#I’ll be sure to mix in some regular reblogs. because I’m not all about politics and I understand people don’t want to see that all the time

[shrinkynatural]

Finally, a bathing scene between the totally not tiny bard and his massive oak tree of a witcher.

And because I’m not great at giving individual thank yous, I’d like to give a big, all-encompassing thank you to everyone who’s read these and liked them and reblogged them.

The rest of this unnamed self-indulgent mess can be found here: (1) (2) (3) (4)

--

It has been nearly a whole damn month of nothing but shallow streams barely good enough for washing up in, and the river is the greatest blessing Jaskier could ask for in these circumstances. Clear water, a slight current but nothing that will carry him away, and Geralt-approved to not contain any drowners or other dangerous creatures that might want to eat an unsuspecting bard.

One finger hooks into the collar of his doublet, stopping Jaskier’s run to the river as effectively as a whole hand. Everyone knows he’s always a slut for dramatics so he lets it act as a yank and falls right back into Geralt’s bulk with a very startled yelp. “But Geralt, you said--!”

"Camp first, then we bathe." And because he thinks that he's in charge Geralt doesn't even wait for confirmation, he just slides his finger from Jaskier’s neck to his back (the bard doesn’t shiver, he doesn’t) and nudges him to stand on his own two feet. Then he moves away and takes Roach's reins to lead the mare back into the trees to find a decent area to set up camp.

Jaskier does follow after, but he makes sure that he states clearly just how cruel it is to offer him such a treat only to rip it away. "I feel I have an inch layer of road dust and sweat baked over me like a crust, Geralt!" He doesn't get any response which makes him think Geralt's rolling his eyes at him.

It is the fastest he’s ever helped set up the campsite, gathering wood and separating their bags after Geralt unloads Roach. Some of those bags are heavier than they look so after Jaskier nearly fell under one containing an assortment of witcher potions it was a task permanently assigned to said witcher who spent hours mixing them.

As soon as he drops off the last of the firewood Geralt waves a dismissive hand toward the river and Jaskier doesn't have to be told--gestured to?--twice. Lute and bag down, cloth and soap in hand, and he's practically running to the water's edge. He strips out of his clothes and sets them aside to wash them up later and then he wades in, shivering just a little. Jaskier dunks himself completely and then retreats a bit so that he can lather up his soap and finally be clean. Just the first swipe feels absolutely glorious and he starts humming a tune that turns into a jaunty song he washes himself in time to.

"You shouldn't sing in the river," Geralt says suddenly from behind him and Jaskier lets out a sincere yelp as he turns around. The Witcher is at the edge of the water and taking off his own clothes while regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "A siren will hear you and come take you away."

That shuts Jaskier up and he looks wide-eyed at the water around him. “But you said--!” When he turns back to Geralt he catches the smile before it's schooled away and his jaw drops. "You!" He waves his wash cloth at him with pure indignation. "Is that a joke? Are you trying to scare me off so you can have this whole river to yourself? Joke's on you, I'll gladly be carried off by a siren if it means I get to have regular baths. We'll sing lovely duets together." He sing-songs the last part, amused at the play at humor now that he isn't worried about river monsters coming after him.

Geralt snorts and sets his clothes besides Jaskier's before walking into the water. He goes downstream a few yards, which Jaskier appreciates because he just knows that some of that monster blood and guts don't come off completely from a quick scrub in a little stream. He's in up to his chest almost and Jaskier attempts to be a polite bathmate and not stare, but he can't help taking little peeks at what he can see. He's a young, healthy man with an active appreciation for the human form and Geralt is just...absolute perfection.

He finishes washing himself up and scrubs his hair one more time just because he can. With one of those illicit peeks he spies the bland-looking, non-perfumed brick of a thing that witchers apparently call soap clenched in Geralt’s hand. It’s offensive, really, what’s the point of finally being clean if you don’t smell nice after? The awful thing barely even lathers and the foam is half the fun!

Jaskier hums to himself and makes up his mind then and there. He’s clean and feeling so much better for it, the only thing that would make it better would be if the water were hot and he’d get to retire naked to a soft mattress with silken sheets. Since that’s not going to happen he decides he should at least get Geralt smelling sweet and fresh, too. As much as he enjoys curling up to the witcher on cold nights, he far too often ends up with his face closer to his sweaty armpit than he likes.

“Oh, Geralt!” he calls over to him and starts to wade through the water toward him. “That stuff isn’t doing you any favors at all, why don’t you try this? It’s something I picked up back in--oh shi--!”

Between one step and the next, the soil of the riverbed drops out from beneath his feet. It’s so unexpected that Jaskier goes right under and loses his grip on his soap and wash cloth as he flails around trying to figure out what the hell happened. His feet do touch bottom and he kicks himself up, breaking the surface of the water with a sputtering curse before he goes back under.

He does this twice more before there’s a log of an arm right in front of him and he wraps his arms around it and clings on for dear life. He spits and coughs and wastes entirely too much breath on cursing the unpredictable wilds. Jaskier shakes his head roughly and blinks water out of his sore eyes to squint up at Geralt, who is just standing there…in chest-deep water and of course, he’s a fucking idiot. Of course he’d be standing in a deeper part, the massive bastard.

“Don’t know how to swim?” Geralt asks, seemingly content to keep his arm out to keep the bard afloat. He does look concerned, at least Jaskier thinks he sees blurry wrinkles on blurry-Geralt’s forehead. “Are you all right, Jaskier?”

“Why would I know how to swim!” He shrieks it a little louder than he intended, but his pride is wounded and he lost his expensive soap and it’ll be months before they’re in a city here he can get another one. He just wanted to do something nice! “Now my soap is gone and I’m going to have to use that awful stuff you use and I’m going to smell like some..some..”

Geralt brings around his free hand and nestled up against the plain brick of soap in the middle of his broad palm is not only his little bar but also the cloth, which he offers to Jaskier. He isn’t even hiding his big, dumb smile now which means the look on Jaskier’s face must truly be priceless.

“You saved it,” Jaskier states, his brain doing backwards somersaults as it recovers from all this emotional whiplash. He makes no move to take it or let go of the arm that is his lifeline. “Oh. Thank you. Would you like to borrow it?” Now Geralt looks surprised, which makes him hasten to add, “It’s only that your soap is so boring, really, and I thought you might like to try it. I don’t mind, that’s why I was coming over to you but now of course it could be my thanks for you once again saving my life. That’s convenient, don’t you think?”

“It’s too strong,” is all Geralt says in reply as he slowly starts wading back to shore, Jaskier being carried along like a stick.

“Too strong?” Jaskier gasps, offended, and tries to twist himself so that Geralt can see and truly appreciate the look and see his wounded look.

The witcher doesn’t even look down. “Most monsters and creatures have a good sense of smell, why do you think I always try to leave you back at camp?”

His automatic response is to flail and he drops under the water for a brief moment before throwing his hands out to grasp Geralt’s arm again. “I do not stink!”

“It’s a nice stink, which is why it’s a poor choice for hunting. Are you going to stand up now or am I to drag you all the way back to shore?” Geralt has stopped walking, which Jaskier finally notices. And from his position floating on his back in the water he also notices that he is now about hip height with the witcher.

If the water were just a little lower…Jaskier shakes the thought from his mind before it can settle and he embarrasses himself even further. Still holding onto Geralt’s arm he pushes his legs down, feet pointed and toes searching until they finally settle in the dirt. He’s in up to his chest here and resists the urge to climb to safety up Geralt’s back; Jaskier knows he can’t get away with that too often and he doesn’t want to run out of chances so soon.

“Can I at least wash your hair?” he blurts out before he can change his mind. He can see Geralt tilting his head back to roll his eyes but he continues on anyway. “It’s just been so long since either of us have had a good bath and if my hair was awful then your gorgeous locks must be in a very sorry state. Your habit of ending up covered in blood and guts does you no favors. And it’s easier for someone else to get the back. Please? I’ll even use your awful soap.”

“How are you going to wash my hair?” Geralt asks in an exasperated tone, looking down at him. “I’m not putting you on my shoulders.”

Jaskier gives a relieved smile because that isn’t a no. He takes the lead now, keeping his grip on Geralt’s arm and leading them farther into the shallows. “You sit your precious bottom down and I wash, that’s how.”

It always surprises him when Geralt lets him drag him around, how for all his huffing and humming he lets Jaskier take him to where the water is shallow enough for him to sit and let him get a good look at that long white hair of his. This is the only time when he’s actually taller than the witcher and even now it’s just barely. The hair actually looks quite clean, if tangled, but Jaskier’s not going to say so and lose this opportunity.

Geralt holds out his hand with the soaps and cloth in it and Jaskier takes the plain brick and the cloth despite his temptation. He did promise and he can be patient and take his time when he really wants to. The cloth helps lather the soap and he works it all through Geralt’s hair, using his fingers to get through the thick locks down to the scalp. He doesn’t chatter on but he does hum to himself as he focuses on his task.

In this part of the river Jaskier is only submerged up to his thighs so every now and then he catches a chill as a breeze blows through. It’s not the most pleasant but that doesn’t stop him from carefully working out each and every tangle until his fingers run through Geralt’s hair from scalp to end perfectly every time. There’s just so much of it and he longs to brush it and braid it; it’s not fair that it’s always so far out of his reach.

“All right! I think I’ve got it all, go on and dunk your head.” Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt leans forward to put his head under the water and runs his hands through his hair to get all the soap out. Then he sits up quickly, whipping his hair back and splashing Jaskier with enough water to have him sputtering again. “Is that the thanks I get for doing something nice! I can’t believe you, Geralt, the sheer nerve.”

Geralt glances at him over his shoulder and the next thing Jaskier knows a hand is grabbing his ankle and all too easily yanking his foot out from under him so he falls under the water. When he surfaces he gives him such a glare that immediately softens at the witcher’s quiet “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Fine, I forgive you.” He knows he’s also terribly easy when it comes to Geralt. Something about that eternally grumpy face makes it impossible to stay mad at him. “If you ever want to return the favor you’re more than welcome.”

That gets a huff of laughter as Geralt stands, handing over the little scented soap bar he’s still holding in one hand while he rests the other on top of Jaskier’s head. The massive palm curves easily over his crown and his fingers curl against his scalp in a way that makes Jaskier’s knees weak. “I would crush your skull if I attempted that.”

He takes his hand away and takes his own soap back before walking past Jaskier to the bank. The bard doesn’t know if he’s joking or not, but either way he’s damned if he isn’t going to do his best to get those thick fingers in his hair before the year’s out.

[diningpageantry]

Don’t @ Me

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43092371

Chapter 1/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 3118

Fic Summary: Teenage life is hard enough, but with the added weight of their lives, both Simon and Baz thrive online in a fandom for the British crime show, Gastrell, about the genius Huxley and his "flatmate" Sam. Through Tumblr, they find each other, and sink into something more than just being mutuals.

Chapter Summary: A shitpost is taken a little too personally, and an argument breaks out. In true Baz fashion, he seeks to prove himself right in the most ridiculous way possible.

BAZ

Morning routines are the most menial shit in the realm of existence of arbitrary tasks.

Everyone seems to have them, yet nobody really has a set one. For example, my step-mum has a long, seemingly pointless hour of simply facial cleansers, serums, and hair products. When I’d asked her years ago why she does it all, she shook her head and said “You’ll never be an aging woman, Basilton.”

I couldn’t quite argue with that.

Regardless, it’s a part of life. The routines. Wake up, morning routine, morning activity, eat, afternoon activity, usually afternoon snack, evening activity, dinner, night-time activity, sleep.

A boring, underwhelming cycle of the day.

Although, I suppose it’s shittier for me, since the homeschooling doesn’t give me a chance to do much besides sit and read. Of course, I have my car and I can drive off to whatever. Hell, father even suggested I get a job to occupy myself, but I don’t quite see the point given how much money we have (and the risk factors with moving around so frequently).

So, here I am. Finishing my classes in a matter of months, then having an entire year of pointless bullshit.

Needless to say, my entire day’s routine isn’t the most thrilling. Wake up at 10 on a good day, check social media and emails, then just lay here until I can’t wait to piss. Piss. Go to eat breakfast and get greeted by screaming children and my poor step-mum trying to wrangle them in. Go upstairs, go back online, see whatever’s on my dash, reblog some shit, then try to do something vaguely productive. Check Archive, check email again. Nothing’s on the emails, ever. Text Dev and Niall, who get awfully pissed since they are in school. Get more food. Eat. Bring tea upstairs, despite the disdained look from our maid (who hates collecting my piles of mugs). Write for a couple hours. Take an afternoon nap, if I please. Wake up and sit there (again). Maybe lonely wank. Go back to the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror for a good few minutes. Sit on the toilet for half an hour for no reason besides the fact that my phone seems more interesting while sitting there as compared to sitting in bed. Sit then on the bathroom floor doing the same thing. Go back to my bed, listen to music on my phone and work on my laptop. Write, maybe scroll. Get dinner brought to me as they tut that I should be more active. Eat. Go downstairs for an evening workout (they’re right, I shouldn’t confine myself to my bed). Come back, do exactly what I do for half the day until I pass out somewhere around 3 am. Repeat.

Dream life for an 17 year old. Social life of a god.

Somewhat.

It’s shit to say (and sort of embarrassing to share) that there’s sort of a social media presence around me. Not quite the Instagram model bullshit, but based around fan life.

Yes, it’s a laughing stock. That’s where my popularity lies--a mixed grab-bag of various ages gathering around various platforms to enthuse about certain topics. And I’m somehow lucky enough to have the slightest bit of popularity here.

As in, a large following. A large, somehow active following.

It isn’t exactly thrilling as one would like to think. Sure, it’s fun to see a scattered group of regulars pop up, and I have my mutuals, but it’s a sad existence to sit around and make various shitposts with nothing better to occupy my mind. Or, at least, that’s what Dev and Niall tell me.

All in all, I blame Fiona. She’s the one who got me into the show, saying she thought the character was a bit like me. After I saw it, I found the three connections she’d grasped at.

Gay, dark-haired, and violinist.

As if that’s a rarity.

Yet, surely enough, I did love it. The cinematography, the characters, the storyline. It was intriguing--captivating.

It doesn’t hurt that the online community was still on the smaller side when I first got there. The show was only a season in when I made my blog, and I’ve stuck through all this bullshit to get me here. One of the regulars. Reposted everywhere, uncredited usually. Big fics, large interactions. Shitposts with thousands upon thousands of notes. I’m recognizable; a suggested name.

Don’t get me wrong, the attention is spectacular. I love interacting with people beyond this depressing household, and they’re usually fairly nice (usually) (except those ravenous for an argument). It’s just awkward to share at times when people ask why your mobile’s got 99+ symbols next to the apps and you just shrug and say “I’m shit at checking it” to avoid the conversation because most people see it as childish.

It’s a shame, really. Especially since I feel emotionally attached to these goddamn fictional fuckers.

I suppose that’s what makes it all the more personal, then. Even the shitposts mean something to me.

Which is what makes this is a long, winded way of saying fuck whoever’s arguing with me about whether or not Huxley is a fucking Ravenclaw. (He is. Hands down.) How’d I get here, staring at my mobile in disbelief at a brief back and forth post turned fight? Because it feels like a reasonable question to wonder.

I got here because, as almost all mornings, I woke up, opened my phone, read my notifs, then sat here, thinking of something. Anything. Then, in a tired haze, typed out a single text post on tumblr.

huxley gastrell is a ravenclaw send tweet

Following so, I went about my typical morning. Of course. Then--then--I check my phone as I’m going downstairs and I see it. I see the “@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!” notif, then read the God-forsaken reblog.

@gaystrell op do you take criticism on your posts?

I frowned at my phone, typing out a quick response before tucking it back into my pocket.

@bi-sammy no.

What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the reply I’d open up to soon after I’d started poking at my morning meal.

@gaystrell well too bad bc ur WRONG and ur opinions are UGLY

#he’s clearly a slytherin this is slytherin oppression #don’t tell me he and bryonie aren’t from a slytherin family

Now I sit, staring and completely awestruck at such a post. Now, I won’t deny Bryonie Gastrell is definitely, in all possible ways, a Slytherin. Cunning and ambitious as fuck, as any political spy may be, but fuck anyone who tries to dismiss Huxley’s clear Ravenclaw leanings.

It takes me a moment to fully process, mouth robotically chewing my eggs as I contemplate my answer.

@bi-sammy there is absolutely no proof of huxley being a slytherin and more than enough support towards him being a ravenclaw. get your clueless negativity off my blog, you utter tit.

With that, I settle my phone face down onto my table and try to enjoy my lovely plate of scrambled eggs, barely ignoring the boiling of my blood.

SIMON

My phone lights up with the new notification, dragging my attention away from my laptop as the words slide down onto the screen. “@gaystrell mentioned you in a post!” I hate to admit that I get a little pattering in my heart, urging my hand out to grasp the mobile as I pause the Youtube video currently playing. As I read his words, I slowly blink out of my excitement.

Tit. He called me a bloody tit.

Of course this fucking wanker called me a tit.

He must think that since he’s this big bad blogger, he can call me a tit right out in the open. (Although, he is talking to me, so that’s a plus) (No! No no no, bad validation, Simon. Bad). What, with his thousands of followers and fans of his own, he thinks he can try to say shit out in the open?

Fuck it. He’s either getting a DM or a bloody fist fight from me. I’ll take a train to wherever the fuck he lives (which is somewhere in England, since that’s what his bio says) (and his aunt lives in London, since he’s posted about visiting her) (I really do wonder where he’s from and how close he might be--what if I run into him one day?) (No wait fuck I don’t want that anymore).

Clicking on his blog, the little person drop down gives me the option of a message. I barely think as I type it out, vision going spotty from the adrenaline of the twinging anger.

bi-sammy: i swear to god there was no point to the battle of hogwarts if you’re just going to go around and absolutely slander the slytherin name and dare say that huxley is not one of them and, rather, is a ravenclaw

At first, I grin at it, watching my lone message appear into the empty chat. It’s so freeing--so powerful to send it. I pride myself, in the moment, for this solid move of communication. Of course I’m fucking proud. I messaged the arse myself and gave him a space to fight.

Maybe Penny’s right, I should dial down the confrontation, but it’s just the internet. Nothing important happens through a stupid little argument over Huxley’s true Hogwarts house (although, I’m sure I know I’m right in my heart), but it is a bit of fun to fuck around with someone. It’s a distraction. And that’s why I’m here, afterall. To have a distraction.

Penny thinks it’s a bit silly, but she doesn’t really complain. All she’s ever said was  “I thought we left fandom stuff behind us when we were 14.” She said it over lunch, watching me scroll through my at-the-time new tumblr.

It’s funny, I thought I did leave it behind when I was younger. It seemed unneeded as life shifted. I’d just found a stable foster home, with someone who was going to keep me for a while. I found Penny a couple months before I deactivated my old account. I was happy; we were free. I didn’t need a venting place.

Shits been sort of hitting the fan recently, though. No uni plans, David’s been getting more controlling, and of course, Agatha dumping me. It all crashed on top of me a few months ago, and somehow, the only place that I could find healthy coping was online. So, I started fresh. Made a blog and settled in. It’s not big, but I’ve had a few posts get noticed. I have a good few hundred followers, and one nice anon who asks me how I am every few weeks. It’s not a lot, but it’s comforting.

I feel at home here, even with a little discourse.

Well, only when the discourse is answered. Which, in this situation, I don’t know if it will be, given it’s been over an hour now and Baz hasn’t answered.

If that’s even his name.

It’s what his bio says, at least.

baz. 17. cisguy (he/him). gay. don’t interact if you think huxley is remotely straight.

I’ve wondered for a while what Baz stands for. He refuses to answer it in asks; he always says it’s too personal. He’s sort of odd like that--never posts pictures of anything that could be linked back. Seems sort of creepy, but then again, a lot of people follow him. It’s reasonable to want space.

Maybe that’s why he’s not answering. He probably wants space of some sort, but it’d be at least decent to answer someone who tried to have a discussion (that’s at least what I’m calling that message I sent--a discussion starter).

I frown at my phone, keeping it on silent as I slide it into my front pocket and settle into my seat in maths. I’ll say it--I sulk in class, a little bitter that I don’t have his attention (despite the fact that he seems like he’s always active online, which seems odd). Eventually, I exhale and try to let it slip away. There went my one interaction with him. My few seconds of the weirdest fucking bliss online, gone.

Then, it happens. As the class is ending, I pull out my screen just enough to see and there it is. A clear notification telling me he’d answered. Oddly enough, it’s just him sending me a link to a Google Doc.

Weird.

I ignore it for the moment being, letting myself ride the wave of relaxation that I actually got a reply. It passes my mind until I’m sitting in the back of Agatha’s car, listening to Penny and Aggie in the front talking about whatever’s on their mind. The rides are sort of awkward as of recently. At least Agatha agreed to drive me home (it’s a good 45 minute walk, if not) after some convincing from Penny, but her and I don’t really chat. It’s just the two of them.

Given that time, I have a chance to pull out my mobile and thumb through what was sent.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/175qFASmqD7hey8lE0eoE-6VhhFYE9DP6bpnI32Aay98/edit?usp=sharing

I click on it, not expecting that much (or, really, not expecting anything at all). Yet, the second it pops up and loads, my jaw drops.

“Jesus fuck,” I say aloud, scrolling through it. Penny turns her head, frowning as I stay locked on my screen.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“No--no nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s got to be something for that reaction,” she says, keeping turned in her seat as she eyes me up. “Just tell us, Si.”

“I mean it when I say it’s nothing.” My voice gets quieter as I shift, reading the title. “It’s just fandom stuff. It’s really nothing.”

I hear her disgruntled huff as she turns back, mumbling something about me reacting too dramatically to this. “It isn’t even real.” It’s said under her breath, yet it still rings clear in my ears.

It isn’t really fake, either.

Hell, this is six pages of real. “Why Huxley Gastrell is, Without a Doubt, a Ravenclaw”. Shared by Basilton Pitch (is that his actual name?!). Fucking hell, it’s detailed to no ends. You’d think, with this much writing, there’d be pages of pointless filler where he’d just type “im gay hi huxley is also a gay we’re all gay here aren’t we”, but no. It’s full, grammatically correct sentences detailing his points.

It’s a bit much to read in the car, so I settle my mobile face down onto the seat as I’m left reeling. That… was a bit more than I’d expected.

Shit, did he write that for me?

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

BAZ

Whoever says that having a flair for the dramatics is pointless has clearly never met me, because I wouldn’t quite call this masterpiece of an essay “pointless”. In fact, I should send it to academics. Rename it “A Study In Multi-Dimensional Characters and their Associated Generalized Personality Traits”. I’ll be hailed as a genius, as I deserve to be.

I crack my knuckles, and see the little person pop up.

Surely enough, it’s @bi-sammy’s name that he has listed online, Simon. It’s curious, he has his last name listed as “Snow”. Although, the smallest part of me believes it’s a pseudonym. Given our interactions, I doubt he’s clever enough to think of a solid pseudonym. And, even at that, why pick Snow?

Either way, it’s surprisingly endearing. Simon Snow. Sounds sweet. Sounds innocent.

I watch his cursor turn on, then his icon goes grey after a few moments. My heart starts to trip, making my cheeks begin to flush. Is… he ignoring this?

No. He can’t be. I put in hard work and dedication into this work, and I deserve the respect I’d sent into it. Fucking hell, three fully developed points (his devotion to intellectual work, his effort to step out of public light for Sam’s sake, and his overall lack of ambition for moving forward). I clearly set it out, and ended it properly; I’d proven that Huxley is a Ravenclaw. Case and point, opinion made, the end.

And, here I sit, watching him have the audacity to open it up then close it back. That was my hard work put in there, and he closes it? Who in the name of all that is sacred thinks he’s that above other people to the point where he just ignores--

Oh. He’s back on. Nevermind.

He’s… probably a school student. It’s roughly the time that most classes end, I suppose.

I make a mental apology to him, despite having never ranted directly to him in the first place.

He stays active for a good bit; long enough to show he’s reading. I assume that he’d just close off and message me, but after minutes, I notice a little highlighted comment pop up on the last sentence.

Simon Snow i………. owe you every single possible apology

Each word makes me grin like I haven’t in a while. A wide, cheek-creasing grin. There’s something so sweet to that--so personal. It feels like a note passed to me in a classroom under the tables. Like a cute “Blink if you like me”, although I doubt he has quite an intention.

Nevertheless, it warms my chest, sending my head back as I smile. I’m not sure whether or not it’s the satisfaction of winning, or his words, but I laugh outwardly into the room. It stays with me, reverberating onto my skin and my throat.

I look back at the comment, then leave it untouched. If he won’t remove it, then I won’t either.

With a glance at our personal messages tab, I figure that’s that. Even field, no more argument. No more interaction. It’s a bit of a shame, given the effort I’d just extorted for his sake, that he hasn’t answered in our chat.

While I’m disappointed to close off the document, I smile at it one last time. Sometimes I have to move on from random people, especially when they come on a bit strong.

Except, I find, moments later that I’m wrong about one thing--the moving on. He didn’t just stop his interaction, but instead made a public post.

“@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!”

This time, I really laugh. A full bellied, hand-covering-mouth laugh.

i guess i have to suck @gayhuxell’s cock now because i was wrong and the bloody arse was right. huxley is a ravenclaw.

#fuck me i guess

I take a minute, rereading over his words a few times before typing a simple answer with my reblog.

i’m available anytime behind a mcdonald’s parking lot

[invelleity]

psst. be honest. all of the questions. go.

i can’t believe jeanette is tryina kill me in public and i’m still love her??? | not accepting anymoooore | @ltbroccoli​

cracks knuckles here we go ( odd numbers 1-9 are here )

2. Are aesthetics important to you? If they are, why?

Not very. It’s fun and cute and all, but I care a whole lot more about “clicking” with people and having fun writing with them.

Exception: If someone’s aesthetic is so overblown that I can’t even find the pages on the blog or read the text, I.....won’t interact with that tbh.

4. How do you explain rp to someone in the real world?

(kicks down my roommate’s door at 10pm) “OK so I’m writing— stop screaming, it’s me,— I’m writing a character in Security and you’re like a double black belt or some shit, can you explain how��”

( My roommates all know it’s a thing I do but I’ve never sent them a link or shown them any of the actual writing. They’ve met a bunch of y’all over like Rabbit streams and @rumdaydreams​ irl though so like.... They Know. )

More under the cut

6. Do you prefer writing male muses or female more? Why?

Ehhh, depends on my mood. I lean towards female muses in general ( definitely got a bigger chunk of ladies on my list, for sure for sure ) but I love my boys.

8. Name any three things about the rpc that bother you.

Uhhhh A) We’re all such dumb socially awkward blobs so it’s often hard to get to know new people.

B) The feel that if you have a good relationship with one person who writes a canon muse, it’s some kind of lowkey betrayal to write with other people who write the same muse??

C) How much I, a certified card-carrying dumbass, stress myself out about posting on a “regular” schedule. Does that count? Like I want the blogs to look “presentable” lmao and me@me Calm The Fuck Down.

10. Have you ever had a bad experience with commissions? As either someone who makes them or as someone who buys them?

N / A

11. What do you know now about rp that you wish you knew when you first started?

Uhhhh, when I first started was long enough ago and the community was so different a lot of those lessons no longer apply. I wish when I finally jumped over to Tumblr I’d realized quicker how the new like....basic ways of meeting people and posting and all worked, which was mostly just a “calm down and go with the flow more, let go of your stupid rigid old habits” lmaooo.

12. Have you been involved in drama? Do you regret it?

yES. Yeah. Hahaha ha h. 

But ummm, not usually. No. Most of my drama has been either A) me posting the very very softest, most diluted version of barely-touching on my politics and my real goddamn life and people being fuckin butthurt as hell about or B) cutting people who were toxic and draining out of my life. So.

13. Have you ever thought about leaving rp? What caused it? What changed your mind?

cw suicidal ideation ment

Yeah. Once I actually did — when I started college I just didn’t have the time, so I peaced from the larger community to just write with close friends for a while. I’ve also considered leaving the T.umblr RPC a few times, but really only because of long bad depressive episodes. Coming back and “not wanting to literally die irl ha Ha” and catching up with my drafts gets me back on track lmao. 

14. Do you think rp has had a positive or negative affect on your life or you as a person?

Positive! Sometimes I worry that I spend too much time wrapped up in fiction and miss my real life, but I’ve learned to keep my time more separate so now it’s just good to have a healthy hobby that makes me happy. Also I’m definitely a much better writer for it, and there a lot of networking skills I think translate to real workplace skills so it’s 👌

15. How has rp changed you personally?

See above, tbh. And it gives me a lot of good outlets for writing ideas that would otherwise stew in my head until I hated myself for never ever writing any lmao. It’s good.

16. If you could change one thing about rp on tumblr, what would it be? Why?

Oh, I dunno. I wish I could post replies from mobile more easily, god. That’d keep me a lot more on top of my drafts lmao.

17. Have you ever sent a message to yourself on anon? Why?

Not on any of the rp blogs. ;^)

18. Have you ever sent hate to yourself on anon? Why? 

No, wtf

19. Do you delete anon hate or post and address it? Why?

Depends on the hate — things I feel need to be addressed or I want to be clear about not tolerating I’ll post. Personal hate and mean shit I delete.

Or if it’s stupid and makes me laugh I will definitely post that shit.

20. Have you ever felt pressured to write something you weren’t comfortable with?

Sometimes. If a partner is actually pressuring me I’m real good at saying uhhh hey, fuck off about that? but sometimes partners will perfectly-innocently be enthusiastic about things I’m not super comfortable with and that’s harder to bring up. So it’s..... more like I pressure myself, whoops.

21. Have you ever followed someone because you felt like you had to, not because you wanted to?

Ehh. Not really. Sometimes I’ll follow a friend of a friend despite lack of interest just because, like.... My friends are smart and good, maybe I’m just not getting the right “vibe” from their blog as who really they are. Sometimes that just means we never click and I unfollow them later. Or sometimes @rumdaydreams​ drags me straight to mutual hell and we write 20,000 unfinished bullshit and meet irl and she actually talks me into wholeass new blogs and muses. So, you know. Mix bag.

22. What would make you block someone?

Red flags for manipulation and lowgrade emotional a.buse, especially ones I viscerally feel in my stomach from previous experiences. Obvious r.ight-leaning politics ( Weirdly, I’m not particularly comfortable around people who don’t think I or my friends deserve to be treated like human beings! A character quirk, haha! )

Also ngl sometimes I block people just to remind myself I’ve followed them before and I don’t wanna re-follow them six times and look like I’m trying to intentionally harass them. My memory is bad but the block button always knows, lmao. 😅

23. Have you ever stolen something from someone else?

Not intentionally — I try very hard not to steal hc from duplicates or take plots without asking. But, y’know, sometimes an idea sticks in your head and you eventually just forget where it originally came from.

24. Have you ever had something stolen from you? If so, how did you handle it?

Not that I’m aware of.

25. Are you open to duplicates? Why / why not?

Absolutely, for the most part! I like seeing other perspectives, and especially since @thewrongsorts​ is such a bigass multi it lowkey just makes my life easier.

There are a few exceptions — less because they’re duplicates and more because there are hc/fanon I just......dislike enough I don’t wanna write with them. Not a feeling that’s limited to duplicates tbh.

26. How do you feel about vague posting? 

Ehhh. It’s like not a great thing, but I get the appeal. I tend to unfollow if someone posts a lot of it because then they’re just passive-aggressive as a person, but the occasional vagueblog I don’t mind. Sometimes you gotta get shit off your chest but you don’t wanna make it a wholeass call-out, I get it.

27. Do you follow people even if they don’t follow you back?

Generally I unfollow. I’m here to write, if we’re not interacting it’s clogging my dash. ( Honestly I unfollow mutuals eventually if we never write.... ) But very occasionally someone’s got such good #takes and hc that I stick around just bc I stan.

28. Do you read people’s rules before following or interacting?

A l w a y s.

29. What is your opinion on “reblog karma” and do you practice it?

It’s nice! Like.... I wouldn’t require anyone to do it, but it makes people feel better about their blogs, it’s polite. I know I’m happier getting memes as well as passing them along. You know, be social. Connect with people. I always try to practice it, yeah.

30. How have you responded to popular slang used on tumblr? Do you use it in every day life? Do you use it at all?

Uhhh, yeah. My irl social circles are a lot of dumb gay millennials, we use a lot of dumb internet slang.

31. Is there something you don’t know the meaning of but you haven’t asked anyone because you think it’s supposed to be general knowledge?

Oh yeah! Joined Tumblr rpc ten years late with Starbucks! But also like.... I’m a web developer. 90% of my irl workskills are being good at Googlin’ shit. So I’ve pretty much always found the answer on my own, at least. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

32. Was there ever something you had to ask someone to explain? 

( See above. )

33. Have you ever experienced discrimination? 

Here or irl or....? I mean yes in any case, but much less often in the rpc specifically. This blog is a lot less outspoken ( both about politics or about who I....am....generally ) than most of my others or me irl.

Shoutout to that time I complained one (1) time about how copacetic the H.arry P.otter rpc is and an actual irl n.eon.azi jumped in my inbox lmaooooooo.

34. How do you feel about personal blogs following your rp blog?

Uhhh, I don’t love it? But if they mostly chill and don’t fuck with my actual threads I usually ignore them. ¯\_( ‘ ‘ )_/¯

35. Have you ever cried while writing a reply?

No. I’m not like......good at crying. 😐

36. Do you read other people’s threads or do you only read your own?

Depends on the blog. Some multis I follow are in fandoms I just like don’t even understand, so I don’t read those. Sometimes I just don’t got the energy. But I read a lot of my friends’ other threads or threads on blogs I stan.

Good writing is good shit and I’m.....a big 👀 bitch. Tbh.

37. What’s one thing that other people seem to hate that doesn’t bother you?

Call-out posts, bringing real life politics into rp, generally acknowledging that we have lives outside of the fictional world that affect how we read and interact with fiction.

( 👏 The O.rder 👏👏 of the 👏 P.hoenix 👏👏 is A.ntif.a 👏👏👏 )

I don’t want to ever push that onto other people though, definitely. (Especially people affected by terrifying irl politics and coming here for escapism. )

38. How do you feel about tagging triggers? Do you tag them? How do you determine what is triggering content and what isn’t?

Always 👏👏 tag 👏👏 fucking 👏 triggers 👏👏👏

I tag things that are common or obviously upsetting, and if someone asks I add whatever tags they need to my list — the “list” is mostly a mental tally so I occasionally fuck up, but god I feel strongly about triggers.

Let 👏 people 👏 who are hurting 👏👏 live. 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

39. What advice would you give to someone new to rp?

Poking around to see how other people seem to “operate” and scrolling through posts about how to get started is so so so fucking helpful! Don’t be afraid to do it!

Also reach out to people as much as you can work up the spoons to. If they’re rude back to you, like..... They were never worth your time anyhow. You dodged a bullet.

( Value yourself 2k19 )

[tarithenurse]

Space Nurse 5/?

Fandom(s): Men in Black & MCU! Pairing: (Wait and see) x fem!reader Contents: Probably some cussing and slight bit of angsting. A/N: switching from 1st person PoV in the diary, we now get to enjoy some 2nd pers PoV “live action”! Leave me an ask or reblog to be added to the tag list...even if my writing will be slowing down considerably now that I have to prep for last internship’s exam.

From Nightingale to Sci-Fi

You’re unable to finish the breakfast due to the nauseating anticipation of what’s to come. Good thing you’ll be tending humans the first while, at least their physiology isn’t new to you. Nooo, only all the things they can suffer from in their line of work! You’re far from rested after having spent the entire night studying alien parasites and whatnot. It explains the frequent physicals they need to go through.

Abandoning your futile attempts at finishing the yoghurt with muesli, you stash the tray in the rack and turn around to head off only to nearly slam into the solid shape dressed in a black suit with matching tie which seems to soften and lighten his skin. Looking up into the smiling face of agent Jay, you gravity that tries to pull you stumbling backwards, minimizing the movement to a soft sway.

“Easy there, newbie,” Jay grins as he slips an arm around your waist to steady you, “didn’t mean to scare ya’.”

Slinking out of his steady hold (and tearing your gaze away from his endless eyes), it’s easy enough to deny his claim and if he doesn’t believe you…well at least he doesn’t say it.

“Spend most mornings trying to sneak up on…newbies?” The words fall testily over your lips.

When Jay smirks it makes his feathery moustache tremble. “Nah, only the one’s I’ve been told to assess.”

The two of you’ve started walking and you vaguely recognize the path that leads to the locker room. He’s a relatively tall man, at least compared to yourself and you’re not exactly the tiniest person. Even so, there’s nothing unsettling about walking next to him because nothing about his person carries the air of the other cold and anonymous agents you’ve encountered so far.

“There’ll be one from either bureau evaluatin’ ya work and skills every day. I’ve been tasked to represent Men in Black. Doctor Cho was supposed to be the delegation from Shield and –“

“Wait.” Pausing briefly to look at the friendly face to make sure you didn’t mishear. “There’re two fractions at play?”

By the time Jay finishes explaining about Strategic Homeland-something-or-other and Men in Black, your mind’s fuzzy with semi-political history. Your new acquaintance isn’t clear on who knew about the extra-terrestrials first, but it’s apparent that MiB have specialized on the field and it was a director of SHIELD, a guy called Fury, that arranged for a meeting to build a cooperation. One day, rumour goes, he was sitting in the office of “Alpha”, the chief of Jay’s organisation.

“So…I’m not actually part of neither Men in Black or SHIELD?” Pulling out a set of scrubs from an automated dispenser, you continue into the locker room.

Maybe he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care, because he follows dutifully. “Nah, durin’ the trial period y’are in neutral territory. Once assessed, we decide which agency ya’ll fit with, ya know…skills, temper, shit like tha’.”

“Don’t I have a say in it?” you ask, brows raised although he can’t see it because you’ve got the back to him and your head halfway into your locker.

Kicking off shoes, there’s no sign the man will leave, and you decide to change while he keeps talking.

“Ya want a say in – oh okay, we’re doin’ that!” You hear him shuffle about and a glance verifies that he’s turned away. “It’s not that I mind, ya see. Nothin’ wrong with…with…ahm…” The shadows of flailing hands doesn’t provide him with the needed vocabulary. “Aaaanyways! So…erm…well if ya got any preferences, we’ll be happy to hear ‘em.”

The scrubs from the hospital back home used to be white, maybe with navy leggings depending on the model, so it looks odd to you with the pastel yellow. I’m like an Easter chicken! Baggy pants and unshapely t-shirt, at least both have huge pockets for pens, notebooks with charts and vitals, and much more that you’ve come to learn is handy to have nearby during a shift. Pushing the locker-door shut with a dull clang, you straighten up and breathes in deeply in the hope that it’ll steady the nerves once and for all.

“Let’s do this.”

…

With doctor Helen Cho gone one of the people responsible for your introduction (though apparently only for a little while) is a young SHIELD-scientist although her expertise lies in biochemistry, making her less of an obvious choice to work in the infirmary in much the same way Helen’s focus on genetics does. But doctor Simmons in kind and brilliant, and she willingly explains that most of the doctors at this facility aren’t “ordinary” doctors due to the special needs any disease or injury related to extra-terrestrials require. As such, it’s up to you and the handful of other nurses to cover the gap between the professions.

No pressure. Sure, you’ve done your fair share of stiches and cleaning wounds...but you’re no surgeon, of course, and as your mind lists all the manners your expertise can be insufficient you feel your heart fall. Even though you’d been surprised to be offered this job (and since then shocked to find out what it entails), you don’t want to be deemed unworthy. Damnit, you bicker at yourself, if I gotta leave it’ll be me walking out as a protest.

…

You don’t leave that day. Instead, the time is spend doing regular checkups and collecting blood and urine samples from the many (human) employees that have been called in in advance. Some of the equipment might be fancier than at your old job, but the procedures are perfectly familiar, putting you at each and freeing your mind to make small talk with the military personnel which apparently are being checked these days.

A few of the faces are recognizable from the hallways or the cafeteria, there’s even a set of twins (whom you’ve assumed was actually just one very busy guy) that recognizes you from the gym. Red hair and brown eyes equally aflame with joy barely able to mask a glimmer of mischief when they each in turn offer you to join them for training or company at meal time. After seeing the second out, you take the liberty of noting down their names just in case you take them up on their offer.

And so, the day passes surprisingly quickly with you in one room together with the “patients” and agent Jay and doctor Simmons, the two people who has a power over your future, in the lab except when they decide to check up on you or stop by to give you a message. No one joins you for lunch, and by the time the day ends, you’re thankful that neither of the two leaves with you even if it means walking the halls alone.

…

You’ve had an hours rest before needing to be ready for the daily torture at the hands of the trio in charge of your training. Dragging your sorry ass and buzzing mind to the gym, getting insulted and yelled at is the last thing you feel like because even if the day technically speaking has been simple, getting used to a new work place is taking its toll mentally.

Dropping the little towel and water bottle in the treadmill’s holders, you know the first part of the training session you’ll be left mostly alone as long as you don’t run too slow. A few beeps with the buttons starts the preprogrammed, torturous, cardio workout.

15 minutes in, and your lungs are burning as though someone’s filled them with acid, forcing your body to work on anaerobic metabolism and sheer stubbornness. Breathe in while left-right-left, breathe out while right-left-right. On and on, the mantra drones while the empty gaze stays fixed on the barren wall at the other side of the room. Just a…bit more. You know you’re lying to yourself, but it’s easier to handle one more minute at a time than all 15 at once.

By the time the machine slows to a halt, some unknown deity must have taken pity on you to prevent your legs from giving out under you. Wiping the sweat away with the little towel (and stifling a groan of discouragement), the only goal is to drag out the time before one of the three buddies turns their attention to you.

“Hey, [Y/N]. Right?”

The cheery voice right behind you makes you snap around so fast you nearly trip yourself, and four hands shoot out to steady you. What was their names again?

“Woops,” the other twin smiles (or maybe it’s the same that spoke before), “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Heh. Nono, you didn’t,” you lie with a half-hearted smile, “I was just erm…mentally far away.”

The one you think might be Sean looks solemnly around the boring gym. The place is styled á la minimalist institution with once-white concrete walls and linoleum in some uncanny greenish hue that looks more like mold than anything you ought to have indoors.

“Next time…please bring me along.” The sigh would seem honest if it wasn’t for the twinkle in the brown eyes.

“Oï!” Of course, his brother (possibly named Ian, depending on who’s who) isn’t about to miss out on anything as he elbows his way closer, sending maybe-Sean slightly off balance. “Anything particular in mind? Otherwise I’ll show you the good places around here, just say the word!”

Their enthusiasm and smiles are contagious, rekindling a happiness that has otherwise been dampened since you left home. You’re just about to answer, accepting the offer in the need of having some sort of friends in this foreign place, when Costa sidles over with a brow arched in disapproval. Clad in shorts and a sports bra, showing almost all of her toned body, you’re reminded of the inferior status thrust upon you – and for obvious reasons when it comes to physical prowess. If it was only that, at least. But no. Of course, this warrior-lady somehow manages to look gorgeous and be smart too, and a pang of mixed emotions in your chest prompts you to look away.

“What’ve we got here?” The slightly nasal Caribbean dialect is honeyed. Too honeyed. “The havoc-twins are trying to sabotage my recruit?”

“Ma’am, no, ma’am.” Both guys’ drain in the split second it takes before they answer in unison.

Smoldering eyes turn frosty, freezing the guys and you to the spot. “Good. I won’t tolerate anything but perfection, and if you mess with my work, I’ll make you regret it. We clear?!”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” You bite your tongue not to answer with Sean and Ian.

“You can have her when I’m done.” Costa’s words sends a new wave of heat to your cheeks for no reason you should be thinking of. “Now move.”

Watching the twins scurry off, you wait silently for the punishing rant that must be brewing for you.

Nothing.

No harsh words or degrading comments slip Costa’s lips while she instructs you on the use of some equipment meant to exercise arms and chest. Oh no, her punishment is way more refined, much crueler. From one machine to the next, she pushes you beyond the limits you thought you had in a gruelling manner where raw strength and endurance are brought to the test until you literally pass out, losing your grip on an elastic cord as you slump unto the floor. Weather it’s the sharp whip against your face from the equipment or the impact with the linoleum that wakes you, well that’s impossible to tell. Either way, it’s the burning humiliation that hurts the most as you try to focus on the face of your tormentor.

[scuttleboat]

About the Shipper

Okay this is show day for The 100, and for some reason I’m feeling a whole host of things, so I’m going to do a brief overview of my blog and fandom opinions, in case you’ve followed in the last year, and wonder what I think about stuff.

OTP: Bellarke

Other canon pairings I enjoy: monty/harper, murphy/emori, kabby, linctavia, bryan/miller, jackson/miller, raven/wick

That being said, I’m 90% a monoshipper so I read and write almost exclusively about bellarke, unless it’s part of a kink ficathon or something. My fanfic is under the name rashaka on AO3 and ff.net.

Favorite Characters:  Clarke, Bellamy

Other favorites:  Octavia, Monty, Raven, Indra, Emori, Murphy, Abby

Favorite non-romantic pairings:  Clarke/Abby, Octavia/Bellamy, Octavia/Indra, Bellamy/Monty, Murphy/Everyone, Raven/Echo (based on one clip alone, I’m sold!)

General Info:

I reblog a lot of gifs, and sometimes bellarke fanfic. 

I type A LOT but sometimes if there’s a big post going around I’ll just comment on it instead of reblogging. Sometimes I will write 1000 words of meta just going into deep detail about my love for a character, my love for bellarke, or an abstract idea presented in the universe of the show.  I don’t have the discipline for regular episode reviews, but I do post reactions/responses sometimes. This is usually tagged under #the 100 meta, or the character's name.

I love jokes and comedic posts. I will reblog a rickroll every time and laugh every time bc someone thought "bellarke kiss" was a real link. I have made posts specifically to LOL at fandom, including the 100 fandom, multiple times and will still do so bc fandom is a circus.

I'm kinda bitchy after 2am, which I consider my prerogative as an American. 😉

Most of the time my blog is fairly drama free, but sometimes stuff makes all the hair on my back rise and I'm like a hissing cat. This is unlikely to happen more than once every months or so, but it might increase over the course of an active season. Most of the time I keep my personal complaints to private conversation, like an adult.

I am fandom old, which means I'm the same age as Bob Morley, but I have better hair. He has two dogs though, so it's possible he's further in his life journey than I am. All snark aside, I don't really talk about the 100 actors that much outside of hot pics or 100-relevant interviews, and I wouldn't call myself a stan for anyone. That being said, here's the charity GoFundMe for school Eliza Taylor founded. It's good work.

Comportment:

I draw a strong line between fandom and The Powers That Be. I don't believe in sending ship stuff to actors, and I don't believe in @-ing negative stuff to the writers on Twitter. I think trying to recruit industry people to our ship, or trap them into saying they ship something especially cast or writers, is embarrassing at best and manipulatively harmful at worst. Please don't try to get the child actors involved.

Unfollowing:

You can unfollow me at any time, for any reason. I may also unfollow you at any time, and it might have nothing to do with the fandom. I follow so many blogs that I don't see everything on my dash, and I sometimes get people mixed up when they change their usernames.

I also unfollow people who post character bashing, particularly if it's a strain of "character hurt Bellamy so they're a monster" because A) fictional characters are not people, they have no agency to cause hurt IRL and have no feelings to experience hurt IRL, B) all the 100 characters do bad things and they all hurt each other, and c) I just don't want to hear the bullshit anymore bc it's probably insincere and it's almost definitely misguided. This isn't to say that I think negative reactions are bad, or disliking a character is bad, but it means I follow 600+ people and I won't miss reading crap that makes me roll my eyes that hard. If you're wondering why I mentioned Bellamy and not other characters, it's because I am an active bellarke shipper and he's far and away the most popular character in the shipdom, which means most reactionary stuff is framed around perceived injustices done to him. It makes it kind of exhausting to love his character so much yet also to disagree profoundly with how so many others experience and interpret him. So I unfollow often, and welcome people to unfollow me if my reactions to the show annoy them in a similar manner.

Also, on the topic of what is "bad" on Tumblr: having any feelings about a show in any direction is not an inherently moral or immoral thing. You cannot hurt fictional characters, you can only hurt the people who create them and the other people who consume them. It is accurate to say that the internet body politik influences how we perceive media and it influences how we talk about it, so it could follow then that moral and political opinions about media are influenced by our perception of political and moral issues. For example, I think fandom is ragingly sexist, and our fandom tips more that way than others I've been in, particularly in its revulsion towards motherhood. There's a lot more -isms I could add to that, and have in the past. HOWEVER, this is ultimately a television show, and we each bring to it a host of preconceived experiences and ideas that we apply to what we see on screen. Since I don't know what everybody else's brain looks like on the inside, I try not to assume that liking or disliking a story element is indicative of how that person sees the real world--because The 100 is not a real world. It is made up. OTOH, sometimes people outright say or enact the stupid shit that is in their heads, and I have a decently long memory for it. And I am trained to spot patterns, academically and professionally. So I do a lot of eye rolling. I'm not trying to say that as a brag, that's how my brain works. I wish it were trained to increase $$ but it's not, so more the fool me.

Also, I think about 89% of the soap-boxing in fandom is just a front for shipping grudges, so you can miss me with that. You can also miss me with the anti-Octavia stuff, the anti-Clarke stuff, the anti-Aurora stuff, the anti-Echo stuff, and the anti-Abby stuff. I'd say the anti-Bellamy stuff too, but literally like 2 people in four years have reblogged anti-Bellamy stuff on my dash, and that was deep in the dark times of CL drama, so I think that's covered.

That's probably way more than anymore needed to know, and I'm sure it will get buried in season premier stuff. But here you go. My passion for Clarke and Bellamy, for their individual characters and for their relationship, it's intense. It's probably more emotionally involved I've ever been in a pairing. Bellarke is... stunningly unique, as a ship goes, and I've been in fandom since I was a teenager so that is saying a lot for me.

TL;DR:

Bellarke is amazing, always leave comments on fanfic that you read, don't steal gifs or art, and ffs be cool about shit, it's only soccer.

[ashadowcalledkei]

Well I’m still not entirely happy with this but theater work and holiday shopping have derailed me far more than I’d like lately so you know what?  good enough.  CHAPTER TIME!

This last part ends To Last the Night.  I really hope that you’ve enjoyed reading it and its predecessor.  I wanted to say one final THANK YOU~!! to everyone who’s liked or reblogged or sent nice comments because really you guys are the absolute best.  And a super special thanks to the wonderful @spacegate whose fantastic ideas, writing, and art inspired this work and whose support meant and still means more than words can say.  You are amazing!

Now the big question is; can I get anything done on my other fic?  I’m sure gonna try to.

To Last the Night

Sequel to Whispers in the Dark

Pairings: None Characters: Sans, Papyrus, Grillby, Dogaressa, Dogamy

Warnings:  none for this chapter (let’s catch up with the guardians one last time before we say goodbye)

Notes: Baby Blasters AU belongs to the wonderful @spacegate​​, I just love writing awful angst for it.

Read on AO3 here (chapters go up on tumblr first)

Chapter 14

“Door,” a voice sang out, echoed by a small, high pitched howl that rang through the apartment above Grillby's bar.  “Someone's at the door!”  

“Alright, I'll be right there.”  

The owner of both the home and the joined establishment smoothed barely visible wrinkles from his pressed white shirt as he strolled towards the front door.  He was all but certain that he already knew who was about to arrive and that they wouldn't care or even notice if he was a bit disheveled from work, but the instinct to make sure he looked presentable wasn't to be ignored regardless.  

Sans and Papyrus were already there when he arrived.  The taller of the two was all but scratching at the wooden surface, excited by the approaching sounds he heard from beyond it.  These days it was nothing new to see the pair so excited, especially Papyrus who hopped from fixation to fixation with all the energy and enthusiasm of an over-caffeinated bunny.  And yet, this everyday sight was still something wondrous to Grillby.  He'd never have imagined a life like this when he'd first met the pair, nor the dangers he'd have to face it in order to keep it.

It had been many long months since they'd escaped from what was now a lonely, burnt out shell of a house on the outskirts of Hotland.  In many ways, the incident and the disturbing sequence of events that had preceded it felt so distant.  Some days he had to remind himself that it hadn't all been some terrible nightmare or a story he'd read in a book years ago.  But then he'd notice something small, like burn marks on wooden floors or the way the children would sometimes flinch at the shadows that had once felt so comforting to them, and the reality of it all would leave him staggered.  It had been real.  The scattered snippets of memory he clung to had actually happened despite the tricks his mind was constantly trying to play on him.  And the mysterious erasure of it all was just as real.

At last Grillby heard a knock.  It was difficult trying to convince Papyrus that waiting for someone to knock before inviting them in was the polite thing to do but he was trying none the less.  He opened the door and the smiling faces of the pair he'd expected to see beamed back at him.

“Sorry to come over without calling first,” Dogaressa said.  

“Think nothing of it,” Grillby replied, “you're always welcome here.”  

The exchange was nothing short of habit at this point, something that had started as a formality and was now so practiced that the two of them said their parts automatically.  The words were different from time to time, but it was all simple variations of the same pleasantries.  It didn't really matter, yet both of them kept up the act if only as a convenient conversation starter.  

“How're the little flamethrowers?” Dogamy asked with a snicker.

Though much of their ordeal was already lost to the three adults, obscured by the haze that wiped away their memories of the mysterious and dangerous person behind it all, some important things still persisted.  The sight of the children wreathed in flame was one of them.  Burning the poison out of them had been a serious risk, and though Grillby could not recall all of the reasons he'd been forced to take that risk he was grateful that things had turned out as well as they had.  It had also resulted in some interesting temporary side effects.  Fire magic, as it turns out, likes to linger, and the pair had taken to it so well that it was weeks before the last of the colorful flames vanished from them.  Even now they were still prone to the odd, infrequent flareup.    

Papyrus crossed his arms and whined, voicing his childish displeasure at the nickname.  It only served to make Dogamy laugh harder.  Grillby nudged him a little, prompting him to remember what he'd learned about greeting people.  “We're … aah … we're … “

“we're good,” Sans said for him.  

The younger skeleton huffed and shot him a look that even Grillby knew meant 'I could have gotten it.'  But like most altercations between the siblings, the slight was quickly forgotten.  Papyrus chattered in a mix of puppy yips and trills as he dragged Dogamy towards the living room.  No doubt he was excited to show off the pictures he'd drawn the other day or share his latest 'discoveries'.  Grillby and Dogaressa shared a knowing look, somehow managing to contain their amusement.  When they looked back, Sans was gone.  He'd vanished in the blink of an eye, and if Dogamy's surprised yelp was any indication he was already back in the other room waiting for them.  

“I don't think I'll ever get used to that,” Dogaressa said fondly, looking at the empty space where Sans had just been.  

“You and me both.”  

Grillby wondered if something in the boy's magic had shifted due to his ordeal, unlocking another facet to his powers, or if he'd been capable of this all along and had simply been too secretive to show it.  He didn't think it mattered all that much in the long run.  However he'd come to possess the power, Sans was at least responsible with it.  It helped that he could only transport himself short distances, at least for now.  

Now that they were alone in the relative quiet of the hallway, Dogaressa pulled a book from one of the large, hidden pockets of her robe.  “I brought you a copy of the record.  I think at this point it's as complete as it's ever going to be.”

“Thank you,” Grillby said as he took the offered item.  It wasn't much, just an average sized journal bound in leather, but it felt heavy with the weight of the secrets it contained.  “Did you come up with any more details?”

“One or two, but I don't think they were all that important.”  

The two of them retreated to the kitchen, leaving Dogamy to entertain Sans and Papyrus in the living room.  Grillby poured his guest a cup of tea and set the steaming mug in front of her.  The journal sat untouched between them.

“Do you still remember much?” he asked, though a part of him wished he hadn't.  Even talking about the incident could be an unpleasant experience, leaving him with a dull roar of a headache that lingered until the fog once more rolled over his fractured memories.

“Not really,” Dogaressa sighed, “Dogamy and I keep reminding each other, but every day there's more pieces missing.”  She gazed down at the book, her claws tapping restlessly on the ceramic mug.  “Reading this now, it feels like it all happened to someone else.”

Grillby nodded in silent agreement.  He was grateful that the guards had each other to keep themselves grounded and remind one another of the man that reality itself seemed to want to erase.  More than that though, he was grateful that they did the same for him.  

“How about you,” Dogaressa asked once she managed to pull herself from her own tangled thoughts, “what have you got left?”

“Not as much as I'd like.  But, at least I have the boys to remind me of the important things.”

“They still remember, huh?” she said, regret barely hidden behind a sympathetic smile.

“Every part of it.”

For reasons beyond Grillby's understanding, Sans and Papyrus weren't forgetting their ordeal or the man responsible the way he and the guards were.  However, it seemed that they were alone in that unfortunate distinction.  Every other trace of the ex-royal scientist's existence was swiftly becoming lost to time.  Each record that had been uncovered was distorted at best and missing large sections of otherwise carefully preserved information at worst.  Former colleagues knew only of his reputation, having neither a name or a face to associate with the deeds left behind even if they had been present for them.  The incident in Hotland had been written off as a freak accident even after Grillby and the guards personally explained their involvement multiple times.  Even the bar's regular patrons believed that Grillby had been away on some sort of vacation during the whole ordeal despite him never saying anything of the sort to anyone.  

No one could remember the truth, only the convenient lies that had slipped in to take its place.  No one except Sans and Papyrus.  The details remained with them in startling clarity even as they vanished from the world around them.  It didn't seem fair that the ones most hurt by the former royal scientist were the only ones who could never forget him.  

“Why did that guy come for them anyway?” Dogaressa asked.  “I know he created them, though I'm still not sure how, but this?”  She briefly pressed a hand to the journal's unmarked cover.  “This was madness.  Who would go to such lengths for … what?  Revenge?”

Grillby rested his elbows on the table as he looked down at the journal.  Madness, huh?  It seemed like a fairly apt description based off what he himself could recall, and no doubt the details transcribed on those pages painted an even more twisted tale.  He didn't know what could drive a monster to do something like that, nor did he want to, but simple revenge didn't seem right.  He thought of a mysterious connection the kids spoke of in hushed, trembling whispers.  Of night terrors seen through the eyes of another and what should have been paranoid assumptions stated as absolute fact.  Of ruined souls with crystalline cores.  “I think there was some part of him in the boys.  Pieces of himself that he used when he created them.”

Dogaressa's shoulders hunched reflexively, her fur bristling as she clenched her fist around the coffee cup's handle.  “They're nothing like him.”

“That's true,” Grillby said, all too eager to agree with that sentiment, “But maybe there's something in them that's like the man he used to be.  The royal scientist that existed before all this.  If he really accomplished all that we think he did, like build the Core, then there had to be some good things about him.”

Dark eyes narrowed, not with anger but with a reluctance that the elemental could more than understand.  “If that's the case, then we know where those good things ended up.”

It was a wild theory to be sure, something he'd never consider under normal circumstances, but it fit too well with the broken pieces of the story that unseen forces had seen fit to allow them.  He wondered if they were right and the royal scientist had unknowingly sacrificed all his best qualities in the creation of Sans and Papyrus.  And now, that was all that remained of him.  Grillby didn't know if it was true, or even possible, but it was an oddly poetic thought.  

“Any luck with the name?” Dogaressa asked, shifting the topic to one that didn't make her bristle quite so much.

“Unfortunately no.”  Grillby slumped a little in his chair.  Even now, as he tried to recall that missing name and was met with only a blank space in his mind, he was beginning to feel a familiar twinge that meant a headache was fast approaching.  “When they say it, all I hear is this … static.  Even having the kids write it down doesn't work.  It just turns into nonsense.  I know they aren't doing it on purpose.  Sometimes I can even make out the first few letters.  But then … ”  He waved a hand dismissively.

Dogaressa let out a sigh, leaning heavily on the table.  “I wish I understood this.”

Grillby wished he could do more for her.  It wasn't that this didn't bother him as well, it most certainly did.  How could anyone not be distressed when their own mind betrays them like that?  But his friends, especially Dogaressa herself, were taking it much harder than he was.  He thought it might have something to do with their positions as royal guards.  The pair saw it as their solemn duty to protect all of Snowdin.  Knowing that two of their own had been snatched away and tortured by a madman they'd been unable to stop was clearly weighing heavily on them.  Even when the last details of that man had been wiped from their minds, he was almost certain that the guilt would remain, a directionless and desperate need to protect hanging over the pair forever.  

But those details and the raw horror they carried would fade.  Each passing day pulled them further and further away from their grasp, leaving them with only vague reminders that contradicted the evidence surrounding them.  Almost as if they were fighting an uphill battle against reality itself.  The royal scientist had become something unfit for this plane of existence, and so it rejected him entirely.  For a fleeting moment Grillby remembered the twisted horror that the man had become, dead eyes leaking streams of living shadow.  Then pain blossomed in his mind, magic fire flickering as the headache that had threatened him before took hold in full, and the nightmare dissolved into meaningless distress.  

“Maybe it's best that we forget.”

“But what if he comes back?” Dogaressa asked, not even trying to hide the fearful tension that the thought brought with it.  

“If even half of what we've recorded here is true, I doubt he will.  Besides, the boys said he's gone, and I believe them.”

“Now that's surprising,” she said with an amused little huff.  “Those paranoid pups really think he won't be back?”

“From what I understand, there used to be some sort of connection between them and the doctor.  I guess that must be how he kept finding them.”  It had taken a few long discussions for that particular piece of information to stick, but eventually it had.  Grillby simply had to place his focus kids rather than the man who had made them.  They spoke of a bond like an invisible thread, linking the pair of them together and tethering them to the one they feared most.  It had stretched thin, they said, pulled as if through immeasurable distance, until it could no longer be seen or felt at all.  Now only the tie between the brothers remained.  Sans had looked up at him with a rare and genuine smile, one eye socket lit up with dazzling blue, and Grillby hadn't had the heart to question his claim.  

“I think I remember something like that in the book.”  Dogaressa shook her head, letting out a frustrated growl under her breath.  “I'm even forgetting things about the pups now?”

Grillby reached across the table and gently took the mug from her clenched hands before she could accidentally crack it.  “It'll get easier.  At least, I think so.  Whatever happened back there, it's erased the doctor from our world.  The three of us remember more than we should, even with everything we've forgotten.”  And if his migraines were any indication, that likely wasn't a good thing.  He didn't know how long they could hold out against it, or if they should even try.  “Anyway, with him gone it erased that connection as well.  Sans and Papyrus can't sense him anymore.  They seem fairly confident that it means he's really gone.”

Dogaressa chuckled.  “And who are we to argue with that?”

From elsewhere in the apartment they could hear a distant thud and a young voice raised not in alarm but in shrill delight.  It sounded like Papyrus was bouncing off the walls in the living room.  Perhaps literally.  

“Should we go save Dogamy?” Grillby asked, lighthearted amusement helping to drive his headache into submission.  

Dogaressa grinned, subtle and sincere.  “In a bit.”

In a little while, they would brave the chaos of the living room to rejoin the others, completing a mismatched family of three and the friends who were as close as family to them.  They would indulge childish enthusiasm and celebrate curiosity, making the time to listen to every question, concern, and story.  They would do their best to give the children the life they deserved and pave the way for a kinder future far away from their nightmares.  

There would be time for all of it in the safety that their blood and tears had bought them.  But for now, these two friends were content to sit together in comfortable silence, the journal lying untouched between them.

[stimtoybox]

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to start a stim/fidget toy review blog? I think it will give me a good outlet to talk about them instead of bothering my friends every time I get a new stimmy thing. I just don't know where to start. :(

I am flattered, anon, that you think we can offer advice on this point!

To be honest, I don’t think it’s that much different from starting any creative project, and these are all things folks should consider if they’re doing anything new. So ask yourself these questions, as they’ll guide you, I think, towards what you do next and how you do it.

I apologise for writing … well, an essay on blogging. It’s probably a great deal more than what you’ve asked for, but I’ve learnt a great deal in running this blog, and it all came flooding out on the page.

The main points, I think, I’ll summarise here before going into everything under the cut:

Know what it is you want to do and why you want to do it. It’s very hard to keep going with anything if you’re not sure why you’re doing it.

Hold close to your heart everything you think you can bring to your blog and reviews, because cherishing your own uniqueness keeps you going.

Practice self-care in determining what is possible for you and how much time you can devote to a blog. Look after yourself first. Your followers will wait even longer for responses if you have a mental breakdown.

Blog only if it makes you happy, because blogging is a lot of work!

Regular and consistent updates do result in regular followers and interactions, but the expectation that one updates regularly and consistently is based on ableist assumptions of ability, so you are allowed to be inconsistent.

Practice gratitude for the people who interact with you.

Don’t feel you ever have to take hate or abuse: you are allowed to use the block button.

Do not ever feel as though you need to know everything about your subject before blogging, because your followers like being able to help you.

If you’re comfortable sharing your blog with us, anon, when you have it ready to go, I’d love to see it. No such thing as too much stimmy information or too many stim blogs; we’re all part of a much greater (and fabulous) community working together to help and share information and discussion about a special interest/hyperfixation/passion. That’s a fabulously awesome thing, and I love all the connections with others - something I’m generally terrible at - I’ve made through this blog.

So, if you’re comfortable, come join us in our little network of stimmers, because we want you to be part of it!

What is it you want to do? What is it you don’t want to do?

Do you just want to post your own reviews? Do you want to post/reblog links to cool toys you’ve found? Do you just want to post/reblog photos of toy collections without reviews or listing information? Do you want to do a mix of toys and online stimming videos/GIFs/ASMR? Tutorials? For example, I don’t enjoy videos or GIFs, so I knew this blog would be about toys, and as I like making things, tutorials just happened naturally. Have a think about the kind of content you want to include and focus on that.

You can always widen your focus afterwards, but having a focus in the beginning helps give you direction, and direction is important.

(Additionally, as your blow grows, your followers might push your blog in all sorts of different directions!)

Why is it you want to do it?

Just wanting somewhere to put your thoughts is a good and valid reason! In the case of this blog, I wanted that, but I also wanted to discuss stim toys with a greater international focus. I know it seems odd now, but when I started this blog few stim toy bloggers were listing currencies, discussing shipping costs or providing image descriptions. There were few listings that weren’t focused on US webstores and absolutely nothing about Australian resources. I saw a gap in what was being covered by others, based on my own needs as a stimmer, and jumped right in.

Knowing why you want to do something helps tailor your approach: it gives you that little bit of uniqueness that separates your blog from other blogs. It erases that doubt that surfaces when you wonder why you’re doing this when everyone else is doing this already. There will be something you’re doing that the rest of us aren’t, and if you find that and hold onto it, it’s a lot easier to keep going.

What makes you happy?

What do you enjoy doing? Writing? Photography? Talking about little details? Making GIFs? Collecting listings of cool items you’ve seen online?

Find out what it is you think you’ll enjoy most and focus, at least in the beginning, on that. Happiness is incredibly motivating.

What lies within your ability?

Anon, take it from someone who repeatedly and reliably fails at this point: figure out what it is you can’t do in the matter of a stim blog and push it aside. You do not have to do everything on your blog. If there is something you genuinely cannot do, don’t do it. This is especially important for disabled bloggers, as we generally have limitations in what we can do and how much. Don’t be like me, trying to do everything because it’s good to do without any awareness of how much Trying To Do Everything is breaking me.

There’s a line between Things That Are Good To Do and Things I Can Actually Do, and you’ll be saner and happier (as someone who is regularly driving myself up the wall with my habit of overestimating my ability to function) if you stay on the “actually possible” side of the line.

Things to look at here include physical ability and time for working on this blog, both of which are super important to evaluate. Always underestimate your ability to do things - you’d rather have extra time and spoons than not enough of it!

I’ll acknowledge that regular, consistent updates are probably the biggest thing when it comes to growing a following, but for disabled people this is a very hard thing to do, and all the “how to blog” advice posts never mention this. The goal of consistency is deeply ableist. If you can do this, great. If you can’t? Don’t bother about it. Updating sporadically is better than being burnt out and not updating at all for six months because you’ve set yourself a punishing schedule your life and body won’t allow you to manage.

How are you going to do it?

You know what you want to say and why; the next step is how. How are you going to format your blog? Possible questions to consider include:

Do you want to write short or long reviews?

Do you want to include photos, videos, GIFs?

Do you want to casually talk about your purchases or aim to be a resource?

Do you want to tag everything as an archive? (This is so the thing where I have bitten off more than I can chew, ye gods.)

Do you want to make your content as accessible as you can?

Do you want to accept asks and user submissions?

Do you want to have a moderated/shared blog?

Do you want to be an informative resource versus just talking casually about your stim experiences?

Do you want your blog to be an informative resource versus a blend of stim posts and your own personal content?

Do you want to cultivate connections with other stim bloggers?

This step is thinking about the minutia of how you’re going to do whatever it is you want to do. In my case, it was deciding that this blog is a resource blog, that I’d focus on tags and archiving, that I want to put a lot of detail in my reviews and that I’d be as accessible as is possible for me.

By the way, while personal review blogs and broader resource blogs are different, one isn’t necessarily better than the other. General stim toy blogs that just post and reblog collection photos get a great following because people just want to enjoy the pretty and get to know the collator. They’re also much easier to run in terms of workload, especially for folks on mobile.

How are you going to approach the community?

This is where you think about who your audience is, who you wish to be following you and how you’re going to approach your interactions with others. Tumblr is a curious space in the sense that various flavours of activism often end up in spaces that aren’t really about activism, and that can be a tricky thing to deal with. I’m not always sure that I deal with it well, but I think at the end of the day that if you try to be true to who you are, that’s a good thing, even if others disagree with your approach.

(It’s okay if people do disagree. The number of stim blogs that exist means there’s a space for most of us.)

Things to consider include:

Who don’t you wish to follow? It is absolutely within your right as a blogger to dictate whom it is you wish to follow and interact with you, or what behaviours will result in blocking. My opinion is that it’s good to be polite about expressing it, though, especially if you’re asking blogs that feature behaviour that doesn’t cause harm to vulnerable populations to not follow you/not engage. You’re allowed to put your comfort first, but politeness is good.

Is your blog for a wider community or a section of it? Are you for anyone who stims, for disabled people who stim, ND people who stim or a targeted group like anxious stimmers or autistic stimmers?

How exclusive are you in your community building? Some blogs are completely inclusive, some blogs are largely inclusive, some are very exclusive. Stim blogs often end up being little communities of their own, so it pays to take some time to think about the kind of space you want to build.

Are you bringing other politics or modes of activism to this blog? It often pays to put this somewhere if you are or aren’t. I know that I’ve felt very uncomfortable when I’ve followed a blog only to discover a week later that the owner/mods are exclusionists. By the way, it is absolutely okay to not reveal your beliefs on any of these issues if you keep it entirely off the blog. It is also okay to be open about who you are and what you believe but not make the blog primarily about those beliefs. It is also okay to make the blog all about those beliefs.

How will you approach drama? For example, I have a block policy for hate messages: I block and never discuss the content on this blog, because I feel this is not the place to discuss people who feel the need to tell me how much they hate me for differing activism/identity approaches. I’ve got better things to do than to waste my spoons on that. Other bloggers respond to those messages and discuss them.

How will you keep your followers safe? You can do the AO3 approach of choosing not to tag - as long as you mention this on your blog description, this is entirely valid. You can tag. You can advise that there are certain things you can’t advise for and tag for the rest. You can say that this isn’t a space for discussing politics, activism or problematic content. You can say that you do discuss it. I’ve realised that I need to go back and make my approach to discussion content - that while we won’t discuss abuse or ableism or other awful things that happen to ND people in explicit detail, we won’t pretend they don’t exist or happen to us - more clear. (It’s part of the evolution from stim toy review blog to stim toy and ND blog, and I’m still playing catch-up in a lot of ways.)

I admit that my philosophy in general is to be as inclusive as possible whilst still centering stimming on ND and disabled people, and I personally will never have enough blogs to follow that do this. I am all for community building that is as accepting and non-judgemental as is possible. But this is not the only way to blog, and in the end, you do you, anon. There’s space in the world for people to have differing opinions, and the benefit of a blog is that one can make a community that suits one’s needs and philosophy.

I’ll also note that autistics and issues relating to autism (Autism $peaks, for example) have more of a presence in stim spaces, but if you are not autistic, you absolutely do not have to make your blog about autism. I believe there’s a real need for more allistic stimmers to make blogs that focus on the stimming needs of ADHD and/or anxious stimmers without autism discussions creeping in.

What do you need to do?

This step is for considering all the things you need to do to make the blog go from an idea to a thing.

Please note that this is often more professional in focus than many bloggers consider: I’m a writer, and so it’s habit for me to try and make even my non-writing blogs of a semi-professional standard.

If this feels way too much, pick and choose (remember: you don’t have to do everything).

The name of your blog. Do you have a name? Is it still available? Go and grab it now if so, even if you don’t make your blog for days, weeks or months. I sat on @stimtoybox​ for about three months before I finally made the blog.

The layout of your blog. There’s a lot of custom Tumblr designs out there, but, to be brutally honest, most of them are not user-friendly in terms of accessible and easy-to-read design. Pick a clean theme that’s easy to modify, as that will give non-Tumblr users access to your content. I know everyone thinks we only access blogs via dashboard these days, but if you get big enough, some of your anons may not be registered Tumblr users, and giving them access to your blog via an easy-to-read webpage layout matters a lot.

The avatar/icon and headers of your blog. Many layouts let you custom design these, and this helps give you a little individuality (especially on your webpage layout). You can get lots of royalty-free graphics on sites like Pixabay with no attribution required (although it’s a decent thing to put said attribution on a page). Additionally, your own photos of stim toys work great for this. Having icons and headers that are unique to you is well worth the time it takes to create them.

Bio and blog description. You don’t want an essay for this, but a little information about what you’re doing and why is great.

HTML. If you can add a few HTML links to said blog description, including links to everything people can’t access on mobile (about page, BYF page, submissions info) you’ve made your blog that much easier to use. I am more than happy to write a tutorial on the code I use here on Tumblr if anyone wants it.

Links to your other internet presences. Don’t be ashamed about doing this. You’re providing content, which is a lot of work, so it’s absolutely fair to use it as a way to direct people towards your other work (personal blog, art, writing, whatever).

Before You Follow and Submission information. If you’re allowing asks and submissions, tell people want you want - make a page for this information. (Unfortunately, you’re still going to get people who don’t read before submitting - I’ve had a few submissions that are just GIF images with no informative content, for example, even though we’re a resource blog.) It really does help, though. Likewise with the BYF, if you have folks you’d rather not follow for whatever reason.

Lastly,

You don’t have to know everything about your subject matter. If you don’t know and can’t find it out, admit it. Ask people for their input, because folks genuinely like helping each other out. They like participating; they like offering up information. The majority of your followers are going to be pretty awesome people, and they’re going to want to help, if they can. We have this massive passion in common, and we’re all here, following each other, helping each other, because we like learning and sharing.

In my opinion, there’s also a lot to be gained by being thankful and expressing gratitude to followers’ interactions. (It maybe sounds manipulative put that way, but expressing everything as a social rule makes it sound manipulative, to be honest, and for me everything is a social rule, something I’ve learnt the hard way, not a natural understanding.) Thank you is a pretty powerful word; being grateful is a pretty powerful thing. If there is anything I’ve learnt from this blog, it is that being and expressing gratitude has brought me an awful lot of good will, patience and acceptance, even when I’m absent, screwing up, making mistakes, in too much pain to be helpful or tolerant, being far too emotional or just being too overwhelmed by a blog and inbox that’s gotten bigger than I can often manage.

Be grateful for those who interact with you. You don’t have to accept hate (that gets the block button) but being grateful helps so much.

Good luck, anon. I’m pretty sure this is many more words than what you’re after, and I hope it isn’t too overwhelming for you. We’re all very much looking forward to your unique reviews and insights on stim toys!

- Mod K.A.