#i realized it had been like TWELVE YEARS since i'd updated this

[enbysaurus-rex]

a complete incomplete list of shit in rough order of goodness

Long-ish Fics

BATFAM

The Chronic Illness Fic that's getting way too long- Tim Drake is a kid who doesn’t Know What’s Normal, and so his health declining is just what happens, right? No one else complains about it, so he shouldn’t either! -50k

MDZS

My Boy Builds Coffins -- LWJ is a coffin builder in Yiling while WWX is trying to cleanse the burial mounds. Dirt is both a love language and a major theme, somehow? 50k [finished audio version]

Ghost Library -- LWJ is a government exorcist and his next assignment is a library. MXY is the librarian. Set after the thirteen years and with attempts at musical cultivation. 45k (WIP-ish) [finished audio version]

The Crayon Talisman Fic -- Modern Cultivation AU Burial Mounds era! WWX is a rogue cultivator Just Trying To Make Ends Meet while toting baby a-Yuan around. Shenanigans commence! WIP 60k[audio currently caught up]

The Martial Arts Fic -- WWX is a sensei and he and LWJ used to be tournament buddies back in ye Olde Days. Shenanigans commence! 420k and i still add a chapter from time to time as a bonus [audio in process]

The Narcolepsy Fic--  Canon-divergence where WWX was treating his narcolepsy with his golden core and Then He Didn’t Have the Golden Core. Shenanigans commence! WIP 80k [audio in process]

Short-ish Fics

BATFAM

Tim watched the graysons fall. Then he learns how to fly from the last grayson. nothing could go wrong - 2k

Tim is a shifter and he refuses to tell anyone in his family what his shifter form is. They find out anyway. - 4k

5 times tim passed out and the one time his brothers noticed. - 8.6k

MDZS

burial mounds modern fairytale? - 5k of historical/ahistorical nuclear winter VIBES

Wangxian breakup -- there is a plot that could be there, afterwards, but unless people want that in their lives i probs won’t write it - 4.6k

WWX is compelled to answer Inquiry -- itty bitty tiny fic 1k

JC/JZX -- i needed more variety in my life, and this might get longer if i ever get a plot bunny -6.4k

Jingyi’s perception of HGJ’s mourning - as a kid and then later as a teenager -2.7k

i lost my shit over a david bowie song -- the wangxian production complete with shittily transcribed sheet music - 4.1k

AUDIO VERSIONS:

-all have soundcloud playlists (one for each fic). this is the easiest way to play ALL of something without reaching for your phone every chapter

-and here you can download them from archive.org, because sometimes you just need an mp3. i know this and i love you!

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬

part six of do you feel my hand? it is there. | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader is now his past client. drinking alcohol and getting drunk/tipsy is mentioned. things are starting to get suggestive in this one. also, smut is coming very soon. :))

word count: 3.0k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

a/n: these past few days have been real tough ones for me, but I thought I'd give you guys an update with this fic since I'm really excited to reveal the other parts to it. after I finish posting this series, I'm going to spend a few weeks working on finishing up my wip list. 🤓 and THEN- since my poll just finished, I've officially decided to start working on the felix longfic summer!au series after I complete everything else. also, I hope to open up my requests again within the next month or two, so please look forward to everything I've got planned! 🤭 also- please continue to support and love skz throughout this season of their new comeback... try to buy their albums/stream the new music if you can so that they have a chance to win at the year-end awards... let's strive for a mama win this year, you guys!!💞

🐈‍⬛ - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋread my rules & guidelines here! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋcheck out my skz masterlist! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋmy wip list! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ skz fic recs [sfw ver]! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋskz fic recs [nsfw ver]! :: 18+, MDNI! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋback to navigation! ࿐ྂ

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

 The first thing you noticed when you awoke was the quietness. Your ears weren’t used to the silence, as your mind had been crammed with so many voices and shouts and laughter and blasting music for hours on end. 

 But all at once, the stark change was downright unnerving. 

 That, and the fact that you couldn’t feel the warm presence from before at your side anymore. 

 Cracking your eyes open slowly, you came to the stark realization that the living room was… empty. There wasn’t a single sign of life anywhere. The floor was picked up of any sort of mess - the game controllers put away, the bags of chips and candy and cans of beer all having disappeared. The tv was still on, showcasing a dark ambiance screen saver of a fireplace. The living room curtains were closed shut tightly, blocking you from catching a glimpse of the moon just outside. Other than that, the only light filtering into the room came off to the side, where the hallway lead into the adjoining kitchen. 

 You threw the warm blanket off of your legs, adjusting your dress and running a hand through your hair as you made your way to the only remaining light source. Like a moth to a flame. You didn’t know how long you had slept, but seeing as it was still dark out - you noticed the dim sky through a window as you passed through the hallway - you assumed only an hour or two. Surprisingly, your rest had helped to stave off your hangover, and you weren’t feeling nearly as tipsy as you were right before you dozed off. 

 As you neared a small table that was placed in the hallway, you read that it was approaching three in the morning. Damn, you had surely overstayed your welcome. 

 Upon stepping into the kitchen’s threshold, you came face-to-face with a busy figure at the counters. With a proud back and messy, black locks. He was humming a low tune to himself, as he wiped down the pristine marble with a damp cloth. 

 “Hi,” is all you could manage, voice coming out a little scratchy from disuse and the dryness from all the alcohol. 

 He turned around on you, face lighting up with surprise. He didn’t expect you to be awake, it would seem. “Hi yourself,” he said, as he finished polishing up the counters and made to throw the towel in a nearby basket that you assumed held dirty laundry. “I was just going to go out there and check up on you.” 

 You toed at the ground, having taken off your heels early on in the night. Clearing your throat in the sudden awkwardness that had sprung up between the two of you in the past few hours, you said, “When did the guys leave?” 

 “Just a little while ago, I’ve been cleaning up since then- they always leave a bomb for me to repair after a party like this.��� Minho was leaning against the farthest counter, his eyes trained on the nearby marble that he had just cleaned. Like he couldn’t stand the sight of you. Like you were annoying him by just your presence alone. 

 You swallowed around the dryness in your throat, already feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the complete one-eighty that he had taken in regards to you. 

 It hurt. 

 It hurt really fucking bad. 

But then, you found yourself talking, and before you even realized it, the words were flowing out of your mouth, unbidden and unstoppable. “I-I’m sorry I dozed off- I totally overstayed my welcome…” 

 Minho pulled his eyes away from the kitchen counter then, leveling you with those warm irises of his that seemed to soften just a tiny bit. His brows furrowed at your distressed state, lips falling open slightly in confusion. “Don’t worry about it, you’re always welcome here.”

 “No, I think coming here was a bad idea,” you started, the tears finally breaking free and racing down either of your cheeks. Your face felt like it had been lit on fire, as you flushed violently from the embarrassment and humiliation of it all. “I-I sorry, I just… I should go-”

 And you were turning out of the kitchen then, down the hallway, towards the front door. Your little sniffles rang out against the walls that slowly felt like they were closing in on you, your heart echoing in your ears as the blood rushed through your system. 

 You didn’t hear your name being called out until you were stopped dead in your tracks by fingers clutching onto one of your wrists. They pulled and pulled, desperately and quietly. 

 “I’m sorry,” he said, voice strained and low in his throat. The tears made your vision blurry, as you stared in front of you, taking in the small painting of a cat that was placed near his front door. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m-”

 You let out a tiny scoff, shaking your head, trying to clear your mind from all of the murky thoughts that ran through it. “You can’t even look at me. You haven’t been able to all night, so just… just forget it. I knew it was a horrible idea coming tonight anyway, I should’ve listened to myself.” When you tried to yank your wrist out of his grasp, he only clutched on tighter, fingers digging into your palm. 

 “Please, don’t say that, I loved having you here tonight- everyone did.” 

 “Yeah, but you sure didn’t act like it.” 

 “And I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I- it’s just been really hard for me, that’s all.” 

 You turned around, finally catching sight of his face. Cheekbones dusty with shadows, lips pressed into a wavering line, chest falling in short, anxious breaths. And then you noticed his outfit, for the millionth time that night. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it back in the kitchen, but the zipper on his tight black shirt had fallen even further down his chest than ever before, teasing and teasing at what lay underneath. 

 Swallowing at that, you met his gaze. He was a little bit taller than you, and you realized how closed-in the space around you felt… practically cornered in the hallway, near his door but not too near. “What’s been hard? What are you even talking about, Dr. Lee?” 

 He ran a frustrated hand through his midnight tresses, heaving a large sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, almost like it pained him to say his next words. “First, you suddenly disappear from everything- no more phone calls, no more visits, no more glimpses of you passing by during the work week. Then, you unexpectedly show up again at that cafe and try your hardest to avoid me altogether. And then, you appear right in front of my eyes, looking like-”

 Stopping himself, he bit down on his plush bottom lip, his eyes running down the length of you. Practically undressing you with his stare alone. And just that sight alone caused you to squirm in your spot. Lit a match deep inside of you. 

 When his eyes locked with yours again, you found enough courage to speak again and you somehow recovered from his blatant perusal of your body. “What? How did my showing up tonight change things?” Without thinking, your hands were traveling up the front of him, landing on either of his broad shoulders and pulling him a little closer to you. 

 He swallowed, his stare practically devouring you whole as he allowed you to draw him near. So that you could catch his scent - of warm chamomile and sweet cookies. “I thought I was doing better- thought I was strong enough. But then you showed up tonight looking so fucking ethereal - like an angel rising from a glorious throne - and I just… I couldn’t take it any longer,” you felt your lungs constrict at his confession, heart thumping wildly against your ribcage. “But I know what you think, that… that I’m just your local vet and nothing more and-”

 “Y-You think I look like an angel?” You asked, voice turning breathless. From the nearness of him, from his words. But especially, the things he was telling you. They sounded so sweet on his tongue, so whole and flawless. 

 Minho nodded, slowly, staring down at you with those coffee-coloured eyes of his. “But you’re more than just that. You’re… this unobtainable goddess that I just- can’t get enough of.” 

 “I wore it for you.” 

 A beat of silence, a slight intake of breath, and then,

 “What?” 

 “I said… this outfit, I wore it tonight only for you and you alone.” 

 You heard movement. Limbs shifted and the air surrounding you crackled with tension. Then, fingers were dancing underneath your chin, and a warm palm was pressing into one of your cheeks. You leaned into the touch, peering up at him. 

 Marveling at the way that his mouth hung open slightly in apparent shock, as his mind slowly began to process your words. His eyes raced over your face, again and again. Like if he peered at you long enough, he’d be able to tell whether you were lying or not. 

 But then a sardonic kind of smirk spread across his lips, as he canted his head to one side and raised a dark, perfectly-manicured eyebrow your way. “Well, that’s just comical because I wore this for you tonight... but, did you know that mint is my favorite color?”

 Your eyes widened at that and your heart skipped a beat at the realization that you had worn his favorite color.

 To a party that he had hosted.

 At his place. 

 The implications that you hadn't even known you were making by your outfit alone were beyond you.

 Your focus landed on his attire again - for what felt like the millionth time already. At the loose, dark cargo pants and the matching shirt that was just begging to be taken off.  

 Feeling yourself mimicking his expression, you reached out and played with the silvery zipper that was positioned halfway down his chest. “I like it- a lot. Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you all night.” 

 A dry laugh escaped him, and you watched, as his pupils brightened with a certain kind of heat. “That much I could tell…” 

 And before you could even grasp what was happening, his touch against your cheek was moving, fingers traveling over to your mouth. Tracing the outline of it, before his thumb played with your bottom lip, pulling it out slightly from the way that it had been held between your teeth. 

 The panic began to rise inside of you then, as you began to understand what was happening. What he was about to do. Why he was leaning into you ever so slowly. 

 Your hands were on his chest in an instant, stopping him from going any further. His fingertips burned on your flesh - scorching your chin and lips in tandem. “W-We shouldn’t…” You gasped out, voice turning strangled from how badly you wanted everything. Him, and his love, and his attention. It hurt you to your core, to push back from the very thing that you had been pining over for so very long. 

 “Why?”

 “B-Because… I was your client and things were always supposed to remain professional and you-” 

 His thumb swiped at your bottom lip again, tantalizing and tempting you all at the same time. And for a moment, you almost gave into your inhibitions and allowed him to draw nearer to you. But then you remembered who he was- and who you were. And how such opposites could never mesh well together. Perhaps things would be okay for a little while, but gradually, over time, mistakes would happen, promises would be broken, and you’d be back at square one all over again… soul torn into two pieces from the harsh breakup of a relationship that you had thought would last forever. 

 “What, Y/N? I’m what?” He asked, a slight harshness dripping into the words. Almost like he had heard such sentiments before. Almost like, all of the women he had been with in the past had been in your same position, at one point or another. 

 “You’re so much better than me - you’re this incredible, famous, successful businessman and doctor and I’m just… I’m just a woman who lives in a shitty apartment in a sketchy part of town because I barely make breadcrumbs and survive from paycheck to paycheck.”

 The finger tracing across your mouth stopped then, as he took in your words. And as much as you wanted to avoid his gaze at that moment, you found that you couldn’t. His stare was like twin magnets, and your soul was a piece of metal. Irrevocably drawn, no matter what you did. So you caught his intense regard, the way that his pupils darkened and practically bored into your soul wholly. 

 Like he was ripping the very fabric of your being apart, as he studied your form and who you were, and what you had just revealed to him. 

 So there it was. 

 You had spoken your biggest fear out into the open, where he would consequently drop you like a hot, rotten potato because ‘he doesn’t date broke girls.’ 

 “And you think that just because you make less money than me - just because you don’t live an ideal, rich life, that you don’t deserve me?” His palm was moving across your face as he spoke the words in a hushed whisper. So that only you could hear him, in that intimate, swarthy corner of his apartment’s hallway. His fingers threaded through your hair, tucking a few of the loose strands behind one of your ears. “That you don’t deserve my love?” 

 You swallowed thickly, shoving all of the heartache and arousal to the deepest parts of your mind. 

 Because truly, what was even going on? 

 Were you living in a dream right now? 

 Did Dr. Lee Minho just confess that he’s in love with you? 

It was all too much for your slightly-tipsy mind to process, and suddenly, your legs were turning shaky, melting into a pile of jelly on the ground. You were swaying forward, and if it hadn’t been for Minho catching you at that moment, you would have toppled onto the cold tiled ground like a complete fool. 

 You peered up at him with wide eyes, mouth falling open slightly in the shock of it all. In the way that he held onto you so completely - so firm yet delicate all at once. His face was contorted into a mix of sadness and… anger. 

 “You’re just this… amazing guy, who seems untouchable and all-knowing. And- and practically every woman in the city wants you at this point. I see them, I hear them… when they come into the clinic, they ogle you and talk about their newest outfits to try and make you fall for them. And I just- I can’t compete with all of that. I only have a few outfits that I wear daily that look decent enough, and this dress is something I’ve had since my Freshman year of university and I-”

 “None of that matters to me, Y/N,” Minho said, breaking through your incoherent ramblings and dumping an ice-cold bucket of water on your entire being. He never broke your gaze, as his arms that were still holding you moved in fluidly. And then, you were being pressed up against the nearby wall, with one of his palms clutching at your waist and the other threading through your locks. His fingers gripped gently, pulling at the roots. He moved closer still, wedging a knee between either of your legs so that he was but a mere hairsbreadth away from your face. “I only want you. I don’t care about the paychecks and the pomp and the jewels that all of those other women can offer. I just want you… I want all of you, even the ugly and sad and broken bits.” 

 You felt the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes before you even spoke again. “Do you really mean that? Are you truly sure that you don’t want a woman who lives the same lavish lifestyle as you?” You asked, shoulders shaking from the sharp inhale that you took upon his proximity and everything that he was telling you. 

 He flashed you a tiny grin, fingers resting at the nape of your neck and messaging gentle circles into the skin there. “I’m more sure about this than I’ve been about anything in my entire life.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours in an intimate kind of way. “But one word from you - one sign that you don’t feel the same way - and I’ll be gone from your life forever.” 

 “No,” you blurted out in a strangled voice, even surprising yourself with how fast the word slipped from your lips. “No- I want this. I’ve wanted this so badly for so long and… and I just, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you feel the same. That you care about me to the extent that I do for you.” 

 Minho’s warm breath fanned against your nose, as he grunted out a quiet laugh. You turned your gaze up then, finding the way that his eyes were alight with a myriad of feelings… but the one that was the most potent was love. 

 And as clear as day, you realized that all of the times in the past that he had looked on at you with such soft eyes, he was silently conveying his love for you.

 “Can I kiss you now?” It felt like the world was dropping out from right under your feet, as you took in all of him. The way that his black hair was disheveled from the long night and the way that a certain kind of sparkle now shined on every feature of his face. 

 You canted your head to one side, giving him your best easy smile. “Please- I thought you’d never ask.” 

 And then he was leaning into you - finally - and all of the other worries and hurts and feelings leftover inside of you all but dissipated, as the two of you fit together like two immaculate puzzle pieces made to be conjoined.

 Mouth against mouth, tongue swiping against tongue. And everything was blissful and effervescent and otherworldly. 

To be continued...

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[real-fire-emblem-takes]

Alright Mod Goldmary. You said you'd be fine with this, so here I am, super indulgent AUs in hand: The main one I've been procrastinating working on for years now is The Rose of Belhalla, a Sleeping Beauty AU for FE4 Gen 1. The premise is that Cigyun confided how Victor was abusing her to Kurth, leading to a series of events ending in Victor offing himself (like in canon) and Kurth marrying Cigyun. Cigyun ends up dying in childbirth (sorry). In this Jugdral, it's common to invite the family's patron dragon to bless the first holy blooded child, so Kurth and Azmur throw a grand party and invite Naga. Just as she's about to bestow her blessing on Deirdre, Manfroy shows up and gives her a curse from Loptous himself: She's to die after pricking her finger on a rose's thorn. Naga then modifies the curse so that Deirdre will fall asleep instead of die, and her true love (I wonder who that could be) will wake her with a kiss. Deirdre is sent to live with her grandmother for protection. When she's about twelve or thirteen, she starts having dreams in which she meets another kid named Sigurd. Years later, they make a chance meeting, and after an attack from Sandima, Deirdre learns she is a princess and is taken back to Belhalla.

I actually meant to update the fic, uh, well, three years ago. But between getting a part time job and a bachelors degree as well as ADHD and stress has basically combined into a procrastination smoothie for me. I also realized that the original plot I had was super convoluted. I'm still trying to work that part out. But Deirdre is going to get to explore what it means to be a princess, as well as make friends with Edain, Lex, Tailitu, and Azelle. Arvis gets to scheme but still be genuine to his new sister. Sigurd gets to be Sigurd. And everyone gets to go to a ball at the end that definitely won't end up almost being a death trap. Once it's over, there's still a few loose ends. There's the Crisis in Agustria, Quan's severely needed vibe check, and Edain finding Brigid. I'd like to do some follow ups for those someday, but I don't know if they'll happen.

I've got some more ideas for AUs I wanna write. One of them would be an Eliwood/Ninian retelling of the Little Mermaid. Ninian and Nils would be half mer instead of half dragon, and they'd know Nergal was their father since they're with him. Ninian would save Eliwood while he and his crew are escaping from the Dread Isle. She knows he and his friends are her father's targets, so she makes a deal with Sonia. In exchange for her voice, she gets legs-- but only until the end of the summer. Sonia must sense Ninian has a crush because she adds a caveat: If she can make Eliwood fall in love with her by the deadline, she gets the ability to go back and forth between mer and human. Now, I don't know why Sonia would go behind Nergal's back like that, but that's a problem for later. Maybe he's in on it? I dunno.

Then there's the Phantom of the Opera FE4 AU, which is pretty self explanatory, as well as maybe a Seliph/Tine Cinderella AU that takes place years after the Sleeping Beauty AU. Though that would mean something has to happen to Azelle and Tailitu, so I don't know if I want to! Recently I got ideas for crossovers between games as well: Lucina and the kids time traveling too far back and ending up in the second holy war, and the First Gen of FE4 somehow ending up in Fodlan for those awesome Arvis and Edie interactions. If I ever get to writing my original story, these might not happen. I'm not sure what the legal stance on published authors publishing fanfics is, but who knows. Anyways, if you want any more updates, follow my writing blog @talesfromthespiritforest. I made it since my main is a big ol' untagged mess. It doesn't get updated often, though. Any feedback or suggestions are appreciated! :)

👀

[pastafossa]

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

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty <- we are here

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:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty <- we are here

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

Heretics, it has been... some time, has it not? Some time since I regaled you with my dulcet tones, some time since you've heard from the apostate behind the painting.

Well. Here I remain, and to here I return, to speak directly to you, rather than from behind the shield of my prose.

I went to a poetry slam, heretics. I performed at a poetry slam, heretics. My tongue stumbled against the uneven ridges of my teeth, and my soul began to pool about my feet, but I stood upon a spotlit stage, and read work, my work to a crowd of people. And they liked it. They really liked it.

I find your support invaluable, each time you do funky little numbers in front of my eyes it makes my heart leap and bound and swallow a few more filing cabinets, just for you. But to have the canvas of my life's work displayed for a group of strangers, before me, a crowd I had been part of, and would summarily return to, and not be rejected?

To be encouraged, my work celebrated with applause and words far kinder than any I had hoped to hear... I doubt I will remember it anything less than fondly.

A few housekeeping things, then, as my bleeding personal life can only stave off Those Roving Bones for so long;

I'm writing a book! Those of you a year in will have known this, no shame upon those who hadn't, it's taken me quite a long time, and as a result my writing style and standards have mutated somewhat.

also someone said altering tenses were a mark of unprofessional writing and i argue that what is first person present than the constant battle between the past and the future and that ever fleeting now, but steady arguments do not stave off existential dread, and I was deathly afraid of that for a few days. which was fun.

It has not crawled its way towards a blood child of its own, but someone quite dear to me suggested that I simply, publish other things of my own, perhaps from the piles of work I have accumulated after I realized I actually enjoyed this and would like to do it for a living, yes I wrote a novel for kicks, I was twelve and stupid, now I'm significantly older and self-aware. Which is something.

But I'm... I'm compiling a poetry anthology, some of which will ring familiar to you, heretics, some of which has never graced eyes beyond my own, and I hope to have physical copies by the end of the year, and digital distribution for those less inclined to wait.

I never thought I'd get this far. I doubt any large number of people will purchase it, I don't expect you to, heretic, and I do not fault you for lack of funds or interest. But if you've reached this far, I would like to thank you regardless.

Thank you for accompanying me so far into a journey I have so far to walk, and I can't fucking wait, thank you for indulging in my funky little word meatballs, I can't wait to figure out filet mignon, thank you for reading this, this weird update with wandering plots and no through line but my passion for an art I had no idea I was growing when I started this.

My profile picture should be changing within the next few weeks, it might be longer, it's not done yet, but it is mine, and I hope you all like it half as much as I do.

My username may be changing alongside it, but never to fear, that will be accompanied with far larger a focus, so you will notice should that come into effect. How do we all feel about Skeletal Scribes and 's' alliterations? there's a third consideration rounding out the set, but it shouldn't be strenuous to suss out, seeing my stylistic strain.

also i just put the finishing touches on a chapter of the novel, i broke 5 thousand words in a purely dialogue project i've been biting through, and all around have been crafting prose like you wouldn't fucking believe. or maybe you would, i don't live in the space between your ears.

Things are changing, just as many will hold themselves static, and I hope to see you there. As always, to you.