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Chapter 5 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Joel is waiting on your porch holding a large toolbox when you jog up at ten past the hour.

“Sorry, I’m late, got held up.”

He glowers, rumbling in his deep Texas drawl. “I said five.”

“And I said I got held up,” you reply easily, bypassing him to unlock your front door. “The kitchen’s through here.”

He follows with an exaggerated hmph and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“There,” you say, pointing up at the kitchen ceiling, a spot just above the cabinets, running down the back wall. “I think there was a leak at some point. Pipes froze, maybe.”

He walks slowly up to the wall and splays a hand against the drywall, testing its solidity. “Bathroom’s upstairs?”

“Uh-huh. Right above this.”

“Sounds like you already know what the problem is,” he says over his shoulder. “Whaddya need me for?”

“I need to make sure the floor in the bathroom is sound. And…I was hoping you could help tear out the old insulation and re-insulate so the pipes don’t freeze again.”

He shakes his head. “I told you–”

“I know, the committee, but I’m sure I can get the insulation for trade, and if you have a few free hours–”

“I don’t.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard.

God, he will not make this easy.

“Okay. Fine. But can you at least look at the floor?”

He sighs, “Alright. Lead the way.”

You show him up the narrow staircase and into your bathroom. At the far end, a clawfoot tub and shower take up most of one wall. There’s barely enough room for both of you, so you let him go first. Yellowed stains creep up the floral wallpaper behind the tub, rippling across the floor underneath.

“If you step right here, you’ll see what I mean,” you squeeze tentatively past Joel in the tight space, using your foot to push down on the painted hardwood between the tub and the toilet.

You reach out to pull him toward you by the arm, but he jerks away as if burned by your touch.

“I can get it. Get outta there.”

You slide back out, hands up in mock defense, letting him take your place. He frowns at the dip in the wood when his boot puts weight on it, then stands up, hands on his hips, staring at the ceiling.

“Is there an attic in this place? Should check–”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’ve been up there. Just a bunch of junk. No water damage.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re sure? ‘Cause if there’s rain gettin’ in, there’s no point in fixin’ the floor until the roof is sealed up.”

“I’m sure. So...you think it’s safe, or…?”

“Only one way to find out,” he says, reaching for the toolbox and retrieving a hammer. He drives the claw into the wood and meets little resistance, pulling up on the first board, which bends too readily, like a twig. You wince as he goes back for more, ripping out three, four, five of the narrow oak planks like they were nothing. The subfloor underneath gives way just as easily.

“Yeah, that’s all rot,” he says, digging into the hole he’s made, shining a flashlight into the gap between the floor and the kitchen ceiling. “You’ve got a joist here to support the tub…but it’s half gone.

“You’ll have to take out the wall on this side,” he stands up with a muffled grunt, the sound of a man with sore knees. “Plumbing’s on this wall, prob’ly leaked down from here.”

“Well…shit. I hoped it wasn’t that bad,” you lie.

“Look, if it were me, I’d ask to be reassigned,” Joel says, tucking the hammer back in the toolbox. “No shortage of houses around here.”

“I know. I’ve just…I’ve grown attached to this place,” you say, letting your voice waver. Even better if he thinks you’re crying. “It’s the first time I’ve had a…a real home in a long time, y’know? ”

You expect him to roll his eyes at this overplayed sentimentality, but he doesn’t, just considers you with that unreadable expression. You drive the point home with a shaky, hiccupy little breath.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I can do the work. It’s not gonna be pretty, drywall don’t hold up and we don’t have much. I need time to get the supplies, but–”

“Thank you!” you burst in before he can finish. “I mean, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.” You squeeze his arm, and this time he doesn’t pull away, only flinches.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go usin’ that bath,” he nods toward the tub. “And I wouldn’t use the kitchen until we get the joist replaced.”

“It’s fine. I can shower at the clinic, and I’m no cook.” He scowls as though you’ve given too much information, but you press on. “How can I repay you? Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink,” he says. He’s already picked up the toolbox and is headed for the stairs.

“Well…think about it,” you tell him. “I owe you one.”

“Right.”

~*~

You thought cornering Joel into helping with your house would give you time to work your way into his good graces, but he doesn’t make it easy. When he’s not on patrol, he’s working on community projects, leaving only a handful of free evenings to focus on your house. You always seem to be working at the clinic during those times, and part of you wonders if that’s his intent.

In the meantime, you try to get information about Ellie through subtle questions of the community. You learn her schedule, and you know who she hangs out with, and where she volunteers, but no one seems to know anything about her past.

Over the next few weeks, you come home to find your kitchen walls stripped to the studs, a steel support post holding up the clean half of the rotted floor joist. The bathroom closed off with a tarp, a note stuck to the blue vinyl.

Mold. Stay out.

He’s left an old plastic joint compound bucket on the floor, the implication clear.

What a gentleman.

He always sweeps up, wipes down the dust, and stacks his salvaged supplies and tools out of the way before he leaves. He takes out the rotted innards of your bathroom in fat black contractor bags.

You occasionally cross paths with him as he’s packing up to go, and each time you try to engage him in conversation, he answers in monosyllabic grunts and makes a wide arc around you to get to the door. Too many evenings like this and you realize you need to step it up, or the project will be finished before you’ve had a chance to learn his middle name. So on a particularly slow night, you feign a headache and leave the clinic in Shiela’s capable hands.

The whine of a saw echoes down the hall as you close your front door. You hear Joel’s low voice talking from the kitchen and you move toward the sound, keeping your steps quiet, feeling like an intruder in your own house. Through the doorway, you’re surprised to see Ellie at his side, both of them crouched over something behind the kitchen island.

“You keep your fingers clear, hand on the grip; no, not like that. It’s not a pistol. Here,” he reaches over and adjusts her grip on the drill. “This is forward. This is reverse.”

“Righty tighty, lefty loosey,” Ellie says. “I got it, I got it.”

Joel grunts. “You want a ninety-degree angle or the screw’ll get stripped. Put some muscle into it–”

There’s a mechanical whirr as the drill springs to life, the grinding of metal on metal. Then from Ellie, “Ah, shit.”

“It happens, try again,” Joel says. His voice is soft, and patient, lacking his usual gruffness.

“Hey–”

The pair startles, standing and wheeling around. You recognize the soft snick of a switchblade opening at Ellie’s side.

“Whoa, sorry,” you say. “It’s just me, I got the night off, I thought maybe you could use a hand–”

“We’re good,” Joel snaps.

“Yeah, I see you’ve got it covered,” you say, turning to the girl. “Hey, Ellie. How’s it going?”

“It’s fine,” Ellie says, shrugs. “I read those comics. They were pretty good. Maybe not as good as Savage Starlight , but still…pretty good, yeah.”

She’s wearing a purple t-shirt and her sweatshirt is piled with Joel’s jacket on the kitchen island. You step forward into the room, eyeing her exposed, scarred arm.

“So…what’s the damage?” you ask, turning to Joel.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, looking up to the ceiling, where the drywall has been torn out to expose the underside of the bathroom subfloor.

“There was mold in the bathroom drywall and the floor’s rotted out about five feet from the wall. The joist’s gonna need to be replaced, but that’s a two-man job. I might be able to talk Tommy into helpin’, but he’s got a new kid so...” He trails off as if he’s offered too much personal information, wiping his hands on a rag before tucking it into the pocket of his jeans.

“This should hold her ‘til we can get a crew in here to replace the joist. But no baths, I don’t trust this thing with that kinda weight,” he says, gesturing to the temporary support.

“You calling me fat?”

“What?” For a moment Joel looks panicked, then he rolls his eyes. “I mean a tub that size weighs a shit-ton and you fill it with fifty gallons of water, you got yourself a problem. It’s a miracle the damned thing hasn’t already fallen through.”

He continues to detail the project status, but your attention drifts back to Ellie, who’s playing with the cordless drill, holding it out in front of her like a gun. This puts her arm on full display, and now you’re close enough to see the snaking, vining cordyceps blisters under the skin, the imprint of someone’s dental work in the flesh.

“I won’t have the insulation ‘til next week, Tommy says there’s some extra up in the rec center but god knows what condition it's in. Salvage runs don’t usually turn up anything worth a shit…”

There’s no mistaking it; that’s an infected bite…

No wonder FEDRA wants this kid , you think, a cold seed of certainty planting itself in your stomach.

Suddenly Joel is in your face, stepping between you, pushing you back. “Ellie, go home.”

“But–”

“ I said go home .”

“Fucking hell, man,” Ellie huffs, snatching her sweatshirt off the counter and stalking out of the room.

He waits until you hear the front door slam before he speaks, slowly and deliberately cutting his words. “I know what you’re doing,” he growls, still standing too close; you can feel an angry heat coming off his body, the faintest kiss of his breath on your face, and your back is inches from the wall.

You hate to admit it, but you’re almost turned on.

“And what is that, exactly?” you counter. “Treating your kid? Trying to get to know my neighbors? What exactly am I doing that’s so fucking objectionable, Miller?”

He seems taken aback at your sudden venom, the use of his name. There’s a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes, but it quickly turns dark. “She’s not your friend. We don’t need no friends,” he hisses, the Texan drawl thick with agitation. “Just…back off.”

You gape at him, barking a laugh. “Wow. You’re a piece of work, you know that? Does this moody, macho-bad-boy thing go for everyone? Or am I just that fucking special?”

“I’m…” he starts, swallowing hard. You wait for the rest, but it doesn’t come. He scowls, and you feel him edge back. The rush of cool air between your bodies should be a relief.

He doesn’t clean up, doesn’t grab his tools, just shoulders his way around you and out the door.

You seethe, barely containing a sudden urge to break your fist on the wall while pretending it’s Joel’s stupid face. You settle for a few deep breaths, unsure if you’re truly irritated with him, or with yourself for letting the arrogant asshole get under your skin.

The headache you were supposedly faking has manifested behind your eyes, and you don’t fall asleep for a long time.

~*~

He’s standing on your front porch in the morning, blocking the doorway as you’re leaving for the clinic. He jumps, caught off guard when you open the door and find him there, looking lost.

“What–”

“What are you–”

You speak at the same time, cutting each other off.

“I live here,” you say, feeling a fresh prickle of ire reseat itself in the pit of your stomach. “What’s your excuse?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I…yeah.” Joel rubs at the back of his neck, visibly agitated. There’s a long silence before he finally mutters, “I wanted to apologize.”

Another long pause.

“By all means, go ahead,” you prompt.

His eyes narrow. “...what?”

“You said you wanted to apologize, but I didn’t hear an apology,” you smirk, knowing you’re being pedantic, but it feels too good to watch him squirm.

He gapes, mouth opening and closing for a few delicious seconds before he huffs. “Whatever. Need my stuff.”

He invites himself in, barreling past you and straight toward the kitchen. You follow on his heels. You don’t know you’re going to ask the question until it’s out of your mouth.

“Christ, Miller, why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He’s kneeling, shoving tools and supplies into the toolbox with force, but his head snaps up at your words.

“Shut your damn mouth,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

But you can’t stop yourself. You’ve spent the night tossing and turning, angry at yourself for how much you’ve let this stupid man get to you, and now you have him cornered.

“You get off on being a dick? Is that it?”

He’s suddenly on his feet, crossing the distance between you in two long strides. He’s so fucking close you can feel his body practically vibrating with rage. His eyes bore into yours, lit by an angry flame.

You sneer. “You wanna hit me, big man? Go right the fuck ah–”

His mouth descends on yours before you can comprehend it: The press of lips, the hard clack of his teeth, the scrape of stubble against your chin. Rough and hungry, almost needy, the kiss shocks you into a numb silence.

Your hands come up to his chest, pushing him away, too stunned to speak. You’re both breathing hard. He licks his lips, watching you, something unknowable flicking across his face before he turns, grabs his toolbox, and walks out.

What…the fuck.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, to make sense of this strange and abrupt shift, when you hear his boots thudding on the hardwood floor. He re-enters the kitchen and looks at you, flushed and contrite.

“I shouldn’t’ve done that,” he says roughly. “That’s not–”

You don’t let him finish. You turn and grab him by the collar of his flannel, throwing yourself against him, meeting his ferocity with your own. You kiss him with tongue and teeth and bite, pleased when he doesn’t pull away when his hands find your hips and dig into the soft flesh.

That’s more like it.

You tug at his belt buckle with skilled fingers and have it off before he knows what’s happening. He moans into your mouth when you bite his lower lip. You soothe the nip with your tongue, diving in, tasting him.

“Fuuuuck,” he hisses, hands fumbling at the waist of your scrubs. You help, undoing the front tie, letting the soft fabric slip down your legs. You anchor your arms around his neck and he takes the hint, pulling you up so you can wrap your legs around him. He turns you both around, slamming your back against the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

More fumbling as he works his jeans down his hips–a challenge with you hanging off him, but somehow you manage. His breath is on your neck, the painful nip of his teeth at the hollow where your jaw meets your ear. Your panties are roughly pushed aside and he’s inside you, thick and hot, too full, too fast. You bite your lip to avoid crying out.

Braced against the wall, he thrusts into you, your head hitting the wall with each thrust. His brow furrows, head down in concentration, and you run your hands down his back, muttering encouragement.

“Yeah, that’s right baby, fuck me,” you hiss, and his hand grips your jaw, covering your mouth, his eyes meeting yours in a silent warning as he punctuates his intent with a hard thrust.

Not a talker, should have known, you think, letting your teeth graze his palm, tasting salt.

You breathe, trying to stay open, to let him use you. A pleasant burn settles low in your abdomen as you get used to his invasion, but you’re barely there, just a vessel for him to fill.

His pace speeds up and you feel the telltale tensing in his back, his neck. Suddenly you’re unmoored, almost dropped, sliding down the wall. He turns away with a grunt, finishing in his hand. The emptiness between your legs throbs, half pain, half unsated desire.

There’s a long silence as the proverbial dust settles in around you. You feel a happy surge of triumph. After days of trying to breach his stony exterior, he’s finally in your territory.

“Miller–”

“I’m clean,” he says, moving to the sink, turning on the tap. His face is flushed, whether from embarrassment or arousal, you’re not sure, but his eyes are soft.

“Good. So am I,” you say brusquely, plucking your scrubs from the floor, pulling them up, and cinching them at your waist. “So this doesn’t need to be a one-time thing.”

He shakes his head, not meeting your gaze. “I’m not lookin’ for anything.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as if this encounter was the start of a romance, a prelude to anything but more fucking.

Barely passable fucking, at that.

“Neither am I,” you say. “But I have some experience with…relieving tension.”

This is as close as you’ll come to revealing your hand, letting your real-life identity bleed into this one. Not something you do as a general rule, but under the circumstances, you’ll take the risk.

He arches an eyebrow, and the expression is such a drastic difference from his stony glare that you allow yourself to admit that he’s incredibly attractive. He’s muscled from years of hard labor, hair just on the edge of salt and pepper, and when he’s not scowling, his eyes have a dark, seductive, come-fuck-me look that makes your stomach do pleasant somersaults.

“It’s a trade economy, right?” you continue, moving around him to wash your hands, smoothing loose strands of hair behind your ears. “Consider it a trade for work on the house. Payment for services rendered.”

He doesn’t respond, looks so confused that you have to bite back a smile, but you know he’ll take the bait. The desperation in his eyes, the frantic way he’d pushed inside you–this is a man who hasn’t had a physical connection in months, maybe years.

“Think about it,” you say flatly. “I’m late for work.”

You leave him standing in your kitchen, his belt buckle still undone.

~*~

He has you again two days later. You return from the clinic to find him in the bathroom on his back, wedged between the toilet and the tub. He grunts in acknowledgment when he hears you come in but doesn’t look at you, intent on his work.

“You’re missing a shutoff valve for the shower. I’m not a plumber,” he says gruffly. “But I can do the work if we find the right fitting.”

“Oh?” you feign interest, seeing an opportunity, stripping off your scrub top and tossing it in the hamper.

“You’ve got three different kinds of pipe in here and they’re held together with fuckin’ bubblegum and spit,” he grumbles, as though the shoddy craftsmanship is somehow your fault. “No point in insulating until I clean this up and get the valve in, it’ll just leak again and you’ll be shit outta–”

When he finally sits up and looks at you, you’re standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a bra and panties. The nice ones.

“...luck,” he finishes, lips parting, eyes dark with desire, a catch in his breath. You bite back a smirk.

Men are so fucking easy.

“Wash up,” you say. “I’ll be in the bedroom.”

There’s the brief sound of running water as you wait for him on the bed, then his footsteps over the threshold. He looks nervous, unsure, as though he hadn’t just taken you up against the wall two days ago.

You crawl to the edge of the bed, reaching out to undo his belt, and his jeans, sliding them down over narrow, muscled hips and thighs. He’s already half hard, not bad for a guy pushing sixty. You take him in your hand, watching his lids grow wanton, heavy with lust. You move to take him in your mouth, but he grunts and pushes you back on the bed, gripping your thighs to pull your hips flush with his. He’s inside you before you’re fully ready, and the sensation is more pain than pleasure.

Your hands come up under his shirt, running your fingers over the warm brown skin, the softness of his abdomen in sharp contrast to the hardness between your legs. You feel the edges of a scar.

A bite?

He’s lost in you so deeply, thrusting and churning, hips snapping against yours. He doesn’t notice you pulling the shirt up at first, doesn’t see you run your fingers around the outline of the bright pink, welted crescent.

“Fuck, so fuckin’…tight…”

Not a bite , you think, no teeth marks . Your doctor’s mind is already calculating the possibilities. Stab wound, maybe. Not a blade, too jagged.

He stills as he realizes what you’re doing, eyes meeting yours in furious betrayal before slapping your hands away. He pulls out of you with a low, angry growl, and strong arms flip you onto your stomach, gripping your hips where he’d bruised you yesterday. He re-enters you hard enough to take the breath from your lungs. His sharp, angry thrusts elicit a harsh cry from your throat, and this only serves to make him move faster.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he snarls. “Showin’ off your tits. Think you’re…so…fuckin’...smart…”

“You kiss your kid with that mouth, Miller?”

“Don’t,” he growls, a guttural warning, and you fight the urge to laugh as an almost vicious thrust pitches you forward, your hands splaying in the sheets to keep yourself upright. His fingers thread their way through your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat. His hand on your scalp is almost intimate, the way it kneads the tender skin, and you find yourself moaning with pleasure.

Before you can truly enjoy it, he pulls out and finishes with a groan on your back, warm liquid seeping down the crack of your ass.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” you half laugh, half pant over your shoulder.

“What?” He’s pulling up his pants, fumbling with the belt buckle.

“Payment for services rendered.”

He glares at you and huffs an angry breath, but his final word is a whisper.

“Yes.”

~*~

There is a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. You learn more about Joel during these brief encounters than you have the rest of the months you’ve lived in Jackson.

He likes you up against the wall, or on your hands and knees, fast and rough. He never completely removes his clothes, just enough to get the job done, his flannel shirts like armor guarding his heart.

He never undresses you, either, never does so much as pull down your panties, preferring to push them aside.

He likes you to be silent, but he has a dirty mouth. He smells like wood smoke and sweat and gunpowder.

He hasn’t kissed you since that first time. When you try, he pushes you away, turns you around, and takes you from behind. He won’t let you go down on him. Maybe he’s not into that, you know some guys aren’t, but you suspect it’s too personal, too intimate. Too vulnerable.

He never, ever comes inside you.

Somehow you think this isn’t what your superiors had in mind when they told you to find out who this guy’s daughter is, but it’s progress.

“Y’know, you don’t have to pull out,” you say, wiping ejaculate off your stomach with a tissue. You’re tired of washing his come out of your nice underwear, your bedclothes, your hair.

He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling on his boots. You feel him pulling away, as always, and it’s a desperate move to try to keep him just a little longer, to edge your way into the cracks in his stony facade.

He scoffs at this, shaking his head, pulling the laces tight with a snap .

“I know condoms are hard to come by,” you continue evenly, the crisp voice of a practiced physician reciting rote facts, “but there’s no risk of pregnancy.”

He stiffens but doesn’t turn to look at you. “And I’m s’posed to believe that?”

You bristle, surprised to find this lack of trust stings…a little.

“What, you think I want a kid with you? You think I want a kid in…in this ?” you scoff, gesturing outside. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miller. I just hate doing laundry.”

“Accidents happen,” he grumbles, and you get the sense he speaks from experience.

“Was she an accident?” you ask, trying to imagine a younger Joel’s strong, calloused hands cradling the tender skull of a newborn Ellie, but you can’t picture it.

“Ellie? She ain’t mine.”

Oh.

You’ve touched on something, you’re so close you can taste it. What’s more, he doesn't leave immediately. He seems to be lost in thought, defenses down. He’s rubbing absently at his arm, his shoulder, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his collarbone.

“Well,” you say, clipped and final, “I haven’t had a period since I was 25. There are no accidents here.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression; is that sadness…or pity? You don’t like the feeling it stirs in you, the twist in your gut. You suddenly wish you hadn’t started this conversation, hadn’t bared this much of yourself. It’s sloppy.

He opens his mouth as if to reply, but you’re unable to meet his eyes. You climb off the bed and head for the bathroom. Cold water on your face brings you back to yourself as you wipe off with a rough washcloth, then pull on your jeans and a soft, worn t-shirt.

Fuck. Too close.

By the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s standing in the hall. He looks like he wants to tell you something, and you meet his eyes, silently pleading.

Don’t.

Seconds pass, and you can almost see the moment his expression shutters, closes up, and suddenly he’s Joel Miller again, the neighborhood asshole. He scowls and makes for the stairs.

“You wouldn’t know it,” you say, in a desperate move to regain the upper hand, to find your footing on the roiling ground beneath you.

He stops on the first step but doesn’t turn around. “Wouldn’t know what?”

“That she’s not yours.”

~*~

When he’s gone, you walk up to the attic to check for new transmissions on the recorder.

You follow a straightforward procedure: Play back the tape, log the messages on a notepad, then wipe the tape for next time. You stash the logs at the bottom of one of the boxes of junk in the back of the attic. If someone did find the radio up here, you could get away with telling them it’s a hobby.

She ain’t mine.

His words ring in your ears.

Was the girl kidnapped? She doesn’t act like a victim, but maybe she was taken before she was old enough to understand what was happening. Maybe she has only ever known Joel as a father, and the mother is out there trying to find her. Were you chasing after some petty custody battle?

You brush the idea aside. You can’t imagine why FEDRA would care, and it doesn’t explain the scars on her arm.

You finish your notes and store them for the night, left with more questions than answers.

#the last of us hbo #the last of us #fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel and ellie

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thewizardtower · 10 months

Note

Unsolicited…

You've got a really overwhelming situation. It’s a bit ancillary to my irl job (env health and industrial hygiene), so I wanted to toss some thoughts to the void to maybe make it less heavy? (Def feel free to disregard and delete)

Since the AC is too large for the house, the house will stay too humid because the AC doesn’t have time to “dry” out the air – it’ll kick on and off too quickly instead of running for awhile. I’m guessing this is also contributing to the fire hazard (power cycling of the unit). You may be able to find a company that will trade the unit for a more appropriate one, which could help recoup some of the costs for a new system, or maybe local rebates with the power utility provider if the new unit has a heat pump, or just for being smaller and consuming less energy overall (spitballing ideas)

If you have a dehumidifier (bit spendy), you can put this in affected areas to help the problem from getting worse. For an attic, you can try placing it near a central air intake or exhaust inside of the house, like near vents or the furnace, to try and catch the airflow (if you put the central air furnace to ‘recirculate’). Changing your furnace filters monthly if you don't already should also help with air quality.

Mildew will stain, like the plywood and drywall in the attic, but if it’s dry, it shouldn’t grow. You can also spray surfaces in a diluted bleach solution to help manage it. Just a small bottle of plain bleach (none of those silly laundry kinds) and a spray bottle. An N95 respirator and long sleeve shirt/pants would be a good idea if you go into the attic, but mostly for fiberglass (if you don’t have blown insulation) and potential critter dust (mouse droppings, esp if you’re in a rural area, which I assume if you have a well)

A “hot attic” will be that (hot), but it shouldn’t be “humid”. If it is, it might be worthwhile to visually check your roof or attic and make sure the PO didn’t leave you with a crappy roof and soffit venting set-up, or that the vents weren’t block by wasps, critters, etc.

Sending the best vibes I can, from one broke Millennial to another

Gotta stick together to survive in this shitty capitalist hellscape

Bless you honestly. 🙏🥺 Thank you for this advice! I'm definitely going to use the bleach solution on the mold.. it's everywhere and all into my insulation.

Exactly everything you said is what the repair guy just told me lol that's exactly why there's mold. The previous owners installed a gigantic unit for whatever unknown reason. Unfortunately the AC unit is roughly 20 years old, so I can't trade it in for anything because all the parts and coolant supplies it uses are no longer on the market/viable. We were able to measure what kind of AC unit we'd need and the smaller unit brought the cost down from $13k to...$11.6k. So, not much, but still a little. (I've been considering asking for ko-fi donations since I'm honestly and truly desperate, but I first need to wrestle the part of my brain that doesn't allow me to ask for help first lol).

Thank you, anon, for your advice on this. It truly means a lot to me that you took the time to reach out! People like you make being a poor millennial a little bit easier. Seriously, bless you.

#ty so much you kind soul

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pastafossa · 2 years

Note

Hey!! Now I’m straight up terrified every time I read the word fibreglass - do you have a post explaining how all of this happened and how we can avoid it?

Typed out the answer, and if you'd also like to see the posts as they occurred in real time, I've gathered them all up:

Major Fiberglass Nightmare Posts Sections

Answering the question now and it’s long so imma put the wall in

Honestly I can't say I don't relate because I'm kinda traumatized by the fiberglass now and therefore experience a certain amount of visceral chills every time I hear someone say the word. Ironically, it started really innocuously with this post here which was just a brief, casual, entirely unsuspecting update that I threw out for anyone interested, and from there it just began to spiral. That's why there's no real easy way to jump from part one to two and three, because for a little while there was no realization that anything was wrong. Essentially ya'll got to watch me breathe it in, get sick, and then discover in real time that my entire room had been coated in fiberglass dust. It's almost surreal looking back at those early posts now, tbh. How This Happened: The house I moved into is almost 100 years old so my attic bedroom had no insulation (unlike the rest of the house), since a lot of that space up there was DIY'd, but there was no reason to think this phase of reno would be any different than the other phases. Hell, I hired the (well rated) insulation company for spray-in insulation, and had no plans for fiberglass, which is why I left a lot of my stuff up there uncovered. I was told that was fine, and this would be easy - they'd come in for one day, punch a few small holes in the walls to spray the insulation in, then patch the holes up. I didn't need to cover or move anything, and I'd be able to sleep up there that night. And in fairness, they did that right. Those areas are fine. But there was a section of the walls that had weird joists and that section couldn't use the spray-in. That's where they decided to use fiberglass, and that's where they fucked up. And they fucked up in so many ways, all of which essentially piled up on top of each other to make this into a real nightmare.

These are the things the shitty company did that I'd warn people about if they're looking to avoid a similar situation:

They left the floor vents uncovered/unsealed, which blew the fiberglass dust around my room. They also left my portable AC unit blowing, AND my fan, which worked with the vents to essentially blast the dust up into the air and blow it all over and across every surface.

They were, I believe now, in a rush to get things done in one day. Before I could even ask if I needed to take things out of my room (or at least cover them), they'd already taken the fiberglass up. Taking things out like my bed or my furniture, my plushes, my clothes on their hanging racks, would have taken up time. So instead, they left it all uncovered and exposed to the dust. This is a huge one - so much of this could have been prevented if they'd taken my things out (or even let me take them out!) so that all that would have needed to be cleaned was the floor and walls. I also wouldn't have lost any of my belongings.

They lied about ease of cleanup. Despite the fact that they put on tyvek suits and respirators and gloves to install the fiberglass, they told me that there'd be 'just a little dust' for me to cleanup as it settled over the next few days, and that all I had to do was sweep and dust. As I found out later, this isn't just bad advice - this is actively dangerous advice. Anyone cleaning up fiberglass should not, under any circumstances, try to dry sweep and dust - this just throws the dust up into the air. The INSTALLERS are meant to clean everything up with heavy-duty vacuums with HEPA filters, as well as clean up using a wet-mop. Whatever you're using to clean has to be either wet or a powerful, HEPA vacuum, because anything else will throw it in the air.

Oh hey, so you're also advised to wear a respirator (please remember they also told me I could sleep up there THAT NIGHT - which essentially left me to breathe in fiberglass unprotected), gloves, and goggles to deal with the fiberglass. None of which I was told. I was just told, repeatedly, even after calling the company to tell them about all the fiberglass dust, 'it's just a little dust, you just need to sweep and dust a little. It's safe.' Rot in hell you lying fuckers

According to my friends who have experience in contracting - you are not meant to be the one to clean fiberglass up. It never, ever should have been left to me. Fiberglass is a hazardous substance, it is fucking vicious, and it requires knowledge and training to clean up safely, which the company should have done for me. You can try to clean it up on your own, and some people have to because they either don't have a company nearby that can do hazardous cleanup or because they can't afford it, but it's a nightmare that takes ages (*gestures at how long it took me even with help*). I'm not sure I'd ever have been able to get that room cleaned up on my own.

In short, if you're looking to avoid this happening: at this point if you're ever looking to have insulation put in, do whatever you can to avoid fiberglass. There are easier, safer alternatives. If you do wind up needing to have fiberglass insulation put in:

Make sure the company or person you use has experience with fiberglass. The ones who knew what they were doing have been baffled at just how badly the insulation installers fucked up my room. Do not be afraid to ask them questions - ask them what their safety precautions are, ask them how they'll keep it contained, ask them about cleanup. Hell, tell them you have sensitive lungs if you think it'll help them take it seriously.

Get your shit out of the room, first off. EVERYTHING. Just in case there's a fuckup. Do not assume they'll do everything right. This will also ensure it's as easy as possible to mop and wipe down the walls from end to end.

Make sure the air vents are closed (and a good insulation company will make sure those vents are closed). You want the dust to be able to settle. Don't allow a fan or ac unit to run up there, either, obviously.

Invest in a decent flashlight (you'll need to hunt for the dust and strands of fiberglass) and a good HEPA air filter to pull that shit out of the air if it's there.

I don't care if they say they vacuumed and cleaned. Examine it, hunt for fiberglass, and then run through cleanup even if you find nothing. Mop from end to end, wipe down the walls and all surfaces with something wet (in all my research, vinegar helps break down fiberglass, so invest in some for cleaning and mopping). Do this for days. Wear a mask, good gloves, long sleeves and long pants to protect your skin if you even THINK there's some dust left. Shower the second you leave that space - and shower cold to start. You need to close your pores to stop the fiberglass strands going any deeper, and only after a few minutes should you let the water warm up some to wash away any remaining strands.

Document document document. I'm not just talking pictures. I'm talking video, too, of any issues you find. Record any phone calls if it's legal in your area, and if it isn't then write down EXACTLY how the conversation went with dates and names and times. Get shit in writing, save emails so you have a paper trail ("I'm just emailing to confirm the details of the conversation we had about -insert issue-"). Cover your bases because if you wind up with a company like mine, they'll happily fuck you over and you'll be left holding the bag like I was.

In short... fuck fiberglass. And I hope the above helps if you ever need anything done with fiberglass. It is absolutely not something to fuck around with, and I am still having to throw things away RIP nightstand i finally gave up on and threw out yesterday. Sadly a lot of it could have been prevented if they'd had even a modicum of care, and yet here we are. Hopefully I can use it to help other people avoid the same nightmare happen, though.

Major Fiberglass Nightmare Posts, Part:

#ask response #the ongoing fiberglass nightmare #i'm reaching the end but it's been such a goddamn disaster #hopefully all of this *waves* helps #i'm so fucking sick of fiberglass and I'll never let that shit into my house again for what it's worth #RIP nightstand i had to throw out the other day because i just could not get the dust out of the crevice #like is fiberglass USEFUL yes #it does its job as intended #but it is such a nasty insidious vicious substance #it may not cause cancer or shit but it's painful and miserable and it gets everywhere and it's a nightmare to clean #imo better to avoid if at all possible and if NOT possible to avoid then take every gd precaution you can

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0l0x · 1 year

Photo

My family doesn’t believe me when I say my mom is demented, so I’ve started photo documenting the demented shit going on. This is just one such incident out of million.

These water-damaged asbestos ceiling tiles are obviously hanging on by a thread. Above them is a ton of highly flammable insulation. Below them is a wood stove that is used almost every day. Anyone with half of a fucking brain can see that these tiles NEED to be taken down immediately because it’s a massive fire hazard if they fall on their own.

My mom would not let me take them down. She left them like this for MONTHS and made up the most bullshit excuses you’ve ever heard in your life as to why they “can’t” be removed. Excuses that make no sense whatsoever. She made these excuses because she hates change and loss of control over the hoard/dysfunction around her. You’re probably thinking “but that doesn’t make any sense”, and you’d be right. It doesn’t make sense because she is profoundly mentally ill. Her sense of reality is severely distorted.

“What are you going to do when they fall down on their own, mom?” I asked. “That insulation is going to go up like the fourth of july and you’re barely mobile, you won’t be fast enough to put it out or get out of the house before the fire gets out of control.”

And her answer? “That won’t happen” or “I’ll take care of it”. No plan whatsoever.

“Why can’t I take them down?” I asked.

She answers, “Because it’ll expose me to all the dust in the attic! I have COPD!”

I argue, “You’re ALREADY being exposed to all that dust and worse, because the hole is already open.”

She throws out another excuse, “Mice will come in the house!”

I argue, “Mice are already coming into the house from all the other holes, and again, this hole is already open. Nothing is stopping them from coming in as we speak.”

She argues, “It’ll make a big mess!”

I argue, “It’s going to make a much bigger mess if you just let this crap fall on its own, which is what you’re apparently planning to do.”

Then she tries to shut me down with the same old, “You’re being mean to me! I have heart problems and you’re making them worse by arguing with me! Just leave it alone! It’s my house, do as I say!”

We’ve been arguing about this stupid situation for months. The other day I had enough. She left to go to a doctor’s appointment and left the woodstove burning, totally unattended, with this huge fire hazard dangling right above it. I put out the fire, put on a respirator, and got to work. It only took 10 minutes and didn’t even make a mess. I didn’t take “after” pictures but it’s a hell of a lot safer now, no more dangling tiles and falling insulation.

She was furious with me when she got home. I got chewed out over the phone and then again in person, told that I’m a bad daughter and I never listen, that I’m bullying her, etc...No amount of logic or reason could convince her that this was a positive change and that her house is safer now. I apparently “ruined everything” and I’m “destroying her house”.

She’s at that stage of dementia where she’s lucid enough to fool people who don’t live with her. But if you spend any significant amount of time around her, you realize just how fucked up and completely dysfunctional her mind is. I feel so gaslit because when I do things like this, she tells the family I’m “bullying her” and they believe her. They only hear her distorted version of reality, they don’t see what is actually going on here.

She plays the victim in every single situation. Even if she’s being stupid and antagonizing you, the moment you stand up for yourself she will act like you’re the bully and do this whole woe-is-me pathetic song and dance, then tell everyone what a bad person you are. It’s so fucking exhausting. This isn’t even a dementia thing, she’s always been like this my whole life.

She just wants everyone to kiss her ass and do everything she tells them to do, even if it’s dangerous or impossible. The SLIGHTEST bit of disagreement or resistance causes her to flip out. She demands 100% blind obedience from everyone around her, at all times. She expects everyone to drop everything they’re doing and tend to her whims immediately, then throws a fit and acts like a victim when you refuse. Even if the thing she wants you to do is literally impossible, she decides you’re just “being mean” to her by “refusing” to do it.

I do so much for her. I do everything for her. I literally save her life from the dangerous, stupid decisions she makes every single day, and all I get in return is a big middle finger every time.

Ugh.

2/1/2023

#journal #renovation

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electricbluebutterflies · 1 year

Note

Chris/Melissa + “it’s okay. i promise you, i will be here when you wake up.”

Or, in which a bat (the kind with wings) gets lost. Post-s6 domestic fluff, PG-ish, also on ao3.

The weird noises have started again.

A few years ago this wouldn’t have been a problem. A few years ago, when Melissa still innocently believed that human beings were at the top of the food chain and when she did not live alone, she would’ve ignored whatever the hell it is until something actually broke. She is under no such delusions now, and she’s the only person in the house most nights, and…

It is slightly past one in the morning, and the baseball bat next to her nightstand doesn’t feel like enough protection, nor does the taser in her purse. Screw this.

At least she has viable options now on these strange nights. She is not alone in the grand scheme of things, and it is easy enough to justify herself as she gives up on falling asleep anyways and instead reaches for her phone. None of this is inappropriate, she reminds herself, none of this is even new, none of this is-

Chris picks up on the second ring, and that worries her a little but that worry can get compartmentalized for sometime later.

“Mel-“

“Something in my attic is making weird noises,” she says before this can turn into some kind of panic spiral. Not that she’d ever know if it did, that man is frightfully stoic, but-

“What kind of weird noises?” he asks, sounding just a little calmer.

“Weird. Similar to the time we had a raccoon problem, but not definitely a raccoon problem, and loud enough that it’s either deal with the damn things now or I’m sleeping on the couch where I can’t hear it. Can you… can you come over and help?”

It’s a strange request in the middle of the night directed at someone she’s very casually involved with, she’s well aware, but… at the same time it really isn’t. His desire to be in her life was made apparent well before an emotional or physical component was visibly added, and she knows there’s some guilt involved that she’s probably taking advantage of and she’s decided she doesn’t care. It’s nice to have a partner who isn’t useless in a crisis. She could get used to this, if it lasts. She could-

“I’ll be there in ten. You’re upstairs, yes?”

“Hiding under blankets in my bedroom.”

“Stay put and call me if anything changes.”

She can follow instructions well enough, and the next ten minutes or so pass with a little less anxiety. Probably raccoons, she repeats to herself. They had a problem with those a few years ago, and maybe it was bad form to ask the boys to handle it then but they were already getting bigger than her and all she did was give them an air horn and a tennis racket, and nobody got hurt, and-

She hears the correct pattern of noises downstairs, a key in the lock – she will never ask which of her surrogate children enabled that habit last year – and the right sort of footsteps coming her general direction, and now a different fear asserts itself.

To say that the relationship has moved slowly would be a drastic understatement. There is mutually understood intent, yes, but neither is inclined to rush into anything. For intents and purposes, they are friends who occasionally kiss each other goodbye, not anything close to lovers, not…

Point being, this will be the first time Melissa lets her new partner into her bedroom, and until twenty minutes ago she’d always thought that would happen under slightly more romantic circumstances. As it is she’s clearly not dressed or mentally prepared to turn this into a seduction, but-

A knock on her door is enough to at least get her moving. “Coming!” Oh, she doesn’t expect anyone else will ever see her space, she’s not sure she’s put away laundry within the past month, she’s not-

“Can I come in?”

“I didn’t know you knew those words,” she laughs, and this is why she likes him, how comfortable he makes her despite the occasional boundary issues. “Yeah, it’s… probably raccoons. Probably either eating the insulation or making baby raccoons. Or multitasking. I’m not sure-“

“I saw what looks like attic access in the hallway?”

“Yeah. Good luck. We haven’t opened it since last time this happened.”

“Understandable.”

She follows him back into the hallway, turning on lights as they move, trying to make this all as normal as possible even though somehow none of it is normal. She is not weak – she is constantly reminded that the softness of her humanity is not weakness – and she has not felt helpless as much as usual lately, and this is such a mundane bullshit problem compared to most of her life, and-

“I’m going to stay down here,” she says as she watches him unfold the ladder. “If that’s okay?”

He takes a step closer and kisses her forehead as an answer. “Whatever you want.”

For what feels like a few minutes but may be more or less than that, Melissa paces the hallway, listening for anything unusual and hearing nothing stranger than a muffled swear word or two. Then familiar movements again, familiar body coming down the ladder, familiar-

“Not raccoons, just a directionally-challenged bat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Chased it out with a tennis racket and checked for anything else. Might’ve been raccoons up there recently, but not at the moment.”

Melissa gives him what she hopes comes across as an unconvinced look. “Those noises were not a goddamned bat. I’m not sure…”

“Do you want me to stay? Just in case?”

He’s offered that before, and she’s accepted enough times that a decent pile of blankets has accumulated on the couch downstairs because he refuses to be any more of a nuisance than he has to or something, but it’s always been when there’s some more supernatural threat on the horizon, not a mundane pest infestation. The energy of this offer feels different than usual, and if she were a different woman she’d turn it into something more, if she were more assertive she’d at least insist he keep her warm, but she isn’t, she isn’t-

“If you want to? If that’s not a problem for you?”

“Not at all. It’s okay. I promise you, I will be here when you wake up.”

She leans in for a kiss and they’re good at this part, softness before separation, even if the retreat is only down a flight of stairs. “Thank you,” she breathes against his mouth. “For everything.”

“This is what I want us to be,” he replies, shifting their position to hold her. “This is what I can give you. Maybe not all you deserve, but…”

“You chased a bat out of my attic without any complaining,” she reminds him. “More than anyone else I’ve been with has ever done for me.”

He gives her a look like he would love to discuss her low standards at some point when they’re both capable of a coherent conversation and then gives her one more kiss before backing away. “Try to sleep. If the noises start again…”

“I just have to yell,” she finishes. “I know.”

#ebf writes fic #chris argent #melissa mccall #chris x melissa #mcargent

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mizakikimoto · 1 year

Text

I’m so tired of having technology issues.

The house is too cold or hot. The electrical is weak. Someone breaks my charger. The battery is bricked. What’s that other one? Not enough memory. Not enough speed. No place to put it.

I need this grant.

Then there are things being outdated. Too much dust.

And then...just not having what I need.

I’m tired.

But right now my phone isn’t turning on. A few months ago I was having battery issues, then a really cold night finally murdered the battery. I had to order a new one, put it in, spend money.

I had two chargers, that I let my cousins borrow. They killed one. I think...I hope the other one died last night.

Usually I have a nice, flat spot to let my phone charge on. Whether it was near the TV, or even on the bed. I even bought a little noodle holder that was by the bed, that I could clamp the phone on to keep it in place overnight.

Last night I was having a really hard time sleeping. I put the phone on my chest, plugged it in.

The bed sheets on this bed don’t fit good. It’s also just a shitty bed. But, things move at night. This attic is also terribly insulated, and there are no curtains. So, but, the cold gets in. I’m pretty sure the heat killed the wrist sensor on my Apple Watch.

But, yeah. My phone was dead when I woke up. I’ve had it charging for hours. It’s not coming on. This is why I’m hoping its the charger. I did buy two, and a power brick. It’s supposed to be coming today, I hope. But once again...money. I just can’t have it be the battery. Not again.

Ah. Fuck!

And I’ve had these cords for years. And it is a combination of my cousins not taking care of anything, and this crappy room.

I just hope it’s the cord. Please be the cord.

I just freed up a bunch of memory on this thing too.

FUCK.

I just shouldn’t be here. So many things would just work if my situation was different. Wouldn’t have people breaking my things. My things would be well stored. Et cetera. Blah blah blah.

I’ve never woken up so much with a dead battery.

FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. FUCK!

Please be the cord.

-Chris

0 notes

bayterri · 2 years

Text

Squirrel catapult

22 or a BB gun, but it takes pure skill to nail a squirrel with a slingshot. It’s easy to kill the little rodents with a. We're talking about problematic thinking.Whether you’re 8 or 60, you’ve probably had the urge to hunt squirrels. So ultimately we're not really talking about a squirrel problem. If you can rationalize that sort of thought process with squirrels then it's a very short step to bring it into the human realm. Formally, it's the same sort of thinking. And when we translate that sort of thinking into the human realm, well, we get all the fun and games we see around us in our society. Eg: catapulting squirrels is justified because they eat wires in people's homes. Rationalization and justification." First comes the behaviour/attitude and then the manufacture of the rationalization and justification in defense so you can maintain the behaviour and attitude. I tried really really hard to stay outta this thread but finally fell for it.Īnd catapulting them shows indifference does it? Interesting way to demonstrate neutrality, no?Īnd the opposite (and far more reasonable attitude) of fetishizing animals is to view them as objects provided for your personal pleasure and entertainment?Īs Telemnenomics has adroitly stated: " Humans are interesting. Or the charity table staffer`` collecting money for their favorite causes.įorcing values on others is unattractive. Much like the little old lady with a ratty snapping dog in a handbag. I can relate to being annoyed by folks who fetishize wildlife. Hoping he or she got them all as last summers yellowjackets up my pants was worse than anything coons and skunks ever did to me! I was pretty durn pleased when a raccoon dug up the yellowjacket nest in my garden this fall. I don't blame the doves for pooping or the hawks for eating the doves. I interact with the uglies in my community just the same as the pretties. OK I used to shoot squirrels for sport but no longer.įor the record, I'm not sure everybody who enjoys visits from wildlife does so because of a cute factor. Guess I killed one raccoon and one woodchuck. Keeping critters out of the chicken pen took a lotta schoolin' in my youth! So I try to remember them and just not mention visits from any wildlife they disapprove of. I feel bad for these folks who get upset if I mention feeding a raccoon or a skunk. The more outta staters move to Maine the more towns get bans on chickens and other family livestock. I know quite a few Mainers who feel that once they own some land they can ban wildlife from entering the property. I got some tricks for you.Īnd my wife has some inside secrets. Whether my response be stealthy airsoft assault, squirrel catapult or "inhumane" trap and release method, the bottom line is that I didnt propagate those tomatoes for the squirrels, and may the better fighter prevail.īring it on squirrel. Literally.įeed my bird population = a squirrel population explosion. I personally hope it scares a few to death. (Yes, they love pvc insulation)Īnd after seeing the way they leap, fall and jump, I doubt launching the tree rats across the yard does more damage than the jack in the box clown. Then have the car develop a no start condition that turns out to be caused by 2 thousand dollars of wiring damage with obvious signs of bite marks. I feed the birds and put an effort into keeping track, and count of the various visitors.īut in the same vein, I also trim the trees to keep critters off my roof and out of my attic, and tire of the critters dumping my bird feed all over the yard.Īnybody defending the tree rats has not likely spent hours and thousands$ on planting tomatoes only to have BOTH of your mega priced heirlooms cut down and chomped on just as they blush. I love critters as much as the next tree hugger. Now, as proud as my wife may be about her long and talented line of squirrel lineage, we both get a chuckle when a youngster misses a jump and takes a long and noisy tumble.

#Squirrel catapult

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bae-live-0 · 2 years

Text

Beyond Borders [Supernatural Au x teen demon reader] PT 6

{some parts are edited some arent}

Key 🗝-

Y/n = Your Name

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

❗❗❗❗❗TW - this chapter will talk about abuse and achohlosim so be warned ❗❗❗❗❗

Recap - CRACK

the wall cracked. I could see the walls insulation (think like when Syd from ' I'm not ok with this ' broke the wall). did I do that? could I even do that? I looked down at my hands, they were sweaty and shaking

what the hell is wrong with me ?

{ December 3, 2019}

Y/ns pov-

How am I gonna cover this up ? I was now standing in the front of the huge crack in the wall . the crack was about half as tall as me and it was deep . Did I make that ? can I even make that ? I took a deep breath and turned the face the other way . I went to the side of my bed and grabbed my bag from where it sat . i slung the bag over my shoulder and made my way the the hatch-door on the floor .

i opened the hatch . the latter attached to it fell as well . I climb down the latter into the room . They turned the hatch room an office , it had a 2 desk and selves so many shelves , all covered in books and other weird misalliance things . i walked out into the hallway and down the stairs . i went into the kitchen .

when I went into the kitchen I saw a somebody standing in front of the sink looking out into the the backyard . i didn't move all I could do was stare at him . He was tall and had long hair , he was wearing a flannel and dark blue jeans ......... wait , .................... was this sam ? had it really been 2 hours . I looked at the clock that hung on the wall .

12 : 47 pm

I then looked back at the stranger . i slowly then walked back out the door but as did he turned around . we looked at each other . he looked confused , i realized he probably had no idea whoo i was . we looked a each other for a bit , i knew what i had to do . I took a deep breath in and open my mouth "STRANGER DANGER ! " i yelled and ran back into the other room aka living room . i then proceeded to stand in the living room . i stared at the door way , after a few minutes became running into the living room but this time he had a gun and the gun was pointed at me . " Who the fuck are you " he said . i stayed silent and just stared at him , i had no weapon and i didn't have my hood on so he could see my horns and that wasn't good , my backpack had no weapons in it .

" why the fuck are you in my house ?" he sounded angry " uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" is all i could muster out . what was i supposed to say ' hi mystery man , my names y/n and I'm a half demon teen wholives in your attic and don't worry i totally didn't crack a huge crack in your wall' . He cocked the gun " name , now " he said . " Y/N-N ! " i said "and why are you here ? " He asked " i uhh kinda ummm live here " i anwsered .

"no you dont " he told me " uhh actually i do " . The mystery man steppeed even closer . we were now only a few feet from each other " whats with the horns " he took another step "their none of ya buisness " i said and stepped back "get out of my hou-" "SAM ! what the fuck are you doing !?" a voice boomed from the front door . It was dean he stood in the door way holding a bag , Castiel then walked in and stood next to him . " Dean ! look this kid was in your house and refused to leave " 'Sam' said as he still pointing the gun at me " I have a name ya know " I retorted "y/n , shush " dean said as he waved a hand towards

"ok sam just put gun down and lets talk " dean said as he walked up to sam and put his hand on the gun , slowly pushing it down " ok lets talk about how there a litrel a child claiming that claims they ' live here ' . WITH horn may I add ! " Sam angrly said as he put the gun to rest on his side "ok ok , I can explain, so umm sam this is y/n they kinda live here and is half demon-" " A DEMON?!" Sam cut dean off and quickly pointed the gun at me again in a panic . As a reaction I put my arms up like as if a policeman was pointing a gun at me . " HALF ! Half demon Sam ! Jeus fuck . " Dean shouted and this time took the gun of of Sams hand .

i [put my hands down . Sam grabbed deans shoulder and said to him " Dean can we talk in the kitchen " Dean nodded and they both walked into the kitchen . i sighed and looked at the front door , it was wide open ' dean must of forgot to shut it ' I thought to myself . i went to shut the door . As I stood in the door, my eyes drifted to the sky. The sky had gotten darker and it looked like it was going to rain. I closed the door with a shrug.

as I walked into the living room I could hear sam and dean yelling and well I got curious , so I stood by the doorway where I could hear them clearly but they couldn't see me . " Dean they cant live here " Sam shouted "Their a demon what if they kill us or turn on us , think of ruby . " "Sam their nothing like ruby , this is just a kid . They cant kill you wanna know why caus their scared of cas ! And cas is cas ! " Dean shouted back " They have to leave " Sam barked back " listen sam , I known this kid form about a week this kid cant do shit we're fine and plus I've been doing some researched and I found their mom and i gave her a call and told her everything and she told me that shes gonna drive down here and pick the kid up . so we'll be fine shell be here in a few days " dean explained to sam . he called my mom ? she coming here ? All the way from Arizona ?

My hands Stared to shake . No I couldn't do this again . i couldn't see her again . I hated her and I still do . I moved so that I was standing fully in the door way . I faced them . I stared to feel like when I was up in the attic (aka my room ) . I was shaking , my thought were racing , but this time I felt sick to my stomach " You what !" I angrly yelled . the two looked looked towards me , sam still looked angery and dean looked surprised " YOU CALLED MY MOM !?"I yelled even louder . my fisted clenched and stepped into the kitchen .

" Kids it not what it sounds like " Dean fully turned around and put his hand up in defense " it sure sound like it ! " I stepped closer and stood tall . " kid listen you cant stay with us it dangerous !" Dean said loudly " AND ? Is that the only reason ? Dean , I've been on the run since I was 13 ! 2 years ! I'm 15 and I've been without a home for 2 years ! Do you wanna know why I ran away ?! Heres the reason , my mom got drunk everyday and would beat the living shit , she called me a mistake and gods leftovers ! she would beat me for hours and then when she was done she would get drunk and cry to me about how she missed my dad and that she was sorry ! but she never was ! " I screamed at him . he looked at me almost taken back , sam did too " The day I ran away she beat me so bad ki could barely walk but I walked I fucking went to my room and packed up my shit and walked all the way to a whole different fucking state! " I counted to scream at him

" you wanna know what dean ? I'm done I'm out " I almost mumbled and turned "wait kid-" he put a hand on my shoulder I slapped it away " no " after that I ran , ou the kitchen and to the living room . i threw the door open and ran . It was raining but I dint care i ran . I ran but I looked back to sree dean standing in the yard he looked at me . i stopped running and turned around , for a second he looked almost like he happy as if I was gonna stop runnign and turned around but I didnt . cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled " I HOPE YOU FUCKING BURN IN HELL !! " I then flipped him off , turned back away from him and ran like my life depended on it .

As i ran i could feel the rain soak my hair and my hoodie . i Ran for what felt like hours . My legs hurt like hell but i didnt stop nor did i look back , as i was running i saw something in the distance , It was a park . I ran faster . when i made it to the the park i ran to the nearist seat which was a bench . I collapsed onto the bench. I buried my face in my hands and cried. The tears poured out of my eyes and I wept, letting out loud, strangled cries.

I cried for what felt like hours . I sat on the bench in the soaking rain sobbing for hours . The park was filled with the loudest silence I've ever heard . I felt so overwhelmed . i lifted my face from my hands . i looked around the park . it had a play set and a sand box , it also had lots of picnic tables scatter around . i was looking around my eyes turned to the road. it was empty . After staring at the road for a while, lights came from it, and a car drove past. It was kind of an old car like an Impala or something, and I glanced into the driver's window and spotted the last person I wanted to see. Dean fucking Winchester . I looked around in hopes of finding somewhere to hide , that's when i spotted a wooded area . 'perfect', I thought to myself. I took one last look at the car before standing up and bolting to the wooded area.

i soon found my self standing in a small clearing with trees all around me . I hugged myself and fell to my knees . My body began to shake again not because i was scared or upset but because i was cold and tired . Tears began spilling out of my eyes once more . the sobbing began again . My eyes were glued to the ground . My arms fell and gripped onto the ground, ripping some grass out of the ground as i tighted my grip on the ground .I let out a pained anguishing scream but when i di a wave of bringing fell over my ears . I power washed out of me and into my surronigings . Trees fell down and and loud crashes was i all i could hear (like syd from I'm not okay with this >>>>>>>>>> https://youtu.be/1kbOdI08Ct4 )

I teared my gaze away from the ground to look around . this time the silence was louder . My sobbs had stopped looked had what i had done . i felt sick to my stomach . i sat in horror as i stared at the fallen trees .

clap clap clap

i began to hear a slow clapping coming from behind me . my head snapped back to see how it was . a man stood there with a almost welcoming grin . the man wasn't tall , he wore an all black suit and had very short balck hair and had a short , that was very thing . He took a step towards me andsmiled at me "w-who-o a-are yo-ou " i manged to stutter out " my names is crowley and I'm here to help you , y/n " his voiced sounded almost to sweet " y-you-re here to h-help m-e , how ?" i asked . I scrambled to stand up and face him . " i can take you away from all this , and i can give you a place to call 'home'" Crowly assured . "what the catch ? I'm mean this all sound to good to be free "i asked " its a small price but it all depends how do feel about working for a demon ? " He asked but it sounded almost like a joke . i thought for a second i had to decision 1 , i could run from him and repat what ive been doing for the past 2 years and keep going on the run or 2 work for this random guy claiming to be a demon and have a home and leave all of this shityness behind me .

" (sigh) ill take the job " i sighed "that what i like to here " .

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2425 words

#teenagers #supernatural angst #backstabbers #crowley #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #supernatural x reader #x reader #tw #abuse tw #substance abuse #this is so sad #this took me longer than i'd like to admit

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neep-neep-neep · 3 years

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the more I survive this calamity the more I realize we all clearly weren’t in it together. we did not experience the same pandemic. ‘cause i remember

Teen Sesame Street-themed activity part employee assaulted for asking two people to put on masks

McDonald’s worker attacked for asking someone to put on a mask

Grocery store clerk shot and killed for asking someone to put on a mask

I’m not just going to forget the fact that people got physically violent and murderous over being asked to help stop the same thing that is still overflowing ICUs, still diverting emergencies from hospitals in multiple states, still killing and permanently disabling people of all ages and health statuses. I’m not talking about ignorance. I’m talking about willful and depraved disregard for the dead we still haven’t finished counting.

Masks will never be an inconvenience to me. I remember when our hospital didn’t fucking have enough masks. I remember when we didn’t have gloves or sanitizer either. We had a company come in to steam-sanitize masks so they could be worn again. We had arrangements with nearby hotels because certain staff could not go home because of the exposure they risked to their family.

I’m mad. Yes, I’m not pleased you came up to my clinic and you have the gall to show the entire packed waiting room your nose and mouth because you have to make a phone call. The person on the phone can hear you through a mask. I can hear you through a mask. It’s an infinitely thin strip of fabric proven to prevent disease, not attic insulation.

Why do I have to remind you? Did we not all lose sleep watching the body count rise? Why do you have to be entered into a lottery or some other stupid incentive to get the shot, don’t you understand how lucky we already have been, how many lotteries we already have won to have freely available vaccines in the United States? How many other countries we deprive of aid as their ventilators break and lives slip away?

Did we not all break? Do we not all still feel heartache? Why do you love the appearance of ‘normal’ so much? Can you stop mourning ‘normal’ and start mourning the people who aren’t around today to watch you trivialize their painful and lonely last moments?

#sad #i work in a hospital #get vaxxed #stay masked

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swinging-from-my-cable · 3 years

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Since I'm seeing talk about Texas facing another freak freeze, and just because it's a good idea in general, let's talk survival!

Before winter, if you can, ensure your attic is insulated and sealed. Attics count as interior space as far as your furnace is concerned.

For your comfort:

Layers, obviously. Don't forget your hands and feet! Buy thick socks.

Buy a sleeping bag. Get one rated down to at least 40°. Way easier than a pile of blankets.

Well-insulated mugs.

Matches, candles, flashlights (and extra batteries).

For water needs:

I don't remember the ratio, but I think it's one gallon per person, per day. Have at least five days worth. Ensure you have extra for cooking. You can either buy some water OR save and clean milk jugs. Good enough for cooking.

When it first looks like a freeze or other disaster will hit, fill your bathtub. Use that water for washing hands, sponge baths, and flushing toilets.

For eating:

Canned foods. Lots of soup. Pasta and sauce. Anything non perishable. More than five days' worth. Stock up. Don't bother with buying bread or milk or whatever. Just wait for a 5 for $10 (or 10 for $10) sale on soup and buy tons. Buy canned fruit and veggies. Granola bars. Ramen.

Buy a camp stove and fuel. Use it outdoors ONLY. (Unless you have a gas range. Then just a long match will do for cooking.)

Get instant mixes of cider and chocolate. Tea. Instant coffees can also be half-decent.

General:

Get a backup bank for your phone and put your phone on it's lowest power mode. Your phone won't be for social media or games, it's a contact line and way to get updates.

Speaking of updates, a radio is a great idea. Backup batteries or hand crank (if they still make them...).

I see way too many people suggesting generators or backup battery systems. Unless you have a medical need, don't bother. Just buy a camp stove and learn to live without some fancy-schmancy things. Rough it for a few days. You do not need fresh-ground coffee.

Get a snow shovel, gravel (for slippery spots), de-icer, and a scraper. Unless the roads are trash and there's two feet of unplowed snow, that'll get you out of your driveway.

Put some water and a couple blankets in your car, just in case you get stuck somewhere for a couple hours. Don't go out if it's bad.

If you only have two wheel drive, grab some kitty litter or cardboard for if you get stuck.

#the more you know #disaster preparedness

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calleo-bricriu · 3 years

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Me: Has drafts. Also me: Has replies already written in my head. ALSO ME: “Typing is hard...”

In my defense, I’m in the home stretch of closing on a house and have to start actually working out and executing the steps to get all my shit packed up and moved from this place--I still have shit from when we bought the house in 2004 that STILL ISN’T UNPACKED, it’s mostly old computer games and I’ll probably just leave it to be finally trashed, but there’s like 5 huge boxes of it in the closet.

The house in question is an amazing little thing built in 1879 and the most work I’ll have to do on it:

1. Wait for squirrel in the garage soffits to have her babies grow up and leave, then seal the hole.

2. Strip the goddamned white paint off of all the interior wood trim; it’s the original wood trim, there’s a place for parlor doors (though they’re long gone). I just...the original woodwork is gorgeous, the exterior facing parts of the doors still have it, they’d a deep mahogany with wonderful grain. They’re the original doors from 1879 that have just been fitted with more modern deadbolts but still have the original knobs with skeleton key holes (long since blocked off because security).

3. P A I N T. I hate neutrals. I hate neutrals and, of course, when people flip a house they try to paint it in neutrals so it has a broader appeal and so potential buyers can more easily see their stuff in there, but the only thing worse than rental beige is rental tan. Gotta get some damn color in there. It might not be a big old Victorian house but it’s a Victorian house. The interior and exterior should be as obnoxiously bright as possible.

4. Get the roof redone because I know I have the money for it not, I don’t know that I’ll have it in 5-7 years.

5. Consider residing; it has white vinyl, and vinyl can be painted but it doesn’t last terribly long. Might just have it painted though. I don’t want a boring ass white house when the big rental next door is bright blue. Another roof situation, I have the money now.

6. Fix the garage door opener; it works but the chain is off the track so it doesn’t actually lift the door. 7. Probably replace the furnace and water heater; there’s nothing wrong with them but they are from 1996, and new ones would be way more efficient.

8. Uh...furniture. All I’m taking with me is the stuff in my office and the bed I sleep in. Probably gonna need more than that.

9. Make the call on whether I want to have an electrician put in 220 volt stuff for an electric dryer or be okay with using the as feed up to that little room. Probably will just use the gas feed as it’s there. Discovered the unplugged thing on the floor in that room goes to underfloor heating meant to be used in the winter as it’s just a 3 season porch so it gets cold.

10. Be forever amazed that the original electrical wiring is still present (though largely spliced into modern wiring save for the light coming down from the ceiling in the closet--you can see the original, still insulated cord clearly--and into dining room which will be probably filled with reptiles, AND that it works and has been inspected by an actual electrician and deemed safe. 100amp breaker, but that’s not so bad, it’s a 150 breaker here and nothing ever blows.

11. ...smoke alarms and a CO alarm, as there are none, which is fine, nobody has been living there for the two-ish years the guy was rennovating it.

12. Fix the one glass pane that’s missing in the bedroom; storm window is still present and not broken/cracked but one really should have double panes windows here.

13. Oh yeah, and curtains.

14. Getting the second door that’s painted shut opened back up, the stupid white paint stripped form it, and getting a modern deadbolt put in so it’s a usable, safe door to be able to open. It’s the side door to what was the parlor and is now the living room.

15. Possibly look at where the parlor door was after having the paint stripped and see if the pockets are still present; if they are, see about getting replica doors to match the existing ones put in. Who wouldn’t want to be able to dramatically open parlor doors or tell someone to step into their parlor?

Now you get pics I took while I was there for the home inspection!

The new LED lightbulb put into a fixture from 1879:

Big kitchen, fuckton of storage, two flour bins by the stove; I love flour bins, the house I grew up in had them as did my grandparents’ houses. As long as you clean them out thoroughly when they’re empty they’re great!

📷

The exterior of the side parlor door that's painted shut.

The front door (the interior side is painted white). Original knob and skeleton key lock from when the house was built.

This house survived being a cheap, rundown student rental for nearly 40 years and it still has so much of its original stuff.

The stairs to the basement and crawlspace that looks like something out of a horror movie, so naturally I love it.

This is directly inside the crawlspace. It's absolutely perfect for storing potatoes, root vegetables, and squash--and for putting jars of stuff to ferment. It's a good 10 degrees colder than the rest of the area and is meant to be used for exactly what I just mentioned. I love that it's still there.

Also here's the entrance to the crawlspace.

...and the crawlspace. The tiny 'basement' is just a room with a few shelves I need to replace as they were using untreated plywood in the metal frame and most of it is moldy or starting to rot because untreated. Otherwise all that's in there is the furnace and water heater. The furnace has some open drain ports and I may put a humidifier down there to run 24/7 because it is, as most basements that aren't fully finished around here, a bit damp.

TL;DR: I may be largely MIA or not as quick to respond as I usually am because I’ll be legit running around like a lunatic moving all my stuff, setting up my new old house (MINE, ONLY MINE, no ex, no other people, JUST. ME. I loved living alone before I got married, and always thought I’d be happier still living alone even while married, which may be a sign that it was a bad decision, but I really just like living alone with a bunch of animals.

Also I've never seen a house that has an attic only accessible from the outside and using a ladder but that's what we have here; there's a big panel that I thought was just a vent that's really a...door.

The back yard is huge, already fenced, has a fire pit, has no fucking grass either, it's all native wild plants with some grape vines in a few areas; big mature ones too.

The front yard also has no grass, which, again, great, I'd planned to tear out any lawn at the house I got anyway. Front yard is still a bit bare so I may just coat it with clover. The only thing I'll have to mow is the boulevard and I can do that with a manual mower or be the extra strange neighbor and use a scythe--and yes I have one, I took it from my grandpa's barn after he died. They also planted a ton of ferns in the front yard for some reason, but I like ferns so they can stay. Oh and there's an entire workshop behind the garage which means I still will have an inside place to keep making wands.

#ooc #long post #NEW HOUSE THOUGH #And the best part is it's in an area of the city I like even if I will be surrounded by college students on 6 month leases #who are in houses that could be lovely but are owned by slumlords so they're kind of all...not so great #but also I get to have a Victorian house #which is a thing I've always wanted #and I never wanted a big one that's too much to clean and too many empty rooms I have to fill #This one is nice and small and charming and the realtor was just are you sure you want to live in this part of town?#Thank you yes.

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chipsfics · 3 years

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Part 4 - Supermoon

Part 4 is here!

Rated: PG (for swearing)

~~~~

Midnight. It was that time when fall was just ending and spring was brand new- Although the weather was warm during the day, nighttime was still a bit chilly- That sort of pleasant, crisp bite in the air that only comes at night. The world is cold and asleep, but Tissues was wide awake- quietly grabbing his phone, turning on the flashlight and creeping across his bedroom, past his quietly sleeping roommate, and out the door. He let out a sigh once he made it to the hallway, and crept to the elevator- Everything seemed a lot louder at night, but if the ruckus coming from the elevator woke anyone up, nobody came to confront him. He made it downstairs, past OJ's master bedroom, and into the front room- Where he was surprised to see Cheesy still wide awake and watching TV on the lowest volume.

"O-oh." Tissues said, a bit shocked. "Hi Cheesy," Cheesy turned around and looked Tissues up and down judgmentally.

"Hey Tissue-guy. What're you doing up so late?" Cheesy responded.

"Ohh uhhh... I'm just gonna uhh... Well I uhh. Midnight snack," Tissues sputtered. "I mean I'm hungry. I'm gonna get uhh.. Yeah."

"Ok, cool. What did you have in mind? I'm kind of hungry too." Cheesy responded.

"I'm gonna. Order pizza," Tissues responded shyly.

"Order pizza? At midnight?" Cheesy said, cocking his head to one side in confusion.

"Yeah uhh.. There's this place a couple miles away that does 24/7 delivery." Tissues said.

"Hm. Yeah, I figured, but..." Cheesy responded. "Aren't you supposed to tell OJ first if you're ordering any food to the hotel?"

"Um. Yes." Tissues said.

"I won't tell him if you give me a slice," Cheesy said, then paused, grinning. "At yeast a slice." He slapped his knee.

Tissues stared at him and blinked. "Wh.... OHH I get it. Cause like. Yeast is in pizza dough, and it sounds like least....." Tissues laughed. "That was a good one, did you think of it on the spot?"

"Wait, you really think so? And yes I did." Cheesy said proudly, smiling. "Also, what kind are you getting?"

"Olives and cheese," Tissues said.

"Yuck. I hate olives," Cheesy said. "Can you get cheese and garlic bread too?"

"I dunno..." Tissues said. "I'm kind of broke."

"Well then, I guess OJ will be hearing about this in the morning," Cheesy said casually, turning back around to face the TV.

"Ughhhhh, fiiine." Tissues said. "You broke me. Lemme call up the pizza place right now."

Tissues dialed in the number and ordered from the exhausted-sounding operator. One large pizza with olives, and cheesy garlic bread. He hung up after putting his order in, put his phone back into his head where the tissues are dispensed, and exchanged it for his wallet. He opened it up and pulled out a 20 dollar bill.

"Hh. Cheesy, do you mind doing me a favor? If you hear the doorbell ring, answer it and pay with this-" Tissues walked up to Cheesy and handed him the money.

"Sure thing, dude. It's whatever," Cheesy responded. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna go wake up Yinyang," Tissues said. "It's a supermoon tonight, and I wanna watch it with him."

"It's a what?" Cheesy said, perking up.

"A supermoon," Tissues stopped in his tracks, continuing. "It's like, I heard about it from the internet, it's like... Where the moon is super huge in the sky. It's like uhh.. Something to do with rotations or something."

"Cool. I'm not very interested in moon stuff, so i'll just stay here. Have fun though, and good luck waking up Yinyang without getting murdered." Cheesy said, waving him away.

Tissues hurried to the elevator and rode all the way up, quickly but quietly walking down the hallway on his tiptoes. He slowly reached for the door of Yinyang's room, and tested the handle- Unlocked. He walked in slowly, trying not to wake up the Cherries- And paused when he saw something new hanging up on Yinyang's wall. It was too dark to see very clearly in anything but black-and-white, but it looked like some kind of poster, no, a collage, filled with cluttered imagery of organic shapes. He stared at it for a couple seconds in awe of its intricacy and beauty- Before he shook his head and gently reached over to nudge Yinyang on his arm to wake him up.

"Yinyang," Tissues whispered. "Wake up!"

Yinyang wrinkled his face and moaned, his eyes fluttering open sleepily but still half-lidded. As he came to, he realized who was standing in front of him and smiling- A very excited looking Tissues.

"Huhhh..." Yinyang said, groaning as he sat up. "Wh... What is it?" He said, looking over at the clock. Around 12:40.

"Come with me, I have something to show you." Tissues said.

"What is it... That could possibly be so important that you have to wake us up at midnight?!" Yang whispered harshly.

"It's the supermoon tonight," Tissues said. "I ordered pizza."

"The super-wha..?" Yin asked.

"Its like... I heard about it from the internet, it's where the moon is like, super huge in the sky. It's uh. It's got something to do with rotations," Tissues continued.

"Wait, lemme get this straight... You woke us up to see a stupid fucking moon?!" Yang said angrily. "Be nice, and don't curse!" Yin said.

"If you don't wanna come, I guess I'll just eat all of the pizza by myself." Tissues said sadly.

"Well...." Yang paused, and sighed. "I guess i'll humor you. But don't think this means i'm not still angry!" He puffed.

"Ok ok let's go you guyse! Or we'll miss it," Tissues said excitedly, helping the still-sleepy Yinyang out of bed and downstairs, all the while jumping around excitedly with an unusual spring in his step. Cheesy was still sitting in front of the TV, munching on garlic bread, and turned around to see the two trot out of the elevator holding hands.

"Hey lovebirds." Cheesy said. "Congrats on waking up Yinyang without dying," He continued.

"Shut up or I'll-" Yang brought up his fist. "Y'know what. I'm too tired. Where's the pizza," He promptly lowered it. Cheesy laughed, and Yang growled at him.

"On the counter. You two enjoy!" Cheesy said, chuckling and turning back towards the TV, that was still droning public access midnight TV as he snacked on the garlic bread.

Sure enough, the pizza was on the counter, and Tissues picked it up and balanced it on his head, using his two arms to balance it. from the top, he would have just looked like a walking pizza box.

"Heh heh, Let's go, guyse, I know a spot where we can see the moon really good!" Tissues said. "Wait, do you two wanna get some drinks first?"

"Oh, Sure." Yinyang was still talking in a somewhat hushed voice, but Tissues' overall lack of volume control was starting to show itself a little more as he got more excited.

"My hands are kind of full. Can you just grab me an orange juice?" Tissues said. Yinyang nodded. He walked over to the snack fridge and reached for a bottle of soda, before Yin tried to pull away their hand.

"If you're going to make us eat unhealthy junk food, at least let me drink water." Yin hissed.

"Ughh.. Water is gross." Yang said.

"Water is pure," Yin contested.

"Will you shut up about purity for one second?" Yang snapped back. Yin clenched his teeth, hard.

"This is the ONE compromise, ok? Water." Yin said, unusually harsh.

"Fine." Yang said, and grabbed an orange juice and a chilled water bottle.

The two walked over to Tissues, who was still standing holding the pizza box- His arms looking a little tired. "Ok, let's go!" He said, and led them to the elevator. "Wait- I gotta ask- Are you afraid of heights?"

"Yin is." Yang said, "No i'm not!.... Maybe a little bit." He said, blushing.

"Oh cool. So you wouldn't mind taking this to the little platform on the roof?" Tissues said. "The view up there is the best,"

"Oh. Sure," Yinyang said, Yin taking a hard swallow. Tissues pressed the elevator button, and led them up to the highest level. It was the attic area- Mostly full of cleaning supplies and scattered old construction equipment- half-empty paint buckets, old furniture, and even stuff from old challenges in season 1. The whole place looked unfinished- like construction hadn't gotten around to cleaning up sawdust or covering up insulation. The moon shining through the unstained glass windows was surprisingly bright and pure white.

Tissues led Yinyang by the hand across the way, Yinyang freeing up his one hand by putting the water bottle under his arm that was holding the orange juice- Tissues still balancing the pizza on his head with one hand. While they walked, Yinyang looked around in amazement at the attic, a place he didn't even think existed inside the hotel.

Tissues had obviously been in here before, because he seemed uninterested in all of the dusty knicknacks and made a beeline for a dusty old door that Yinyang assumed led to the roof.

He opened the door, carefully ascended the stairs one step at a time (There was a reason he didn't often use the elevator,) and made it out onto a small platform on the roof with a vent. It was just barely enough room for both of them to sit down, and Yinyang assumed that it was installed for construction or maintenance- the ground was hard, slightly sandy concrete. Tissues held up one finger to signal Yinyang to “Wait there”- He placed the pizza box down and lifted up the vent, rummaging around until he pulled out a slightly dusty picnic blanket. He placed it down gingerly.

“Your throne, my liege.” Tissues said in a mock British accent. Yinyang wrinkled his nose at the old-looking picnic blanket, laughed, shrugged, and sat down.

"H...How did you know about this place?" Yinyang said, fidgeting into a comfortable position. The moon was even brighter once they got out of the hotel's attic. The light gave everything a sharp clarity, and bathed the two in a sparkling white light.

"Oh y'know..." Tissues shrugged, sitting down next to Yinyang. "I just come up here when I want to be alone. Or when I feel like nobody wants me around," He continued. "I guess I just found it cause i had to find somewhere to go." He grabbed his bottle of orange juice and cracked it open, taking a swig.

"Wow." Yinyang said. "That's kind of deep,"

"Not really." Tissues laughed. "Its just the way things are." He said, opening up the pizza box and offering it to Yinyang. "Want some?"

It was silly, but Yinyang started to blush. "Sure," He said, and took a slice and popped it into his mouth in one bite. Tissues looked a little shocked, and got a slice of his own to munch on, putting the pizza box to the side.

"Check it," Tissues said, pointing to the sky. "There it is. The supermoon," Tissues stared at it, eyes twinkling.

Yinyang hadn't really taken a moment to look at the moon itself yet- It was giant and perfectly round, illuminating the deep blue of the night sky and threatening to outshine the stars. Something about the moon that night was gently urging Yinyang closer to it- The feeling of being pulled was almost dizzying. Yinyang subconsciously scooted closer to Tissues, and he leaned into the gesture affectionately.. A quiet moment passed.

Tissues plucked an olive slice off of his pizza and held it up to the moon.

"Look," Tissues said. "If i hold it up like this, the moon looks like cheese in the middle."

Yinyang laughed, his voice ringing loud like a soft, far away bell. It was as clear as the moonlight. Tissues sniffed.

"Of course, everyone already knows the moon is made of cheese," Tissues continued, and Yinyang tried to stifle another laugh.

"You know, you kind of remind me of the moon, Yinyang." Tissues said.

"Oh?" Yinyang said, his face flushed a bright red. "How so?"

"Hmm. Lets see. You're both round, and bright, and very beautiful!" Tissues complimented, "If you don't mind me saying."

"You really... You think so?" Yinyang fidgeted with his fingers to combat the butterflies in his stomach banging themselves against his ribcage.

"Of course." Tissues said. "You're my friend. There's a reason I woke you two up so late, i wanted to share this with you." Tissues blushed, "The pizza was to make you less mad at me."

Yinyang giggled. "What...!" Yin said affectionately. "I guess. Well... I guess it was worth coming up here. I still think it's a stupid reason to wake up in the middle of the night, but.." Yang trailed off. "You better be glad you got our favorite pizza topping."

Tissues smiled ear to ear, the most genuine smile that Yinyang had ever seen. He scooted in and wrapped his arms around Yinyang in a soft hug, squeezing his sides. Yinyang, taken by surprise and unsure of what to do with his hands, awkwardly followed suit a few awkward seconds after. Tissues was very warm (feverish, or flustered?) and rubbed his back gently. Yinyang couldn't help but squish the smaller object into his chest and nuzzle his face into the embrace. They held each other like that for a long time. It was nice.

Tissues figured that Yinyang was just as touch starved as he was, because he was honestly waiting for Yinyang to let go.

~~~~

#tissues #yinyang #ii #ii2 #tissyang #tissuyang #yissues #fanfic #fanfiction #inanimate insanity

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gripefroot · 3 years

Text

Feel So Yellow [5/12]

Most of the bathroom is finished by the time you return to the city Sunday night; everything but cosmetics, and those are quickly done the next Friday night. In two more weekends the downstairs bathroom is done, including the hook ups for the washer and dryer and new doors to conceal them, making a very tidy space that even Bucky admits looks nice, the bright floral wallpaper above the updated beadboard notwithstanding.

The first week in June is sweltering, and when you arrive at the house with bags in hand to spend your first night there on an air mattress, it’s pleasantly cool inside and the vents are singing from the air conditioner. When confronted with such a suspicious and kind act, Bucky simply shrugs, and says, “I didn’t want you to die of heat exhaustion. Not interested in a third landlady this year.”

This is said on the rickety steps of the front porch - the sky above is a gorgeous indigo twinkling with stars never seen in the city, and so you hadn’t been able to resist sitting down to watch for a while. Chestnut had given up on her evening prowl to plop down on the bottom step by Bucky’s boots, and he reaches down to scratch her back.

“I’m your favorite landlady ever,” you say, smiling over at him. “I can tell.”

“You’ve certainly made our lives less boring.”

“Is that code for, ‘please stop breaking my back fixing up your house’?”

“No,” Bucky chuckles. “It’s not code at all, I promise.”

“Mmhmm,” you say, and let it drop. The stars want to be admired, anyway, and in the feeble flickering of the porch light (another task to add to your list, which somehow doesn’t seem to be shrinking), it’s the kind of summer evening that wants music or ice cream or family. But Bucky and Chestnut’s easy company will do for now.

The weekend had promised to be good, with the supplies to patch up walls and ceilings ready to go, but when you wake on Saturday to a pleasant rain shower and then put your feet in a puddle when you stand to get up, all hopes burst in a clap of thunder and pure panic.

Bucky arrives not long after that, clearly way ahead of you still in your jammies and trying so very hard not to cry as you rush around the house with paper bowls (all you’d had available) to catch all the spots where the roof was leaking.

“Two steps forward and one step back,” you mumble to him with a watery smile by way of greeting, and his smile fades into a pinched frown of concern. “I don’t even know what the water damage is going to be and frankly I’m not so sure I can afford to reinstall insulation in the attic - ”

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice interrupts yours, and before you can brush past him to take more bowls into the next bedroom, gnawing on your lip to keep a hold of yourself, he reaches out and with gentle hands grasps your shoulders, eyes peering intently into yours. “I know it looks bad but don’t worry, okay? The ceilings are all in good shape so it hasn’t leaked in the past. The roof is just so old this winter was probably just the death of it.”

His kindness doesn’t make it any harder to keep from crying. “If I’d known,” you say in a cracking voice, and reach up to wipe your cheeks. “We could’ve fixed the roof earlier and then this wouldn’t have happened - ”

“But we didn’t know, and it’s okay. Look, roofing ain’t so bad. The slant isn’t even that dramatic. We can get it done in two days, tops.” He offers a reassuring smile, and you might have been embarrassed at how reassuring his solid presence really was, if you weren’t so busy soaking in his soothing encouragement.

With a sniffle you nod, and mutter a wavering, “Thank you.” Bucky’s grin widens.

“We got this.” And in your hazed misery you don’t quite register when he leans forward and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. Then he takes the bowls from your limp hands, and goes on to finish putting them out to catch the plinking leaks of rain.

With a choked sob kept back, you return to your bedroom to dress for the day with clammy hands and a fast-beating heart.

If Bucky’s certain the roof can be done in a single weekend, then you’re going to believe him.

“By the way,” he adds when you reappear, trying to make mental notes of what needs to be done to put on a new roof on the fly. “Since your bedroom is a puddle you can sleep at my place. If you like.”

“I’ll call the motel,” you tell him. “If they don’t have anything I won’t have much of a choice but to intrude on you.”

“And I,” Bucky declares with a cheeky smile. “Will try not to take it personally that I’m not your first choice.”

Rain continues to spit and splatter on the windshield of his truck as town draws near in the grey fog. Chestnut, dripping some on the seat, is clearly delighted by the weather, and you pat down her damp fur and try to cheer up. There’s breakfast to look forward to - pancakes at a little diner that Bucky swears by - and between the two of you very rudely making phone calls while waiting for the pancakes, a game plan comes together.

The afternoon has somewhat dried up by the time you return to the house with the truck bed full of asphalt shingles, drip boards, and rolls of felt paper. Your head is still spinning from how unprepared you’d felt at the hardware store looking at all the options, but fortunately Bucky had been there to offer suggestions and pick up the essentials you wouldn’t have expected to need.

Yes, you’re lucky to have Bucky.

With his ladder, brought up from his place, planted firmly in the wet ground and Chestnut nosing around the side of the house, Bucky kindly informs you that you will not be going up.

“No safety equipment,” he points out, boots already on the ladder. Huffing, you shield your eyes from the rain drippage from nearby trees plonking down in the grass every so often, watching his ascent.

“Don’t you need it?” you call up, peeved.

“Nope. I’m pretty hard to break.”

“That’s just what you think,” you say testily. “It’ll be just my luck to have some Avenger die on my property falling off my roof.”

Bucky’s laugh is audible and echoing from the top. “Some might say you did the world a favor,” he calls back down. “Bottoms up!”

Ruined and aged shingles begin to fall down, yanked out easily by the end of his hammer. Once he’s finished with a section, you pick up the trash to take the dumpster by the armful. The remains dingy grey, but it seems to be done raining, at least.

Chestnut doesn’t like Bucky on the roof. She whines from the grass, where she restlessly paces and looks up every so often, and when you come near she weaves between your legs in agitation, barking towards the roof.

“You worried about Bucky, girl?” you ask, and crouch down to scratch her ears with your gloved hands. “Make you nervous? It’s okay! He can take care of himself.” Glancing up, you can only see his backside clad in worn denim as he continues to yank the old shingles free. “At least I think so,” you add, and kiss Chestnut’s head. “And if not, there’s nothing we can do about it so we might as well let him be his silly old self, huh?”

She whines deep in her throat, shaking out her head as she returns to circling the end of the ladder, as if she wishes she could go up, too.

The sky darkens early below the clouds, and when you’re just barely able to see Bucky in the dimness on the roof, hammering the last nails into the felt paper, he finally heads back down. Chestnut, in her relief, jumps up and down and tries to lick his face, which just makes him laugh and kiss her back.

“I told you I’d be fine,” he says, but is he reassuring Chestnut, or you? Then his eyes flicker to you, and as you peel off your gloves, he adds, “How worried were you about me?”

“Not at all,” you tell him. “Anyone who does roofing without safety equipment deserves to fall and die, anyway.”

“How sweet.”

“I’ve been told I’m terribly romantic.”

“Terrible at being romantic, maybe.”

“Hey!” you protest, but can’t help laughing anyway - he’s laughing, too, and with a final pet for Chestnut (who seems unwilling to leave Bucky’s side ever again), and house is left for the evening and traded for Bucky’s.

“Where did you learn to do all this, anyway?” you ask bravely, over sub sandwiches eaten on his porch. Despite the rain and clouds, the evening is warm enough to enjoy the outdoors. Chestnut is sleeping with her head in Bucky’s lap, and he swallows before answering with a sidelong smile,

“My pop and grandad. We fixed up my granddad’s place one summer when I was pretty young. Maybe fourteen? Considered going into construction when I got older.”

“Really,” you say, not quite believing.

“Really,” Bucky affirms with a growing smile. “Plus I thought the fellas in New York that hung from scaffolding to build those skyscrapers were the bees’ knees. Seemed like an adventure to do work like that.”

“Sounds unsafe,” you tell him. “So I suppose you really are living your dream.”

He laughs at that, and Chestnut stirs. “Now if I’m really being honest,” Bucky adds, and his smile fades. An uncertain glance, and nerves spark in your veins. “I learned plenty from YouTube videos, too.”

“Oh!” That unexpected secret brings an unexpected giggle from you, and very nearly a snort.

“Enough equipment and materials have changed that it was necessary,” he goes on. “But the core of it is the same.”

“Is that why you like fixing up these old houses?” you ask, and wad up your used napkin, sandwich gone.

“Maybe.” Another sidelong glance. “Maybe I like not being the oldest specimen on the block.”

“How very vain of you.”

“I’m very vain,” Bucky says with laughter breaking at the edges of his voice. “It’s good to know something’s more broken up than me.”

Despite the humor, it’s a dark comment - but unsure of how to go on after that, you simply say nothing. The cicadas are out in full force tonight, perhaps loving the wet in the air, and once again it’s striking how peaceful this place is. The woods, the quiet (cicadas notwithstanding), and, you think again, the right person to share it with.

“Why did you buy this house?” Bucky asks after a while. Bluntly put, but it makes you smile.

“Someone whose opinion I thought mattered told me that I couldn’t do it,” you tell him. “It was always my dream to fix up an old farmhouse. I’ve been saving money to do it for years.”

“Whoever that was sounds like a jerk.”

“He was. Took me a while to realize it, though.”

“Hmm.” More silence, and Bucky stretches out his legs over the steps, clearly as content to sit in the evening as you are. Several more moments pass before he asks, “Will you help with the porch roof?”

A smile creeps up your lips. “I’d love to. I don’t suppose you’re asking because I’ll survive falling off the porch roof?”

“Exactly,” Bucky says solemnly. “A broken leg you’ll survive, sure - but death? Unlikely.”

“We can spare a broken leg for sure.”

“No big deal.”

Your eyes drift to his face, and he’s grinning over at you, ruffling up Chestnut’s ears as she slumbers on. With his usual baseball cap pushed back his face is visible in the porch light, unshaven and worn in ways you’ll never understand. But the kindness is there. It’s always been there. The moment stretches taut and sweet, fluttering slow like a lazy moth around a light before your gaze drops, and it fizzles and snaps. Bucky clears his throat.

“Well, I’m tuckered out,” he says, and lifts off his cap to run his fingers through his hair. “I’m gonna turn in. Stay up as long as you like, though. No curfew here.”

“I won’t get in trouble if I sneak out the window to go party?” you tease him, and he blinks, looking miffed.

“Well yeah, if you don’t invite me.”

“You’re clearly the dancing type.”

“I am,” Bucky tells you, indignity growing. “I love to dance.”

“Then I’ll definitely drag you along for my midnight clubbing.”

“It’s the courteous thing to do,” he agrees, and chuckles at last, all bad humor (which you suspect had been faked) is gone. “Sleep tight, yeah?”

“You too. Thanks for all you did today.”

His heavy boots creak on the hard planks of the porch as he heads inside, Chestnut dragging herself ahead of him. He glances back to smile, and the screen door clatters shut behind him.

When you breathe again, the air still smells of him.

continue

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #marvel #mcu #fatws #bucky barnes fanfiction

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