chest and assesses the damage.

"Looks like it hasn't been broken for too long," Yoongi says, "Maybe a couple of hours? Lucky really," He sighs.

"It's definitely going to be expensive though," Namjoon grumbles.

"We will have to get someone in to see if the damage goes into the studs or not," Hoseok points out as he walks through the door, "I know a guy,"

"Call him," Yoongi agrees "Jimin-ah can you help me get the valuables and see what we can salvage from this mess."

"What can we do?" Jin asks as you and he enter the room.

"Can you try and get some of the water out? It isn't too deep, maybe an inch or two? a mop, bucket, and lots of time should do," Yoongi suggests.

You and Jin nod and get to work. He opens all the windows as you open the cleaning cupboard. 

The cold winter air wraps around you as you go about gathering buckets of water, a far cry from the tropical paradise you had all just returned from. You would’ve thought March would bring some spring warmth but apparently not today. Jin works faster than you, scooping up less at a time for sake of urgency. Namjoon returns to the living room, having taken jungkook upstairs and in to his bedroom. None of you seemed to be addressing the fact that Jungkook’s room was downstairs and therefore likely flooded too.

The door to his room was shut and you were planning to keep it that way until you clear as much water out of this room as you could. You just had to remain hopeful that the door staved off most of the damage. 

The bear drapes a coat around each of your shoulders before taking hold of a mop to help you clean out the water. It takes just under an hour of the three of you going back and forth to chuck water out of the door and wring out the mops. Looking at the floor, you are suddenly very grateful for the lack of carpeting. The rug was easy to roll up and throw out into the garden. The wooden laminate had warped in some places, but was usable for now.

Hoseok’s guy said he could be round later in the afternoon, and Yoongi had spent sometime calming Jungkook down by showing him all of the valuables were okay. He even helped to dry them all off with Jimin.

Luckily it seemed Jungkook’s room was mostly unscathed. A little bit of water had started to wear at the door but it was a snug enough fit to only allow minuscule cracks. 

You all huddle into the master bedroom, lounging around to talk about your current situation.

For the time being though the plumber had suggested over the phone that you stay in a hotel or something until he could work out the extent of the leak. 

Taehyung had happily offered to pay for a place for you all to stay as well as the repairs necessary, but the vein in Namjoon’s neck had almost ruptured at the thought. A holiday was one thing (that he still wasn’t thrilled about), but necessities were something he was unwilling to let others take care of. Namjoon really couldn’t afford for 7 of you to stay in a hotel until repairs were complete

Hoseok asked if his old landlord had found a new lodger yet, he’d had a good rent deal that would’ve been cramped but doable. Regrettably the landlord had already signed a new lease.

“My place it is then!” Jin announced to the room.

“We can’t ask that of you.” Namjoon sighed.

“Then what exactly do you think you’re going to do? Live in this sodden house until you finally have the funds to fix it, in like what? Six months? A year?” Jin levels Namjoon with his most sarcastic look.

He is right of course. They didn’t know the extent of damage yet but it wasn’t going to come cheap. If Namjoon accepted all of your help it would take maybe a couple of weeks. On his already tight salary alone? It would be almost impossible. 

Namjoon looks a mixture of insulted and just plain sad as he processes the true extent of what he is going to have to overcome.

“Come on Joonie, let us help you.” Jin says, a lot softer this time, “Stay at my place and we can talk about the financials of it all at a later date.”

You all nod and Namjoon relents, agreeing that it really is your best and only option. You set about unpacking your summer clothes and packing your essentials instead. Yoongi remembers to grab the airbed from the airing closet too, between that and Jin’s bed you should all have a place to sleep, even if it’s a tight squeeze.

________________

Jin’s house is gorgeously decorated, clearly a professional had been in. There were random artworks dotted around, decorative rugs that pulled the room together, and actual coffee table books on the coffee table. It looked straight out of a beautiful home catalogue. What it didn’t look like, though, was lived in. 

Even the touches that were clearly Seokjin’s were so perfectly put away that it may as well have been a show home. Shoes were all in a neat row and coats were hung and pressed.

“Make yourselves at home,” Jin says, ushering you all through the apartment. 

“Someone should,” Yoongi mumbles, glancing around at the pristine surroundings. 

“Are you okay with us moving the furniture around to fit the blow up bed in?” Namjoon asks.

“Absolutely, change whatever you like. I’m not fussed. I’m barely here anyway,” Jin shrugs. 

That makes sense, he had told you as much when you’d been to the hospital with Jimin. It didn’t make it seem any less sad when you thought of him coming home to somewhere so devoid of that familiar warmth of a messy house. Even in your husbands house you both had personal touches scattered through his expensive estate, in fact, he encouraged you to decorate to prevent you from getting too bored cooped up their. 

You place your suitcase in a corner under the window and the others follow suit getting them out of the way. Hoseok helps Yoongi to move the sofa backwards while Namjoon and Taehyung displace the coffee table leaving a space large enough for the air mattress to fit. It’s reminiscent of when you came home to the nest Jungkook had helped Jimin to construct after your first date with Yoongi. As they squabble about directions and beddings, Jin’s house already starts to have a more homey feeling. Even Jungkook is visibly starting to unwind, his shoulders rolling down back into place.

“Can I sleep where you sleep?” The rabbit asks, sidling up to you. 

He bends so his chin is lay on your shoulder. You tilt your neck so that you can rest your head on top of his. 

“Don’t you want to sleep with Yoongi and Namjoon in this new place?” 

He shakes his head, tickling you in the process. 

“I want to sleep in the blow up bed with my blankets, and you, and Jimin… and Taehyung.” He says the last bit quietly.

“I’m sure that should be fine. Although Jin better have a big bed to fit his shoulders, Namjoon’s arms, and deal with how much Hobi wriggles in his sleep. Yoongi could be in for a long night on the floor,” you chuckle.

Yoongi overhears and groans but makes no moves to protest the arrangements Jungkook has requested. The jackal just gathers his and Hobi’s luggage, taking it in to the bedroom. Jin follows behind him with his and Namjoon’s luggage. 

In the meantime Namjoon has gone from looking sad to looking downright miserable, the weight of the world seemingly forcing his shoulders down.

“What time is the plumber coming?” You ask Hoseok.

“Someone should head back to the house to meet him with in the next hour or so, I would say,” he responds.

“ Great, come on then Joonie, I’ll drive.” 

You take the sullen man’s hand and grab a set of keys.

____________________

Namjoon sulks the entire way to the cottage. Every time you try to talk to him, he grunts in response, eventually you give up and focus on the road. Hobi sent you a text to tell you the plumber was going to be a little later than planned but should still be with you before it got dark. 

In the meantime it gave you plenty of time to try and improve Namjoon’s disposition.

“Do you want to hang around upstairs until he gets here? Or shall we get some lunch?” You ask cheerily.

“Whatever,” he grumbles in response.

You sigh and roll your eyes at the man. He has the wear-with-all to look at least a little bit guilty about his behaviour but it doesn’t seem like he plans to correct it any time soon either.

“Namjoon, you are going to have to get over this,” you huff.

You walk away from him, leaving him alone in the driveway staring up at his home as you storm inside. You don’t wait to see if he is following you.

 You march up the stairs and into your room/the office and slam the door. You’ve long since had enough of Namjoon shutting down every time something upsets him, and it wasn’t your job to baby the man. A man that wanted to lead a pack should be far less petulant about it anyway.

You shiver as you finally notice the chill that has settled through the hovel. Having left all the windows open, and with no electricity, the outside air had made it freezing inside. You crawl onto your futon and wrap the covers around yourself although it did very little to shield you when you had very little body heat to assist in warming the blanket in the first place.

 You wriggle and writhe trying to warm the air around you but it only succeeds in making you see just how uncomfortable your temporary turned permanent mattress was. The lumps and bumps stick out a lot more than you remembered. Your mood soured further the longer you sat but you refused to venture out and deal with Namjoon.

A short while later, there is a soft knock on the door and a sheepish bear poked his head in.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You take one look at him and remember how warm he always is and decide to forgive him instantly for his attitude. You open up the duvet wide enough to invite him in and he takes the chance immediately, diving into the empty space beside you. He swings his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his lap. He still seems unwilling to have a conversation but it’s an improvement. And you get to be warm.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we really need to,” you start.

Namjoon buries his face into your shoulder and doesn’t respond, so you continue.

“I don’t understand why you are so opposed to everyone actually contributing to the household now. There are seven people that live in this house, potentially soon to be eight if the others get what they are going for… We cannot live on your author salary alone, it’s not feasible.” You comfortingly stroke at the arms he has wrapped around you. 

He sighs deeply into your shoulder. His arms tighten around you and he breathes you in.

“None of us are even pack animals Joonie, this desire of yours to be so in control makes no sense. You’re just going to work yourself to death for no reason,”

Finally he unburies his nose and speaks.

“Did you know my father is a wolf… my mum is a bear, it’s where my features come from. But dad left a much bigger impression on my instincts. It causes me to need to provide, I can’t really control it.”

So many things about him finally click into place with his admission. Wolves were known to be overprotective, to an almost aggressive degree. As with most scientific or technological advancements the hybrid experiment was originally  an act of war. So when hybrids first came into being wolves had been mixed into the DNA a lot to try and make loyal and fearsome soldiers. As hybrids became more common place, wolves became less common because their instincts were too strong, although obviously those that already existed were breeding.

So all of Namjoon’s possessive quirks and aggressive reactions suddenly made a lot more sense.

“I understand on an intellectual level that we would be far better off if I let you all chip in. Taehyung’s like a millionaire or something for fuck sake!”

He pushes you away a little as he becomes annoyed again. You shuffle on to the futon and face him. He buries his face in his hands to not look at you.

“I hate this part of myself, it’s why I get so angry. I’m never angry with you guys… unless it’s about Jungkook, but that’s a separate issue.”

You put a hand on each of his knees, drawing slow circles to try and comfort him. 

He goes on to explain how his father had drilled into him that he should always be in charge, that he needed to provide, that he would one day be an alpha of his own pack. His father would be disappointed whenever Namjoon displayed less than what he thought of as perfect alpha behaviour. A disappointment that left clear marks on his subconscious 

He still won’t look up.

You reach up and pull him into your lap. He allows it, laying his head on your thigh. You stroke his hair and shush him gently.

“Maybe we should talk about getting a therapist for you too…” you suggest.

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“And I really think you should let me, Taehyung, and Jin handle this emergency.”

“You? Y/N you’re a secretary. You shouldn’t be using your little salary for stuff like this, it should be used on nice stuff for yourself,” he complained.

“Joon… I’m the widow of a very very rich man, I’m also worth a fortune,” You point out.

“Then why did you move in to the shelter? Or with 4 almost perfect strangers for that matter?” He stares up at you confused. 

“I wanted to see if I could make it on my own… and I guess I failed miserably,” you shrug “but I’m much happier where I am.”

“I’m so glad you stayed with us.” He says. 

He twists in your lap and pushes up your shirt, kissing your stomach and making you giggle.

Next

Masterlist

Send me asks - doesn’t have to be fic related. Can be smutty, thirsty, fluffy, angsty, whatever you’re feeling regarding BTS. Can be literally anything doesn’t have to be BTS

[ronearoundblindly]

Warning Signs

um, I've had a miserable day, so I wrote angst that absolutely no one asked for. Partly hurt/comfort, too. Totally unedited. No descriptions of injury. Just feels and sweet, protective Steve. WC 1.7k

Summary: Your first bad mission shows Steve how you handle tragedy.

Silence.

The quinjet is flooded with it, thick and suffocating. You'd never know there were eight living souls on board.

Plus two bodies.

Steve's worked with everyone around (alive or dead) for a long time, but not you. He watches you follow the pattern of everyone else's grief. As much as he hates to be dismissive, this is standard stuff for the team.

If he had to guess, he's looking at the numb phase. They'll touch down at the base and go through the motions. You'll make it to your quarters, take an absurdly long shower, possibly have a meltdown, maybe blow off steam at the gym, and emerge 'feeling better.'

It won't actually be better. It doesn't actually get easier. He knows that very, very well.

He hears a sniffle and starts, thinking it's you, but in fact, Sam's broken first. That's not a bad sign; it's actually good. Sam Wilson likely broke on purpose, to set an example, to show it's okay to not feel okay, to begin the mourning properly so that you all can heal. He's a good man that way.

Sam wipes his eyes. He makes no moves to step away for privacy.

Your face is blank as you stand from your jumpseat. Steve watches with fascination while you gather bottles of water and the med kit. You make rounds to everyone, completely expressionless. You look over every person for injuries, cleaning every single cut before moving to the next. You walk a tight circle around him and, seeing no damage, step back without a word, handing him his water like a prize lolly at a doctor's visit.

Finally, you go to Sam, and he obediently stands to be inspected, holding out his wrist and forearm crusted in blood.

Arms clamp around him. Your hug is brutal, strong, and a push that sends Sam over the edge of 'example' into the deep end of reality. One by one, each member aboard breaks. Steve's never seen anything like it. They are all close. They are all comfortable enough to see each other and be seen by each other this way, but not around you.

Not yet, Steve would have thought, but he takes a seat and buries his face in his hands, too. He lets himself drown for a few minutes.

Collectively, the flood of emotion drains away, and it's a shocking difference. By no means has everyone healed, but they've vaulted several of the usual hurdles all on a single ride home.

You're still hugging Sam when Steve collects himself for touchdown. The door lowers, breaking another seal of silence, and you let go.

Steve stiffens.

Your face is still blank, eyes distant and unfocused, cheeks dry.

You let nothing go. Not a single tear. It looks like you drank down the grief of seven war-weary soldiers and are just holding it inside.

You walk out first after letting the med crew come in. Steve can't follow because the nurses fuss over everyone and bombard him with questions. You're gone by the time he looks back down the ramp.

He's only able to come to your door hours later.

You don't answer. F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms you are inside. Still no answer.

"Dammit," Steve whispers. He doesn't want to have to do this, but since you've never been on a mission like this one with him, he has no standard for how you process.

"Override the door. Authorization gamma four foxtrot."

"Override accepted, Captain," the AI gently announces, and the magnetic latch pops open.

Slowly, Steve's eyes roll over the whole room, trying to remain as calm as possible.

The place is trashed. Mattress flipped against the window, squishing and bending the blinds. Chair upsidedown on the unaligned boxsprings. A dent in the headboard above shattered lamp pieces. Dresser and nightstands face down on the carpet. You're nowhere in sight.

He can hear water running, so he immediately goes to the closed bathroom and knocks, shouting your name.

Nothing happens.

He tries the handle. Locked.

Steve's way past being nice about this. His shoulder cracks through the hollow wood easily, and he bursts in.

There's no steam.

Through the glass doors, he can't see you standing. There's a dark streak above the rim of the tub basin.

He leaps forward, careful not to grab the glass so hard he shatters it (and he knows he can because he's done that twice).

You're curled up, facing away, drenched and letting cold water run all over you, fully clothed.

Steve says your name gently, heart racing now with concern. He uses a grip at the back of your neck to check for a pulse as well as turn you.

Blank. Your face is still devoid of...anything. You're completely catatonic.

He reaches over to turn off the water.

"Okay," he soothes, "okay, sweetheart. It's okay. Here we go."

He slides an arm under your legs, supportive hold still at your neck, and lifts you out of the tub and straight onto his lap, soaking himself and the bathmat.

"Come on, sweetheart. I got ya."

Steve scurries to yank two towels from the rack above him and covers you loosely. Your eyes don't meet his. You don't appear to see him at all.

He's seen all sorts of versions of shell shock--poorly treated and well handled alike--and he knows several things he can do.

But he just waits. He watches you blink and breathe, and that's it. That is the sum total of what your body can muster for who knows how long.

Your hair is half dry and the pads of his fingers are wrinkled by the time you turn your head in towards the crook of his elbow and shut your eyes.

Steve sighs, wrapping the towels a little tighter and adjusting you closer in his hold.

"We're okay. We're going to be okay." He pets strands of hair off of your face. "You did everything right. You did everything you could. We all did."

Steve keeps saying aloud what he thinks to himself after each mission, except when he says it to you, he means it. He's proud of you, and he says it. He promises to take care of you, and he will. He keeps talking, slowly rocking back and forth until his own heart has calmed and you're sleeping.

He keeps holding you but stretches out his legs because they've fallen asleep, too. He can't carry you while his lower half tingles painfully. Soon enough though, he's standing, adjusting you to allow him to maneuver past doorways easily.

He can't get any of your clothes from the upended furniture and there's nowhere to lay you down. Steve barely thinks before heading straight to his own room, towels still dangling from you and his arm, but he finally hesitates when his twitching fingers remind him of your wet tac suit.

The whole point was not to take you to the infirmary while you slept, but he can't possibly change you without waking you.

He makes an executive decision. You have to rest, and the best way to get started on a proper rest is to get you comfortable and dry first.

Steve sets you down in his chair, leaving the towels bunched under you as he steps away to find a shirt and shorts for you to wear. He returns to see you awake with heavy eyelids, sitting up but slouching.

The blank face is back, so he asks you to change. You don't move.

He asks you to stand up, and you look down at your feet before pushing up off the chair.

"Can you give me those wet clothes?"

He turns around when you start to unzip the suit, waiting for the squelch of fabric hitting his floor to stop.

Offering the stack of clean things without looking, Steve says, "these are for you."

Nothing happens.

He peeks over his shoulder to find you staring at the wall, and he knows he'll have to do this himself.

T-shirt first, he bunches it open and ready while still turned away.

"Arms up."

He looks only at your hands to align the sleeve, lets it fall and drape to cover as much of you as possible, and then pops your head out. He sweeps away the hair that pushed over your face again.

Next, the shorts.

"Left leg, please. Good. Now the right. Thank you, sweetheart." Steve's kneeling, pulling the elastic wide enough to not drag his thumbs up your legs, but he still grazes the swell of your hips before releasing the band.

"Are you tired? You can sleep some more here."

You look over at the bed, his bed, completely unfazed. You don't even nod. You shuffle over and lay atop the covers, facing in, hands between your tucked-up knees, still staring.

Steve takes that as a win and sets about short tasks to get himself settled as well, checking on you after everyone, eventually laying on the other side of the bed.

Your eyes are closed, so he thinks you've fallen asleep and turns out the lights. He tries not to move around too much and disturb you until you speak.

Your voice is so small, so flat.

"Why them?"

Steve turns back to face you in the dark. "I don't know," he offers as honestly as he can. "I don't know."

Your breathing comes a little heavier for a while. "Why can't I feel anything?"

Tentatively, he lifts a hand to the dip of your waist, hiding his heartbreak deep down in his gut.

"Because you'll feel too much every other day--" his thumb sways back and forth over the worn cotton of his shirt over your skin "--and sometimes you need a break. It's okay. I'm right here."

"What are you gonna do?" The words choke you, laced with fear of having failed in some way so soon. He knows that judgment. He judged himself that way until the day he realized: mourning doesn't make him a better soldier but it does make him a better man.

Steve can give you the same gift. He can give you space to mourn.

"Watch over you, sweetheart," he mutters, "just like I promised."

[Sequel: Yield]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

Next ->

The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm.  That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford.  Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off.  The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it.  The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost.  And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall.  A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.  

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses.  A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra.  Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom.  4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground.  With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay.  Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify.  Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.  

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink.  You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog.  Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids.  Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs.  Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.  

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it.  “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place.  The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is.  His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes.  “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.  

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got.  You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point.  The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown.  It was mid September.  Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands.  Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.  

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak.  Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store.  Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers.  Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.   

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows.  The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots.  The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers.  Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her.  Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily.  One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest.  She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee.  Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you.  “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.  

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine.  “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.  

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh.  Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand.  Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.  

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin.  Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone.  Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does.  “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.  

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances.  Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black.  “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.  

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.  

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.   

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over.  “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.  

“Well what about him?  He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.  

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow.  You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.  

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine.  “What happened to me, Socks?  I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.”  Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked.  The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up.  It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles.  They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.  

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.  

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins?  Been there, done that, this is my only option."  He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.  

“Pretzels, Steve?  Really?” you taunt.  “How bland of you.” you deadpan.  He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout.  “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident.  “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest.  “...was mean.” he sasses.  “But probably true.” he finishes.  “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.  

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.  

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time.  “I’m off in like fifteen!”  Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing.  Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor.  The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc.  And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much.  Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time.  The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa.  You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design.  She’d been practicing for weeks with no success.  “Dammit!  Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.  

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee.  You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.  

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat.  “It is now.” 

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin.  “Another one?  Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.  

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee.  Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around.  She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers.  The clock on the register currently reads 5:20.  Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.  

“What?” you demand.  Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup.  A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge.  “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.  

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.  

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.  

“Yeah, Steve.  What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.  

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup.  “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea.  She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.  

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister.  The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall.  Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.  

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case.  She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.  

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well.  A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf.  Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions.  You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat.  Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window.  It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles.  Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down.  He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.  

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat.  You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry,  you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before.  The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet.  Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should.  Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face.  He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.  

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully.  “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window.  This provokes you to look back outside.  Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet.  Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer.  Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door.  “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.  

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular.  Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.  

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.  

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.  

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue.  Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter.  “Ouch.  That make you feel better, sweetheart?”  Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues.  “Make you feel all big and bad?  Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.  

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.  

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands. 

A cocky look takes over his features.  “Well what if I’m a paying customer?” 

 “I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.  

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter.  “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.  

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in.  His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back.  A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand.  Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you.  Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework.  Your eternal hell.  Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape.  Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time.  He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.  

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe.  “You could have warned me!  I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something!  So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.  

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.  

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly.  Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks.  I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.  

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee.  “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony.  Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides.  Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.  You don’t talk unless it's about work.  I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.  

He laughs before replying.  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?  Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly.  “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.  

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples.  “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact.  “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you.  His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder.  “This is work.  We work here.  Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.  

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you.  You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly.  He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost.  It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose.  The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.  

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face.  There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics.  You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.  

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.  

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him.  Poking your arm, he tries again.  “Socks.  I got things to do.” he continues.  “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.  

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things.  Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him.  Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience.  You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does.  It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest.  Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow.  Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag.  Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.  

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left.  He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out.  You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit.  Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.  

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining.  Just my luck.  Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you.  Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home.  It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you.  You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.  

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.  

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core.  “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.  

You huff before responding.  “No.  I don’t need anything from you.  Get the hell out of here.”  You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that.  Ever.  Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining.  I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work.  You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.  

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you.  “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up.  Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off.  You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games.  Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it.  After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way.  The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings.  You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night.  It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.  

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home.  A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you.  Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.  

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can.  A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work.  In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them.  The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed.  Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite.  The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment.  The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see.  Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom.  It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.  

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there.  You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day.  In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it.  Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.  

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

Next ->

Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

[sustainabilitythoughts]

A stitch in time

“A stitch in time saves nine.”  This old saying is still very applicable and fits right into our sustainability mindset.  Making repairs as soon as possible not only saves effort but can also reduce the amount of materials you need for the repair and the amount of waste generated during the repair.  A timely repair can rescue something that would otherwise become trash.  Here are some examples.  I’m sure you can think of a lot more. 

Mend a tear or split seam in clothing while it’s small. A small repair might not even be visible.  

Leaks don’t get smaller if you ignore them.  An unattended leak can rot wood in walls and floors and could eventually result in major rip-out and replacement.  And leaks waste whatever resource is being leaked.  Check for water leaks under sinks and showers, in attics, around windows (air leaks can also increase your heating and air conditioning bill) and doors, and in basements and crawl spaces.

Repainting a building or item before the material under the paint is damaged will reduce effort and materials required for repairs.

Check your car tires for unusual wear patterns.  Proper tire inflation and wheel alignment will help your tires last longer and help your gas mileage.  Proper routine maintenance will help your car last longer.

Clean spills right away so floors, cabinets, carpets, and clothing are not damaged.  Regular cleaning with mild cleaners can prevent the need for harsh cleaners after soil builds up.   

[swabian-princess]

Domestic engineer tales - daily cleaning routine

Hey girlies,

as we all know - I'm a proud domestic engineer (aka SAHGF) and while this life is very soft I still have responsibilities. One of them is cleaning.

I grew up with a mother that wasn't about cleaning all the time. Sure, the basics were always done but she wasn't bothered if some pet hair was on the couch or if the kitchen wasn't cleaned until the next day.

Well, my bf is the direct opposite. He hates dirt, dust, stains, pet hair and the list goes on. Basically - he wants our apartment to look like nobody lives there. He's a perfectionist and he can't relax if he suspects the apartment is not clean. That's when I enter the game - it's my task to tidy the apartment every day, so he can come home and simply relax.

I'm not going to lie - it was really rough in the beginning because it seems like this man can smell a faint stain on a towel ten miles away.

Realize that maintenance is key!

It took some time for me to realize this. Just trust me - it's way easier to clean just a little bit every day than to spend hours cleaning once a week.

1. vacuuming

My first step is always vacuuming the whole apartment. I need roughly 30-45 min to thoroughly vacuum the apartment. My holy grail tip is to invest in a wireless vacuum cleaner. It doesn't have to be the newest dyson! In fact, bf and I have three vacuum cleaners: two dysons, one of them wireless and one Phillips, and I absolutely prefer the Philipps one over both the dysons.

2. dusting

I hate dust. It makes my nose itch and my eyes water - so there is a strong no dust policy in my home! I just grab an good old swiffer and simply dust off all my counters and all the surfaces in the apartment.

3. disinfect

I blame the pandemic for my urge to disinfect everything. I love sagrotan cleaning wipes and I always buy them in bulk when they're on sale. I wipe down my kitchen counters and every other surface in the apartment. I've been doing this for a few months now and I don't see any damage on our furniture that could be caused by the wipes.

I also wipe down my bathrooms - my sink, the water taps and the complete toilet. I also spray down the toilet and my door handles with disinfectantspray for extra protection.

4. polishing

We have quite a few glass surfaces that need to be polished every day because they tend to get grease stains very easily. I take a microfiber towel and a cotton towel and spray those surfaces with a special glass cleaner, rub it in with the microfiber towel and dry with the cotton towel for a streak free finish.

5. couch vacuuming

It was not the best decision to get two white/grey coated cats with long and fine hair while still having a black couch. You. can. see. every. single. hair. I'm very happy that our Philipps vacuum comes with a special attachment for pet hair removal. I use it on both of our couches and the attachment works like a charm. No more hairs!

6. making sure it smells good

A good smelling apartment is mandatory for me because I believe that a good smelling apartment makes living way more enjoyable.

I make sure to clean the cats' litterboxes frequently - I try to scoop the litter out immediately after they finished their business. Nothing is worse than the smell of cat shit or piss and I know way to many people that have their whole apartment smell like their cats litterbox because they neglect cleaning it.

I also spritz our couch and our carpets down with some Febreeze golden orchid cushion cleaner. It smells heavenly and the smell stays for hours! It's also pet safe, so don't worry.

Last but not least - candles. I like to light some scented candles in different rooms of the apartment to make sure that it smells nice everywhere. My current favorites are the yankee candles in vanilla cupcake and sunny daydream!

It takes me around 3hours daily to finish cleaning the apartment and that's only maintenance.

I deep clean different rooms on different days during the week. My daily tasks also include loading and unloading the dish washer, doing laundry, cooking and cleaning the kitchen after cooking.

lots of love

Selene

[whitehallcarpetcleaners]

Carpet Cleaning For A Healthy Home

The Importance Of Regular Carpet Cleaning For A Healthy Home

Dirty carpets don’t just look bad; they can also make your home feel less healthy and comfortable. Our research shows that regular carpet cleaning can improve indoor air quality by up to 50%.

This article will explain why carpet cleaning is essential and how to keep your home fresh and clean.

Key Takeaways

Regular carpet cleaning improves indoor air quality by up to 50% by removing dust, allergens, and harmful particles.

A professional cleaning every 3-6 months extends carpet life by removing deeply embedded dirt that wears down fibers.

Deep cleaning techniques, such as hot water extraction, remove tough stains, odors, and allergens that regular vacuuming cannot reach.

Expert cleaning is crucial after water damage or pet accidents to prevent mold growth and eliminate harmful bacteria.

Clean carpets create a healthier home by reducing allergens, dust mites, and VOCs that can cause breathing issues.

Why Regular Carpet Cleaning is Essential

Regular carpet cleaning keeps your home healthy. Clean carpets improve air quality and last longer.

Clean carpets mean cleaner indoor air quality and fewer allergens floating around our homes.

Enhances Indoor Air Quality

We know carpets trap dust, pollen, and pet dander. If left unchecked, these particles can harm our health. Clean carpets help us breathe more efficiently by removing these harmful elements. They also eliminate chemical residues and VOCs that build up over time.

This leads to better air quality in our homes.

Regular cleaning stops mold and mildew from growing in our carpets. It also removes trapped VOCs, which can cause health issues. Keeping our carpets clean creates a healthier environment and living space for ourselves and our families.

Extends Carpet Lifespan

Regular carpet cleaning extends the life of your flooring. Dirt and debris act like sandpaper, wearing down carpet fibers over time. At Whitehall Carpet Cleaners, we recommend cleaning carpets every 3-6 months to prevent this damage.

Professional cleaning removes deeply embedded dirt that regular vacuuming can’t reach. This preserves the carpet’s integrity, keeping it looking and feeling great for years.

Proper maintenance also saves money in the long run by delaying replacement needs.

Prompt attention to spots and stains is crucial for carpet longevity. Quick action prevents additional soiling and permanent damage. Professional cleaners like Whitehall Carpet Cleaners have specialized tools and solutions to tackle tough stains without harming the carpet.

Our expertise ensures thorough cleaning while maintaining the carpet’s quality. Next, explore how a professional carpet cleaning service benefits your home.

Eliminates Dust Mites and Allergens

We know that carpets can trap dust mites and allergens. These tiny pests live in carpets and feed on dead skin cells, causing allergies and breathing problems for many people.

Regular carpet cleaning removes these harmful creatures and other allergens, such as pet dander and mold spores.

Professional carpet cleaning methods work best to eliminate deep-seated dirt and bacteria. These include hot water extraction and steam cleaning. They kill dust mites and wash away their waste.

This leads to cleaner houses, improved indoor air quality, and fewer home health risks.

Benefits of Professional Carpet Cleaning

Professional carpet cleaning offers deep cleaning that goes beyond surface dirt. It removes tough stains and odors and makes carpets look fresh.

Deep Cleaning Techniques

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners uses powerful machines to clean your carpets deeply. These tools remove dirt and grime that regular vacuums can’t reach. Our hot water extraction method injects a cleaning solution into carpet fibers.

Then, it sucks out the water along with trapped dirt and allergens. This process cleans carpets thoroughly, leaving them fresh and hygienic.

As experts say: A clean carpet is the foundation of a healthy home environment.

Our deep cleaning also tackles stubborn stains and odors. We apply unique treatments to problem areas before leading the cleaning process, breaking down tough marks and smells. The result is a healthy carpet that looks and smells like new.

Deep cleaning every 6 to 12 months keeps carpets in shape and extends their life.

Stain and Odor Removal

Deep cleaning prepares for our next essential step: stain and odor removal. Professional carpet cleaning addresses persistent marks and smells that regular vacuuming can’t resolve.

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners utilizes specialized tools and solutions to break down difficult stains from spills, pet accidents, and heavy foot traffic. Our techniques also target odor-causing particles trapped deep in carpet fibers.

Quick action on spots and stains prevents them from spreading and causing further damage. We eliminate unpleasant smells caused by pet accidents, food spills, and other sources. This process cleans your carpets and enhances your home’s air quality.

The outcome is a fresher, healthier living space for you and your family.

Prolonging Carpet Life

Regular well-cleaning can extend the life of our carpets. Professional services remove deep-set dirt and stains that home methods can’t reach. This keeps carpets looking fresh and prevents wear from ground-in particles.

Proper care will prolong the life of our carpets, saving us money in the long run. Routine maintenance also helps preserve the carpet’s texture and color, maintaining its appeal for years.

When to Seek Professional Carpet Cleaning

Professional carpet cleaning is vital after water damage, pet accidents, and challenging stains. Keep reading to learn when your carpets need expert care.

Following Water Damage

We must act fast after water damage to our carpets. Water can seep deep into the fibers and padding, creating a perfect spot for mold to grow. If left untreated, this poses serious health risks.

Professional cleaning is crucial in these cases. It removes harmful water-related stains and odors that regular cleaning can’t tackle.

Our carpets need expert care to prevent long-term damage from water. Professional cleaners use special tools to extract water and dry the carpet thoroughly. They also apply treatments to stop mold growth.

This thorough process helps maintain a healthy home environment and extends the life of our carpets.

After Pet Accidents

Pet accidents demand swift action. Our furry friends can leave behind more than just stains. They create odors and potential health risks. Professional carpet cleaning becomes crucial after these mishaps.

Regular cleaning methods often fall short in tackling deep-set pet stains and smells.

Timely expert intervention prevents stains from setting permanently. It also eliminates harmful bacteria and allergens left behind. For pet owners, frequent professional carpet cleaning is a must.

It ensures good carpet cleanliness and a fresh and healthy home environment for humans and pets alike.

To Address Stubborn Stains

Moving from pet accidents, we now turn to another common carpet issue: stubborn stains. These stains can make carpets look old and dirty, even when they’re not.

Our experts use special tools and products to tackle these tricky spots. We have methods to remove surface dirt beyond what store-bought cleaners can do, and our deep cleaning techniques can remove set-in stains that have been there for a long time.

Whitehall Carpet Cleaners also uses safe, robust solutions that won’t harm your carpet fibers. Quick action on new stains helps prevent them from becoming permanent. But even old, stubborn stains can often be improved or removed with our professional care.

Conclusion

Regular carpet cleaning is essential for a healthy home and a healthier indoor environment. We’ve observed how it enhances air quality and prolongs carpet life. Professional services provide a thorough cleaning that eliminates stubborn stains and odors.

They also address hidden allergens and dust mites. Clean carpets create a safer, more comfortable living space for everyone. Vacuum often and schedule professional cleanings as needed.

Your home and health will benefit from this practice. Contact Whitehall Carpet Cleaning today for all your floor, rug, and upholstery cleaning, disaster restoration, tile and grout cleaning, and disinfection services!

[a-lonely-dragon]

Strike! - Chapter 2

Montgomery Gator x F!Reader

CW: mentions of gross food and a small amount of blood

AO3

Navigation: Chapter 1

The following week passes much like molasses, with each day a new slog of navigating the course and its back hallways while trying to keep up with Rodney’s demands and hellish lists.

At the very least, you’re grateful you haven’t come face to face with one Montgomery Gator. While you find it strange that the attraction’s mascot doesn’t seem to have many scheduled appearances, you can’t help but feel relief that you haven’t had to navigate those turbulent waters just yet.

Instead, you’re able to fully focus on your oh-so-important tasks to keep the mini golf course running smoothly. Or, well, running at the very least.

The man-made stream gurgles along beside you, the partially submerged alligator heads lunging up to hiss and grumble and spray you with tepid water (you do your best to keep your mouth firmly shut).

 Kneeling on the rough carpet, skimmer in hand, you swipe at the stream’s surface, earning three neon golf balls and a chunky, waterlogged fried slice of pizza, the worst prizes to a terrible carnival game. The golf balls go into a plastic tub, clanking against dozens of others. The pizza crumbles in your gloved hands as you scrape it out of the netting and you gag at the revolting stench of rotting fish that punches you straight in the face. Anchovies. Of course, you think. It isn’t the first time you’ve dredged up nasty pizza in this building, but boy do you never get used to the smell.

It lingers even after you’ve tossed it into the garbage bag behind you, and a line Bonnie loved to use comes to mind.

“You look like you want to give someone a pizza your mind!”

Your lips twitch despite yourself, but the amusement is fleeting in the face of the monumental task ahead of you. Rodney wanted the entire course cleaned tonight, and so here you were, scooping mounds of discarded food, merch, and equipment from every nook and cranny, inch by painful inch.

For once, you found yourself grateful for the dead-eyed STAFF bots pattering about. They bumble about like dutiful worker bees, vacuuming, sweeping, mopping, and wiping down the surfaces they could reach. At least that only left dealing with all the garbage, water hazards, and sand traps were left to lucky, lucky you. Rodney had dipped not long after you arrived for your shift, claiming an important meeting had come up and you would be fine on your own for a while, right?

“I’ll be back to help you after the meeting,” Rodney had claimed about four hours ago.

You hadn’t held your breath, thankfully.

Sweat collects against your back as you work, the fabric of your shirt sticking uncomfortably to your skin as you work. You’re starting to slow down a bit, but you’re putting off your break until the middle of your shift. It was easier to make it through the rest of the hours that way.

And, despite your sour first impression, the Gator Golf course did hold a certain charm when it wasn’t overrun with screaming kids and parents. If you closed your eyes and plugged your nose, you might be able to pretend you were somewhere else entirely. On vacation in a bayou, maybe, dozing off as fireflies dance over the water like stars. It was actually kind of cool, all of the little designs here and there that gave the eyes a feast no matter where you look.

You catch another armful of golf balls, a Chica plush with its face details peeling from the water damage, and a novelty Roxy-talkie before you decide you move on. As you gather your tools and trash bag, an ominous groan from above stops you in your tracks.

You pause, craning your neck and straining to hear past the thumping bass and robotic noise, hoping you weren’t about to meet the catwalks in a violent and sudden way. If you stare up long enough, you can just barely make out the crisscrossing platforms above.

A heavy minute passes, in which STAFF bots roll past either unaware or uncaring of possible disasters when there’s work to be done, but when no more sounds out of the ordinary meet your ears, you shake off your worry and make for the next section of the course. Unless the ceiling actually comes down, there wouldn’t be any excuse for slacking off.

Shuffling alongside the meandering path, a flickering just above eye level catches your attention, hidden among the foliage draped over the stream.

You squint, trying to parse through the lights and fog, but it isn’t until you’re right next to a small wooden bridge that you’re able to see it fully. Just an abandoned Monty balloon, its string tangled in the vines, its grinning face swaying in the current of air being blasted from somewhere overhead. You set down everything except the pool skimmer and purse your lips, tilting your head this way and that, trying to figure out the best way to reach it.

Stepping onto the bridge, you grip the wooden railing and give it a shake. It wobbles a tiny bit, but it seems sturdy enough so you extend the pool skimmer to its longest length.

You stretch over the railing, two hands gripping the pool skimmer tightly as you bat at Monty’s shimmery snout. It bumps back and forth, mocking. With a huff, you press farther forward, the wood biting into your stomach as you swat at the vines that hold tight to the balloon’s string like a child. If you could just loosen it—

There’s a telltale creak that you don’t even have a second to register before the steadying weight of the railing gives way and your body follows, stomach swooping as you plunge forward. A yelp escapes your lips as you pinwheel your arms, the skimmer slipping from your grip as you desperately try and grab something, only managing to scrape the back of your hand against a sharp edge. You barely register a heavy whump somewhere off to your right and then you’re wrenched back by your collar like a kitten held by its scruff, and you flail a bit in protest by instinct, before being unceremoniously dropped back onto solid ground, where you land painfully on your ass.

Gasping, you press a hand to your chest as your heart tries to slow back down, but that notion is quickly recanted as you realize who had saved you from a soggy and miserable rest of the night.

Montgomery fucking Gator. The very same animatronic that’d taken Bonnie’s place.

The ambient lights give Monty a strange, otherworldly glow as he looms over you. Your gaze snags on the rows of fangs jutting from his jaws, each tooth as long as your finger, and it takes a concentrated effort to look away from them. Red optics flash from behind Bonnie’s star-shaped shades, scanning over you—and you’re suddenly aware of how the mouse must feel when faced with the cat. His silhouette is gargoyle-like, and it’s an effort to breathe normally until he leans back.

The gator stands as tall as the rest of his bandmates, but like Freddy is on the wider, bulkier side. His crimson mohawk is in slight disarray, as if it hadn’t been maintained in a while. His purple shoulder pads, which should look ridiculous, just add to his angular, intimidating appearance.

You scramble back to your feet, anxiety skyrocketing as Monty’s optics track you with a predator’s intent.

His jaw parts, and his voice comes out blanketed in irritation. “Can’t you read signs, lady?”

He points a claw over to a painted sign that reads, Please don’t lean on the railings! Your mouth pops open to defend yourself, a flush of embarrassment at the fact that no, you actually hadn’t noticed that sign the entire time you’d been here. You swallow, unable to unglue your tongue from the roof of your mouth as you stare up at this behemoth of an animatronic.

“Well?”

You cross your arms and swallow down the trepidation clogging your throat. He was just an animatronic, and despite the amount of spikes and sharp bits attached to him, he couldn’t hurt a fly. But even as you tell yourself that, you remember the pronged batons that security carries around regularly and withhold a shudder.

“I was just—” You wince as your voice cracks and turn your head to focus back on the balloon still hovering just out of reach, but the weight of Monty’s attention is as heavy as a weighted blanket. “I was trying to get that.”

Monty arches a brow over his—Bonnie’s—sunglasses and follows your gaze.

With a huff, Monty snaps out a hand, his height allowing him to snatch the string at the very base of the balloon, and with a sharp snap that shakes the plastic plants and sends a few leaves spiraling down to the sluggish water below, he pulls it free. You flinch as he shoves his fist towards you, that silly, grinning balloon bouncing to and fro.

You reach out to take it, palms sweating, only to freeze as his head jerks down and his optics zero in on your hand. Panic bubbles up in your chest and you recoil, attention pulled back to those deadly teeth.

“You’re hurt,” he says sharply.

Flexing your hand, you eye the bloodied scratch that runs across the back with a twist of your lips. It didn’t look deep, but it did sting like hell. A few specks of wood dot the wound. “It’s, uh, fine. Sorry.”

He stares at you, narrowing his eyes and setting his free hand on his hip. “You’re bleeding. There’s a first aid station nearby, c’mon.”

You stare at him blankly. Montgomery was not helpful. According to Rodney, he was a “million-dollar pain in the ass” who skipped out on scheduled practices and parties more often than not. And yet, here he was, ordering you to get fixed up after saving you from an impromptu dip in Fazbear-infected waters. He certainly didn’t sound happy about it, his programming likely forcing him to insist on taking care of an injury, but this whole situation was just weird.

“Hey!” he snaps after taking a few steps and you still haven’t moved. “What’s the hold up?”

You cradle your stinging hand and stammer out, “The, uh, the balloon—I should—"

He blinks at it, as if he’d forgotten he was still holding it. Then, quicker than you can think, he grips the balloon and punctures his own face with such swiftness and efficiency that it makes you squeak, a sound that’s swallowed by the loud POP. His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn’t speak, only tosses the deflated husk into the nearest trash can. “Good? Now, let’s go.”

Unable to dredge up any excuses, you take a slow breath and then trail after him. The quicker you get to the first aid station, the sooner you can get back to work and be out of Monty’s synthetic hair.

As you walk, keeping a few feet behind, a question nags at you.

Where the fuck did he come from?

You would’ve heard him approach long before you saw him, the animatronics couldn’t be quiet if they tried thanks to the heavy endoskeleton beneath their casings, and you sure as hell hadn’t seen him anywhere while you cleaned. Goosebumps run up your arms at the thought of him hiding, watching, somehow being so close yet you hadn’t had a clue—

He leads you to Gator Grub where a STAFF bot blocks the door, wet floor bots in a ring around it as it mops. The bot lifts its head as Monty approaches but doesn’t react as he shoulders past it. As you go to step through, however, it beeps and shoos you back with its arms, pointing at the wet floor bots.

A growl reverberates from Monty’s chest and he uses his arm to shove the STAFF bot aside, throwing you an impatient look. The STAFF bot’s beeps become more insistent as you step over the streaks of dirty soap on the floor, and Monty gnashes his teeth, grumbling, “I’m right here you stupid hunk of—quit hollerin’!”

You watch the interaction with an uneasy frown, letting out a small sigh of relief when Monty finally lets the bot go and lopes in after you. You skitter back a couple steps as he fills the space normally meant for humans and STAFF bots.

Through a side door, you find yourself back in the hallway where the security office is. Was Nathan on duty tonight? He’d said most days it’d be him, so maybe not, but regardless you can’t help but hope maybe Nathan would just happen to step out of the office and save you from this forced escort farther into the back rooms.

The door remains firmly shut as you pass by, ignoring your pleading eyes to please please open.

“Quit draggin’ your feet, would ya?” Monty snaps over his shoulder.

You grit your teeth and bite back a retort, not wanting to annoy him further, but if he kept ordering you around like a child . . .

Finally, at the end of the hall there’s a room with a mess of pipes and a large control panel that you assume is for the stage set up in the course. Steam sprays from various corners of the room and one of the hanging lights lets out a shower of sparks every so often. Tucked between to massive pipes is a first aid station the size of a small changing room, complete with a red curtain that screeches as Monty yanks it to the side. He looks expectantly at you.

The inside of the station consists of a single plastic chair with Monty plastered on the seat and a slim red box sitting on a shelf beside what appear to be old cans of paint and a candy bar. You have to squeeze past Monty to get in the station, and you’re beginning to think he thrives off your discomfort because there’s no way he can’t read your body language, he was programmed to interact with kids, for God’s sake.

Popping open the kit, you paw through a few half-empty tubes of various ointments and gels until you find some packaged gauze. Band-aids would’ve been easier to deal with, but it appears that the contents were first come first serve, so you’ll just have to make do.

It’s a nerve-wracking process, bandaging up your hand while Monty waits. What should take only a few seconds feels like it takes an age, your hands unsteady as you weave the gauze around your palm. Every time you peek from the corner of your eye, he’s just watching. Not saying a goddamn word. Was this some kind of hazing? Were you overreacting? Sweat drips down your back and the air feels too warm and thick around you. Your stomach starts to churn. His optics follow your hand’s movements, and then, just as you tie off the gauze with a small knot, he grunts.

“That ain’t gonna hold.”

You jolt, head whipping up at his comment and back down to the gauze. You flex your hand experimentally, and sure enough it feels loose already. But you can’t stand being in this claustrophobic back room with the gator for one more second, so you find your courage to say, “It’ll do for now. I have a job to do.”

For a moment, you fear he’s going to insist on redoing it himself—you can’t imagine those clawed hands being gentle about it—but with a huff that’s all too human, he turns and heads for the door at the opposite side of the room and pushes it open, green ambient light washing through the gloom.

It’s all you can do not to sprint out of there, murmuring a small thanks to Monty for holding the door, and step back onto the course near hole 12. Instantly it feels easier to breathe, and you wipe sweat from your forehead with your uninjured hand. Checking your watch, you find only a few minutes have actually passed.

Monty’s heavy footfalls start behind you, and you whirl around on instinct, but he passes you without a second glance, free from his obligation. “Try not to break anything else in my course,” he says, and stalks off through the passageway.

Fuck it, you’re taking your break now.

[fallout4-reacts]

if you dont mind doing reacts based off other posts, how would companions react to a low int but max luck sole?

hoping links work in asks 😭

I sincerely believe that as long as I don't plagiarise another author's work, there should be no problem. However, if I have a writer who is upset because I've been asked the same request, I hope we can clarify it Unfortunately, it appears that there is an issue with the link, but I believe that it's better that way so I can react without being influenced by what has previously been done

So there! How companions react to a very stupid yet extremely fortunate Sole (It makes me think of Gontran from Picsou). I write them a little clumsy to add effect, hope you'll like it  PS : Yeah, I know, I have forget Cait... but it's fix

Cait : She wasn't really paying attention as Tommy wooed the stranger on her behalf. As long as she has her psycho, she doesn't give a hoot about anything else. Now, Sole and Cait were prowling an ancient factory in search of salvageable equipment and materials. They had hardly gotten a few steps ahead when they heard someone else's feet approaching.

Cait reached for her weapon and signalled for Sole to keep silent. They peered over the bend and saw a band of raiders coming at them with weapons blazing.

“Methinks we have some guests," Cait whispered. "We must find a way to flee with haste."

After agreeing, Sole turned to run, but their foot became hooked on a stray part.

A loose piece of metal grabbed Sole's foot as they turned to run, and they lurched forward, toppling a pile of crates with a loud crash.

As soon as the raiders noticed them, they opened fire, sending bullets flying past their heads. While Sole and Cait were running through the factory, dodging gunfire and looking for an exit, a stray bullet hit a gas tank, causing a massive explosion that sent debris flying in every direction.

Miraculously, neither Sole nor Cait were hurt as they were tossed to the ground. However, the factory was completely destroyed, and all of the raiders were wiped out in the explosion.

"I cannae believe it," Cait exclaimed. " Ye almost killed us, but we made it oot alive."

Sole smiled awkwardly. "I already told you. I seem to attract unusual luck."

Cait shook her head, but a grin spread across her face anyhow. She remarked, "Well, I dinnae ken how ya do it. Verily, I am relieved to have ya by ma side.”

Codsworth : From day one, when Nate activated him, he could see the extent of the damage… and somehow understand why they made his purchase in the first place. On that first day, he was able to count thirteen accidents. From something as stupid as stepping on the carpet to failing to set the house on fire for a cup of coffee, Sole is a walking disaster. That’s why Codsworth goes way beyond being Butler to make sure Sole doesn’t touch anything in the house. Since the bombs, the poor robot has been having anxiety attacks. How could someone barely able to survive in a relatively safe world do so in an extremely dangerous one? But ironically, it does. Like when Sturge asked Sole to install a suitable water line for Sanctuary and the city wall collapsed in the river, sparing the purifier. Since then, they have a clean pool free of any radiation, to the delight of all who can go wading and unclog a little at the end of the day without risking becoming a ghoul. Sturges has learned a lesson, and Sole is forbidden to touch anything that could be crucial for the colony since. Anyway, it’s not like the poor bastard can distinguish a battery from a switch.

Curie : Before she realised there was a living being on the other side of the door, the said door literally collapsed on itself. Curie never left the chamber where she had been kept for so long. She doesn't need to be asked to accompany Sole inside the vault. Unfortunately, one of the molerats carrying the infection bit Sole. To be honest, they fell on the corpse and stuck the teeth in their buttocks, even though the man in Sole's company had taken care to exterminate them all to ensure Sole was not worried. However, Sole refuses the treatment. Instead, they want that Curie cures a child. Curie is concerned about the virus's repercussions. But, once again, she has no idea what God Luck the Klutz must pray for, but the virus does not appear to be suitable for development in Sole's system. They will have to deal with some repercussions, but Curie has seen influenza cause more harm.

Danse : As he was about to give up after seeing the ferals rush waves after waves, he heard a voice behind him.

"Don't be afraid! I'm here to assist—oops!"

And Danse sees all of the security fences around the police station collapsing one after the other. How is that even possible? He has no idea. These barriers are built to withstand violent attacks. They are now sure they are dominoes. As panic gripped the Brotherhood, he realised that, by an incredible chance, the barriers had collapsed on the ghouls, flattening them like pancakes. When the last one has passed, the soldier turns to face the newcomer and a companion who appears to be in exasperation.

"Good…work…I guess. You have just spared us from terrible death." "Good job?" Rhys, the knight, becomes irritated. "That jerk almost got us all killed in less than a few seconds!"

"Keep calm," Haylen said as she shaved him on the train. "In the end, we are saved."

The paladin looks at his officers, then at the newcomer, who is attempting to untangle a chewing gum caught under his sole. When he loses his balance, the man beside him advances almost instinctively to receive him, almost as if he had the strength of habit.

"So, uh... listen, I have a mission for you if you're interested."

The man in the Minutemen's hat looks up, surprised, and drops his friend to make large hand movements, but it's too late. Sole, sitting on their hindquarters, nods their head.

"With great pleasure!"

Deacon : To put it simply, he hasn't laughed this hard in... ever. He was having problems laughing despite his attempts to drown his misery in humor, and he now goes to bed every night with a stomach ache so severe as he bends in half all day. He has seen them evolve in the world from the day they left the vault and has only one regret: not having popcorn. He has no idea how the individual made it this far. First, the Concord raiders: Sole fell down a well when the hatch that concealed it crumbled beneath their feet, unleashing a deathclaw in all his rage. While Sole ran like crazy up the street to avoid the huge beast's claws, the monster literally shredded all of the raiders present. When the deathclaw followed Sole into the museum, they collapsed the platforms on which the raiders were standing... raiders that the deathclaw has now shred in pieces. Finally, as Sole climbed four to four floors to escape their pursuers, the monster slipped and fell two floors on his head and died. Deacon almost roasted himself at the time, an intense chuckle escaping him despite himself. The adventure did not come to an end there. A completely taken aback Minuteman also arrived at the scene, but instead of making him laugh, it seemed to make him believe in the possibility of fate. So he began by worshipping Sole... for a few moments. Everything went to hell when Sole opened their mouths. This person isn't simply clumsy; they're plain dumb. But Preston appears to have a good heart in the face of bad luck; he takes Sole under his wing, and their adventures that begin then give Deacon so much pleasure that he is eager to go and tell everything at HQ.

Dogmeat : Dogmeat is delighted with his new master. But they can be strange at times. His new master seemed to disregard everything that people normally know. Instead of bang bang bang, they threw their weapon at a molerat. Dogmeat is unfazed; he shreds the molerats. Then there are the men-who-kill. Sole appears to believe that they can be their friend and greets them enthusiastically. When the men-who-kill turn towards them by raising their weapons, Dogmeat grabs Sole by the bottom of their trousers to make them get back. The metal plate on which they stand then falls beneath their feet, revealing a furious deathclaw. When the monster chases Sole and Dogmeat, they run belly-dn ahead. Sole does not accompany Dogmeat forks into a place where he knows they will be safe. They kept running straight forward, as if they could outrun a deathclaw. Dogmeat lets out a whine and dashes behind the deathclaw. It has been stated that Dogmeat was a bright dog, but the canine never imagined that he would one day be more intelligent than a person.

Elder Maxson : Danse stands behind the new recruit, completely uneasy. The Elder addresses him first.

"I'm having difficulty comprehending your report. You appear to be saying that Sole is the element that helped your missions work in your benefit, but you also appear to have some concerns. Why beg for their promotion and support them while expressing uncertainty?"

"I recommend that you make up your own mind."

The Elder then turns to the recruit and begins his lengthy speech. Sole maintains a straight posture and attentive listening throughout. Maxson is animated and takes his time explaining himself. When he has finished his long speech, he turns to Sole, waiting for their decision.

"So... I can get a Power Armor?"

Arthur is shocked. He frowns and glances at Danse, who appears to be trying to hold back a grin.

"Indeed, yes. But, more importantly, do you understand what is being asked of you?"

"Oh, to put on your uniform and go about doing your errands. When will I receive my armor?"

"Our… errands?"

"Yes. Go there, Sole, and bring that back. I'm not upset. But I'm looking for my armor."

Maxson's eyes widen in astonishment He again catches Danse's eyes, and he is certain now that the paladin keeps his cool not to chuckle. He instructs Sole to await them on the bridge.

"What's the backstory?"

"This... this recruit is a very interesting element. He fulfils all our requests. But to be honest, it's a miracle more than anything else."

"Do they... do they appear uh... capable of thinking?"

"I have my doubts. The Minutemen who accompanied them were equally sceptical. Furthermore, I do not recommend accompanying them on a mission or entrusting them with anyone. But they do the job... in their own way."

Arthur pauses for a moment before sighing.

"I must admit that the hopelessness of our situation compels me to grant your request. As a result, as you suggested, I raise them to Knight. I have a first task for both of you."

"Us two, sir?"

"You brought them to me; now you will manage them."

Danse lets out a sigh. That was his greatest fear. But, hey, Sole isn't a bad guy. He's only had concerns after nearly being roasted alive in Arcjet.

Hancock : "Wow! Insurance! You're such a kind man!"

The mayor of Goodneighbor looks at the newcomers with a snigger. Finn is defrauding them. Then he encounters the irritated, perhaps tired, look of Diamond City detective Nick Valentine. He doesn't want his drifter to play games with someone he likes, so he approaches Finn and instructs him to comply.

"Nick Valentine makes a rare visit to town, and you’re hassling his friend here with that extortion crap?"

"No problem here," the newcomer hurriedly stated. "This gentleman was just selling me insurance."

Nick seems to open his mouth in protest, but Hancock take it in hand.

"You’re soft, Hancock. If you continue to allow strangers walk all over us, there will be a new mayor."

"Come on, man. This is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something."

Sole seemed to be aware that something is about to occur. They approach towards the mayor, opening their mouth to speak, but their foot become caught in a slab on the ground.

"Oops!"

However, they cling to the dagger that Finn hid to cut Sole's throat at the first move, and the little scoundrel turns impaled on his own blade. Hancock, for his part, didn't have time to pull his own, which he had hidden behind his back, ready to impale Finn as well. He seems perplexed, Sole apologising repeatedly to Finn's body, which is now stiff on the ground.

"I'm very sorry, man. I didn't want to murder him... Mr. Ghoul, are you listening? I didn't want to murder your citizens. Please do not hurt me."

Nick shakes his head in disbelief, and the mayor cracks a faint smile.

"It's not the sharpest pencil in the box, is it?" He then explains "This guy was going to cut your throat. You had an amazing chance."

"Wait, no, I think you're wrong; he just wanted to sell me insurance."

Nick raises his hand as Hancock prepares to explain again in simple terms.

"Lost time, pal. Take this buddy as they come. I don't think they've realised I'm a synth yet."

"I'm not that stupid!" Sole objected. "But I know you don't make music. So, if you want to pretend to be something you're not, go ahead; but stop wanting—

"Synthetic! Not synthesizer!"

Hancock busts out laughing, and someone else behind his back does as well. He recognises Deacon's voice, but as he looks about among the street drifters, he doesn't see the Railroad agent.

Gage : Weeks of effort. It took weeks of miracles to get the stiff hands on a common project. The entire Gauntlet has now collapsed. Gage sighs and shakes his head. This new player is not playing. They are, nonetheless, intriguing. They will now have to handle Colter at the arena's door. Porter uses his intercom to confront the newcomer.

"Who's the one talking?"

"Porter, please answer the intercom. Approach, we’ll talk."

"Porter? That's... God's new name?"

Gage pauses, frowning. But dammit, he's met the stupidest guy he's ever encountered, and yet he evolves above the raiders.

"It's the intercom! It's on the wall! Near the lockers."

"Ah! Eheh. Yeah. I see. So, what do you desire?"

"If you play it right, we'll work together."

Porter then has a second thought. He can't possibly appeal to this person's brains. He shrugs his shoulders and decides to improvise.

"Look, you're going to find a water gun in a locker...hello?"

"Oops! Sorry. I was... looking around..."

"Huh? Power to the Arena's down by 30%. You do that? Not bad. You're still gonna need the gun, but... that oughta help."

Sole finally found the water gun after numerous clues. Porter began to question if his strategy was really that good...

MacCready : Hancock ushers a newcomer into the VIP room. Poor timing. Those idiots Winlock and Barnes have tracked him down and are attempting to intimidate him. It's going to get ugly fast...

"Wow, this is a true family reunion! Wow, you've got a lot of guns!"

MacCready was still astonished after Hancock struck his forehead. Giggles escaped the gunners. Mac rushes to return them to their home.

"Are you the mercenary I can employ?" It's Hancock, he stated I need God's help and don't know who I can afford to stay alive."

Mac casts a glance at the mayor, who shrugs and walks out of the room, unable to keep back his laughter.

"Yeah, I do offer my rifle services to those who can afford them."

"Oh, yes, caps!"

The new person slings a bag over their shoulder, but in a clumsy action, all of the contents and the container fall to the ground. They see something under the table as they bend down to pick up their mess.

They reach out their hand and pull out a plasma grenade. MacCready rushes to take the toy from their grasp as they prepare to engage it accidently.

"Obviously, you're going to need all the help you can get to survive, but if you really want to pay for my services, it'll be...500 caps."

Sole takes out a purse containing their belongings.

"There must be at least five or six hundred. It's difficult to count that many. Okay, maybe ten or twenty capsules. But more than a hundred? You're insane; I don't have all day."

Perplexed, the mercenary scratches the back of his head and sighs. He didn't expect the new would accept such a high price, so he's not going to start recounting behind them. There are clearly several hundred caps by weight.

"Well, you've just paid for Robert Joseph MacCready's services!" he attempts cheerfully.

"Great!" exclaims the other. "I'm Sole. That's how they refer to me."

Nick Valentine : After only a few minutes, he begins to question if it might not be preferable to remain trapped in the vault. Dyno died literally laughing. He fell over the railing and into the atrium at the bottom after seeing the other get entangled in wires while attempting to draw their rifle. Nick has been waiting impatiently for the other to figure out how the terminal works since then.

"Listen, uh... detective, I'll be right back."

Nick hears the other one come down the stairs, then return after a long time. Dyno appears to have had a piece of paper with the password in his pocket, and Sole can finally open the cage, which is not gilded at all.

"Ah, my knight-in-shining-armor. But the question is, why does he come all this way, risk life and limb, for an old private eye?"

"Who! Is that a robot? I'm sorry, Mr. Robot, but I'm searching for a detective. Did you happen to see him?"

"I believe I'm the detective you're looking for."

"No, I mean a private investigator. I was told he went to look into Malone's side of the vault and that we haven't heard from him since."

"I am the private detective."

"Nick Valentine! That's his given name. Nick Valentine, I recall."

"I AM NICK VALENTINE."

"Okay. Is this some sort of a game? You've been programmed to deceive others? What happened to Nick Valentine?"

Nick takes a deep breath.

"I’m a synthetic man. I’m a synthetic detective."

"You’re a synthesiser? So, you're a musician? Wow. When the detective’s going to figure it out... But I don't have time to listen to music; I need to save the detective."

"Lord…"

Piper : "Play along!"

"Are you playing a game? Great!"

Piper casts a sidelong peek at the new one, but she's not going to pass up this opportunity. She eventually persuaded Danny to open it up to her with a lot of luck. However, the person in blue almost blew it. She rushes into Diamond City as soon as the gate opens, and the new follows her, but she will worry about them later, as MacDonough awaits her around the corner.

"Piper! Who you let you back inside? I told Sullivan to keep that gate shut!"

"Hey!" interrupts the newcomer right away. "How could Quincy's surplus have been sold to...crazy Mirna... if you had left this gate closed?"

«It was a lie to go home," Piper says as she passes past.

"Do you mean I'm not a Quincy trader? Oh, how I would have liked that."

The mayor, by some miracle, appears to believe that the newcomer is important and ends up leaving them alone, tail between their legs, after the other voices two or three well-placed remarks. Piper is impressed, because in fact, they appear to have only two cells, one to keep them from peeing everywhere and the other to...

"So, Blue, do you want to tell me a little bit about your backstory?"

"Blue? Why do you call me Blue?"

"The vaultsuit."

"Oh, yes, it's true that it's blue."

Piper lets out a sigh. She hasn't even left the inn yet.

"Please join me at the Publick Occurency (if you can find it) and we can talk. Okay?"

The new one says, "Agreed." Piper rushes away, wondering who she has just met, when she catches the smile of a guard she does not remember.

Preston : Oh my fucking goodness! Preston isn't the sort to curse, but as half the museum collapses on the gunners and deathclaw, the notion flashes through his mind as vividly as if he'd said it aloud. He, on the other hand, cannot believe their good fortune. It's amazing! To accomplish such a feat, this individual must be a genius. But as he watches them emerge from the rubble, he begins to wonder if...

"Wow, that's impressive. But a couple of shots could have done the same thing without... destroying everything."

The blue person simply steps over the balcony and approaches Preston.

"Hello there! What exactly are you doing here? Isn't this a really depressing place to be?"

Preston looks at the refugees before returning his gaze to the vaultie.

"The raiders threatened us, so we took refuge here. But now that we've done that, we must decide what to do next. Sturges?"

Preston notices that Sturges is entirely frozen in place, detailing the new one as if it appeared out of nowhere.

"They did... they destroyed the museum!"

"Yes, Sturges. I was present. But, at the very least, the city has been cleaned up. We can proceed safely."

"Safe? With…that?!"

"That's referred to as Sole. Pleased. You are?"

"The survivors of Quincy."

"And we'd like to be able to survive," Sturges continued. "There will be no more williboumbatpouf! Okay?"

So, the survivors of Quincy and Sole set out for the location seen by Mama Murphy: Sanctuary Hill. When they arrive in one piece, Preston has the brilliant idea of inviting Sole to assist Sturges in establishing them. And that results in a lot… a lot of problems. 

Strong : Strong doesn’t see the problem. Strong finds the puny humans very lucky. Other humans seem to think the puny human is stupid. Strong think the puny humans is very smart.

X6-88 : He cannot conceive of this individual being able to conceive Father. Probably the other parent was a genius outside of their field, and Father got the best of both worlds. There is literally no other option. And their chance! Surely, wherever they go, this extraordinary chance rescues them from the direst situations.

"Wow, X6! I stumbled onto a honey storage tank. It's incredible!"

X6 heaves a murmur of exasperation as he leans over the edge of the rusted tank, whose metal has yielded under Sole's weight. It is indeed honey that has been partially solidified but is still viable.

Truly an incredible chance.

[apoptoses]

♜ Interior decorating aesthetic (for Daniel)

☹ Response to a leaky faucet or other household problem (for Armand)

♜ Interior decorating aesthetic (for Daniel)

God this one is hard because it raises so many questions for me like- did Daniel live alone at the time he met Louis? Did he have roommates? He spent years in hotels, and then lived with Armand, and did he have any input on the decor when they were living together? Did he even care that much?

We know that he loved Night Island, that the mix of old and new there was gorgeous, that his room had renaissance paintings alongside modern decor. That he loved luxury. And to an extent I think that's still true, that he likes having nice, interesting things around and isn't like and HGTV trends guy lol

But part of me also thinks about Armand's collecting stuff phase and how he literally filled some apartments to the brim with his computers. How Daniel was probably too exhausted to clean up after their messes most of the time. And like how people who have lived in hoarding situations (or just messy spaces in general) come out preferring minimalism, as little clutter as possible on surfaces and few knick knacks.

And I think Daniel would be somewhere in the middle. All vampires have an attachment to the time they were turned, so he's got a retro-eclectic vibe going in his spaces with some 80s inspired pieces. He probably still leaves his shit laying around like his clothes and half-read books but Trinity Gate and Auvergne have cleaning staff to take care of that. For better or worse he grew up in the era of wall to wall carpet and still prefers that over a hardwood floor. And I see him as a physical media kind of guy- he's got a sick vinyl collection, he still gets VHS tapes and DVDs of movies he liked, his media is pretty organized and nicely displayed. Get a nice comfy chair in there and he's set.

His craft space is a fucking wreck though lol But that's okay because he can close that door and pretend that mess doesn't exist when he's not in there.

☹ Response to a leaky faucet or other household problem (for Armand)

Oh lord in DM era it's one of three options:

Demand Daniel go to the hardware store with him so they can experiment with fixing it themselves (Daniel's least favorite option, there's bound to be cussing and at least three trips back to the store even though Armand can afford to buy literally every fucking possible thing needed in one trip)

Call a repair service and pay double for the middle of the night handyman work, while he sits and stares and creeps the guy out with his observation (Daniel's preferred option, he tips the workers extra for dealing with Armand's questions)

Say fuck it and rent a new place to live (inevitable, sometimes, when the DIY option goes very very wrong and they wind up with severe water damage that threatens the safety of the residents below them, oops)

Now at Trinity Gate? Unfortunately I think Benji's the mature adult in that household, he's got task rabbit loaded and ready to hire someone before the problem can get out of control. Because god knows Louis can't maintain a home, and frankly someone's gotta protect the peace and keep Daniel and Armand from bickering all night again about whose fault it is that the dish washer broke ("We don't even use fucking dishes, Armand, what did you put in there??" is NOT when he needs in the background he's trying to record a podcast tyvm)

[ecocleaninglondon1]

Eco-Friendly Carpet Cleaning in London: Sustainable Solutions for a Cleaner Home

In the bustling city of London, where environmental consciousness is on the rise, the demand for eco-friendly cleaning solutions is higher than ever. From the charming streets of Knightsbridge to the elegant avenues of Kensington and Chelsea, Londoners are seeking out green alternatives for maintaining their homes. This growing trend includes a significant focus on eco carpet cleaning—a method that ensures your carpets are clean while also being kind to the planet.

The Rise of Eco Cleaning in London The push towards eco cleaning in London is not just a passing trend; it’s a reflection of a broader commitment to sustainability. Traditional cleaning methods often rely on harsh chemicals that can harm both the environment and our health. Eco cleaning, on the other hand, uses environmentally friendly products and techniques that minimize harmful impacts. This approach is particularly important in a city like London, where the high population density means that pollution and waste can quickly become significant issues.

Why Choose Eco Carpet Cleaning? Carpets are a common feature in many London homes, providing warmth and comfort. However, they can also trap dirt, allergens, and pollutants. Traditional carpet cleaning methods might remove these contaminants, but they often leave behind chemical residues that can be harmful. Eco carpet cleaning offers several benefits:

Healthier Home Environment: Eco-friendly cleaning products are free from toxic chemicals, reducing the risk of allergies and respiratory issues.

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Effective Cleaning: Contrary to some misconceptions, eco-friendly cleaning can be just as effective, if not more so, than traditional methods. Advanced techniques and natural cleaning agents ensure deep cleaning without damaging the carpet fibers.

Eco Carpet Cleaning Services in London London boasts a variety of eco carpet cleaning services that cater to different needs. Whether you’re in Knightsbridge, Kensington, or Chelsea, you’ll find professionals committed to providing top-notch cleaning while adhering to green principles.

Knightsbridge Carpet Cleaning Knightsbridge, known for its luxury and sophistication, demands high standards, even when it comes to carpet cleaning. Eco carpet cleaners in Knightsbridge use state-of-the-art equipment and eco-friendly products to ensure your carpets are immaculate. These services focus on delivering excellent results while maintaining the elegance and integrity of your home’s interiors.

Kensington Carpet Cleaning Kensington, with its blend of historic charm and modern living, is another area where eco carpet cleaning is highly sought after. Professional cleaners in Kensington employ methods such as steam cleaning, which uses minimal water and no harsh chemicals, making it an excellent choice for eco-conscious residents. This method not only cleans effectively but also ensures that carpets dry quickly, reducing the risk of mold and mildew.

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Eco Rug Cleaning in London In addition to carpets, rugs also require special attention. Eco rug cleaning services in London are designed to handle a variety of rug types, from delicate Persian rugs to durable area rugs. These services use gentle, eco-friendly products that protect the fibers and colors of your rugs while ensuring they are free from dirt and allergens.

Benefits of Choosing Eco Carpet Cleaners Opting for eco carpet cleaners in London comes with numerous advantages:

Environmental Impact: Reduced use of water and chemicals means less waste and pollution.

Safe for Pets and Children: Eco-friendly cleaning products are safe for your entire family, including pets.

Longer-Lasting Carpets: Gentle cleaning methods extend the life of your carpets, preserving their appearance and functionality.

Allergen Reduction: Effective removal of dust mites, pet dander, and other allergens creates a healthier living environment.

How to Choose an Eco Carpet Cleaning Service When selecting an eco carpet cleaning service in London, consider the following factors:

Reputation: Look for companies with positive reviews and a track record of satisfied customers.

Certifications: Check if the company has certifications from reputable organizations that endorse eco-friendly practices.

Techniques and Products: Inquire about the cleaning methods and products used to ensure they align with your eco-friendly values.

Experience: Choose a service with experienced technicians who are knowledgeable about different types of carpets and the best eco cleaning methods for each.

Conclusion Eco carpet cleaning in London is more than just a service; it’s a commitment to a sustainable lifestyle. Whether you’re in Knightsbridge, Kensington, or Chelsea, there are plenty of options available to keep your carpets clean while protecting the environment. By choosing eco-friendly carpet cleaners, you’re not only ensuring a healthier home but also contributing to a greener planet. Make the switch to eco carpet cleaning today and experience the benefits of a cleaner, healthier, and more sustainable living space.

Contact Info: Eco Cleaning London Address: 89 Cadogan Place, London, United Kingdom Phone: 20 3598 6188 Email: ecocleaninglondon2010@gmail.com Website: http://www.ecocleaninglondon.co.uk/