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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

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𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as abuse, gore, blood, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your marriage is marred in misery with no escape in sight... until he shows up at your door. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: Adam Warlock

Note: I hope ya'll like this one. I know it's a new and not so popular character.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The bin crashes down into the shrapnel of plastic and trash littered across the kitchen tile. Shane kicks an empty yogurt cup as you stare down in futility as the mess. If he didn't insist on the cheap bags, they would tear so easily but you're not stupid enough to say so.

"I work all fucking day and come home and you want me to take out the goddamn trash! Now look!"

You gulp, batting your eyes at him, paralysed in fear. You can't make your body move. You should grab a new bag and clean it all up, insist that he go sit down and you'll do the work. He doesn't give you a chance for all that as he lunges at you.

You step back on your heel with a squeak, caught around your neck as he spins and swings you around with him. He hooks a foot around yours, bringing you easily to your feet, bending you over the stinking potato skins as your arms shake. You fight to keep him from mashing your face into the garbage.

"And where's dinner? What am I supposed to eat? Maybe you should swallow this all up and you'll realise the sort of bullshit I gotta come home to," he snarls, "stupid fucking bitch."

“I’m s-sorry,” you croak, throat scraping as you try to swallow a sob, “I’ll… I’ll clean this up–”

“Damn right you will,” he barks and jerks you as he rips his grip from your neck, “useless…”

He kicks a plastic tray at you before he stomps off, leaving you to stare at the mess. You sit back on your heels, quivering, and exhale slowly. You shift and reach behind you, opening the cupboard under the sink to retrieve a new bag.

You peel it open and gather up the garbage, piece by piece, focusing on the task as you ignore the odor and the occasional moisture that smears on your hand. As you get it tied up, you stand, choking on your tears as they spill out unstemmed.

You sneak out the back door and carry the bag around the side of the house. You keep your chin down, hoping your neighbours don’t witness your despair. You come up to the gray bin and lift the lid, shoving the bag inside and letting it close with a thunk.

You grab the handles and wheel it away from the siding, the large container rattling as you force it along the uneven grass and onto the walkway. The wheels bounce on the cracks in the pavement and you stop to pull open the white picket fence, paint flaking away beneath your touch.

You continue on and guide the bin to the curb, letting it rest there as you sniffle and try to shake away the last of your weeping. You can’t go back inside like this. If he sees you crying, it will only make him angrier.

You look across the street at the other houses; they’re all nicer than the rundown rental you share with Shane. Where the leaves are strewn in a layered carpet across the mulch of your lawn, the others have the autumnal canopy neatly raked into piles. When you asked for him to grab the rake, his answer was especially bruising. So you’ll see if you can’t get to it tomorrow.

You sigh and turn on your heel, squeaking as you nearly collide with another. You didn’t hear or see the man approach. There was no shadow in his approach, no footsteps scuffing to warn you. You press yourself to the bin as you look up at him. Your chest compresses under some unseen force as the air is forced from your lungs.

You try to apologise for your carelessness but your lips can only form the singular stutter, ‘s-sorry’ as your voice is trapped in your breathless throat. You stare at the man. It’s almost as if he had been waiting for you to turn around.

The leather jacket, the patch sewn on the left-side of his chest, the cool confidence of his posture, they all assure you of who he is. Of the danger he carries with him. You blink up dumb, waving in front of your chest as you try to eke out a single noise, pleading with him not to be angry.

His pale blue eyes twinkle as his smiles, a soft crinkle beside his eyes as the dimming night limns his long face. If Shane saw you standing here with this man, of any, he would lose his mind. You have to get back inside. You have to get away from this stranger.

“No sorry,” he says, his voice rocky but not unkind, “I am in your way.”

He slowly steps aside, retreating as he goes to rest his hand on the post of the white picket gate. He waits expectantly, waving you within as his smooth, deliberate movements fill you with dread. There is a carelessness in him which betrays fearlessness. You will never know what it’s like to not be hounded by inexorable dread. It both irks you and scares you.

You make yourself move. You cross the sidewalk and enter through the open gate, as he looms over you. His gaze is hot on you, clinging and suffocating. Your heart hammers with adrenaline. If there is anyone you fear more than Shane, it is these men and their black leather shadows.

“Have a good night,” he says as he pulls the gate shut between you, “I hope whatever makes you sad does not keep you awake…”

You can breathe again. You gulp in air and fold your hands in front of you. You turn to the man and nearly gasp. There’s something eerie in how he lurks, in how he is both draped in shadow but shines among it.

“Good night,” is all you can get out.

“No moon,” he says as he draws his hand away from the wooden post, “it will be a good night for rest.”

He puts his hands in the deep pockets of his leather jacket. His breath fogs around him, billowing over his shoulders as he strides through it. You watch his silhouette as he departs, his footsteps make no noise and the night seems to close in around him until you can see him no longer.

You shudder and hug yourself as you back up. You turn, fighting a tugging that tries to keep you outside. You head back between the house and the fence as a chill creeps up your spine.

Your stomach pits as a sudden desolation overwhelms you. You feel hollow and heavy, as if you could collapse right there. You can’t, you have to make dinner. You won’t get much sleep if Shane goes hungry.

🌑

Shane leaves at the usual time. His shifts at the factory are your only escape. They don’t always feel like that as you spend the hours worrying about his return. About what mistake he’ll find when he gets home. So your time is spent still keeping him happy, though you’ve never managed that.

Along with the endless list of chores come those thoughts. Those regrets and questions of how it ended up like this. On when he started to hate you. On when you decided to accept that.

You pull on one of his flannel shirts and a pair of jeans. You dig out some gardening gloves from the shed and take the rake with you as you put your mind to clearing the lawn. The autumnal air is crisp but fresh. It’s almost refreshing.

You come out to the front of the house, starting at the walkway, clearing it of the leaves, brushing them onto the grass. From there, you drag the teeth of the rake away, pushing the growing pile towards the corner of the fence.

Sweat beads on your forehead and dampens beneath the layers of clothing. You huff out a thick hot breath into the cold air. The briskness sneaks down the back of your collar and chills you.

“The winter is close,” the statement startles you from your work.

You plant the rake and grip the handle, facing the figure outside the fence. It’s the same man. Your lips part but you can’t say a word.

“Can you feel it?” He asks.

Your jaw chatters. His eyes fall to your lips as you try to hide it. He steps forward and sets his hands on the points of the fence, leaning in.

“It’s colder when you are alone…” he says.

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “I am not…”

You look back at the house and he chuckles. You turn back to him and bring your other hand to the wooden rake handle. He considers the leaves on the ground with interest. He pushes himself straight. He seems taller than before.

“Are you not?” He asks cryptically. “This is a lot of work for only one.”

You shrug, unsure how to answer.

“I can help.”

Your mouth is dry and your tongue is sticky. You make yourself talk.

“I don’t know you…”

“Adam,” he says pointedly, “my name is Adam. Tell me your name, then we will know each other.”

You speak before you think. As if you didn’t have a choice. Even if reluctance needles at the back of your mind, knowing that Shane would not want you to speak to this man, your name tumbles out as if you owe it to the stranger. Adam.

“Beautiful,” he remarks as he nears the fence, reaching over to the clasp, “let me help.”

“N-no,” you drag the rake with you and catch the gate as he lifts the latch, “please–”

“You must rest,” he shows his palm in a strange gesture, sweeping it in front of you, “you are dizzy and feel unwell. You need to sit down.”

Silver stars speckle in your vision and you feel the world shift under your feet. You look down and clutch the rake tight, feeling as if you might fall over. You let go of the fence and take a step back as you touch your forehead.

“I am… lightheaded,” you admit, confused at how suddenly it come upon you.

He pushes the gate inward and enters. He shuts it with a gentle metal clink and grips the rake above your hand. You recoil, letting him have it as your limbs grow heavy. He leans the tool against the fence and turns to you again.

“Please,” he puts a hand on your arm, the contact filling your head with smoke, “sit down, bunny.” He ushers you to the front steps and helps you sit there. He braces your shoulders and bends over you, “you will not move until I bid.”

You look at him, confused but comforted by his touch. You nod. He pulls his hands away, caressing your cheek before he stands straight. You shiver and hug yourself.

He lingers as his zipper cuts in the air. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and swings it around you, the smell of leather surrounding you. He tugs it snug around you and retreats. You can’t help put pull it tighter as another scent tickles your nose; him.

His boots mulch across the leaves and grass and he grabs the rake. He resumes your work, easily heaping up the clutter, the steady scrape of the tines easing you. You look up and watch him. He is unbothered by the cold despite the thin cotton of his black tee shirt. His muscles tauten beneath the fabric as he works.

You feel sleepy as the pale sky blurs around his stark figure. You’re hypnotised by his steady motions, his easy strength. A strand of his golden hair falls forward as he focuses on the ground, gathering up the leaves with diligent care. Your lashes cling to each other and your eyelids itch.

You hug the jacket closer and dip your nose behind the collar. The weight of fatigue settles over you and coaxes your eyes shut. The rake continues to scrape in your ears even as you sink down into oblivion.

🌒

You wake to blackness. Dark lines trim the corners of the room as slowly your vision lifts to a dull gray. The night stares in through the windows, frosted with the slow creep of winter. The wind howls and rattles the pane in the frame. The cold looms outside like a spectre but does not enter.

You are warmer. Too warm. Your body heat enshrines you beneath the quilt pulled to your chin. Despite your want to escape from the stolid cocoon, you do not move. A languid weight keeps you at peace despite your discomfort.

You’ve never felt like this, so calm. There’s a dull tapping at your skull that tells you to worry, to be afraid, but it’s quickly smothered and forgotten. Why should you be? You are home and safe in bed.

You let your eyes close and hum. You just want to sleep, to slip away and never wake up. You drift, mind skewing as if you’re floating on a tide. Then it swells and crashes over you with the dark growl that seeps in through the wall.

Your breath hitches and your lashes snap open. Your ears itch as you listen, trying to hear through the plaster. There are soft, muted murmurs but nothing discernible. You quiver as you hang in the limbo; do you stay or get up?

Slowly, you bring your hands up and pull the quilt away from your face, peeling it with effort past your chest. Cool air sweeps over you, urging you to nestle back beneath the patchwork. You hear it again, like a beast it grits deep through the air, gravelly and harsh.

Sitting up is difficult. That same dizziness blurs your mind. You squeeze your eyelids shut and bid away the echoing auras. When you look again, the world is steady. You stand without reaching for the lamp. You wade through the darkness like quicksand, each step impeded by unseen bounds.

At the door, you wait, hand on the knob, brass cold to the touch. You inhale and taste the air wafting in around the frame. It’s sharp and frigid.

You turn the knob and lift the door on its hinges. You peek down the hall, it’s dark but for the orange flicker glowing from down the hall. That house, the place you call home, the walls you could etch from memory, is suddenly strange and sinister.

You let go of the door and tiptoe out, the voices drawing you in. The conversation garbled in your fuzzy ears. It isn’t until you get closer that you can make out the words. That you recognise the familiar tones.

“What.. are you… waiting for?” Shane’s words are interspersed with moist gulps and groans.

A snicker, short and stony. There’s little humour in the laughter. Adam replies, “justice.”

“You…criminals are all the same,” Shane utters through laborious breaths, “bunch… freaks… like you… should leave… this town.”

“We own this town,” Adam says, “there would be nothing but dirt if it wasn’t for us freaks.”

A hork and the wet splat of spit on the floor jolts you. You stop just before the doorway, shuddering as you hesitate and look back down the hall. You can go back to bed and hide. If you do, you might wake up and realise it’s all just a rotten nightmare.

“Come on, bunny,” Adam calls to you.

You spin back, finding yourself still alone with only the lip of the wall between you and the flickering amber light. You put your hand on the plaster and your other on your chest. He cannot mean you.

“I hear you,” he says evenly, “we’ve been waiting for you.”

You put your foot out and slowly reveal yourself. You turn and face the room from the doorway. You see the single taper burning on the mantel and the tall shadow beside it. Adam lurks with his straight-shoulder but slack posture.

There is another, in one of the wooden chairs from the dining set, slumped and held up by knotted leather belts. You can see only the back of Shane’s oily black hair. You come forward, eager but terrified to see more of him.

His right eye is swollen shut, a cut weeping beneath, and his lips dribble blood down his chin. He leans forward, kept upright only by his bounds. His breathing is rickety and shallow. He looks at you with his left eye and grunts.

“...bitch…” he mutters under his breath, “slut…I always… knew…”

“Ah ah ah,” Adam tuts and makes himself taller. Shane flinches and swallows loudly, choking on his split and blood, “you mustn’t value your tongue very much.”

Adam reveals a long dagger, the orange glint of the candle reflecting off of it. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before. The metal is both dark and gleaming, a perfectly forged fuller down the middle of the blade.

You turn as you stand transfixed by the sight of your husband. Only then do you notice the scarlet leaking down the front of the wooden armrest, staining deep the veins of the wood. There are three fingers remaining on his right, and one less on his left hand. You cup your mouth behind your hand, catching a scream before it can erupt.

“Shhhhhh,” Adam hushes as he presses himself to your back, “I only had a sampling…”

“What have you done?” You whisper as you gape at the ruin of the man before you. His clothing is shredded so that it reveals the long gashes on his chest and the slices down his thighs. “Why…”

“The strong should protect the weak, not harm them,” he bends and nuzzles your hair, “but more, the weak are not helpless.”

“I don’t understand…” your eyes sting as Shane clenches his jaw and glares at you. How often you saw that same glimmer in him. That sheer hatred that made you wonder if he ever loved you.

“You understand,” Adam’s hand trails down your arm and he pulls you around. He presses the handle of the dagger against your palm and closes your fingers around it, “you know exactly what must be done.”

“Please, I can’t…” you whimper, “you… you hurt him. You’ve…” you look at Shane again, “how could you?”

“I could have cut his heart out by now,” Adam sneers, “but I do not own that.” He squeezes your hand, “it is not mine to take.”

“What…”

“I know what he does. He will not stop. Not until you are dead,” Adam insists as he raises the dagger, his hand still around yours, “or he is.”

He drags you towards Shane and aims the tip of the blade at the slouched man’s chest. He holds it there as you shake, whining as you try to free yourself. His strength is unbending and unbroken. He puts a hand on your back, gripping you tight as he keeps the dagger steady.

“I cannot free you, you must do it yourself…”

You close your eyes. This must be why the townsfolk whisper of the men in leather. Why they scatter at the sight of them. Murderers! Monsters!

“Please–”

“He has made you weak,” Adam purrs into your hair, “I have come to make you strong.”

“No–”

“Yes, you must,” he growls along the rim of your ear, “remember all he has inflicted on you. The names he’s put upon you; bitch, slut, useless, nothing…” he hisses as his hand crawls up to your neck, “how he broke your nose on your wedding night.”

Your heart races, pounding in your ribs. How could he know that?

“How he put your hand on the lit burner when you forgot to buy milk,” he continues, your shaky grasp tightening as your tears crest and fall free.

“Or how just the other day, he would have rubbed your nose in garbage like an incontinent mutt–”

“Stop!” You cry out, “stop! How do you know–”

“I know a beast when I see one,” Adam turns his head, his cheek against your temple, “I know a rabid one should be put down before it can maul again.”

“But… but… I love him,” you sniffle.

“Do you?” He lets his hand fall away from yours but you don’t rescind your reach, you don’t move the dagger away from Shane, “does he love you?”

You know he does not. He never did. You were only ever the stupid girl who fell for him. You realised too late what he really was and now you were trapped for life.

You would be miserable with him until the day you died. Not because he loves you, but because he loves to hurt you.

The tip sinks through the flesh without resistance. You're stunned as you do not stop yourself from letting it further, from pushing it through the layers of fat and muscles, leaning into it until you can’t force it any deeper. You watch the steel bury into him as blood spurts out around your hand and sprays up your sleeve.

Shane does not scream. He cannot as you pierce his heart. His head falls forward and his body goes limp. You keep a hold of the hilt and jerk it as try to wrench it even deeper.

Your hand is slick with his blood and slips off. You raise a fist instead and hit his lifeless shoulder. You hit him again on the head, another strike to his stomach, and a kick for good measure.

You bring your hands up and look at your blood stained hand, your other palm streaked with flecks of his death. You heave and try to scream but you cannot. You collapse to your knees and keel over onto your elbows.

You should cry but you cannot. Your tears evaporate as grief eludes you. It should hurt. Why doesn’t it hurt? You’re not sad, but you’re not happy. No, you are free.

The floorboards creak and you raise your head as Adam kneels beside you. He touches your chin as his other arm slings around you. He pulls you to him and presses his lips to your temple.

“They will find him,” he caresses your cheek as he speaks, “but they cannot take you if you are with me.”

“Take me?” You ask dumbly.

“They will call you murderer, they will lock you up,” he coos, “I will keep you safe, bunny.” He dips his hand back down and nudges your chin up. He looks down at you, eyes shining silver in the candlelight, “I will keep you happy.”

#adam warlock #dark adam warlock #dark!adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #illuminate #au #werewolf au #series #marvel #mcu

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elementaldoughnut12 · 6 months ago

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"Aftermath"

*warning Mox drinks in this! I know he doesn't drink anymore and it's a touchy subject so if you don't like this then don't read it! It's just fiction!*

*also contains crying and negative thoughts*

Doughnut Team: @afterdarkprincess @thlayli-ra

Darby wishes this was all a bad dream, that he'd wake up and everything will be normal, but it won't. He just watched as Mox, a man he thought of and still thought of as the love of his fucking life, nearly kill Bryan as he was duct taped to the ring. He got front row seats as Mox stared him down with a sickening smile as he suffocated Bryan with the bag. Darby knows deep in his heart that Mox will go after him next and he won't even see it coming. Maybe he deserves to die like the worthless garbage he is…

He's snapped out of his dark thoughts when he feels three sets of hands on him. He looks up and sees it's his boyfriend Orange and his friends Hook and Danny circling around him. “Let's get you out of here Darby” Orange says gently as he tries to block Darby's view. “You don't deserve to watch this” Hook says as he pulls out his pocket knife. “Especially if it involves someone you thought of as someone you loved” Danny says as he gently squeezes Darby's shoulder.

Darby stays silent as Hook cuts the duct tape off his wrists as the others peel the duct tape off his body. They then pulled Darby out the ring and walked up the ramp. Darby looks behind him and freezes when he sees Mox staring him down in the middle of the ring and just smiling and waving at him. He felt something shoved on his face and realized it's Orange's sunglasses. “He doesn't deserve to see you vulnerable” Orange says as he guides them to his locker room.

“Maybe he does and he should just kill me” Darby says quietly. The others look at him with concern. “Don't say that garbage Darby” Hook says as he glares at the ring. “Don't let him get into your head” Danny says as he pulls Darby to his side. They set Darby on the bench as Hook grabs his bag. “I got it from here guys” Orange says as he sits next to Darby. “You sure dude?” Hook asks worryingly. “Yeah, we can stay if you want?” Danny asks concerned.

“Nah, you guys go… I'll text you when we get back to the hotel” Orange says as Hook hands him Darby's bag. Both men nod and leave the room, leaving Darby and Orange by themselves. Orange turns Darby towards him and pulls him to his chest. “Let it out Darby” Orange says quietly he feels Darby start trembling. Darby lets out a soul piercing scream that came from the deepest part of his being. “WHY DID HE DO THIS?!?! Why did he…” Darby says through sobs.

“I don't know Darby” Orange says as he rubs Darby's back. “That's not Jon… that's something else” Darby says through sniffles. “The demon in the bottle can do horrible things to a person” Orange says quietly, causing Darby to realize something. He remembered earlier that when Mox was taping him to the corner of the ring, he smelled alcohol on his breath. “You think he's gonna hurt us next?” Darby asks, causing Orange to freeze a bit. “Let's not think about that and go back to the hotel ok?” Orange offers, Darby nodding in agreement.

They grab their things and make it to the rental car. The ride to the hotel was silent with Orange holding Darby's hand as a way to anchor him. They make it to their hotel room and start to unpack. “How did you know Jon was drunk?” Darby asks curiously as he puts his clothes in a drawer. “I saw Claudio hand him a bottle of Jack Daniel's before the match” Orange says which causes Darby to sigh. “He could've just talked to us instead of going back to something that would ruin his fucking mind! None of this would've happened if he just opened the fuck up!” Darby says as he feels himself start to cry again.

He can feel Orange hug him from behind. “We'll save him Darby… even if it kills us” Orange promises as he kisses Darby's cheek. “Do you think he still loves us?” Darby asks hopefully as he leans against Orange. “I believe he does because he wouldn't be purposely hurting himself if he didn't” Orange says truthfully with Darby nodding in agreement. They both put pajamas on and get into bed. “I hope we get him back soon” Darby says with a yawn. “We'll figure out a plan in the morning. Now go to sleep cause today was…rough” Orange says as he turns the light off.

“Love you Orange” Darby says quietly as he snuggles up to Orange and goes to sleep. “Love you too Darby” Orange says as he kisses Darby's forehead. With Darby asleep, Orange just sighs as he looks at the starry sky through the window. “Love you too Jon” Orange says quietly as he falls asleep as well. He hopes that their boyfriend heard that and knows they still love him.

#this was kinda angsty im sorry #im putting orange and darby through hell #orange/darby #moxorange #darbmox #orange cassidy #darby allin #jon moxley #fic doughnut #daily doughnut

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tulsadumpsterrentalassociation · 1 year ago

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Tulsa Dumpster Rental Association

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brantfordbinrental · 2 years ago

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Efficient Commercial Junk Removal Practices for Brantford Businesses

Maximize cleanliness and productivity with our top-tier junk removal services in Brantford. Our efficient commercial practices ensure hassle-free garbage dumpster rentals, catering to businesses seeking streamlined waste management. Trust us for prompt and eco-friendly solutions, transforming your space through expert junk removal in Brantford. Elevate your business environment with our reliable services today.

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disposalking12 · 3 days ago

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Drywall Disposal in Vancouver – Everything You Need to Know

Drywall disposal in Vancouver is a topic every homeowner, contractor, or renovator should understand. Whether you're tearing down walls during a remodel or clearing out leftover material, it’s important to know how to safely and legally dispose of drywall in the Vancouver area. Improper disposal can result in fines, environmental harm, and logistical headaches. This blog breaks down the key steps and options for effective drywall waste removal in Vancouver.

✅ Why Drywall Disposal Matters

Drywall, also known as gypsum board or sheetrock, is made primarily from gypsum sandwiched between paper layers. Although it's commonly used, drywall can pose environmental and health risks if not disposed of properly—especially older drywall that may contain asbestos.

In Metro Vancouver, waste management regulations are strict, especially when it comes to hazardous or construction waste. That's why it's essential to use the correct drywall disposal services or drop-off sites.

🛑 Can You Throw Drywall in the Garbage?

No. You cannot throw drywall in your regular garbage bin in Vancouver. Drywall is considered construction and demolition (C&D) waste and must be handled separately.

In fact, some drywall—especially if installed before 1990—may contain asbestos, which is a hazardous material. Vancouver has very strict regulations for handling such materials. If you’re unsure about the age or content of your drywall, always get it tested by a certified lab before disposal.

🚧 Types of Drywall Waste

When preparing for drywall disposal, it's helpful to know what kind you have:

New/Unused Drywall – Off-cuts or unused boards from renovations.

Used Non-Hazardous Drywall – Post-1990 drywall removed during renovations.

Potentially Hazardous Drywall – Pre-1990 material that must be tested for asbestos.

Wet or Moldy Drywall – Needs special handling and cannot be recycled.

Each type requires a different handling and disposal method.

🏷️ Where to Dispose of Drywall in Vancouver

There are several licensed facilities and services for drywall disposal in Vancouver. Some of the most commonly used options include:

1. Metro Vancouver Transfer Stations

Certain regional transfer stations accept small amounts of residential drywall (with conditions). All drywall must be pre-approved and accompanied by test results if older than 1990.

2. Drywall Recycling Facilities

Some companies specialize in recycling clean, non-hazardous drywall. These facilities break down the gypsum for reuse, making this an environmentally-friendly option.

3. Dumpster Bin Rentals

A convenient method for bulk disposal is to rent a bin specifically for drywall. Companies like Disposal King offer drywall-specific bins with pickup and drop-off included. This saves time, especially for large jobs.

4. Hazardous Waste Disposal Services

If your drywall is contaminated with mold or asbestos, contact a certified hazardous waste removal company. Never attempt to dispose of it yourself.

🛠️ How to Prepare Drywall for Disposal

Separate drywall from other construction waste.

Test old drywall for asbestos if pre-1990.

Keep it dry if possible, as wet drywall may not be accepted by recycling centers.

Stack or bag loose pieces for easier pickup or drop-off.

💸 Drywall Disposal Costs in Vancouver

Costs will vary depending on:

Quantity of drywall

Age/testing requirements

Drop-off vs pickup service

Location or travel distance

On average:

Drop-off at a licensed facility may cost $100–$200 per ton

Drywall bin rental ranges from $250–$400, including pickup and disposal

Hazardous material removal (like asbestos) can range from $1,000–$3,000+ depending on scope

✅ Environmentally Friendly Option: Recycle It!

When clean and dry, gypsum drywall is recyclable. Recycled gypsum can be used in new drywall, cement, or even as a soil additive in agriculture. Always choose recycling if it's available—it keeps waste out of landfills and reduces environmental impact.

📞 Need Help? Call a Drywall Disposal Service in Vancouver

Instead of guessing or taking risks, work with a trusted bin rental and drywall disposal company. Services like Disposal King provide bins, guidance, and compliant waste removal, so you can focus on your project with peace of mind.

🔚 Final Thoughts

Drywall disposal in Vancouver isn't as simple as tossing it in the trash—but with the right approach, it’s manageable. Whether you're a contractor or a DIY homeowner, understanding the rules, testing requirements, and disposal options ensures a smooth, legal, and eco-friendly process.

#drywall disposal vancouver

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