#through the hvac

[kinaesthetiqueer]

leak fixed. im exhausted. no exact eta on the chapter aside the wed-sun time frame. it'll be a surprise to us all. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

I think Aurelio probably missed his calling as a hair stylist tbh...

[mik-mania]

inscribed upon one of the HVAC ducts in the far back corner of the 4th level UW Madison engineering building

[spookymooks]

The Ace Combat tag has had a bunch of girlbossbot posts lately but its hilarious like... girl what are you doing at this abandoned airport!!!! cant you see theyre busy turning those men into barbie dolls and making them kiss!!!!

[atypicalstrong]

feel like i'm melting into a puddle rn... id be so down for siesta culture if it weren't for the fact that naps always ruin my sleep cycle

[semi-sketchy]

I talked my mom into buying a home mold test kit.

This is like the 4th time this year I've had a tonsil infection. I'm basically never sick, but the past two years have been near constant throat issues. I know I have severe allergies, been an issue since I was a baby, but this is getting stupid.

The bathroom that had a leak for a month and no one believed me until I got a wild hair and tore into my closet wall like "I TOLD YOU I HEARD DRIPPING" is, as you can guess, on the other side of my room. I swear when I come back from being gone awhile, my room smells so musty. I can't close my closet door, that just makes the odor worse.

The bathroom itself is not properly ventilated, with the walls around the shower spotted with mold, the curtain turning color after about 4 days, and mold on the trim.

We found out our HVAC condensation had been leaking into our ducts as well as just harboring water from our last water heater that leaked years ago. We spent all day pretending to be HVAC people and replacing the wet flex-ducts ourselves.

My dad wanted to sell seedlings for extra money and we had approximately 1,200 plants in our house during the spring, essentially turning our space into a grow house. (He INSISTS there was nothing wrong with this and he's gonna do it again. I didn't spend my days scrubbing the mold off our windows and blackened vent covers for him to fuck it up again, I'll stop him by force if I have to.)

Yeah. I know there's mold. The question is HOW MUCH? We treated things the best we could, I used mold products and not bleach, we have a MERV 13 furnace filter, several HEPA air purifiers and run a dehumidifier in the crawl space.

You have no idea how much I wish I could just pack up and move out of this house, it really needs to just be torn down. Even Bowie (my cat) is having allergy issues.

[xpvnks-practice]

Saw a post about how someone only cleanses their deck once every few years and is of the school of thought that your deck is like cast iron, using it “seasons” it and that cleansing too often can remove that “seasoning” and prevent further connection.

This is a really interesting way to look at it and not dissimilar to my own relationship with my deck however I do a light cleanse before every single reading. For me the imagery is like removing a protective wrapper or a single use filter. Like I’m just removing old/stagnant energy or negativity that has attached and unveiling a “fresh” energy of the deck or a fresh space for spirit to work through and my deck to communicate with me through

Would love to hear how other folks approach cleansing their deck and if they have different methods depending on how deep of a cleaning they’re doing

[radfestivaldreamer]

Carrier Kfceh3301C20-20Kw1Ph Circtbrkr Electric Htr | PartsHnC

[dlyarchitecture]

[giftedclairvoyance]

Life just kept coming.

Lorraine and Ed had been married ten years this year, and things were... not entirely good.

Theyd finally welcomed their daughter about three months prior, after ten years of trying, and since then, their marriage and relationship had kind of taken a backseat to raising a newborn, as had their work. Cases weren't as important as being there for the crucial first months of their daughters life.

The past month, Lorraine had spent every single night up with Judy, who was going through a sleep regression and cluster feeding on top of it, which left her absolutely exhausted during the day.

Ed had been a saint, taking over for a bit during the day so that Lorraine could get a bit of sleep in, but it all meant that dishes, laundry, housework all got neglected, along with any attention they had to give each other.

And now, on top of it, the roof needed patching, the HVAC needed fixing, and her car needed parts to be replaced. It was never ending

@ed-wwarren

[hemipenal-system]

big fan of robotgirl stuff applied to something that normally could not even be remotely construed as a girl

laser gun with a fuck ass operating system who won’t stop calling you mommy and whose little LCD face puts up a cute picture of an anime girl moaning with her tongue out like a dog when you hit a target. when you stroke her barrel she involuntarily shoots a hole through the wall

butch lesbian earth orbital artillery system who needs praise from their operator when they demolish a bunker

hvac unit who breaks himself constantly because she gets off on having maintenance techs open hir up to repair them and keeps accidentally ratcheting the heat up as soon as the cute girl from Sector 34C they like comes in the room

smart vehicle who keeps disobeying that one rider and instead driving them to romantic locations before popping her warm, soft update port open in full view of the passenger and killing her engine

[ghoulphile]

no use cryin' over spilled milk | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.8 k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, frottage, lactation kink, pregnant!reader, fingerfucking, praise kink, breast play, the ghoul calls reader pretty mama, he's a pervert who wants to lend a 'helping' hand ➥ summary | based off this ask; oops being an experiment from vault 4 where you may be the first rad resistant human pregnant with a possibly rad resistant baby, and you come across the ghoul who helps you get to a safe place but then he gets attached with you and the baby 🥺 (this is just me trying to insert a lactation kink somewhere i'm sorry) ➥ notes | uhhhh pls let me know if i missed anything, my brain is dribbling out my ears (its 3:44 am and i have work at 8 am rip) but the parasites persist. i'll do the tag list when i wake up ❤️ masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Going topside wasn��t an easy decision.

In fact, bile bitter regret often lingers in the back of your throat - a lump that stifled the air in your lungs.

And while you might’ve been bioengineered to survive better under these harsh wasteland conditions, every time you find yourself in a less than ideal situation, you're catapulted headlong into paralyzing self doubt; alone and rudderless.

No one lives in the vaults - not truly.

Birdie (and the others) warned you of what awaited beyond those lead-lined walls. But you couldn’t abide spending the rest of your life trapped in a cage, albeit a gilded one.

Not anymore.

Oh no, you wanted to feel a real breeze instead of air pumped through the HVAC. Experience the sun baking warm into your skin like fresh bread instead of the artificial heat of the UV lamp used for mandatory light therapy sessions. Complain about the chafe of sand in your shoes and hear the crunch of dirt under foot instead of a hollow clunk of sterile metal.

To witness first hand all the sights, sounds, and smells this world offers. 

Only… you didn’t expect it to be this hard.

Nor did you expect to be pregnant when setting off into the great unknown on your own (a definite oversight on your part [you really shouldn’t have had one last hurrah before hitting the road]).

Through trial and error, motion sicknesses that swing into crippling nausea as manic energy - your first taste of true freedom! - dwindled into dragging fatigue, you found a happy medium. None of which would have been possible had it not been for the most unlikely of companions.

Ghouls; who knew, huh?

Sure, you’d heard of them from the rotating door of visitors that found themselves at Vault 4, but you’d never seen them. While you grew up surrounded by visible mutations, seeing the battlefield of his body was off putting; how a person could survive a patina of burns and patchwork slices without unraveling at the seams was beyond you.

And kind of frightening.

But he took it in stride, introducing himself as Ghoul. Refused to divulge anything else of substance no matter how much you poked and prodded.  His life pre-bomb was a complete mystery filled with plot holes and unanswered questions (which is exactly what he preferred).

You learned to be comfortable with his meandering conversations, and all the words he spoke that said much of nothing. And what you did glean, you did so through observation alone. 

He was alone - had been for a very long time.

He was very old - one of the last of his kind.

And he was, in his own way, very kind - at least by wasteland standards.

“The fuck you doin’?”

Pausing, you stop mid push and hover awkwardly on your hands and knees. The vault suit pulls taut across your hips, pinching behind your knees uncomfortably. Your toes squeak in your shoes, socks thoroughly soaked through with sweat.

It’s been unseasonably hot (or it’s the hormones). Whatever the case, this is the first semi-decent lodging you’ve camped in for weeks, and you’re not about to miss an opportunity to freshen up.

And maybe find a way to soothe the building ache in your tits - flesh swollen tender and nipples rubbed raw.

“I’m just, uh, gonna,” you motion towards the back of the house, the askew bathroom door clinging to its hinges by a corner, “y’know, f-freshen up. See if they don’t still have some water.”

The Ghoul scans you up and down, gimlet-eyed. “S’that so?”

You huff, your knees starting to ache.

Being five months pregnant throws your center of gravity for a loop, the atmosphere weighing extra heavy on your bones. It doesn’t help that the baby’s decided sitting directly on your bladder with a foot tucked under your ribs is the best position.

“Didn’t know I needed permission to take a piss now,” you snipe. Usually, you try to reign in the hormones but the day’s been too long and you’re in pain. Anyone would be a little snippy (right?). “Can I do that on my own or do you need to watch, Mr. Ghoul?”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze glinting from beneath the rim of his hat as he tips his head. “Better watch it, sweetheart,” he says. “Otherwise, I might have’ta wash your mouth out with soap.”

Pushing yourself up with a grunt, you determinedly ignore the raspy chuckle that follows as you waddle towards the bathroom. Cussing him out all the while in your mind.

While he’s been ‘nicer’ today - stopping for extra breaks, even packing it in several hours earlier than usual because he noticed how weary you looked - he’s still an asshole.

The toilet’s gone, the tub’s tipped sideways, the linoleum’s cracked, and closing the door sounds like a pack of howling mole rats but its functional. When you catch your reflection in the spider web fractures of the mirror, you grimace.

The wastes have certainly left their mark on you. Gone is the prim-and-proper vault dweller, replaced by a gremlin of a woman Overseer Benjamin would surely scowl at.

A true ‘surfie’ now.

“Great,” you groan, scrubbing a palm over your face. “Just - ugh!”

You’re caked in grime, a steak of dirt smeared across the bridge of your nose. Mysterious stains darken the blue fabric, the golden stripes of your suit an off-putting grey.

Your hair clumps in greasy chunks. You’re glossy with sweat, and while your curves have plumped up over the last few months, you didn’t realize just how much until now.

The vault suit’s always been tight - now it clings and creases in unflattering places. And there’s nothing you can do about it, unless the Ghoul is willing to spare a sewing kit.

You could let the waist out some…

What the hell am I gonna do if he won’t? There’s no way I’ll fit if this baby gets any bigger. Shit, I look like a fucking sausage. Your hand cradles the side of your stomach, stroking over the bump with a frown. This is all your fault, you little parasite.

“You better be so fucking cute - the cutest goddamn baby in the wasteland. Or I will riot.”

Tugging down the zipper over your breasts is heaven, the swollen flesh spilling out of the parting fabric, no longer compressed. It’s almost enough to make you cry as you struggle to tug the lycra off your shoulders, the fabric putting up a fight.

After some awkward contortions that pull uncomfortably at the muscles of your shoulder blades, you manage to wrangle yourself free.

The temptation to burn the stupid goddamn suit is almost too much to resist, but then you’d really be traipsing around the wasteland in the nude and just… no.

Peeling off your undershirt is another story altogether, the soft cotton feeling like sandpaper as it scrapes over sensitive skin. Your nerves tingle with awareness, bolts of pain shooting through your nipples with every shift.

Quick like a bandaid, you think, taking a steadying inhale.

It’s a miracle you don’t scream.

Tears cling to your lashes, your nose running as you toss the shirt to the side with one hand and cradle your chest with the other. Sure, you’ve had tenderness with your period but this kind of pain? A whole new level.

You almost don’t know what to do with yourself.

How is this fair - aren’t you suffering enough?

Sniffling, you peer down at your tits and gingerly cup them with your palms. Swollen hard and warm to the touch; a heavy weight crushing your ribs.

Do I really have to milk myself like a fucking brahmin? Another bolt of lightning crackles through your nerve endings as if in response. Fine. God, this is embarrassing.

Only any attempt at touching your nipples produces pure agony, shards of glass biting into delicate skin.

No matter how slight your touch, no matter how gentle your fingers - it doesn’t work. Leaves you more distraught and in pain than when you began as inflamed nerve endings crackle and burn.

And when the tears truly start, the dam breaks. It’s not long before they drip down your cheeks in fat rivulets, your breath hitching from you in pathetic little exhales.

Your fist shoves against your mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds, teeth sinking into your knuckle until you leave sore indents.

But you should know better, not only does the Ghoul have heightened senses (he’s taunted you constantly with this fact like the asshole he is), but he’s uncannily perceptive in a very annoying way.

You don’t hear the squeal of the door, but you do sense his presence behind you; the rad warm burn of his body as he stops a scant few inches away. You feel his breath against the nape of your neck, the barest brush of his chest as he inhales.

“You ready ta stop bein’ stubborn?” he hums. “I thought I told you not ta wait s’long.”

Your voice warbles from you, “G’way.” You curl into yourself, shoulders hunching as you hang your head. “Don’t need your help.”

The Ghoul snorts. “Cuz you doin’ so well on your own, huh?”

“I resent that.” You shoot him a weak glare, the animosity ruined by the crumble of your lips. “I really, really do.”

You hate always having to rely on him, so desperate to prove that you can take care of yourself only to have every effort to do so thrown back in your face.

Shit, you hate how right Birdie was, “Honey, you won’t last five minutes on your own. Please stay here with us where it’s safe.”

“Well, maybe so. But pickers can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a languid roll of the shoulders. “Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilled milk. C’mon, the longer you wait, the worse it’s gon be.”

“I just - you don’t understand…”

He reaches around you to set his hat on the sink, the dwindling light of twilight creeping in through the holes in the roof to bathe him in its bloody light.

He looks like a grotesque demon that clawed its way from the depths of hell. It gets your pulse thudding, electric awareness an unwelcome visitor as it roosts behind your navel.

“I understand plenty. Now, let me.”

Not an offer - not really.

More akin to a demand, one wrapped up pretty like a gift. You’ve been here many times before, and while the Ghoul proffers his help under the guise of not wanting to hear your bitching and moaning, the hungry gleam of his eyes as they rake over your face say otherwise.

If it’s one thing you’ve learned in your travels with him, it’s this: he is entirely self-serving. He offers because he wants to suck on a set of pretty tits. If you happen to cream your panties while he does, well, he counts it as a win-win.

Quid pro quo.

And what you hate more than how utterly correct everyone is about life on the surface, is how needy he makes you. How desperate and dumb and dripping he’s got you by the end, drunk off the flick of his tongue and the rasp of his touch.

Because it’s so hard to be strong in the face of pain when the solution is right there; open-palmed.

“...Fine, just don’t - don’t leave marks this time, okay?”

A slow waking smile creaks across his face, and he says, “I ain’t makin’ any promises, sweetheart.”

Your stomach swoops, and your thighs clench.

Shit.

Scarred lips work over tender flesh as a talented tongue flicks and swirls over the bumps of your areola, the tip digging into your nipple and drawing the swollen nub into a hot mouth. You whimper, arms tossed over the Ghoul’s broad shoulders.

Cold ceramic digs into the base of your spine, your body crowded back against the sink as he plasters himself to your front. Cuts off any escape routes and refuses to let you squirm away from the overwhelming sensations as he suckles.

Heavy palms grope at the plush curves of your hips, fingertips digging into the fat.

His lips pop off your nipple with a sticky smack. “Always taste s’fucking good,” he groans against your sternum. “Got the prettiest set a tits in the wasteland.”

“Hnn! N-Not so hard.”

While you say that, you don’t mean it - not really. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, clit swollen and aching for friction. Your inner thighs are a mess of slick, your vault suit caught around your knees.

He never touches you below the waist directly (some boundaries still exist between you two), but at this point in your pregnancy, you’re so sensitive a gentle breeze could set you off.

“Heh, ain’t you know lyin’s a sin?” he says.

A scarred cheek drags over the swell of your breast, the rasp of rad burn alighting your nerves. Bolts of desire ricochet down your spine, fizzle like Nuka Cola on your tongue. He presses an open mouth kiss to your nipple, his tongue flicking out to massage the tender bud.

At the taste of your skin, his cock twitches where its grinding against your thigh. You feel him through his ragged pinstripe slacks, his shaft a thick line of heat.

It’s probably the hormones (you refuse to admit its anything else) but just the thought of touching him, of sinking down onto his erection - feeling how fucking good he’d stretch you out and fill you up - makes you dizzy.

You pant, your voice distinctly whiny when you say, “Please, d-do something. It still hurts.”

His grin reminds you of the mongrels roaming the wastelands. “Sh,” he hushes you. “I got you, sweetheart.”

The tips of his fingers brush along the side of your swollen stomach. Your heart flips in your chest, your breath catching as he follows the contours of your body, reaching down to brush over the skin of your mound. This is new, he’s never done this before. It’s simultaneously as arousing as it is terrifying.

“Can smell how wet you are for me,” he says, tone low and gruff. “You gonna be a good girl for me, ain’t you?”

“I-”

Then his mouth is slurping at your tit, his teeth biting down on your nipple gently as those strong fingers dip between your thighs. Blunt nails scratch through your pubic hair, a calloused pad swirling circles around your slippery clit. Your hips jump, your head rolling back between your shoulders as a loud moan rips itself from your throat.

You arch back so far your belly presses against the Ghoul’s, your tits smothering his face.

You think, half deliriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a nose otherwise you might’ve broken it.

“Shit, that’s so - oh, fuck, please, please, please!’

Your legs widen to make room for his hand as yours fly up to grab his biceps, nails biting into the rough leather of his duster.

His tongue flutters across your areola. “C’mon, pretty mama, give it ta me.”

“Oh.” Sparks dance behind your eyes, your knees shaking as the Ghoul strokes over your folds, tests your wetness and the give of your cunt as he plays with your entrance. “Right there,” you gasp. “I’m gonna…”

He grunts, tugging on your nipple with his teeth.

The sharp bite of pain shoots through you, deepens the kindling warmth behind your navel that steadily builds and builds and builds. You feel on the very edge, nerves plucked like the keys of a piano.

So close you can taste it.

Then a tingling starts in the tips of your fingers.

Burns its way up your arms to settle in the weight of your chest, pins and needles pricking across the skin of your tits, lancing through the swollen buds of your nipples.

You tremble, the relief bringing tears to your eyes as tears the heaviness releases in a warm flood, your milk letting down to flow into the Ghoul’s eagerly pulling mouth.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he moans, chasing after the taste by nuzzling into your chest. His cock ruts against you. “Took you’re sweet damn time, didn’t you, darlin’?”

Your head spins, hazy thoughts scattering like confetti.

Endorphins simmer through your veins as you float on a cloud of cotton softness. Reality seems worlds away, your vision blurry as you focus on the points of contact between your bodies. The stretch of his fingers plunging into your pussy to stroke over the front wall.

Mouth slack, your hands creep up the Ghoul’s arms to trace over the sides of his neck, watch the dance of your fingers over his skin. “It feels s’good,” you slur. “Please don’t stop - wanna cum just like this.”

“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it.”

[mikkeneko]

5 things to do at the start of a new year

Y'know how tradition says that the first actions you take in the new year will determine how lucky you'll be for the rest of the year? Well, here are some things you can do to ensure you aren't super unlucky later!

Go through your medicine cabinet to identify and throw out expired medication.

Go through your first aid kit to identify and throw out expired medication, or anything which has become too damaged or fragile to use.

Go through your emergency preparedness materials (such as emergency lamps, flashlights etc,) and check the batteries, as well as pulling out anything which has become too damaged or fragile to use. --If you keep emergency supplies in your car, check them too.

Check your fire extinguisher to see if it's expired. Don't have one of your own, but live in a communal area that has one nearby? Check that one! Send a stern note to the landlord if it's expired.

Check on your filters (HVAC filters, water filters, fans, etc) to see if they need to be cleaned or replaced.

You don't have to get all of this done in a day -- if something needs to be replaced you can just make a note of it for later. But if something is expired, empty or broken, the time to find out is NOW, not in an emergency!

Don't have a fire extinguisher, or a first aid kit, or emergency preparedness materials? Well, there you go, free New Year's Resolution.

[thezombieprostitute]

Second Chances Dating App

Soulmates, though not fully understood, are a real thing. Soulmate meetings are celebrated throughout the world and cherished.

But what happens when one soulmate dies before the other? It's a painfully common occurrence. Soulmates passing away due to disease, accidents, natural disasters, crime.

You lost your own soulmate to heart attack. He got hit in the chest in just the wrong spot at just the wrong time and his heart stopped.

It's taken years of therapy but you think you're finally ready to try again. To welcome romantic and physical love back in your life. Your therapist recommends a dating app called Second Chances, designed specifically for people who have lost their soulmates.

So who are you swiping right on? (Poll at the bottom)

Curtis lost his soulmate to a car accident. They were hit by a drunk driver and, while Curtis survived, his soulmate didn't. He's had to deal with survivor guilt on top of everything else. But he's willing to give love another chance.

He works in HVAC systems, mainly repairs. It's nothing fancy, but considering his work helps people survive the crippling heat waves, he's happy to do it.

Jefferson, a single father, lost his soulmate to a mugging gone wrong. He's had to stay strong for his daughter, Grace, but he'll be the first to admit something broke in him. He's lost a considerable amount of faith in humanity but he wants to try.

He's a fashion designer. Not one of the most well known, but he's financially sound with a good number of high profile clients. He appreciates a medium that lets him be so expressive while also letting others express themselves.

Steve met his soulmate during his time in the army. Their time together was short and Steve still has PTSD from the battle that broke his soul. But he's tired of being alone. He's never one to stay down so he's going to try to find someone he can connect with. Someone he can feel safe and comfortable with.

He left the army soon after his soulmate's death and ended up going into automobile repair. He specializes in motorcycles but is good with anything that has an engine. He likes to work with his hands and keep himself busy.

Hal's soulmate was taken from him by cancer. They wasted away in front of his very eyes. He's incredibly grateful for the time they had together. But he knows they'd want him to find someone new. To not be tied to them forever.

Taking care of his soulmate, Hal picked up a lot of nursing tricks and trades. After they passed, he ended up taking courses and getting his nursing degree. He enjoys helping to take care of people.

A rather unique case, Bucky lost the arm with his soulmate tattoo in a construction accident. Because he no longer has it, the magic to find and meet his soulmate is gone. He's not entirely sure he belongs on this app, but he needs to try.

Bucky's replacement arm is enough that he's able to stay in the construction industry. Though he's more on the safety inspection side of things these days. He doesn't want anyone to go through what he has.

[rokurookajima]

🗑️🔥 gang, this is what your “i said what i said” angel looks like telling you about the HVAC system btw

(this is me in april LMAO sorry to force you all to look at me in the best look i’ve ever looked in 28 years, i was just going through pics for my 2024 review, and .. i just want this on every platform)

tldr: i haunt @katkastrofa @shadelorde @cuteniarose like a ghoul of horny on main