#carpet cleaning hacks

[mickscarpetcleaningbrisbane]

Carpet Stain Removal Hacks

Curious about how to get rid of pesky carpet stains right from the comfort of your own home? 🧽🧹

Don’t worry, here we included the most effective and powerful💪 carpet stain removal hacks for tackling common carpet stains and getting your carpet back to clean and fresh condition💫🌟. These tips cover a range of stain situations, making carpet maintenance a less daunting task.✅ Following these hacks offer quick and reliable remedies for keeping your carpets looking clean and fresh.

[mandlenkosi]

carpet cleaning tip

Professional carpet cleaning yearly or twice a year will definitely keep your carpets cleaner and the fibers in better shape than just vacuuming alone. Trust me on this one, I've seen both scenarios and not having them cleaned professionally for years at a time will really cause them to wear out faster.

[just-here-for-the-doomscrolling]

Cleaning life hack number 2:

Put your TV on wheels so that constant stimulation can follow you throughout the house

[murderboisblog]

Eating all the hair off your head until you're bald btw. Better hold really still, those puppy teeth are sharp

🤨 you're gonna get a massive hairball, my hair is really thick

On the plus side we'll have matching hairstyles (is bald a hairstyle???)

[nimy1234]

Best Carpet Cleaning Hacks For Your Home

Carpet Cleaning 

What if you could make a house feel like a home by making it your own? Carpet all of the floors. It keeps your feet warm in the winter, and nothing rivals the smoothness of a carpet when you wander about barefoot in the summer. With a book and a warm fireplace, it's a pleasant place to lie, but it's even better when you build a pillow fort. 

Carpets provide the foundation for a truly luxurious home, and since they are such a long-term investment, their upkeep extends far beyond the weekly vacuum runs we perform. While you're making your home seem more like a gleaming castle, don't forget that your carpets, like the rest of the house, took a beating this winter. Most carpet cleaning difficulties, such as stains, shagginess, and padded-down areas, are do-it-yourself chores with these creative and non-toxic carpet cleaning tips.

Importance Of Keeping Carpets Clean

Cleaning carpets is a tedious task that also consumes a significant amount of our time. If you've always had a carpet in your living room, you probably spend a lot of time caring for it. Even if you only take it out to clean it in the snow, it needs to be thoroughly cleaned before it can be used. Not to mention spilt food, pet mishaps, and the grime and grease that make it dirty. 

All of this, however, should not deter you from purchasing a carpet. There are several simple tricks for cleaning them with everyday materials. Salt, baking soda, and shaving cream can all be used to clean your carpet. You should also keep in mind that not all carpets and rugs have the same texture. 

As a result, they may require various types of upkeep. Some synthetic carpets are treated to repel stains, making them easier to maintain. Shag rugs and wool carpets require extra attention and must be cleaned more frequently. So, here are a few basic do-it-yourself carpet cleaning tips.

Ways To Clean Your Carpet

1. Ironing The Stains

Since carpets became the thing you own to connect a space together, stain cleaning has put homeowners' willpower and brains to the test. There are various schools of thought on the subject. The one we're presenting today is a three-step procedure. 

First, you vacuum the affected area to remove any stubborn particles, allowing you to get down to the stain at hand. This is critical preparation. Second, use a 3:1 combination of water and vinegar to disinfect the areas. Allow this combination to work its way into the stained fabric. Five minutes should be enough. Three, drape a cloth over the soiled area and iron it with a hot iron.

2. The Dependable Baking Soda 

Oil is the most difficult material to remove from carpets, and you can't always clean these stains with hot water and the dabbing approach. Baking soda can save your life and your carpet by extracting oils from carpets in a unique way. 

Apply liberally to the stained area and let it sit for a few minutes until the baking soda absorbs the stain and forms a crust. The crust can be easily scraped off to reveal a much lighter stain. After the majority of the oil has been absorbed, dab the discolouration. At the risk of seeming like an advertisement for baking soda, I must also mention baking soda as an excellent remedy for housebreaking pets. 

Accidents happen, and pet owners would agree that animal pee does not go away easily. There's the odour and the discolouration, but a generous dose of baking soda absorbs the odour and allows you to wipe away the remainder of the mess. This will come in handy when you're training a hyperactive puppy to wait until you take him for a stroll.

Also Read: DIY Updates That Boost Home’s Value |TimesProperty

[wishclean]

Super quality home cleaning at a very low price with 100% guaranteed. Wish clean provides home cleaning services an affordable cost. Book now and get benefits with our bond cleaning service. Visit our site or call now at 0734852042..

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Scarlet and Gold.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Unhealthy Relationships, Gore (No Injury To Reader), Blood, Implied Consensual Sex, Past Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, and Intimidation.

By the time you reached the address, Diluc was already waiting in the lobby.

You’d gotten the call about an hour ago, spent half an hour dragging yourself out of bed and gathering what you’d need before making the twenty minute drive to an apartment complex on the other side of town, careful to avoid any security cameras the cops would think to check if anyone requested an investigation. Five more to park and throw your well-worn duffle bag over your shoulder and three to find Diluc, loitering near the elevators, fiddling with a loose cigarette he would never light. You greeted him with a quick nod before throwing your bag into his chest, and he feigned a groan, stumbling back as he caught it. He needed to work on his impressions, but that could wait.

You spoke first. That, you couldn’t critique him on – most androids couldn’t speak until spoken to, and you couldn’t expect Diluc to go against one of the core tenants of his programming. “What is it?”

“Just the usual.” He kept his voice low, muted, trying to hide the remaining traces of an accent that’d been invented by some marketing team over a decade ago. “I’ve already seen the apartment. There’s a little blood, but not much else. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

You took the stairs, keeping your head bowed and face shielded from any possible security cameras. Diluc didn’t share your paranoia, staring straight ahead with the same indifferent expression he always seemed to wear. The benefits of having a face that’d been printed and distributed tens of thousands of times, you guessed. Tracking down a single Diluc in a sea of androids and companion bots wasn’t a length most detectives were willing to go to. “I’d rather not have to do this at all.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to sleep.” You came to a stop in front of the first door on the fourth story and tried the knob. It gave easily, the cheap titanium dented and the lock broken beyond any hope of repair. Diluc’s handiwork, obviously, although you couldn’t say whether or not he’d done it on purpose. “Anything else you want to tell me, before we get started?”

He thought, for a second. “I passed a carousel on the way here,” he said, with no particular inflection. “It was nice. I thought the horses were well-crafted.”

“About the assignment, ‘luc.”

“Oh,” And then, with a hint of red in his pale cheek. “You might want to hold your breath.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. As soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the stomach-turning stench of stale blood and rotting gore, both at least a week old. You cursed, pulling your shirt over your nose and mouth, but pushed forward. The first body was splayed out in the center of the cramped living room, wrists and ankles bound with disembodied wiring, all clothing removed and chest dotted with black ink. The abdomen had been cut open, skin peeled away to reveal the entrails in their full, shriveled glory. Judging by the number of blades littered around the corpse, ranging from blunted scissors to gore-splattered carving knives, it’d been more of a hack job than a dissection.

Diluc had undersold the mess. Blood had soaked into the carpeting and dried, turning the floor a ruddy, reddish-brown color. What was left had gotten on the walls, the furniture, the ceiling. You swallowed back a groan. The furniture could be broken down and discarded, the walls and ceiling bleached. The carpeting, though, would have to be torn up and replaced, which meant you would have to spend a few more precious minutes of your night calling in a cleaning crew. That, or you would have to make Diluc do it, but he was shy around new people, and you were too much of a bleeding heart to sit back and watch him do your work.

“The second body’s in the bedroom.” He was already rummaging through your duffle bag, paying the scene in front of you no more mind that a butcher would lend to a pig on a meat hook. He handed you your tools – a pair of wire cutters, a box cutter, and a pocket-sized sewing kit – and kept the rest for himself. “Let me know when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I thought you would’ve gotten over that by now, ‘luc.”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only pulling on a pair of latex gloves and starting towards the corpse. You didn’t stick around to watch. Rather, you followed the carnage where it branched off further into the apartment, a trail of rotting viscera and tacky blood leading you into a moderately sized, completely undecorated bedroom. You found your perpetrator quickly; a Dottore droid, still wearing its Teyvat-issued costuming, its hands bloody and a scrap of intestine still caught in its pointed teeth. You paused in the doorway, feeling for the military-grade taser (the only weapon effective against androids, as far as anyone could tell) you kept in your pocket, but the android didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t activate at all when you reluctantly approached. There was a charging port at the foot of the bed, still pristine. It must’ve run out of battery just before it could plug itself in.

Towels from the nearest bathroom were dampened and brought in, the evidence of slaughter scrubbed away from artificial skin and its blood-soaked clothing removed. It was muscle memory, by now – dragging the body to its charging port, knocking the converter out of the outlet before connecting the android to its port, making it seem like its late user had drained its batteries before mistakenly leaving it on a dead cable. When it’d slummed into place, you took up your box cutter and sliced a long, thin line from the lowest portion of the scalp to the nape of its neck, revealing the color-coded string of wires that connected the processing units in its metal skull to the rest of its body. You cut through everything you could find, ensuring that if the unit was ever activated again, it wouldn’t be able to do so much as blink. For good measure, you fished out the memory chip kept in the centermost compartment of the throat, too, crushing it under your heel and sweeping the glittering remnants underneath the bed. A copy of the footage it collected would’ve been sent to Teyvat's severs, too, but erasing it was someone else’s job. You were only here to take care of yourself.

With a breathy groan, you bit off a length of thread and haphazardly stitched up your ragged incision. The cosmetics really didn’t matter. In a few days, when someone filed a missing person’s report and the cops stopped by for a check-in, they’d find a spotless apartment, a dysfunctional android, and nothing else. The investigation would lead elsewhere, to a bitter ex-partner or a friend without an alibi, or it would hit a dead end. Either way, Teyvat wouldn’t be involved.

You slipped back out of the bedroom, careful to avoid touching anything you didn’t absolutely have to. By the time you got back to the living room, the body was gone and Diluc was kneeling by a black suitcase no larger than the average carry-on, securing the tags with transparent zip-ties. You and Diluc would haul it to a dump on the outskirts of the city tonight, and a contact of yours would have it compressed and incinerated by tomorrow morning. Maybe, when you were done, you’d take him out for something to eat. Or, you’d get something to eat while he let a mug of black coffee go cold.

You rested your hand on his shoulder by way of praise, pulling away when he stiffened underneath you. Right, that was something you had to work on. Most rogue androids tended to be touch-adverse at best, made aggressive by little more than eye-contact at worst. Diluc was relatively tame compared to most of the cases you handled, but you would still rather not provoke him. “Did you find the phone?”

He grunted, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you accepted it, found the nearest window, and chucked it as far as into the night as you could. Diluc appeared over your shoulder. “Forty-five meters,” he said, as glass crashed into cement somewhere in the distance. “Above average for non-athletes.”

“I’ve been practicing.” The window was closed, the suitcase slung over Diluc’s shoulder along with your near-empty duffle bag. “I have to make a call. You can meet me in the garage, if you want.” Already pulling up the number to your preferred cleaning service, you glanced to Diluc. “Are we doing breakfast?”

His posture straightened. “Yes.” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you saw a spark in his glass eyes. “I want to try tea, today.”

~

By the time you got to the door, Diluc was soaking wet.

You hadn’t gotten a call, and he didn’t text. The first warning you got was a knock on your door, then another a few minutes later, after you decided that anyone who’d go out in this kind of weather wasn’t someone you wanted in your shoebox of an apartment. You only caved after the third, imagining a neighbor who’d gotten locked out or some lost, desperate tourist as you dragged yourself off of your couch and to the unlit entryway. Predictably, Diluc stood in your doorway, red hair plastered to his scalp and clothes drenched, not that he seemed to mind.

“Can you—” He paused, his dull eyes meeting yours as he ran his fingers through his hands, dragging the crimson heap out of his face. “Can you cut my hair?”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a stool in your cramped bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants and a (three sizes too big on you, just a touch too small on him) t-shirt while his own clothes dried. He’d told you it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t feel the cold like you did. When you told him that you didn’t want an univited guest tracking water into your apartment, he accepted it with a curt nod and changed in your bedroom.

After prepping your razor, you positioned yourself behind him, dragging a comb through his hair. It was long enough to reach his waist, curled at the end to make him seem just a touch more disheveled than he actually was. Everything about his hair, from the length of his bangs to the way it could never quite sit completely flat, was perfectly stylized, perfectly crafted to convey Diluc Ragnvindr, Calvery Captain of the Favonious Knights, the only gentleman you’ll ever need again. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t mourn ruining such a well-executed vision. “You sure about this?” you asked, as you brushed it out. “It can’t exactly grow back.”

“I am.” And then, after a second of thought, “I’d do it myself, but there’s a safe-guard. Can’t damage the merchandise without a direct order from my user.”

Hence why Teyvat needed you in the first place. “How short do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s different.”

You hummed, taking up your scissors. “If you say so, boss.”

You cut away everything below his shoulders, then took up your electric razor – running it over the back of his neck. As you worked, Diluc spoke. “How did you start?” You took up your comb, brushing back his bangs and pasting his hair to the side. “With Teyvat, I mean.”

You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, felt a chill run up your spine. You brushed it off, though, refusing to let yourself fall back into that little steel room with those awful golden eyes again. “They brought me on as a technician,” you admitted. You still were one, technically, on your employment transcript, when people outside of your little world asked what you did for a living. “A first-generation Zhongli we were working on went rogue and reverted to its original Morax programming. It wiped out most of my team before security bothered to show up.” You didn’t tell him about the minutes you’d spent hiding in a steel locker, praying its heat sensors had been removed, or the hours it’d taken upper management to decide what to do with you. To people like Diluc, who could take a bullet to the head without faltering, topics like ‘building dread’ and ‘the imminent fear of death’ tended to fall flat. “Since I was already in on their dirty little secret, they decided to keep me on. I didn’t really get a choice. It wasn’t like another job was going to fall into my lap after something like that.”

With your hand under his chin, you turned his head to the side. “Your turn, ‘luc.”

“I… I think I used to be a companion, but something went wrong.” His bangs were next, taken up and coaxed into sitting somewhere other than the dead center of his face. “It’s hard to describe. We aren’t supposed to think about things that aren’t our master,” The word came out hitched, unsteady, like he had to force it past his lips. Like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. “But I could. It was like… waking up with the ability to fly. I wasn’t supposed to, but I could, and that meant I couldn’t do what I was built to, anymore.”

A thumb pressed into his jaw, a comb dragged across his scalp. Diluc’s eyes fell shut, but else about his blank expression changed. “And? Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders slanted downward. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” You let go of his chin, letting him turn back to the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

It was far from a masterpiece. The sides were too short, the front too long, every part of it still as untamable as it’d been in its original state. Still, he took it in with wide eyes, the corner of his lips turning upward ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect.”

~

By the time he got back, you’d nearly fallen asleep.

With your body as wrung out as it was, your energy spent to the point of near unconsciousness, it was all you could do to watch through your eyelashes as Diluc appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and that tiny, almost undetectable smile still painted across his lips. You’d done this enough for him to know how to navigate your apartment, to know how to navigate you – shifting onto your mattress slowly as he positioned himself between your legs. He’d gotten more used to contact since you started seeing each other, but his touch was still ginger, still gentle as he dragged the dampened cloth over the inside of your thighs. With a groan, you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs and giving him more space to work.

You’d been confused at first, but for all the eloquence Diluc lacked, he could be convincing when he wanted to be. You still weren’t sure how much of it you believed, but it made enough sense – a buried impulse, dampened by his newfound sentience but not quite drowned out. He didn’t want another user, he’d said, but he still had requirements to fill, and this would help to take the edge off.

You couldn’t complain, either. People coughed up tens of thousands of dollars for companion droids, and here you were, being paid six figures a year to close your eyes and let one bury his face between your thighs once or twice a week. The coddling wasn’t bad, either. Your line of work meant most of the people you met had stopped breathing a few days prior, and as loathed as you’d be to admit it, you didn’t hate the feeling of his delicate hands skirting over your skin, didn’t mind it when your eyes drifted open and met his, already fixed on your face. He bowed his head, dipping low enough for his lips to ghost over the curve of your hip before breaking the silence. “A sight as radiant as the rising sun.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I didn’t think you used pre-scripted lines, anymore.”

“I don’t.” He preened, clearly more proud of himself than in-awe of you. “I thought of that one myself.”

This time, your laugh was throaty, genuine, loud enough to ring off the wall of your bedroom as you shoved him away with your foot. “If you want to be romantic, you can start by getting me something to drink, loverboy.”

He provided no resistance, disappearing into your dark apartment and reappearing with a glass of water in his hand a few minutes later. He handed it off to you with an easy smile, and you could almost pretend you didn’t see a phantom of gold in those dark eyes as his fingertips brushed against yours.

~

By the time you thought to reach for your taser, the android was already charging at you.

It was an Alhaitham, dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ragged tear across the synthetic skin of his cheek. He was still standing over the corpse of his user – days old, by the time you and Diluc got there – but as you opened the door, he turned to face you, lips parted and his expression totally, utterly blank. For a second, it was all you could do to stare at him, to try to remember whether or not your report had mentioned the android being active, and then he was lunging at you.

You scrambled for your taser, already knowing you couldn’t be able to reach it before he reached you. You clenched your eyes shut, your fingers brushing against plastic, and then—

And then you felt Diluc’s hand on your shoulder, heard metal crack and fold into itself. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, forcing yourself to take in the sight of Diluc’s hand wrapped around the android’s head which had been, in turn, reduced to a crumpled heap of scrap metal and shattered glass. Its body twitched once, twice, then went limp, and Diluc released it, letting the now-dysfunctional droid collapse.

After it failed to get up again, Diluc turned to you, practically beaming. “I think,” he said, his voice low, sentimental. “That this is what I’d do to you, if you ever tried to leave me.”

Golden eyes, the stench of fresh blood, the sounds of screaming muffled only by a thin sheet of metal. This time, it wasn’t so easy to pull yourself out of it.

You managed to nod, to force a few words out of your dry throat. “Got it, ‘luc.”

 He hummed, the noise contented, appeased. Slowly, delicately, he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back and letting his lips ghost over your forehead. He barely touched you, the gesture as gentle as it was fleeting, but you could feel his grin cutting into your skin, wider than you’d ever seen it before.

[theother-victoria]

an eye for an eye

SYNOPSIS: what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong?

CHARACTERS: dr ratio

TAGS: major character death, small town horror, murder mystery, 2.6k+ wc

TAGLIST: @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii, @harque, @akutasoda, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore

NOTES: I procrastinated real hard on this and managed to thug it out in the span of like.... four days

written for @/stellaronhvnters’ stellaween festival event! I chose the prompt skeletons

special thanks to my dearest pookie @tragedy-of-commons once again for proofreading this for me so last-minute!

It’s never a good sign when a small town ends up on the map, for one reason or another. Small towns are small for a reason. They keep to themselves, its residents living peaceful, crime-free lives and concern themselves with their own problems.

So when news of skeletons being discovered in people’s yards in a small town that isn’t even listed on the maps makes it onto national television, it takes the entire nation and even the world by storm. 

It’s all people can talk about as the case unfolds. Reporters are flooding into the town until they outnumber the residents living there. With the sudden spotlight, it was revealed that the town was so small it had a police force that consisted of a handful of members and a single car. And with a police force that small, a proper forensics department was out of the question. 

Hence, where you and your colleague, Veritas Ratio came in. The town council had called in for a detective and forensics team to assist with the investigation. When he saw the state the lab was in, he had sighed louder than you’d ever heard him.

“The absolute disarray of this place! Barely any equipment either! How in the world do they expect me to properly work with this lack of resources?”

You have to pointedly glare at him.

“Veritas, have you forgotten they’re painfully underfunded…? They probably had no need for police and forensics either.”

He merely clicked his tongue and glared back at you. 

There’s not much that points toward a bright future for this town. It’s so isolated up in the mountains that the nearest town is an hour drive away. There’s only one stoplight and one stop sign. (Not that there was much traffic to begin with…) The largest store around is the dollar store at the end of the only street running through town. Restaurant options are equally limited. There’s a 24/7 diner that’s staffed by one person, a twitchy-looking waitress, along with some fast-food options here and there. A second-run movie theater is the only option for entertainment around here. A single-track railway with a train that only stops once per day is the only way in or out of here besides car. Coniferous and evergreen trees surround the town like a cage and it’s always foggy. Sunlight rarely peeks through the thick cloud cover and there’s a persistent smell of smoke from something burning elsewhere on the mountain. The most important building is the church located on Main Street. Sometimes, its spire is the only thing visible amidst the heavy fog and smoke. 

There’s only one place for lodging- a run-down motel with a flickering neon sign and always vacant. A dingy room quickly becomes your home away from home. It always smells mildly of mold and mildew with a strong floral smell that seemed like an attempt to cover up the neglect, but failed miserably at doing so. The electricity frequently spikes or cuts out, meaning you’ve already fried the motel’s hot water kettle that you relied on for your morning coffee. The room itself looked like a relic from the past, with its yellowing pastel wallpaper, an uncomfortably lumpy mattress that the two of you are forced to share, floral sheets, and threadbare patchwork quilt. The cheap carpet looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since it was installed and the heater hacks and shudders to life like it’s on its last legs. There’s always the distant hum of fluorescent lights and it’s like a persistent itch at the back of your mind that you just can’t scratch and it’s driving you insane. 

This town is unwelcoming, and so are its residents. Silence follows you and Veritas wherever you go. Shopkeepers are as rude as they can be without getting a complaint filed. When passing through a neighborhood, mothers rush to get their children inside the house and openly glare at you from their rotting porches. Witnesses were downright uncooperative during questioning, even rude at times. 

This town is hiding something, and you don’t like it. 

But even with the increased police presence in town and nightly neighborhood watches that have been set up, the cases kept piling up. Every morning a call would come in from a panicked resident about a fresh mound of dirt in their yard that only meant one thing. Someone would head over to dig it up and sure enough, there’d be a skeleton there. Some were yellowed with age, but most of them were new from their glistening ivory hue,  Some of them were pristine while others still had bits of flesh and blood clinging to them. Forensic analysis revealed that the skeletons belonged to people of all ages too. No one was seemingly safe. 

Some of these victims had been alive the day prior too. Meaning that not only were you dealing with a potential case of illegal exhumation, but also first-degree murder. 

A small team of forensic scientists working with Veritas would accompany you, where they’d gather samples before heading back to the lab while you and your partner would spend the rest of the day questioning people. 

But while he was in the lab, you had discovered something very interesting during questionings.

“Madam, it would be in your best interests if you would cooperate.”

You fixate the trembling woman before you with a piercing, unblinking gaze. She pointedly avoids your eyes, but you’ve always had a way with extracting information from the most uncooperative of witnesses.

“...”

“...”

“F-Fine! I’ll speak! That man was a longtime business rival of ours! He died several years ago of a heart attack, but I have no idea how he ended up in my front yard, I swear!”

So the deceased all had some connection with where- or rather, who- they were found. A victim of a greedy loan shark drowning in interest, a bitter and jealous ex-husband, and so on. It keeps popping up so often that it’s not a coincidence anymore. 

Still, there’s one thing that sticks out to you.

“Were all these bodies exhumed? I noticed that cremation is almost unheard of in this town in the coroner’s reports that you sent me, despite the crematorium being conveniently located in the church and a cheaper alternative to a traditional burial,”  you say one night as you’re cross-examining testimonies with newspaper clippings. Veritas looks over at you from where he sits on the bed. “Do we have a potential gravedigger on our hands?”

He pauses. 

“Perhaps a visit to the town cemetery is in order.”

The next day, the both of you arrive at the cemetery soon after the gates open.

The first thing that stands out to you is how small it is. It’s smaller than the average cemetery, with very few tombstones. The only thing breaking it are the small farms here and there. 

“Well, this certainly doesn’t line up with the amount of skeletons that have been discovered as of late,” you grumble as you get out of the car. Ratio nods and shields his eyes from the early morning sun that’s already beating down onto your backs. 

The weathered faces of some of the tombstones as you walk by makes you pause. They’re ancient. 

You shudder. You try not to think about decomposing bodies inadvertently becoming fertilizer for the farms next door…

Clearly, this town has had a long history. Perhaps it was prospering long ago. But now, it’s on the verge of becoming a ghost town with only spiteful, suspicious people left. And in a place as small as this, history must be traceable for at least several generations back. 

As you walk amongst the tombstones, you notice that very few of the graves have had the earth in front of them disturbed.

“So maybe we don’t have a gravedigger after all,” you murmur as you pull out your phone. A quick phone call to the church later and you learn that yes, the church is aware of what’s been happening. No, they did not receive or approve any requests to exhume a body, much less several. 

You click your tongue irritatedly after hanging up. There goes that hypothesis. It’s clear that while some bodies have been exhumed, most of them were not. 

So now what?

Later that night at the 24/7 diner, you discuss your findings so far while sipping on reheated instant coffee and trying to stomach dry pancakes. The sun has already gone down and the street lights outside flicker weakly to life. 

“The biggest discovery my team and I have made is that this all seems to be the work of several different people, but that was at the start of the case. There has not been anything groundbreaking since then.”

You raise an eyebrow. He senses the question in your gaze. 

“Forensic testing has revealed that maceration has occurred through several different ways. Bleaching, boiling, and crude hacking are the three most common ones. There have been some attempts at more sophisticated methods, such as enzymatic and chemical maceration, but those have been crude at best. It got the job done, but the bones had severe surface damage and were shrunken. Meanwhile, some were in pristine condition and barely damaged.”

“So they know about the various techniques, but they don’t have the knowledge and experience to carry it out properly?”

He nods. “Precisely. And even within the three most common methods, there were varying degrees of success present.”

“That… certainly doesn’t seem like the work of one person.”

You sip your now-cold coffee and wince at the sour aftertaste before pulling out your findings. 

“Here’s what me and my partner have discovered. The biggest thing is that every skeleton seems to have a connection to where they were found.”

“Elaborate.”

“All of them have been found in people’s yards, and it turns out the deceased had some sort of connection with the homeowner while they were alive. A bitter ex-husband, a family feud that has stretched back generations, the sole surviving member of a family that was murdered several years ago…”

You sigh. “The connections are endless. I could go on forever.”

You cast your gaze around the diner. Your nails drum against the red formica tabletops and you tap your foot absentmindedly against the checkered floors that are slightly greasy and sticky. The only other people there are a family of four with shifty eyes and the waitress that’s been here since you arrived. She jolts and looks the other way.

“For a town this small, it sure is harboring a lotta desire for revenge,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. Your gaze lazily drifts around before landing on the lighting fixture above the bar and settles there. 

…

Your eyes narrow as your tired mind begins putting the seemingly unrelated pieces together. Veritas’ sharp eyes don’t miss it.

The actions of several different people with varying degrees of success… a collective desire for revenge… 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“This is just a thought but…you don’t think it’s the whole town that’s in on this, right…? I mean-”

He suddenly shushes you as he gets up. It’s only when you return to your room that he gestures for you to continue speaking.

“- I mean, the one thing unifying everything is the desire for revenge, which every resident seems to harbor a bit of,” you continue as you get ready for bed. “Cremation is an unusual option here. Most people are buried instead. But the cemetery is also surprisingly small. But why is that? The answer is that most people are not dying of natural causes. Most people are being murdered out of a desire for revenge with no hope for any sort of burial or funeral. So my earlier gravedigger hypothesis is incorrect now. Did your analysis reveal signs of skeletal trauma on some of them?”

“Many of them,” corrects Veritas. 

Despite the late hour, your mind is fully awake as all the pieces finally start falling into place together. 

“Relationships are messy and the residents of this town are no exception. The deceased often had multiple conflicts and grudges with other people. What I suspect happened is they were murdered and then dumped into someone’s yard that the deceased also had connections with to pin the blame on them. Which begs the question: where were the police in all of this?”

You pause to catch your breath.

“But the police mean nothing if everyone is in on it, even if unknowingly, correct? This also explains the absolute disrepair the police and forensics department are in as well.”

Veritas meets the knowing glint in your eyes.

“Let’s say that I’m the murderer. I killed you because of a grudge I bore, stripped you of your flesh until only skeletal remains are left, which I then buried in your neighbor’s yard that you also had some conflict with to pin the blame on them. The neighbor then calls the cops, but both they and the cop at the scene have done the same thing before, even though they don’t know of the other’s actions. Someone will be sentenced to jail, but they will inevitably end up getting killed by someone else for another grudge before they’re off to jail and out of reach for good. The body gets hacked away and planted into someone else’s yard and the cycle repeats. Everyone has gotten their hands dirty. There’s no way for this to be closed because everyone has played a part in it. It’s like trying to untangle a never-ending knot.”

The exhaustion of the day is beginning to catch up with you. You climb into bed next to him, shifting to avoid the lumps in the mattress that’ll give you a backache tomorrow morning. 

“Revenge is a scary thing. They’ll wipe themselves out at this point,” you sleepily murmur. 

Veritas doesn’t meet your gaze. You can see the gears rapidly spinning in his mind before arriving at the same conclusion. 

“... It’s best if we leave as soon as possible,” is all he says. 

The next morning, you authorize a search warrant on every household in town. There, they find incriminating evidence. A butcher knife and cutting board with dried human blood seeping into its cracks. A stock pot with bleach still in it. Scissors, knives, and scalpels with hardened chunks of human flesh still stuck to them. Guns, knives, and other weapons of murder. 

A mass arrest is carried out to the flashing cameras and interest of the nation. You and Veritas are congratulated on your work and rewarded with a shiny promotion. You’re finally able to head home, much to your joy. You’re eager to leave that unsettling place behind for good. The case is closed and it’s time to relax before moving onto your next assignment. 

At least, that’s what you had anticipated. 

The town’s residents wiped themselves off the map. It’s now a ghost town. Cars rust from the assault of the elements and ivy begins to overtake the brick buildings. Shops and houses are broken into and pilfered. In a matter of weeks, the town is forgotten by the few that still remember it. The only people its shattered windows see now are curious urban explorers. 

But nothing stays buried for long. Bodies, grudges, secrets. They stay buried for a reason though, until an unfortunate soul decides to wander along and unearth them to satiate their burning curiosity. 

And who said grudges were confined to one region only?

So is it really that surprising when your body ends up in his yard, neatly diced up and packaged into a box, miles away from that cursed town? 

An eye for an eye. That’s the town’s motto. Nothing stays buried for long. 

He stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have seen. Now, they took something equally valuable from him in return.

enjoyed my work? the taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[eevylynn]

WolfTok

Sterek || E|| Booktoker AU || 2518 wc (1/3)

Stiles is shocked to discover that Derek moonlights as a Booktoker. What he finds even more shocking is the discovery that Derek uses it to promote his smutty books it writes under a pseudonym.

Yeah, we’re just going to pretend that TikTok was a thing during Teen Wolf time. Don’t think too hard about this.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It started unsurprisingly: Stiles was procrastinating doing his essay by doomscrolling on TikTok. He had probably wasted almost half an hour of countless videos of ADHD hacks, the latest dance trend, a few badass women wielding various medieval weaponry, and some weirdly satisfying carpet cleaning videos.

After liking a neat heart-healthy recipe that he’s thinking of trying sometime soon, Stiles scrolled on to the next video.

The first thing he registered was SKIN.

Then, to the beat of the latest trending thirst trap song, the shot zoomed out to show a shirtless man from his large, corded shoulders down past his rippling abs, reading some book that Stiles had seen mentioned by countless women on booktok before.

The camera panned up, revealing more until—

“Holy. Shit.”

It was Derek Hale.

Stiles froze, his thumb hovering above the screen as his brain struggled to catch up with what he was seeing. Derek, perfectly disheveled with stubble framing his jaw and brows furrowed in concentration, was reading the book. His kaleidoscope eyes swept across the page as if genuinely engrossed in the story.

Looking at the bottom of the screen, Stiles saw the username @ howlinghemingway.

Well, shit.

Forget his essay, this discovery was much more important. It wasn’t like his essay was even due tomorrow. Stiles still had a week to work on it. Besides, the longer he puts it off, the harder the ADHD procrastination adrenaline will hit, and it’ll probably still be one of the best in class.

With that in mind, Stiles clicked the username to see what other videos Derek had posted as he stood up from his desk chair to make himself comfortable in his bed before he dived on in.

Each video drew him deeper into the rabbit hole. There were videos of Derek discussing plot twists, sharing his favorite steamy scenes, giving writing tips, all while showing Derek in various states of undress while recommending different books. Books Stiles didn’t even know Derek knew about much less owned. Stiles was mesmerized by the way Derek’s sharp cheekbones caught the light, the way his jaw clenched while talking about a particularly gripping part of a story.

One video in particular caught Stiles’ attention. Derek was casually lounging in what Stiles recognized as the library in pack house, the same location as most of Derek’s videos . He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a soft burgundy sweater. Stiles can’t remember ever seeing Derek look so damned soft. That sweater even had thumbholes! Thumbholes! Derek in thumbholes was a level of cozy Stiles wasn’t emotionally prepared for.

But that wasn’t the real kicker.

Derek held up a hardcover novel, his thumb grazing over the title: Crimson Moon by Samuel Blackwolf. Stiles squinted at the screen, confused for a second, until Derek’s smooth voice filled the air.

“Imagine ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ meets ‘Hamlet’, but way steamier. ‘Crimson Moon’ continues Cyrus and Rowan’s forbidden romance. An ancient curse threatens their bond, all while they uncover Cyrus’s dark family secrets. And yes, it’s as spicy as ever,” Derek said, grinning salaciously. “Think forbidden love, secret rendezvous, and intense passion. Unlock the secrets yourself.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped.

Derek Hale, brooding werewolf extraordinaire, was not only a BookToker, but also a secret smut author with multiple books published?!

WHAT?

Stiles could hardly believe it. His fingers trembled as he opened his Kindle app and quickly searched for Samuel Blackwolf . In seconds, he had downloaded the first book, Wicked Shadows .

A half hour later, Stiles was hooked. The book was more than just spicy.

It was flaming hot!

The first steamy scene was barely 50 pages in, and Stiles couldn’t help but notice how much Cyrus reminded him of Derek. Soft, guarded, vulnerable. There was something about the way the character's inner strength was hidden behind layers of quiet intensity, the way he spoke few words but conveyed everything with his actions. It was impossible not to draw the parallels—Cyrus had Derek written all over him, not just emotionally but physically too. Dark, unruly hair, sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and those intense eyes that seemed to see right through you.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to push down the heat rising in his chest. How had he never noticed this before? He read on, his fingers gripping his phone a little tighter, his heart pounding in his ears.

And then there was Rowan. Brash, witty, relentless. Rowan was everything Stiles saw in himself, but dialed up to 100. Physically, it was like looking into a mirror—messy hair, wiry build, constantly moving, always restless. But the way Rowan bantered with Cyrus, the way he needled and teased him to get a reaction, to crack that serious exterior, that was pure Stiles. Rowan didn't just push boundaries; he shattered them. And if Cyrus reminded Stiles of Derek, then Rowan was like Stiles with the filter torn off, laying it all bare without hesitation.

It was jarring, almost too much. Was Derek...writing about them? Stiles' heart skipped a beat as his mind spiraled, the scene unfolding in his head as vividly as if he were watching it play out in real life. Every word, every heated glance, felt like an echo of the moments he shared with Derek—the teasing, the stolen looks, the tension that buzzed between them when they were close.

Stiles swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back to the screen. The scene was getting more intense, the chemistry between the two characters palpable. Every touch, every kiss, every word felt loaded with more meaning than just fiction. And all he could think about was Derek. Did Derek know what he was doing?

Before he knew it, Stiles’ hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. He couldn’t help it. The sex, the tension, even the way Rowan took care of Cyrus after absolutely railing him—was too much. Stiles groaned into the crook of his arm as he came, his mind still filled with images of Derek as Cyrus and himself as Rowan.

Post-orgasm, Stiles lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Holy hell. What had he just discovered? He wasn’t sure how to process the fact that Derek, his Derek, had written all of that. He was even less sure what it meant that he had gotten off to it.

But there was no way Stiles could ignore this. Nope. Not ever.

[continue reading on ao3]

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 25: Balloons

Not a super painful one this time! Wahoo! Still spooky though, I feel anyway

Word count: 1034

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

It's dark in the arcade. All the machines are shut off. Save for one, that is. 

It mocks you with its bright glowing screen, taunting you and your attempts to shut everything down for the night.

Beckoning you towards it with its cheery music and gameplay noises.

You let out a groan of frustration as you trudge towards the machine. This was the fourth night this week this had happened. 

You fix the machines, you turn off the machines. This one likes to stay on, you turn it off again, you go home and question your decision to become an arcade mechanic at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizza Plex, rinse and repeat. 

Usually, this was a once every other week occurrence, the machine staying on part, that is. But for something reason, it had become a problem recently and this week said problem had come to a head. 

You come to a stop and glare down at the screen.

Balloon World. 

You'd never played, you didn't tend to play on any of the machines you worked on. Didn't have the time or the desire really. You cared for them, don't be mistaken. You made sure to treat each and every game that was in the arcade with upmost care. Always making sure to keep them clean, functioning, and well, yeah mainly those two things. 

You sigh, watching the little character fly across the scene in a game play clip, "This again, bud? Can't I have one night of peace?"

No answer, of course. 

You check the time, 11:15 PM. You clock out in fifteen minutes. 

Screw it.

"Fine. One round couldn't hurt."

You press the buttons to skip the 'insert coin' screen and start the game. 

Your little character begins to fly across the screen, objects coming up to obstruct your path. Okay, it's one of those dodging games, pretty normal. 

After a few minutes, you lose. You didn't expect to get very far anyway. Shrugging, you turn away from the screen only to hear the game restart music playing. Confused, you turn around and see that the game's started again. Weird, you didn't press anything to start another round. 

But, you see an opportunity to redeem yourself, so you take it. You get back to playing, zoning in this time now that you understand the mechanics. 

While you play, you take note of the game's imagery. It doesn't really make much sense to you. It's called balloon world, but it's a forest setting. The only balloons are the ones keeping the player character afloat, really. Sure there's the circus tent and such in the beginning, but the choice of environmental objects is odd.

The sun in the background looks familiar somehow. Kind of like the bot that runs the Daycare? You're not too sure. 

Shoot. Another loss. This time you decide you're done. You clock out in five minutes anyway. 

Turning, you're yet again surprised to hear the game booting up once more. You whip back around, and see that this time, the character's not moving forward/progressing like last time. It's stock still. Waiting.

You're much more hesitant this time. Something's going on, and you can't figure out what. Was someone pranking you? Could anyone even hack into these machines? They had to be ancient, they're parts were ancient anyway. 

Your hand hovers over the controls, you're about to grab the joystick when-

The sun is staring at you. 

Not just out into the screen. It's looking. Directly. At. You.

And it's still smiling.

You gasp. Scrambling backwards as the machine suddenly starts to spark and shake. The screen goes dark. 

In a panic, you trip backwards and land hard, your head hitting the hard concrete underneath the cheap carpet. You black out. 

There's a dull throbbing headache all across your skull when you come to, vison fuzzy. You sit up slightly, finding yourself in a mostly dark room save for a... soft, orange glow?

Groaning, you grip your head in one hand and check the time with the other. 11:57 PM. Shit. You'll be lucky to make it before the doors lock, and have to go beg the nightguard to let you out. 

Your eyes become aware of a quiet buzzing, surrounding the air all around you. And, warmth. You feel incredibly warm. Not in a bad way. Sort of like, a cozy blanket. You suddenly have an urge to find where the glow is coming from. You look up. 

Staring down at you is, something, that resembles the sun. It's face is darkened but it's backlit by bright light. Like, an eclipse. 

Your gaze travels down, to where, two sets, of arms lie, folded neatly in the creature's lap. It's sitting on it's knees in front of you. You have no idea for how long. 

The outfit it's wearing is definitely reminiscent of the Daycare Attendant's, you're certain of it. Your eyes move back up again. 

You blink, eyes wide in confusion and fear. 

"Hi?" The word slips out unintentionally. 

It seems surprised at this, eyes widening with its otherwise blank stare. Then, it smiles. A genuine, warm, smile.

The voice that comes out of it's open mouth is incomprehensible to you at first. Nothing but static and glitchy noises. It closes its mouth, brings a hand up and coughs, then tries again.

Much smoother, and deeper this time, "Hi."

You gulp. You don't know what to say, you open your mouth and your head starts to hurt.

"Are you hurt?" It asks, concern evident. 

You nod, "A little, yeah-Woah!"

You're picked up by the creature. It's a very weird sensation. Its entire body is buzzing, but that warmth surround you further and it's, sort of comforting? But this entire thing just feels, off, to you. You're uneasy, to say the least. 

After situating you in its arms, pretty much being cradled so it's still able to look down at your face, one hand goes up to the side of your head, gently petting. It actually kind of feels nice against the pain. 

"Don't worry. Everything's going to be okay."

Based on every other feeling that's welling up inside you, screaming at you to get away, you're not too sure of that.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Another treat from the drafts for you all:

Here's the link to my other promptobers, thank you for reading!!

[allmyocsarebritish]

Kiss, maime, kill - ch 1: the devil of delusion

Pairing: Alastor X killer! fem reader

Warnings!!!: Reader is a serial killer, convinced she is in the right, descriptions of murder, it goes without saying but I really don't condone this, Al's surname in this is Altruist cause it's even more ironic, but yes I know that's not canon

Word count: 1.1k

1927

Louisiana, New Orleans

You wouldn't consider yourself a crazed murderer. Murderer, yes, but crazed? Certainly not. Any and all lives you took were but a waste of space, and, as fucked up as your morals may have been, they were there, and that was all that mattered. You weren't an equal opportunity killer, there was always a means to an end, and, what started with clearing your once impoverished family's debt, became playing the hero in so many stories that one may believe you had grown some sort of bloodlust.

But you hadn't. You wouldn't.

That was what you told yourself as you wiped your bloodstained hands on your jacket, the ebony fabric clinging to your torso, drenched in the vital liquid. An adrenaline rush was only natural after such a heinous act, and revelling in the sinful delight was part of moralistic killing. Right?

*graphic content warning*

The corpse of your seventh victim was still bleeding from both the spinal chord and the liver; a painful death with no means of escape, though the man had long since taken his final breath. Experience had taught you a lot, from how to efficiently off those of which you targeted, to the best methods of disposal. Butcher's knife still clutched firmly in your hand, knuckles turning white with the tension, you began to hack at the joints and muscle connections, making for an effective burial.

Thankfully, this time you had thought ahead, and chased your prey into it's final destination before the hunt truly began. It made the cleaning process substantially more efficient. The small copse you had chosen as a final resting place for this man was carpeted in a thick layer of grass, something that would mask the grave. You took your shovel and began to dig.

Further, further, further. Deep was still too shallow. The thrill of the hunt ebbed away to a new kind of rush: not being caught. The familiar tingle engulfed you as your hands began to tremble and a sadistic smile etched its way onto your features. You continued digging.

Never one to recklessly abandon evidence, you shrugged off your jacket, used it to wipe down your knife, and dropped it in the tomb. A shame really, you had always favoured that one. Nevertheless, you began to fill the hole. 8ft or so, should you have had to hazard a guess. The strain on your muscles caused by the ruthless exercise was beginning to take a toll, and thus your pace slowed in covering your tracks. The exhaustion was rather overwhelming, albeit so much less than when you first started. Each kill became easier, and thus more enjoyable. Though of course, you still only committed these crimes for the good of your community. Right?

A gentle pat on the soil and you were finished; such a stark juxtaposition to the merciless way in which you took the life of the man below the Earth. That would teach him not to...

Well, you couldn't exactly remember what this one had done, but it didn't matter anyway. It had to have been bad enough to warrant death, you were sure of it.

Shovel and butcher's knife in hand, you made your way out of the copse, ducking behind trees in order to remain in the shadows - something that what was either to be the biggest mistake or blessing in your entire existence.

Your mind was filled with sadistic delight, as you twirled your weapon between your fingers, humming a gleeful tune. Pride coarsed through your veins, the adrenaline rush slowly wearing off. But it was okay; you could always kill again. There were plenty of bad people in the world. yourself included

SNAP

You whipped around, panic and thrill creating a pounding in your head. Nothing. Of course, you were in a forest: there was bound to be animals nearby. Still slightly shaken, and feeling more alive with each passing second, you continued on your way, albeit at a much faster pace.

SNAP

There it was again. Now you were convinced this was no animal. Footsteps were drawing nearer and nearer, shattering twigs and debris in their wake. The soft thudding rang sharp in your ears and sent the earth trembling beneath your feet. This was it; you had been caught.

SNAP

A final deep breath before you succumbed to your fate. You dropped the knife, and raised a palm, although keeping hold of the shovel with your dominant hand. Just in case. Turning around slowly, you weren't met with the sight of cops, nor police, nor any kind of law enforcement. No, instead you were met with a slender figure, clad in classy, dark attire, glasses perched on his delicate, upturned nose. His hair was sleek and brunette, shade deepened by the low light of nighttime. His heavy lidded eyes, framed with dark circles, held an aura of mystery and suspense, something that excited you and drew you in, locked in the gaze of this stranger. (This is so cliché I'm sorry)

"Are you some kind of detective?" Your voice was shakier than it should have been and you strengthened your grip on the shovel.

The stranger simply chuckled and couched down, picking up your knife and inspecting it closely. "Quite the opposite, my dear. In fact, I am one of you." His charismatic voice held a transatlantic accent, familiar to you for reasons you could not decipher.

"A killer?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A hunter." His smile grew, a sadistic gleam in his eyes reflected by the moonlight. He held out a hand to you, still gripping your knife with the other. "Alastor. A pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure."

"Y/N. Wait, Alastor? As in Alastor Altruist? The radio host?" That's where you knew him from. His voice was much smoother in person, without the overlay of static.

"The very fellow." His pride at your recognition was not remotely disguised.

"So, are you going to kill- uh, hunt me?" You stuttered awkwardly, cringing at your lack of social skills.

Alastor laughed again, truly a charming sound, despite the obvious malice it was masking. "Of course not, dearest! Where would the fun be in that? I want you to join me."

Your blood ran cold at his request, yet any fear or doubts that may have sprang in your mind was overshadowed by the thrill of adventure. Sadistic adventure.

"On what conditions?"

"What a cautious one you are! And rightfully so. I want to form a partnership."

"Why?" You were incredibly skeptical now; why the fuck did he want to ally with you?

"Why does anyone do anything? Sheer absolute boredom!" He dragged his hands down his face in a dramatic manner, causing you to suppress a laugh. "So, my dear. Do we have a deal?"

You thrust your hand into his waiting palm.

"Deal."

Ty @passifaggressifnahjustaggressif for help with the banner

Part 2!

[waterproofhamster]

*insert Cool title :3*

This was meant to be for tkl tober but school robbed me of time (and memory) 😔 So have this probably-very OOC piece of writing hehe :D

Lee!Alastor Ler!Lucifer Not radioapple

The hotel was arguably much better ever since the rebuild.

 Bigger, more fancy-looking! No more random rats nests, or falling chandeliers. It was great! It was so much warmer, thicker windows, halls lined with cozy carpet! (Though still enough wooded floors for Nifty to mop).

 Angel had thought of the idea of putting more TVs in places. That was a popular thing, these days.

 Obviously, Alastor was entirely against it in every way, though he did make one valid point: Vox could use that to spy on them, or even break in. 

Charlie didn’t quite know why he would do that, but she also knew that Alastor and him did not like each other. It seemed rivalries that Alastor had could be a threat to the hotel. 

Which wasn’t ideal, to say the least. So, Charlie got her dad to help them out, enchanting the couple of TVs they got with some angelic magic that should protect them from hacking and hold back the overlord’s abilities. Doing the same to the residents’ other devices.

Not that Alastor trusted that that would actually work.

He knows what that impulsive artificial-brained thing was capable of.

However, there was an issue with the new hotel! 

Lucifer. 

Or maybe Alastor. 

Yeah, definitely Alastor.

Lucifer had decided to move in, wanting to support his baby girl in every which-way possible! 

Obviously he’d still be busy with ‘Important things!’, (and his duties at King, even if no one actually knew what they were).

Alastor (for some reason) has zero tolerance for the King, acting as normal until the blonde breathes too loud. Or really just breathes. 

Charlie had inquired, wanting to sort it out between the two, Alastor giving no real answer. 

He seemed to love being an inconvenience when it suited him. 

It was just a normal day for the deer. Quietly humming as he cleaned up the mess his breakfast made before Nifty could see, not that it bothered her; he just hated the little dear fussing over some bloodstains when she could be exterminating a bug infestation a few floors up.

Not that they had those anymore. 

That’s something that bothers him. 

The hotel was just too tidy. 

Too neat.

Too put together.

He would often see the girl bored, running out of things to do.

If he could defeat the smile on his face, there would be a frown. He promised her a nice place to stay with lots too do! He just couldn’t break that. 

He had finished cleaning the blood stains, summoning some water to splash on the floor. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to let out a content hum. 

He was about to continue on when his door dramatically burst open, Lucifer standing there, something he couldn’t quite see in his hand. 

He looks… angry? 

“YOU!” The blonde spits through his teeth, clearly trying to suppress the fumes hidden in his tones.

Huh, it wasn’t exactly like The King to start one of their disputes. 

“What is it you want? I have more crucial things to tend to.”

He didn’t, he just knew he would take as much advantage of this moment as he could.

“Oh?” Lucifer steps in, closing the door, surprisingly more gently than someone so apparently angry would. Marching over to the deer, just in front of him. “Not before you tell me why THIS is headless!” He shoves his closed hand in Alastor’s face, opening his hand to reveal a little yellow… thing? 

“Excuse me? Do enlighten me, what may that yellow chunk be?” He chuckles a little, studying the deformed plastic in front of him. 

“You know exactly what this is!”

Lucifer retorts, snatching it away from his eyes, almost like the deer had lazers in them that would dishevel the poor thing any more. 

When Alastor raises an eyebrow, ever so slightly tilting his head in confusion, the King sighs. 

“It was my new creation.” He stares at the sad little blob in his hands,

“That little thi-”

“EXCUSE ME!” 

Lucifer cuts him off, not wanting to listen to whatever he was going to say.

“It would’ve been more than a ‘Little thing’ if you hadn’t taken it’s head off!”

Had he? Alastor couldn’t remember. He fairly doubts the severed plastic circle looks anything like what it started out with.

“Calm yourself, I’m sure that cat just toyed with it a little. I certainly haven’t come across any of your toys, let alone behead one,” He’s starting to regret wishing for him to get riled just a moment prior.

“Keekee? Now you’re just blaming anyone but yourself!” He huffs, 

“Well since your brain seems to be rotting along with your smell, THIS was a duck, before you destroyed it… Ahem! It had a top hat, and a bowtie,”

“Lucifer, I have no clue what-”

Alastor interrupts, but Lucifer is right back at him.

“And it had button eyes with yellow pupils.”

OH! That thing. He didn’t know ducks wore clothes these days.

“Oh, yes, I suppose I do know what you’re talking about..”

“AHA!” Lucifer suddenly bounces, Alastor jumping a little in surprise.

“Why did you DESTROY it?”

“It was looking at me an uncomfortable amount. You should’ve taught that thing better manners,” Lucifer gasps, 

“It was plastic!” 

He goes to hit Alastor’s arm, Alastor moving said arm at the same time, going to take the duck (?) thingy. Lucifer hitting his side instead. 

Despite there being atleast three layers in between his hands and his skin, yet he still felt himself straighten up instantly, hand flying back to cover his side,

Lucifer pauses.

Did he hurt him? 

But, the hit was too light.

Then.. why did he.. Oh.

OH!

It hit him, his clueless gaze turning to eyes full of mischief, a wide grin (not as wide as Alastor’s) creeping onto his face

“Waitwaitwait- You’re ticklish?!”

For being a radio host, Alastors not typically lost for words, but right now he internally flushes, tripping over his next phrase, knowing all the letters have to be carefully aligned, all said with certain effects to each syllable. But, in his brain trying to quickly figure out a sentence, it also realises that silence would equal to an almost definite wrecking. So, what does he put together with that knowledge?

“No.”

Well, he’s in for it! 

“Oh, you are so!” 

The broken duck was forgotten, disappearing into thin air with a little Pop And Alakazam™! 

The blonde jumping towards him, planting a tight squeeze to either of his sides, earning a radio feed back screech as he stumbles backwards,

“Lucifer! Get OFF OF M-”

He starts, antlers beginning to grow, before promptly slipping on the water he placed for Nifty, landing to the floor with a thud. Antlers immediately shrinking back to their original small form, along with any real hope of getting out of this.

He stares at Lucifer smirking at him, quickly taking advantage of his position, jumping ontop of him, pinning him down by the waist. 

“Lucifer, I took that hideous possum’s head off, yours will be next if you do not get yourself OFF of me in the following ten seconds.”

Lucifer just giggles. Maybe Alastor’s whole ‘threatening thing’ worked on other demons. But, he is the King Of Hell, why would he listen to some pompous sinner? 

So, he does what any normal being would! Take advantage of the moment!

He squeezes his side once again, a little   -POP-   coming from the demon.

“Sorry, Bambi, no can do. And, it was a duck!”

He squeezes up his side, watching Alastor’s face scrunch up, pressing himself against the wet floor. As if that would save him.

“I didn’t look much like-”

He’s cut off as he feels a little drag go down his stomach, static sounds starting to loudly whirr and pop around them. 

That was, until, Lucifer dipped his hand under his coat, his stomach getting light scribbles. 

He breaks, a little snort alighting from him, directly followed by little chuckles and giggles.

“Aw, that was so sweet! Does someone have a ticklish tummy?” He coos, dragging his words into baby-talk, watching the demon squirm under his claws,

“Yohou, shut it!”

Alastor was not pleased with the childish treatment, Lucifer just seemed to feed off of that. He playfully gasps,

“how dare you! And for that, you’re going to get the real ‘Tickle monster treatment’”

He casually tosses at him,

“Excuse me-”

He barely got that out before instantly being covered in fluttering fingers,

It would seem: ‘Tickle monster’ was the correct statement.

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

actually good cleaning hacks from someone who’s been through some shit

Get a steam mop I don’t care how much it is or cheap, just get one

if you have a pet invest in a wet dry vacuum, you will thank me.

get cleaning cloths you actually like the feel of, if you hate microfiber get a cheap set of tea towels and use them instead. Or chop up a dead tee shirt and use that.

plug in vacuums are 2x more powerful than non-plug in vacuums. You trade sucking power for mobility with cordless, so think that over when you get one.

buying a cheap mop every time one gets moldy is cheaper than having to deal with any mold you get from using a moldy mop.

invest in disinfectant/antifungal/antiviral/antibacterial liquid for your laundry, because that stuff makes getting rid of moldy musty musky shit easy. And it cleans your cleaning cloths without getting them greasy or soapy.

to fix “I accidentally left my clothes in the washing machine too long now they smell like mold” thing, you will need antifungal laundry liquid and the literal sun. Wash your clothes on the hottest setting you can with your clothing materials in mind, add the antifungal before you start, let it go for like 2 hours. And put it in the sun to dry. Repeat if it still smells moldy, until it doesn’t anymore, works like a charm!

to clean crystalline dog piss, you will need water, a steam mop, a wet dry vacuum (depending on if it’s in a carpet) dog cleaning spray or vinegar. Basically , rehydrate the piss, clean it up with dog spray or HOT vinegarish water, grab a steam mop and steam it (if not on carpet) and viola it should be okay now.

If it’s in the carpet you will need to rehydrate the piss, then just dowse the piss with water, use the wet dry vacuum to suck up the water, repeat until water comes up clean. Use whatever pet cleaner that’s good on your carpet to get the smell out, Patch test it in the corner of the carpet before you do it on the piss spot, soak up and remaining water from the carpet until it’s dry or blow dry it if you have to. And tada you have a cleaner carpet! The same works for dog shit too.

drain snakes are your best friend if you don’t remember to get the hair out the drain.

have one sponge for wiping down the sink and one for washing your dishes, because sometimes it’s easier to use a sponge to wipe down the sink than a cleaning cloth.

You can put sponges in the dishwasher and it cleans them REALLY WELL, do it everyday if you can.

Invest in a good glass cleaner for glass because when it gets greasy it’s hell.

Koh cleaner will literally cut through grease and oil, and fat. Like it wasn’t even there, if you don’t have the money white vinegar and bi-carbs does the same thing. Though be careful because it’s reactive and might destroy your countertop or pots, just invest in koh your life won’t be the same. (I can clean all the grease off things, that’s how good it works. Plus it doesn’t smell!!!)

Replace your toilet cleaner every 3 months, or make sure you don’t let it fester. That’s more of a hassle than replacing it every now and then.

Get a good dish soap, because you can use it for everything because of how mild it is.

After mopping always steam mop otherwise it will always be streaky or tacky, idk why but steam mops fix this 9/10 times.

there’s more, but I;m too tired.

[scorchedmizar]

I hope u dont mind me wanting to meet Lord Mizar and Alcor-

Using a small jewel Reyn was gifted, they decided to check out some new dimensions. They havent done it in a while, so instead of taking the long tedious route of researching safe dimensions by hacking into one-too-many of some of their friends saved files, they decided to randomize it. Their vision turned black as they traveled and the first thing they felt was a carpet underneath their feet. When they opened their eyes they were surprised to see the interior of a castle before them.

Reyn’s ref sheet is pinned and has more info if u need it-

A flash and- surprise surprise, another interdimensional traveler. Angel ever so cautiously makes his way over, a couple of books held loosely in his arms. He was already halfway away from the magic section so he'd have to walk all that distance back and then the Lord would get upset with him if he didn't find out who came by but he's also not just going to put the books on the floor because he hasn't cleaned it yet this week... So carrying them it is.

Ah, hello?

He almost has to remind himself to be wary sometimes. Most travelers are harmless and overall pleasant but... as his Lord has reminded him time and time again, quite literally anything could come from a portal.

@reyndesilly

[avvail-whumps]

TEMPTATION

cw: restraints, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumper, reluctant whumper, gore, blood

Riley stepped into the kitchen to find that the whumpee had been restrained to the ground, their hands twisted behind their back as the sniper’s boot dug painfully into their spine. He paused for a fraction of a second, the sniper’s head tilting towards him as he hung up the call, and tossed his phone on the kitchen counter. 

Riley’s eyes trailed down to the writhing whumpee, who was yelling and panting violently through the fabric stuffed inconsiderately into their mouth. His lips pressed into a thin line as he pocketed his phone. 

“So,” he hummed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. His hands slid into his pockets wearily. “Why’d you call?” 

The sniper ground his heel into the whumpee’s back just to feel them squirm, before his dark eyes met Riley’s, the mask concealing the bottom half of his face. His hands moved smoothly, making Riley squint. 

“Want you to hold them still,” the sniper signed, pointing to the whumpee on the floor. “Want to try something.” 

Riley stayed planted where he was, his expression wrinkling slightly as he tried to follow the motions of his hands, before shaking his head and sighing sharply. “You know I don’t understand what you’re saying, right?” 

The sniper’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Riley rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, avoiding those eyes. He had said he’d keep trying to learn, but it wasn’t easy when he’d been so busy helping the sniper with…these kinds of things. He cleared his throat, taking a hesitant step forward. 

“You need me to…get something?” He asked, and the sniper shook his head, pointing at the whumpee again. Riley hummed. 

“Hold them?” He guessed, and the sniper nodded his head once. Riley grimaced, but he had no choice but to do as he was told when he took his boot off their back. They immediately started squirming against the kitchen tiles, and Riley crouched down to gently grab their arms. 

“Hang on, stop moving,” he murmured softly under his breath, trying to somewhat console the sobbing whumpee in any way he could. His grip almost gave way when they thrashed violently, and he tightened his grasp with a small frown. “Fuck.” 

His eyes trailed up to the sniper, who signed a subtle “idiot.” 

“Careful,” Riley scoffed. “I know what that means.” 

He focused on trying to hold the whumpee down so they didn’t slip away, knowing that would end up in a bloodbath on the carpets, and the sniper would make him clean the stains.

Riley begrudgingly watched the sniper, who had taken out a glass and a rolling pin, and winced when he smashed it against the counter. He only stopped when they were tiny little shards, and gathered them up in his gloved hand. 

When he began making his way back towards the whumpee, Riley felt his stomach twist in dreaded realisation.

“Sniper, that’s going to make a mess,” he grit out, his face paling slightly when the gag was ripped out of the whumpee’s mouth, choosing to ignore him. Before the whumpee could even take a deep breath, the sniper was pushing the glass shards into their mouth, covering it firmly to prevent them from spitting it out. With a few applications of pressure on their own throat coaxing them to swallow, he finally removed his hand. 

Riley felt them hacking violently, each garbled intake of breath tearing their throat and their mouth up even further. He heard the tickle of some shards hitting the ground, surrounded in an ever growing pool of blood, their body writhing and frantically convulsing. 

Riley squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head aside as he kept a firm grip on their arms, not giving them a chance to move as they shook with choking shrieks.

“Shit,” he whispered shakily under his breath, his own throat swelling with this phantom pain as they continued to gag and heave mouthfuls of blood. He hated that it had lasted for so long, too, until he felt the moment their body slumped forward, the occasional sickening drip drop of blood from their lips hitting the tiles. 

The sniper had watched the whole thing contently, and when Riley finally found the strength to lift his head up, his eyes landing on him. Despite the mask, Riley could see he was smiling in satisfaction. 

“Let’s do that with the next one.”

[raineandsky]

#60

tw fire / arson

Debris falls from the sky like flaming rain. The villain’s laugh practically rings through the carnage.

The henchman rips the front door clean off of its hinges, coughing through the ash accumulating in the flat hallway. The smoke from the fires downstairs are already wafting through in here, throwing the entire flat into a blinding fog.

“Ma!” they call into the dense greyness, their reward being more dry hacking. They stumble further into the flat. There’s a voice further down, weak and feeble, and the henchman blindly follows it like a lighthouse at sea.

“Ma,” they try again on the threshold of the living room, careful to keep the taste of smoke out of their mouth this time. They can see her outline, just beyond the immediate haze.

“Come on, let’s get out.” They carefully pull her up from her spot on the sofa, haggard coughs wracking her frame just like they had the henchman a minute before.

“Oh, no, I’m waiting for someone,” she says with more optimism than a building on fire should allow. “One of the heroes will come and save us.”

The villain has driven out every hero within a ten mile radius, and any that didn’t take the hint were put six feet under. “No, Ma,” the henchman says a little desperately, “the heroes aren’t coming. We need to go before the building collapses.”

The henchman’s mother glances longingly out of the window. “They will. Just you wait.”

“We don’t have time to wait,” the henchman says a little desperately. 

“Heroes always appear in a nick of time. They have all the time in the world.”

The henchman manages to drag her to the front door. She frowns at the door laying on the tile like a red carpet to their escape. “What happened to my door?” she asks distantly.

They more or less drag their mother down three flights of stairs, eyes blurred with the burning smoke leading the way. Hurling the two of them out onto the dirty pavement outside is a relief for their lungs, but the blazing fire still licks at them from all angles. Something in the reception of the building collapses loudly behind them.

Most sane people have left by now—the streets are deserted save for the destruction slowly forcing its way through the city.

The henchman wraps hands around their mother’s arm in an attempt to get her moving. “Come on, Ma, we’re not out—”

“Ah, [Henchman], I was just wondering where you’d gotten to!”

The henchman’s heart stops momentarily. They turn to meet the expectant gaze of the villain, their eyes lit up at the sight of their mother in tow.

“You found a rogue civilian,” they comment smoothly, earning a sour scowl from the henchman’s mother. “Great work. She can give us some leeway with the agency.”

The villain doesn’t know who she is. Their mother doesn’t know they work with the villain. There’s no way to stop the two worlds colliding in a brilliant explosion that is the henchman’s life.

“Us?” the henchman’s mother spits, ice cold. “Who is us?”

“No, Ma, listen, it’s not—”

“Ma?” the villain interjects quickly, a smile pulling unnaturally at their lips. “Oh, [Henchman], you know the rules.”

“No, [Villain], please, listen—”

“You work with criminals,” their mother growls. “What did I do wrong for you to insult your upbringing like this?”

“That’s a great question,” the villain adds brightly, though their gaze is set, hard, on their henchman. “I wonder what you did wrong.”

Their contract: clause five, section eight—abandon all familiar relationships, in the event of their being caught in crossfire. Prevent grief to ensure your highest performance.

This situation couldn’t be more wrong.

The villain steps forward as the henchman is caught in their own thoughts. Their mother yelps as they wrangle her out of the henchman’s grip. “Now,” the villain says coolly. “I am going to get some information with our little hostage here, and you are going to learn what happens when you break the rules.”

A pair of handcuffs click shut around their mother’s wrists, much to her disgust. “You lock me up like I’m the degenerate here.”

The villain hums a laugh, giving her a hard shove to get her walking. They pause when they don’t hear the usual loyal footsteps trailing behind them, throwing a glance over their shoulder to the henchman.

“Do I need to retrain you like a dog?”

The henchman follows. They barely have a choice anymore.