#since we're all whump blogs so far :)

[emcscared-whumps]

oh thanks for the tag snail! :D

Relationship Status: single and perfectly content to stay that way

Favourite Colour: rich, cool red :))

Favourite Food: a tie between thai green curry and bolognese specific to my mum

Song Stuck in my Head: Before this post got stuck in draft limbo (oops haha), it was If I Can't Have You by the BeeGees except i heard a cover by someone else slowed down and without the falsetto so my brain decided to use that except with the BeeGee's voices... 💀and now it's Macho Man by The Village People except "Macho" is replace by "mungo" (#mungo mungo mannnnnnn#), which was stuck in my head the other day but dad reminded me of the word mungo and here we are...

Last Song Listened to: Elwynn Forest by Jason Hayes the other night; i was writing :)

Dream Trip: i would love to go back to japan, stay in one city for roughly a week, and take a wandering tour through it :) i really strongly dislike organised tours, they don't let you look in the nooks and crannies and it just ruins the entire experience for me, and i have found that my best travel experiences are when dad and i, or i on my own, have been able to roam wherever we/i please, at whatever time we/i please

Last TV Show/Movie: my parents have been watching NCIS during dinner at the table and i've really been enjoying it, so i've been watching a lot with them. it's SO fucking funny, and there's no canned laughter, and there's no 'get it get it get it???' also the team dynamics are PEAK

Spicy/Sweet/Savoury: i could not live without my spicy savoury foods. i'm kinda picky about my sweets as it turns out, there is a LOT i wont even touch, so i have a few sweets i really love, but there are WAY more savoury things that i enjoy

Fun Fact About Myself: i do shito ryu karate, and i'm currently ranked 2nd kyu! :) (this means 2nd brown belt, i have one more rank to earn before i can start training for 1st dan :D ) i can kick your ass, but not a lot higher 😂 (i swear i got the men's hips package, my hips move only margainally better than my +65yo dad, who also trains with me at our club :) )

Tagging...

@whump-cravings @pigeonwhumps @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

I can't really tag more people because every time i just forget everyone ever on the planet ^-^' if you see it, consider yourself tagged haha

"Get to know me" tag game

Rules: Tag 10 people you wanna get to know more and make a few cool questions!

I GOT TAGGED TWICE? 👀👀@generic-whumperz @monarchthefirst thank you so muchhhh <33

Relationship status: My personal life is very personal - consisting only of me and my two fluffy maine coon babies :D

Favorite color: Dark teal and dark red. Fr, I can't pass a dark, rich teal colored car without a smile - my favorite color in the wild! Yay!

Favorite food: Give me sushi and I'm gonna melt😩

Song stuck in my head: পাহাড়ী পথ চড়াই উতর / Pahari path charai utar - IPTA West Bengal

Last song listened to: Ziema - Pavisam Nezināma Laboratorija

Dream trip: A trip around Eastern & Southern Europe with the tickets to all my favorite bands' concerts in hand.

Last TV show/movie: I think I fell asleep to something about North Korea? Cold War? Doom of the Earth?

Spicy/sweet/savory?: Savory! Although I do love a good bit of spice, I just can't imagine my life without some savory treats to chew on!

Fun fact about yourself: I've had a weird obsession with PSAs (especially the scary ones) since age 5 :D

Tagging: @whumpthefifth @pumpkinwhump @its-my-whump @fallenwhumpee @neutralkolibri @kyanako5972 @stalecabbage @witchy-shortcake @stradaniye @deltav25 and everyone else who'd like! rules say tag 10 but yk I hate picking people, I wanna y'all whumpers to participate!

[fancifulwhump]

Pssst jaskier prompt if you're interested: I'm a sucker for geralt being soft and caring while refusing to acknowledge it - so a fic where there's something wrong with jaskier - maybe he fell into an icy lake, or is getting sick or something, and geralt takes care of him like a total tsundere? *angrily shoves blankets at him* *stoically checks his temperature* *gruffly makes him soup* *WE'RE NOT FRIENDS BUT ALSO I WILL SIT AT YOUR BEDSIDE NURSE YOU BACK TO HEALTH UNTIL YOUR SINGING AGAIN*

@hurt-comfort  asked:   Hey hey! Loving your writing. I'm @hurt-comfort. I would love ANY Jaskier whump (use any prompt on my blog). I'd love to see like, Geralt just needing to comfort Jas (because he WANTS to even though he has the social IQ of a potato.) "When the whumpee is in like a daze, just sitting and staring at nothing because of something traumatic. Then someone forces them to either eat, get changed, or just move. Like shellshock" and Geralt has to be like "Jaskier, listen, it's okay"

AN: okay, okay, there was a lot to work with here, but hopefully I hammered it into a scenario that makes sense? “Falls through thin ice” is such a great whump trope and also a real nightmarescape of mine, so… let’s all enjoy the trauma together, guys!!

It’s not as though Geralt doesn’t care. That isn’t it at all. If he cared less, Jaskier probably wouldn’t get into scrapes like this   ---  he’d find his own trouble, of the ‘incensed husbands and fathers’ variety, but would cross paths with far fewer monsters. If Geralt didn’t care at all, he’d have abandoned the fool in some insignificant village long ago and never thought twice on the subject.

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have fished Jaskier out of the damn lake.

Fine. That’s... not true. He would have done it anyway. The terror he felt when he heard the ice crack  ---  that heart-plunging, vein-chilling terror  ---  he could have gladly gone without. Instead, he was almost frozen by it. From the ominous creak of the ice beneath their feet, to the sudden sharp scent of unfrozen water, to Jaskier’s half-hesitant  “Geralt ---”

Before the ice gave way.

It took him too long to move. Too long to spring into action, too long to force his body to cooperate with his racing nerves. Witchers are trained to never be caught unaware, to react on instinct  ---  a slow witcher is a dead witcher  ---  but he wasn’t fast enough to catch Jaskier before he plunged through the ice.

Where he vanished, only a hole remained  ---  and the water underneath, black and churning, small chunks of ice bobbing like forgotten fragments amidst the inky depths. Nothing thrashed; nothing moved. Geralt plunged both arms in, ignorant of the cold. His lone thought was catching something  ---  an arm, a foot, the collar of a jacket, anything to prove that Jaskier was down there. Yet as he groped through the murk, he found nothing. 

“Jaskier!” he bellowed, the sound echoing across the frozen lake. If the bard could hear him underwater, he gave no indication. Beneath Geralt’s knees, the ice creaked alarmingly, but Geralt fought through the natural instinct to retreat. Not without the damned bard. Dead or alive, he wouldn’t leave Jaskier beneath the surface.

He began to scramble, clearing snow from the frozen laketop to reveal the hardened ice beneath. It was like looking through a mirror into another world. Above was all he knew, all he’d ever known; below lay a foreign realm of darkness and desolation. Some battles even witchers could not fight, and a frozen lake was one of them.

Jaskier was nowhere, nowhere. Nowhere at all. Beneath the ice was a vortex of blackness, no thrashing body in sight. He must have sunk, Geralt’s furious mind realized, sunk right to the bottom, dragged down by that damned lute, and that’s the end of him  ----

With a roar of fury, Geralt’s fists slammed down on the ice. “Jaskier!”

For a beat, nothing happened. And then the ice broke.

This time, Geralt’s reflexes served him well. He scrambled back, finding his feet half a second before the frozen ground he’d been kneeling on shattered. Back, and back, the ice splintered and broke, widening the crevasse of churning water. No longer was it safe to stand on; the ice would not tolerate any more weight. Geralt took a step back, gaze fixed on ice’s open mouth, gaping and hungry…

There, a movement.

There, something white and fluttering, like a bird in its death throes.

There, a fucking hand.

He moved too quickly for even the ice to catch him  ---   but Geralt caught Jaskier, and that was the important thing. In one swift movement, he hauled the thrashing man up, out of the water and onto solid ground. Not solid for long, though. Even at the weight of Jaskier’s body flopping onto its surface, the ice groaned and gave way some more. A hand still locked around Jaskier’s forearm, Geralt seized hold of his companion’s other. There wasn’t a second to waste, even to make sure he was alright. Heaving Jaskier’s pliant body up and over his shoulder, Geralt ran.

Ice breaks fast. Witchers run faster.

He would have tried to save Jaskier anyways, Geralt thinks as he sets the bard’s limp body down on solid ground, but it would be so much easier not to care. At the moment, he cannot stop caring. The crack of ice still rings in his head, dogging him like one of Jaskier’s songs; though he takes little notice of the water’s lingering chill, it’s obvious in the stark whiteness of Jaskier’s face. Somewhere in their mad flight, Jaskier vomited up any water he swallowed. Now, he simply shivers in his damp clothes, still gasping like a fish on land. Something in the icy air doesn’t agree with him, because he keeps coughing, and he’s trembling —

Geralt does care. That’s the difficult thing. Because caring for humans is a fragile process, a risk with limited possibility for reward. Humans are so breakable, and there are so many things that can go wrong.

Caught in a moment like this, he isn’t sure how to care for Jaskier.

���You’re fine,” is what he settles on, drawing back to survey Jaskier’s shaking form. “Damned ice.”

It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault, of course. For once, he wasn’t blindly catapulting himself into mortal peril. Even Geralt hadn’t realized the ice was so thin… which is the real bitch of it, because Geralt should have known. He’s the one with heightened senses, with the ability to smell damned ice in the air — Jaskier couldn’t have known, but he should have. He should.

“You’re alright,” he says again, awkwardly patting Jaskier’s shoulder. Even under his touch, the bard quivers… but he’s still in wet clothes, and the afternoon is frigid. Right now, they need to get him warm.

Surely that will bring the blood back to his cheeks, and chase away that expression — a wide-eyed, blank look, so utterly unlike Jaskier that it’s unnerving. His open mouth still gulps in greedy lungfuls of air, which he proceeds to choke on. Any chance of regaining his composure is clearly beyond Jaskier right now, so it’s up to Geralt to drag him back.

Literally, as it turns out. When, after a few minutes, Jaskier tries to find his feet, his knees immediately give out on him. He winds up crouched on the frozen ground, hands digging into the dirt, practically curled in on himself. His head ticks against his chest as he trembles, eyes squeezing shut. Geralt waits a moment, weighs the cost of Jaskier’s dignity against his own, and finally offers a hand.

Jaskier doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look up.

“Damn it all,” Geralt grunts. This was exactly what he didn’t want to do — yet it seems there’s no choice. Either he leaves Jaskier to freeze in the middle of a frozen wood, or lead him along like a child. Since Jaskier isn’t in any condition to give his preference —

Tucking one strong arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, Geralt hauls the bard to his feet. For one frightful second, his legs seem ready to give out beneath him again; but Jaskier slumps into Geralt, trusting his weight, and manages to stay upright. Geralt takes one step forward. Jaskier manages to follow. Another step, and another, and soon they are walking. It’s not much — Geralt is basically Jaskier’s walking stick, used to ground him despite his violent shivering — and Jaskier still hasn’t found his voice, but it’s enough. It gets them where they need to go.

When Great grunts and nods to the horse, it’s enough of a shock to resurrect Jaskier’s voice. “You —“ he croaks, then clears his throat with a wince. “You w-want me — t-to ride —“

“Get on the horse,” is all Geralt says, turning away. Chances are, he’ll regret it. Chances are, Roach will resent him for it. But with Jaskier riding, they’ll make it to town within the hour. Given the choice between an inn’s roaring hearth or defrosting over a sickly campfire, he can guess which one Jaskier would prefer.

By some small shred of common sense, the bard doesn’t hesitate. After a few pained grunts — which Geralt does not turn around to investigate, because it’s not his damn job — Roach lets out a huff of her own, and Geralt starts walking. The steady rhythm of hooves behind him reassures that Jaskier manages to make it up.

His estimate isn’t far off, either. They make it to town within the hour, riding past rows of dreary brick-and-mortar buildings towards the heart of town. Usually, Geralt is welcomed with stony silence by suspicious village folk; today is no different. Having Jaskier as a companion does come with rare advantages; he burns so brightly and appears so guileless that people can’t glare at him the way they do at Geralt. When Jaskier rides into town at his side, they are often given far warmer reception. Jaskier charms cart-vendors, smiles at children, winks at passing ladies (and gentlemen)... he makes himself welcome wherever he goes. Geralt May be a far more imposing presence, but he finds himself swept up in Jaskier’s tide, carried with him where he goes.

At the moment, however, Jaskier is in no state to charm and cajole his way into a dreary town’s good graces. He simply hangs low on Roach’s back, head bowed, as they ride through the streets. His shoulders still quake with the occasional shiver; his breaths are a bit too heavy for Geralt’s liking, and he’s too quiet. Somehow, Geralt finds himself more preoccupied with Jaskier’s state than the hostility radiating from the wary villagers.

The local inn has a spare room for the night, a warm bed, and a bath. It’s good enough for Geralt. He slides their coin across the table, steps back outside to collect Jaskier off of Roach — he’d trembled too hard at the notion of coming inside — and makes short work of hustling him up the stairs. As soon as the door closes behind them, Geralt guides Jaskier to the bed, form hands pushing both shoulders down. Jaskier doesn’t even bother with a token protest.

“Your clothes,” Geralt says. When Jaskier stares at him blankly, he curses. “They’re still wet.” Frozen, in fact, hardened with a thin sheen of frost against the night air. Leaving them like that is guaranteed to lead to problems later on; Geralt has no desire to leave town tomorrow with a pneumatic bard trailing behind. He reaches out, giving the sleeve of Jaskier’s jacket a tug. The leather is stiff, sending a hail of ice crystals raining down onto the mattress, Jaskier doesn’t react at all. 

So, that’s how it’s going to be? 

If Jaskier won’t do his own damn job, Geralt will do it for him. Scowling, he manhandles Jaskier’s jacket and jerkin off. In moments, he is left in nothing but his undershirt. That’s soaked through too, but the fabric isn’t as frozen; Jaskier could easily shrug out of it on his own. Still, he makes no movement to.

“What’s the matter with you?” Geralt demands.

Jaskier says nothing at all. His gaze shifts away from Geralt, across the room towards the closed window. Something about him — be it his hunched posture, eerie silence, or the far-off look on his face — feels as though he isn’t here at all. Jaskier has wandered off without Geralt noticing, going somewhere far away. Wherever he’s gone, Geralt doesn’t know how to get him back.

After a long moment, he sighs, casting the half-frozen clothes aside. When he strides across the room, his footsteps resound against the wooden floorboards. It’s easier to fill the silence with something instead of nothing at all. Somehow, it leaves him feeling less alone. The inn’s portress has filled a metal tub with steaming water, leaving it right outside their door; Geralt makes quick work of dragging it in, grunting as he goes. By the time it’s set up, the floor is littered with puddles, and his pants are uncomfortably soaked — but the memory of Jaskier emerging, white as death, from the black depths stifles any complaint instantly.

Looking back up at the bard, he’s shocked to see Jaskier showing signs of life. He’s found his feet again, and even removed his undershirt. Now, his hands fumble at the laces of his breeches, but they’re shaking too hard to manage.

Geralt allows himself exactly half a minute to settle on absolutely not, before caving in. It’s either this or watch the bard bathe half-dressed, which would be even more pathetic. That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he roughly shoved Jaskier’s hands aside and undoes the laces himself.

“You — you don’t h-have—“ Jaskier’s murmured protest cuts off. The job’s already done. Geralt looks back up at him, unconsciously seizing one of his wrists; automatically, a hiss escapes past his clenched teeth.

“You’re still freezing!” Geralt has met ice wights with more heat in their bones. No wonder he’s trembling so badly — shock mixed with potential hypothermia is a dangerous combination. Either one on its own can be debilitating, but both of them bad enough could be lethal.

“Bath. Now,” he orders brusquely, giving the bard a shove towards the steaming tub. Still dazed, as though caught in a waking dream, Jaskier stumbles into it. He doesn’t even whimper as the hot water envelops his freezing limbs, though it has to hurt. His thousand-mile stare shifts away from Geralt and down to the water. After a moment, Jaskier goes utterly still.

“You need to soak. That won’t stay warm all night.” When Jaskier gives no indication that he’s even heard, Geralt grunts in frustration and kneels at the side of the tub. “Hey!” He gives Jaskier’s shoulder a jolt, and he jerks to attention abruptly. The blatant fear in his eyes takes Geralt aback. He expected exhaustion, even irritation, but not — whatever this is.

“The water closed over my head,” Jaskier exhales, and evening his voice sounds a thousand leagues away. “It happened so fast… like I was swallowed. And I couldn’t — I couldn’t breathe, Geralt, I couldn’t — couldn’t swim. It was so cold —“

“Jaskier.” His hand is still gripping a bony shoulder; now, Geralt’s hold tightens, pulling his companion towards him. When Jaskier tries to pull back, he won’t let him. “Look at me. Hey.” Jaskier is still trembling, but Geralt grounds him with the contact, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You,” he says slowly, “are safe. This water is warm. It’s not going to hurt you. Nothing’s going to hurt you as long as I’m here.”

“It almost—“ Jaskier starts, then cuts off. Geralt understands anyway. It feels like a blade to the gut.

“I know,” he says after a long moment. “I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jaskier blinks at him, as though slowly awakening from a deep sleep. “Geralt… you saved me.”

But he wasn’t fast enough. “Still.”

Slowly, Jaskier shakes his head. His legs relax in the water, fully submerging, and he sinks up to his chest. Finally, finally, he’s no longer trembling. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s not what Geralt deserves, but this day has given Jaskier nothing he deserves either — not a near-death in a frozen lake, not the clumsy care of a brute who has no idea what he’s doing. This bath is the first nice thing to happen to him all day… and suddenly, Geralt is determined that Jaskier shall enjoy it.

Reaching in, he cups a palm full of water, and releases it over one pale, bare shoulder. Unwillingly, Jaskier lets out a gasp. Steam rises and quickly evaporated off of the chilled skin, but the mere touch of water is enough to make Jaskier want more. He quickly sinks down, submerging himself up to his chin. Geralt watches carefully, intently, just in case.

He will not be too slow to save Jaskier this time.

After a long moment, the bard shifts in the water and says, in a small voice, “Thank you.”

Geralt has no idea what he’s being thanked for; he simply huffs and turns his head, looking away.

[macgyvermedical]

A character in my fic has been kidnapped, held hostage, and tortured (I know- not very original.) We're on day 3 and so far he's been drugged (benzo?), some kicks to the ribs and face, starved of food and water, and kept in a building in the desert (so extreme high/low temps), strangled with a rope until he nearly passed out, has several shallow knife wounds, a dislocated shoulder (that he set himself)...I think that's all. ;) My plan is to make him last without medical attention for a week.

Hi Anon!

Generally speaking, I don’t answer asks about torture (there may be older asks pertaining to it, but I’ve learned a lot since then). Torture is a very complex subject and impacts many things medically and psychologically that I just don’t have the experience to respectfully and accurately provide information about.

For asks about torture and depicting torture in writing, I recommend @scripttorture . They have studied torture extensively and have volunteered that information to writers (seriously, their blog is amazing!).

I am happy to answer any medical or whump questions you have outside of a torture setting, for example, if you want to ask about rib injuries, shoulder dislocations, knife wounds/lacerations, strangulation, or drugging, I’m definitely your guy!

[bloodybutler]

aaaah thank you for fast and veeery detailed answer! You made my day :> so would it be false if I'd say we're prone to have sadistic personalities(maybe it's subconscious?)? If not I'd like to know the reason beneath this love of vulnerability... like is it bc of PTSD? Or what made us like this stuff? Man I really wish to find some articles about this... I hope I'm not bothering you, I'm just happy I found someone to share my fondness and thoughts about men soaked in their own blood hehe

You’re welcome, anon! Hmm, I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s sadism per se, since I’m positive none of us here would actually want to see real people getting hurt. In terms of fiction, yeah, we’re all sadists towards Sebastian lol.

But speaking more generally, if you find the comfort part or the recover portion of hurt/comfort as satisfying as the hurt part, then I wouldn’t say you have a sadistic personality, subconsciously or not. (I’m no expert on this though!)

For some people, it might have deeper issues and in a way, this can be a coping mechanism. But for others, it might be a “caring” instinct- like, vulnerability inspires “aww” feelings inside them and they enjoy the idea of “fixing” the broken (I’m speaking purely about fiction; Ex. reading a “whump” fic, saying “aww” over your hurt fav, and vicariously enjoying the part where they recover with extra character development). And for some, it’s even a case of wanting to be cared for or wanting to express their own vulnerability so they project that onto their hurt favs. 

And of course, many just enjoy vulnerability because it changes the character’s usual routine and leads to more interesting developments!

There are plenty of discussions on this! You can check out the hurt/comfort article in fanlore and here’s a blog you can scroll through to get an idea (bless op for including a tag on the definition of whump: https://justwhumpythings.tumblr.com/tagged/defining+whump). And like I said, sometimes it’s just a kink- nothing to be ashamed of!

And no, it’s not a bother at all anon! Glad to have helped :)

[mel-the-pirate]

OH

@sherlocktheravencat is a bit of an easy one since I know her IRL

If I could do tag-backs I'd definitely add @xhunterbeatsx and @penumbramewtwos ;p XD as if I didn't tag you here YES I consider you a friend, Hunter (and you, too, Penumbra)!! They are both part of the Mewtwo comic community and they both have fun stuff! Go read their stuff about Six and Okita!

@purpleflower007 was fun to talk about flowers with!! A newer mutual but we did Vibe and that counts for something

I do like interacting with @theprojectatedensgate (and reading their Far Cry 5 stuff) and we're mutuals, so yeah, I consider you a friend loosely (we've interacted so little so idk if it's a mutual thought)

As for blogs I enjoy:

@lulu2992 it's always a pleasure to read your in-depth posts about Far Cry 5 and makes me think about the game EVEN MORE (and seeing your recreations of the Gates)

@loupy-mongoose and @phlurrii have AMAZING Mew comics with such unique worldbuilding and lore!!! My English major brain goes brrrrrr when I read both of their comics and try to piece things together when they seed out little hints here and there

I will also add some of the whump blog people have because I think they are pretty cool:

@whumpster-dumpster, @the-three-whumpeteers, @letstalkwhump / @whumpers-inc, and a couple new ones I found recently are @whump-in-the-closet and @demondamage! Some post whump prompts, I believe they all write whump. I don't know how else to describe them since they're diverse within the whump community (but are all really good!).

Love train 🚂💖💖💖! Send this to all the blogs you love! Don’t forget to spread the love! 😊

Thank you! I will!

You anons are going to make me cry because of how nice you're being.

Spreading the love train with @xxtc-96xx, @pokemon-ash-aus, @dxzziie, @mewtwoandme, @ask-the-royal-absol

Once again, Anon, thank you

[redyarns]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!!!! i'm so happy you published that magical story of yours - when i first read the opening chapter, i felt a little spark and i was falling in love with the way you weaved words and created your own little web of captivating characters and plots. i finished it, and i was crying my eyes out, and despite the fact how emotionally moved i was, i was so happy. it'd been a while since a fic could touch me to the point i was curled up in bed with a pounding headache and my pillow absolutely soaked with tears.

and at the end of the story, in your notes, i found a link, and i was so hesitant because you see, before, i didn't care much for the authors. i read a fic, liked it, and bookmarked it. that was as far as i went, but wow, i just fell in love with your writing. it was like i was sitting there right alongside lance as he swam to the surface, or watching keith cry over his body, or watching his team become overwhelmed with relief when he was okay.

so i fucking sucked it up, tried to stop crying, and i went to your blog - and wow. i haven't been on tumblr long, so it was a little weird to click that follow button. scary. even scarier when i decided to message you because i just never felt like this before? like i had to shower you in praise because i truly didn't remember the last time a story moved me that much.

and i sent you that message, and oh my god, here we are now - it's fucking crazy to think that because of that story, you're here as kne of my best friends, we're constantly surrounded by love and support, and i'm always falling in love again and again as i read that fic and brag to my friends about how much my friend tommino is an amazing writer. "look! look, and tell me it doesn't captivate you. you can't, right? it's too amazing."

i've rambeled long enough, oops - but, tommino, baby, sweetheart, love of my life, all i want to say is you keep doing what you do. you keep writing your whumps, and keep making me cry, and torture your favorite characters to the brink of death. i'll support you all the way. i have your back.

happy birthday, tommino! ❤

it’s a little dorky but... Tommino turns one year old today ✨

On this day in 2017, I published the first chapter of Fighting the Surface under the name “tommino” - and my life has changed for the better ever since.

I marked today down on my calendar because (altho I still feel very new to this) I’m so proud of lil tommino!! I’ve made a ton of wonderful friends and met all sorts of interesting people, and learned so much about many interesting things!

I wanted to thank everybody who’s made this such a wonderful experience by commenting, following, discussing ideas, helping brainstorm, yelling with me in the tags, teaching me stuff, and just being the best group a friends a gal can ask for. Now come get a slice of birthday cake 🍰🎈🎊