#don't know why I'm tagging this so hard but i learned like three new terms so that pretty cool | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebramblewood · 11 months

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Thank you to @venriliz for tagging me! I'll tag @thecrumblingisle, @sweetbeagaming, @cactusblossom, @simatomica, @10000dreams, @solarlemonade, @lotuso3o, @cinnamonferns but feel free to ignore! I know it's a long one.

1. What’s your favorite sims death? Oh my god, I forgot the running with scissors death in TS2 existed until @venriliz mentioned it, but that made me remember I once killed off an unwanted legacy heir using that method. :/ Don't ask me why I couldn't just move him out and leave him to his own devices. Anyway, I think death by cowplant is pretty classic.

My LEAST favorite Sims death is freezing because I had a really traumatic experience in the second generation of my legacy where my Sim Phoebe made the bright decision to host a birthday party for one of her housemates at the Bluffs in Windenburg in the dead of winter and everyone decided to start swimming and like three people froze to death, including the birthday girl. It remains a horrifically vivid memory to this day, lmao.

Putting the rest under a cut!

2. Alpha CC or Maxis Match? Maxis Match for the most part. I find that anything alpha just ends up looking too out of place unless it's closer to the Maxis side of the spectrum.

3. Do you cheat when your sims gain weight? If it fits their lifestyle, I'll have them work out/eat healthier, but I try not to interfere otherwise.

4. Do you use move objects? Absolutely, it's permanently activated!

5. Favorite mod? MCCC is obviously essential, as well as anything that makes CAS better looking and more efficient. I also wouldn't play without Sunblind these days! I can't get enough of those gorgeous sunrises and sunsets.

6. First expansion/game/stuff pack you got? I think I got City Living and Seasons at the same time. I was kind of a late adapter to TS4 but fell very quickly down the rabbit hole.

7. Do you pronounce “live mode” like aLIVE or LIVing? I want to think I pronounce it like LIVing because I know that's technically correct, but I think half the time I still pronounce it like aLIVE in my head.

8. Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made? Oh, this is so hard... If we're going solely on Sims who originated in CAS, there aren't really many options! Most of my Sims have been born in-game. I am really proud of Helena, and I think everyone can tell how attached I've become to her. Hmm, I need to make more Sims, I guess.

9. Have you made a simself? Noooooooooo. The Sims for me is very much an escape from myself, so I don't think I ever will.

10. What sim traits did you give yourself? I would probably give myself music lover, perfectionist, and socially awkward.

11. What is your favorite EA hair color? The lightest blond, I think? The one that looks almost platinum and isn't quite as yellowy as some of the others.

12. Favorite EA hair? That short choppy hair from Cottage Living (the one the Creature Keeper has). For a while, I was absolutely eating up every single variation I could find.

13. Favorite life stage? If I'm being honest, young adult. I find that my gameplay is most varied and interesting when my Sims are in that stage because they're traveling, meeting a lot of people, trying new things, etc. Once my Sims settle down and start a family, it's easy for me to forget places and people outside their home lot exist and everything becomes more routine.

14. Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay? Me, a builder? That's a funny joke. I'm definitely more in it for gameplay and storytelling. I'll do everything I can to avoid building a lot myself. I don't mind redoing interiors, but it takes me forever, so I try to limit how often I do that, too.

15. Are you a CC creator? No. I've done a couple very basic recolors/edits for myself. We're talking kindergarten level stuff. I don't really have the willpower for learning anything more complex right now.

16. Do you have any simblr friends/a sim squad? Sim squad is such a weird term to me. I do still feel like a bit of an outsider in the Simblr community at times, but I also have a handful of mutuals who I've enjoyed connecting with, and it always makes me happy to see them in my notes and on my dash!

17. What’s your favorite game? The only games I've ever been heavily into are The Sims and those Nancy Drew computer games... I think you can guess which one is my favorite. But if we narrow down the franchise, The Sims 2 has a very special place in my heart.

18. Do you have any Sims merch? No.

19. Do you have a YouTube for sims? No, and as someone who can't stand hearing or seeing recordings of myself, it would be a nightmare.

20. How has your “sim style” changed throughout your years of playing? I've honestly wondered about this myself! I don't think it's really changed so much as become more refined. I don't make a ton of Sims, so I don't think I have an obvious aesthetic style. But my play style has definitely changed in that it's more storytelling-geared, which does mean I spend less time actually using gameplay mechanisms and more time setting up. My visual style (e.g. composition, editing, etc.) has definitely evolved a lot even over the past few months.

21. What’s your Origin ID? Going to pass on this one! My sister and I share an account, and I don't upload anything on the gallery anyway.

22. Who’s your favorite CC creator? Oh, so many! I will download basically anything that sforzcc or softerhaze upload. My absolute favorite hair creators are simstrouble and okruee. And I've been using a ton of stuff from awingedllama and leaf-motif when decorating lately. But those are just a few that come to mind.

23. How long have you had a simblr? I only just started my Simblr back in January or February. But I've been on Tumblr itself way too long to admit out loud.

24. How do you edit your pictures? I try to let Reshade do the heavy lifting, but I also like using a few of these actions in Photoshop to make them pop a bit more.

25. What expansion/game/stuff pack is your favorite so far? City Living because San Myshuno is one of the only worlds that really feels "alive" to me and I think it does festivals best, and Cottage Living because it's the complete opposite but the slowed down, quiet, countryside aesthetic is so serene and relaxing.

26. What expansion/game/stuff pack do you want next? I don't trust EA to do it right, but all I want is bands and another super dense and populated urban world and more apartments! I would also never like to see another world inspired by an American suburb again.

#i am almost physically incapable of giving a concise answer to anything!#asks

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raevenlywrites · 1 year

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Do you know how to sew poll

My tags

#church youth group by hand#punishment for being kicked out of school by machine

@inscrutably-coy tags

#i've done both but I'm not great at either#also raev I want to hear this story

Not that interesting I'm afraid. I was kicked out of my last two weeks of senior year and my mom thought I did it to spite her so she insisted I still learn something with those last two weeks so she made me learn how to sew (we worked together on some basic peasant tops and skirts I wore to renfair later that summer)

...okay, maybe it is that interesting? Lemme set the scene

The year is 2004. 9/11 is still very fresh in the small minds of my small rural town, and the powers that be (vice principal with little man complex) already hate me bc I'm goth and smarter than he is etc etc.

Be Me. Be voted "Delightfully Different" for the year book superlatives. Goth it up for picture day bc I know why tf I got voted this way. Give the people what they want. Dress like the motherfucking Crow.

(Fun aside, my now wife then girlfriend and I are responsible for SEVERAL amendments to the school dress code, including a beautiful line about "no trench coats, dusters, cloaks, opera capes, or other such outwear that hits below the knee. anyway)

Be me again, sick but at school bc that's how it fucken works. gotta train up teh work force etc etc. So i'm sick, tired, and in my fucking pjs bc fuck that noise. Get pulled out of homeroom by the wardrobe police (librarian) and be fed some bullshit line about how my pics for the year book "didn't turn out". On a digital camera. Bitch fuck you. whatever. take my picture, get out of my face, i hate you all.

Back in homeroom, buddy asks me what that was all about. me, grumpy, explains the above bullshit. complains, goes to last period.

get called to the office

principal mc inferiority complex stares at me, I stare at him. he asks if I have any idea why i'm here. i had honestly assumed it was to receive another scholarship and have my pic taken for the news paper, as has already happened a few times this month. smart senior, remember? so I just stare. Prin. Bullshit tries to do a hard ass routine, all cop drama style, am I sure I don't know why i'm here etc etc. I honestly have no idea and say as much. Something I said maybe? he asks smugly. Nope, no bells my dude. Something threatening?

Dear reader, I am truly lost. I'm sick, have a headache the size of texas, and just wanna go back to choir, the one period I share with my gf. I finally do the adult thing (sad but one of us had to be) and tell him I truly have no idea why I'm here so if he could just tell me we could both move on with our days.

He tells me a fellow student overheard me making a bomb threat.

I am floored. I do not recall saying such a thing because I didn't fucking say such a thing. I go over my conversations in my head, and it is only now after the fact that I realize what I must have said. in my tired teen tirade, I invoked the dreaded columbine and said something to the effect of "[in regards to my goth wear] it's like they're afraid I'm going to shoot up the school or something".

I really don't remember if I pieced that together there or later. I truly didn't care. Old dude says they can sett me up with ISS (in school suspension) which would take a week to set up so I'd only be in there for like three days anyways, or, and this is clearly his smug preference, I got home and never set foot on school property again.

This is, of course, the dream scenario. Finals are done; this last two weeks of school is seniors dicking around and practicing for graduation. I have no interest in any of this. It does not feel lik ea celebration or milestone to have slept my way through four years of high school. I gleefully accept his terms and drive myself home in my hot pink geo tracker I wrecked so that mom would let me paint it purple while it was in the body shop anyways (trying to impress a girl. it clearly worked, she married me)

Mom is furious. Swears I did this on purpose. I wish I had thought of it, honestly. Two weeks of crash course home ec ensue. I learn to sew on a machine and wear adorably bland peasant top to ren fair.

Graduation comes, I don't go (banned from school property). Friends after teh fact tell me that 1) the choir doesn't sing alma mater bc my beautiful gf refused to sing w/o me present, and we were the alto section. Popular girl in my grade who is unthinkably sweet and everyone loves and we were on the basketball team together in 7th grade goes on and on about how awful the person who made up lies about me must be and how terrible they must feel etc etc. Snitch is in that class, has to heard it, wants to die on the spot. Absentee victory.

See above where I was smart. Top 10 in my class. Announcer goes to read the students names. "Announcing, the top 10 graduates of 2004. Number 9..." Just skipped right the fuck over me. Goddamned hilarious.

So basically this is the story of how the adults in my life made fools of themselves and I had my Ferris Buehler's Day Off of it all.

And also sewed my younger sibling a monkey for their birthday.

#long post

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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 1 year

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(Vi)vianne Marie Zephyr (1/2)

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Here’s a list of things that Vivianne Marie Zephyr knew.

One, she was twelve years old.

Two, twelve-year-olds should not be trusted to make their own decisions.

Three, twelve-year-olds didn’t know anything about themselves or the world. (at least, according to her extended family they didn't.)

Four, Vivianne is not a girl.

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| Ao3 | Next -> |

Warnings:

Virgil gets deadnamed, mostly by himself but also by people who don't know he's trans.

Pairings: Virgil & Remus

Word Count: 5535

Notes:

This fic is basically exploring Virgil's story more or less up to the point of 'Mine is a World of Rooftops and Love Songs', the first chapter especially focuses on him discovering that he's trans. Because of this there's a lot of deadnaming/using the wrong pronouns for him at the start because he's learning.

This is also written from the perspective of a twelve-year-old learning about the idea of being trans for the first time, so obviously he's not going to get the terms exactly right, etc.

I'd also like to note that I myself am not trans, so I'll apologise now if anything here is inaccurate, feel free to correct me if the need arises.

----

Disclaimer over, this fic is a precursor to 'Mine is a World of Rooftops and Love Songs', the fic I wrote for New Years exploring Virgil's backstory. This one will(should) have two parts!

I'm hoping to write a similar 'backstory' fic for every side before moving onto oneshots in the 'present day'

I've decided to name this AU Forests and Rooftops, (at least for now, I might change it if I come up with something better lol)

I'll be tagging fics from this au with 'Rowan's F&R verse' on Tumblr, and they'll all be collected in a series on Ao3 :D

Happy reading!

(and apologies for such a long note

----

Here’s a list of things that Vivianne Marie Zephyr knew.

One, she was twelve years old.

Two, twelve year olds should not be trusted to make their own decisions.

Three, twelve year olds didn’t know anything about themselves or the world. (at least, according to her extended family they didn't.)

Four, Vivianne is not a girl.

Now Vivianne knows very well that she has girl parts and long hair and because of that everyone seems to think it’s ok to pester her-

Actually, if she’s not a girl, surely she shouldn’t use girl words to refer to herself, like those pesky ‘she’ pronouns that made her feel all icky and gross whenever anyone talked to her.

Maybe she should try ‘he’ instead. That’s what all the boys used. Now she- no, he - wasn’t sure if he - ok no stop that thought, the ‘he’ actually made her- him? Feel really good, all warm and fuzzy inside.

Ok, well that’s the first step. Vivianne was a ‘he’ not a she.

Obviously this revelation didn’t come immediately or all of a sudden.

She- he - had always hated it when her- his! ( Why was this so hard? It was what he wanted for gods sake!) parents called him a girl, especially hated it when they called him their little princess, or tried to style his hair or make him wear a dress for some fancy occasion. Couldn’t they see that he wasn’t a girl? Weren’t parents supposed to know that kind of stuff?

Oh well. Vivianne thought as he was going into his seventh grade homeroom for the first time after a summer moping by himself in his room doing nothing as usual. Maybe his parents just didn’t realise. Maybe he should tell them, but- uh- later. Once he’d figured out everything himself first.

Because at the moment, though he had concluded that he liked ‘he’ much, much better than ‘she’. Vivianne was still only twelve years old, and he still had a lot to learn.

—-

It took almost a week for Vivianne to get used to referring to himself with the different pronouns in his head but he was pretty sure he’d gotten it down by now. Despite that, though, he still didn’t tell anyone. He was pretty sure the other kids in his class would laugh at him, and he didn’t really have any friends he could talk to about it either. So for now, he decided he’d just do his own research. (Oh, he really really liked he pronouns).

So, that weekend, Vivianne walked to the local library, wearing the biggest and cozyist hoodie he owned (both for comfort and anonymity, even at only twelve years old, Vivianne knew that gossip at their school spread like wildfire and he didn’t want to be called a nerd on top of everything else). At the library he sat himself down at one of the old computers, pulled an empty notebook out of his bag as well as a few pens and started researching.

Now it might be weird that he did his research in the public library instead of within the safe confines of his own home, but he wasn’t quite sure about what adults would think about him not being a girl yet, especially not his parents. His parents were the last people he wanted to know about this right now, not when he wasn’t sure.

His researching took up a lot of the cool Saturday afternoon. He learned about a lot of new terms and ideas, things like ‘trans’ and ‘nonbinary’. He discovered that he wasn’t weird for not feeling like a girl and he definitely wasn’t the only one. He learned that there were also girls who had originally been boys, and people who didn’t feel like either. He discovered that there were people who sat at every point inbetween and even some people who didn’t fit on the spectrum at all.

There were so many more pronouns out there too, more than just ‘he’ and ‘she’. There was ‘they’, for starters, and then whole anthologies of other sets that he’d never even heard of. (He was a little intimidated by how large the list of neo-pronouns he found was, so he just wrote down the term and underlined it a few times in red, hoping it would remind him to come back to it later). He tried out ‘they’ pronouns on himself for now, by whispering them under his breath. They didn’t give him the same fuzzy feeling as ‘he’ did, but it still felt considerably better than the thought of ‘she’ so he would accept it.

The research session had been groundbreaking and he walked home swinging his arms back and forth, happy with the pages he’d filled up with notes.

—

“Vivianne?”

A few weeks later, when someone called him by his name he found himself so overcome with revulsion at the thought of that name belonging to him that he almost didn’t even respond to the teacher who had called on him. Because of the shock, he had muddled up the words he had been trying to say in response to her question and ended up being laughed at by most of the class. He shrank back into his seat, mumbling the last of his answer so quietly that the person sat beside him had to repeat it for the teacher.

So, Vivianne didn’t like that name. Which, now that he thought about it, actually featured in his research a little. He remembered a section about how trans people (which he had concluded was what he probably was) as well as other’s who didn’t identify with their birth gender quite often chose new names.

Now that he considered it, he hadn’t always been as comfortable with the name his parents had given him as he had thought. It was a nice name, objectively, it would have been a lovely name if he had actually been a girl and he was sure he would’ve loved it in that case. But… well he wasn’t a girl, he was aware of that much by now, so obviously ‘Vivianne’ didn’t fit.

For a few days, he tried referring to himself as ‘Viv’ instead. It was just a short version of ‘Vivianne’ and his parents called him that sometimes anyway, a nickname at best and it still felt pretty feminine. After that it was shortened just a little more to ‘Vi’.

‘Vi’ stuck for much longer than Viv had. He’d managed to co-erce his parents into calling him Vi as a new nickname and it felt good, much better than Vivianne, or even Viv. He liked the ‘V’ sound. For some reason there still felt like something was missing. Vi wasn’t his . Not in the way he thought a name should be. But it was good, better than Viv and definitely better than Vivianne. He liked it, even if it wasn’t perfect, he could search for something better later and use Vi for now. Until he found his name.

—-

About three quarters of the way through seventh grade, Vi cut his hair.

It had been in the spur of the moment and he regretted it immediately. Regretted it so much it almost brought him out of his current mental breakdown and into another one.

He had an awful day at school. The teachers kept picking on him to answer questions even though he could hardly ever find words to speak normally in school nowadays. At lunch a group of older girls had been picking on him for hiding himself away in the corner and he’d ended up going to the nurse with a scraped up knee where he fell trying to get away. His favourite hoodie had ended up getting covered in dirt and mud where he fallen. And then of course he’d had to go back to class, where everyone had laughed at him for not being able to answer a question he was picked on for because he just couldn’t force himself to speak.

During the walk home he’d worked himself up into a panic, thoughts spinning round and round his head and everything was just so much bigger and brighter than it usually was.

“Hey Vi!” His mother called from somewhere inside the house when he opened the door, “How was school, sweetheart?”

Vi didn’t answer, instead he burst into tears right there on the spot, unable to hold it in anymore. He choked back a sob and ran for the stairs, slamming his door and collapsing on the bed. He couldn’t breath, no matter how tight he curled himself he couldn’t get himself to take even breaths through the sobs.

And then he looked up, and though the tears he saw his reflection in the mirror.

He saw his long black hair, hair that fell in thick waves down his back. Now pooled around his tiny curled up form like a shawl. It made him sick. Every time he looked in a mirror, every time he saw his reflection, every time someone called him a girl .

Before he could think, Vi was standing again on shaky legs. He stood in front of the mirror, looking into his own wide blue eyes, his pale skin, his hair that fell over his shoulders. He looked like a girl. It made him so angry.

In one swoop, he grabbed the scissors from his desk and cut off the chunk that hung over his shoulder.

‘Her hair looks so beautiful!’

‘Such pretty hair for a beautiful little girl’

‘I would kill for hair like hers’

‘I would love to braid her hair…’

With each thought came another chunk, everything people would say to him, every comment about how lovely his hair was and how he should never cut it, until there was hardly anything left to cut. His hair made him a girl, and now it was gone. It felt almost a little like he’d cut away a part of himself. He felt lighter, almost, relieved, maybe.

And then he realised what a mistake he had made.

He stood in his room, finally calmer than before, but his floor was covered in hair, his hand holding the scissors was still shaking and all he could think was that his mum was going to kill him for this.

It looked horrific. He had cut some bits far too short and now they stuck out from his head, his bangs were now the only part of his hair that looked presentable, being the only part he didn’t touch. The rest of his hair made him look a little like he’d been mauled.

Some parts were cut so short he could see his scalp.

Cutting his hair hadn’t made him look like a boy. It had just made him look stupid, he would be a laughing stock.

He didn’t know what to do. So for a long while he just stood there, staring at his own reflection as silent tears dripped down his face. What the hell would happen now? What would his parents say when they found out? He’d get in so much trouble, and then- school was a whole other issue.

If he was already being bullied for barely speaking and altogether being skinny and small for his age, Vi would be bullied tenfold for this, he’d have the whole school after him, if his parents didn’t murder him first.

Speak of the devil, someone knocked on the door.

“Vi… honey? Are you in there?” His mother called through the door, “I heard you crying before, may I come in?”

“N-no-!” Virgil said as loud as he could, it was still barely an inside voice, “Please- don’t.”

“Alright,” She said, “I won’t come in, but… if you’re up for talking you can come to the door?”

Vi sniffed, before taking a deep breath that ended up choked by a sob. In the end he was able to step over the hair and sit down with his back to the bedroom door.

“I- I’m here,” Virgil said, resting his chin on his knees and trying to wipe some of the tears from his face. He could hear shifting on the other side of the door. His mum must be sitting down as well.

“Good,” She said, her voice quiet, “Now, are you ok?”

“No,” Vi said miserably, he wasn’t ok, he really wasn’t. Not right now. He knew by now that keeping his feelings a secret was no way to deal with them, this kind of conversation- with the bedroom door between them- had been happening since Vi had his own room in the house. There was no point keeping his feelings from her anyway, she could always tell, somehow, even if he didn’t tell her.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” She asked, Vi squeezed his knees tighter to his chest.

“Upset, angry,” He mumbled.

“Can you tell me why?”

“School,” Vi answered, “Mostly- teachers keep calling me and- I can’t say the answer even though I know it a-and everyone laughs at me-”

“Oh sweetheart-” His mom paused, “Why are you angry?”

“At- at myself, mostly,” He almost whispered, “I… did something stupid.”

There was a long pause before his mother spoke.

“Can you tell me what you did, sweetheart?”

“I don’t- I don’t wanna,” He mumbled, “You’re- gonna be mad…”

“I won’t,” she said, “I promise you, whatever has happened I won’t be mad at you,”

“You promise?” He asked, he was still certain she’d be angry, one of his hands had come to clutch at the uneven strands of hair that jutted out from his head at odd angles now, she had always loved his hair.

“I promise,” She told him, her voice firm and reassuring. Vi still didn’t believe her, but she would find out at one point or another anyway. So he stood up, took a step back and opened the door.

She gasped when she saw him, hand flying to cover her mouth and eyes wide in shock.

Vi looked away, “I told you you’d be mad,”

“Oh honey I- I’m not mad,” She said, taking a deep breath, “Just- shocked! What happened?”

“I… I just got so angry- with- with myself and with everyone else and- I did it before I even realised what I was doing…” He said after a few deep breaths, looking away as he spoke so she wouldn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes again.

“Oh, darling that’s ok,” She said, crouching down to look up at him, “What were you so angry about?”

“Just- just the way everyone talks- and- how my hair looks so girlish and makes everyone say stupid stuff about how pretty it makes me a- and I don’t like it- so- so I just-” Vi cut off, he hadn’t meant to say that, he was trying to keep all this boy stuff a secret until he was sure about it-

“You don’t like being pretty?” His mother asked, Vi shook his head.

“No- it’s- it’s not about being pretty,” He sniffed, wiping away more tears, “It’s- it’s um, it’s that pretty is a girl thing…”

His voice was barely audible now, but she heard him and smiled fondly.

“So you don’t like girl things?” She asked. Vi nodded, hand fisting in the hem of his sweater, “Any reason why?”

“They- they make me feel uncomfortable, all icky and gross, like I’m sick,” He mumbled, oh well, he was deep enough into it now, “Cuz I’m not a girl,”

“I see,” She nodded, “If you’re not a girl, then what are you?”

“A boy,” He said, before pausing, “I think- I um- I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure… but…”

“I understand,” She nodded, before tapping his head lightly, “Now, we can fix this.”

“We can?” He asked, “Wait- you’re- you’re ok? With me not being a girl?”

“Of course we can,” She nodded, “We might need to wait for it to grow out a little bit, but we can take you to a hairdresser who can cut it however you’d like, ok? And- of course I’m ok with it! What sort of mother would I be if I stopped caring for you because you’re not a girl?”

Vi sighed in relief, slumping forwards and hugging her around the middle, she returned the gesture, squeezing him tight.

“Now, lets clean up this mess together and you can tell me all about not being a girl, okay?”

—-

The next day, Vi wore a beanie to school to cover up the absolute mess that was his hair.

He’d left his bangs out, and actually he quite liked how it ended up looking. He didn’t look as much like a girl with the beanie, and that felt… really nice.

It was weird, not having all of his hair anymore. It was weirdly relieving, even if he was absolutely terrified all day that someone would ask him a question or a teacher would ask him to remove the beanie. Or worse, that someone would take it off by force.

Which, of course, because Vi can never have a nice day, is what happened at lunch.

He was cornered by the bullies again. They were taunting him about his new lack of hair and had backed him against the wall. One of them had reached forward and snatched the beanie whilst he wasn’t looking at her and all four of the girls had gone silent before bursting out into peals of laughter. Vi had ran, trying to hold back tears until he’d gotten somewhere away from people. He’d ended up hiding himself away behind the bushes surrounding the old bike shed- it was usually quiet at this end of the school and he hoped no-one had followed him as he sank to the ground and tried to fight back tears.

“Hey!” Someone called, followed by the sound of said person forcing their way through the bushes despite there being a path just on the other side. Vi’s head snapped up to look at them and they grinned when he met their eyes, “Hey! I got your beanie back!”

Vi blinked slowly, he’d never seen this kid before, so they must not be in the same classes even though they looked the same age. He had a white streak in the front of his dark brown hair, which was cool. Bright green eyes and a curly mustache that looked to be drawn onto his face with marker. He was holding Vi’s beanie, just like he’d said, and was still grinning ear to ear.

“Oh right, you don’t talk much, do you?” He said, “I heard rumours, but anyway, here,”

He came over and held out the beanie. Vi hesitated, before reaching out to take it. The stranger grinned, before turning and slumping down next to him with a thud, making Vi jump.

“So! What’s the story with the hair?” He asked, leaning forward, “Oh, wait, what’s your name? I’m Remus!”

Vi made a quiet noise, trying to collect his thoughts. Should he tell Remus his name? He should tell him his real name, right? But then Remus would call him that- but then what if he changed Vi and then- well, Remus probably wouldn’t stick around long enough for that anyway, so… maybe it didn’t matter what he said, or, didn’t say because no matter how hard he tried, the words ‘I’m Vi’ wouldn’t make their way out of his mouth. He huffed, before reaching for his bag and grabbing a notepad and opening it to the front page. He turned it to face Remus and tapped the inside front cover, on which he’d written ‘Vi’s Research Notebook’.

“He speaks! Speaks through the book, at least!” Remus cheered and Virgil was immediately stunned by the use of ‘he’ because to everyone else he was a girl, being called ‘he’ by someone else felt almost like a metaphorical punch to the gut, but… in a good way? “Um- why’re you looking at me like that?”

Vi shrugged uselessly, though he couldn’t seem to get that astounded expression off of his face.

“Was it cuz I called you ‘he’? Cuz that’s just what I thought you were- I couldn’t really tell by looking at you-”

Virgil cut him off by shaking his head, frantically tapping the book where, underneath his name he had written down ‘He/him’. Well, at least this book was coming in useful now.

“Oh great! Me too!” Remus grinned, “Wait then why were you looking at me weird?”

Vi paused, taking a deep breath before flicking to the back of the book and grabbing a pen, writing quickly: ‘Most people think I’m a girl, that’s why I cut my hair.’

“Oooooh!” Remus nodded after leaning forward to read the words, and Vi was once again stunned, because… that was ok? “Well you did a real shoddy job but I respect the effort! So, Vi, what’s school really like? I’m new see and I’ve just gotten out of doing tours and stuff with my stupid brother cuz for some reason they thought it’d be best to leave me with someone I knew even though my brother’s a donkey.”

Vi couldn’t help but let out a soundless laugh, something he tried not to do in school- mainly because people would prod at him for it. He hated questions from them most of all. He grabbed his pen again and wrote down ‘Why’d you join late?’ on the line below the previous statement. This was actually a pretty good way to communicate with someone who was actually willing to wait a second for his answers. Maybe he should talk to his parents about it.

“Oh ‘cuz a few years ago I skipped a grade but like all this year I’ve been in hospital so they put me back where I was supposed to be cuz I missed most of this year.”

He hummed, nodding along while he fidgeted with some grass, before flicking through the book and opening it to a double page on which he had written down things he’d noticed about the teachers- which would let you off with homework, who was best to go to with problems, who was worst. Once Vi was pretty sure Remus had read enough of the page to get the gist, he flicked back to the back and wrote ‘I can show you all the good hiding spots are too.’

“Perfect!” Remus grinned, bouncing a little, “I think we’re gonna get along great, new friend!”

—-

It turned out that Vi only shared one of his classes with Remus, which was annoying because he might have been able to get through all of the bullying about his hair if he had a friend with him (he’d never really had one of those before, wasn’t that exciting?). But for now he was stuck being passed notes with horribly ugly drawings of him, or whispered name calling and even more notes that called him mean names.

At least even after learning Vi’s real name Remus kept calling him Vi, and kept using ‘he’ too, even though people called him weird for it. It made Vi very happy, which was all that seemed to matter where Remus was concerned.

—-

It was only a few days later, after he’d spent lunch behind the bike shed with Remus (it turned out to become a good meeting spot) that his teacher had arrived late to class.

Usually a teacher being late would mean extra time to chat with your classmates. Usually the three kids who already had phones would be gathered around while they played some stupid video of kittens chasing lights, or something else that they considered funny enough to save to their phones.

Not today though, because a teacher being late to Vi’s class meant that the kids in the class who liked to pick on him could gang up on him like they did during lunch.

Someone spooked him from behind his desk, making him flinch and cover his head.

“Not even gonna stand up for yourself? Scrawny little freak?” Someone called from over his head, Virgil only squeaked pathetically and curled up further in his chair as someone pushed him roughly, almost enough to move the chair itself, “Look at her! She’s so pathetic!”

“What’s wrong? Cant hide behind your hair anymore?” Someone else mocked, “Oh yeah, cuz you hacked it all off, what’d you use again, a hedgecutter?”

“She does look a little like a dead bush,” A boy commented, “She looks a little like the thing my dad ran over in the road this morning!”

The people around him broke out into noises that were a mix of disgust and laughter, Vi just curled further into his seat, gripping his own arms in a death grip as the other students continued to poke and prod at him.

“Hey!” Someone yelled over the noise of the students, Vi shuddered, even without looking he could feel the magic from whoever this kid was, and Vi doubted he was even doing anything right now, “What’re you all doing? Get away from her!”

Most of the students paused then, turning to face the voice, some of them whispered.

“It’s him!” They said, “The kid who lives in the forests with the faeries !”

“Really? I thought that was just a rumour!” They said.

“I’ve seen him going with my own eyes!” They said, “It’s true! He goes in and comes out, every time, completely fine and safe!”

“Is he cursed? Does he have magic? Is he a faerie himself?”

“No need for all the whispers,” The someone they were all talking about called over the frenzied whispers, silencing them immediately, “Why don’t we all calm down and go to our seats, ok?”

“Or what?” Someone with more bravery than common sense yelled from the crowd, “You’re gonna get your pixie friends to come and giggle at us?”

“You’d probably be smarter not to insult the fae,” The person said, “They don’t like being mocked, and they have ways of finding out…”

Most of the class had scrambled back to their seats by now. Now that the crowds were gone, Vi felt that it was safe enough to look up and when he did he saw that the only students who were still standing were Kailee, one of the girls who liked to bully him, and a boy. The boy must be the one speaking, because who else could it be. He was short, but nowhere near Vi’s level. His eyes were blue, but not in the same ghostly-pale sometimes creepy way Virgil’s were, they reminded him more of a sunny day, kind and warm, though Virgil felt the tingle of something supernatural when he looked into them too long. Instead he looked at the other boy’s hair, dirty blond and falling in waves down to his chin. Most notable, though, was the brightly coloured flower crown he wore atop his head. Intricately weaved better than anything Virgil had ever seen with what looked like real flowers, pink and baby blue and a soft yellow.

What really surprised him was the magic, though, the feeling of magic rolling off of him. Vi knew he had some kind of… sense, for magic, but it had never felt half as strong as this before… whoever this kid was…

He and Kailee stared at each other for a minute before she gave up, rolling her eyes and stomping back over to her seat. When their eyes met, the other boy smiled and gave him a thumbs up before walking away and sitting down at the edge of the room just before the teacher had come in.

…No matter who he was, Vi thought he couldn’t be anything but trustworthy.

—-

Vi never talked to the faerie boy, to be fair on him, he never talked to anyone. He also didn’t like referring to him as ‘the faerie boy’ because even though the kid was easily beautiful enough to be, he wasn’t actually fae, he just lived with them, but he didn’t have a better name to call him and Vi was far too anxious to ask. He really wanted to thank the boy for standing up for him, both the first time and the few times it happened afterwards too. Vi was so grateful to him, and probably owed him a whole lot- which might be bad, actually, if this kid really did live with the fae- but because of his intervention people had started to leave him alone.

There was always the occasional thing, someone would trip him or push him or throw little taunts or quips, but the majority of people had decided to leave him alone for the most part. It seemed that knowing Virgil was protected by the boy who befriended the faerie courts was enough deterrent for the most part.

Vi still couldn’t speak and school still wasn’t great. He and Remus still spent lunches behind the bike shed because even though Vi wasn’t followed by bullies everywhere he went now, people still stared and whispered and it made him uncomfortable. Teachers still found amusement in picking on him during class and watching him struggle to answer, in classes he didn’t share with the faerie boy people still laughed at him for it.

But it was… better. Vi decided it was much better than it had been.

—-

The rest of seventh grade passed in a blur for Vi.

Somehow, he had managed to remain friends with Remus. The rumours that had been spread hadn’t scared him off and somehow neither had Vi’s inability to speak nor his limited fashion sense (Remus had tried to persuade him to wear something other than hoodies and baggy trousers a few times to no avail over the time they spent together).

They had quickly started hanging out outside of school too, since it turned out that both of them had a lot of free time on their hands. His parents had been ecstatic to find out that he now had a friend and Remus said that his own parents were glad to have some peace and quiet for once. They’d started slowly, just with Remus coming over for an evening after school one day or another, but that had very quickly become them spending every weekend they could together. If the weather was good they’d go out, to the park mostly where they’d get ice-cream or a chocolate bar and then sit and just exist together for hours. If the weather wasn’t so good they’d spend time in Virgil’s house, or at the library- though Remus didn’t like the library that much- or the coffee shop near the school.

Vi really thought this whole thing was brilliant. He had someone he could connect with, who wanted to spend time with him. Someone who was loud and boisterous and downright intolerable at times to make up for Vi’s quiet and anxious dimeaner. They balanced each other out perfectly. Vi’s mother said it was fate, Vi didn’t believe in such things, but… he couldn’t deny that having Remus as a friend was… pretty cool.

And even more importantly, now he had someone to study for his finals with.

Since 6th grade was ending and exams were almost on top of them, Vi, of course, was already getting incredibly stressed over them. He’d found- after finally getting Remus to sit down to study after half an hour of insistence- that ssitting in his bedroom and listening to Remus ramble about whatever units they had been learning was far better in comparison than making notes on a textbook for the hundredth time. Listening to Remus made it interesting, like he was using the biology they’d been learning to tell a story without leaving any of the gross bits out. Vi had found himself laughing so hard he wheezed by the end of it and came out confident that he wouldn’t forget the bio content any time soon.

Every exam came and went with just as much stress as usual. Vi was sure he’d had more panic attacks than last year- not that he was keeping count. Even with the increased amount of panic, though, he found himself going into every exam calm- or as calm as he could, given the circumstances- after Remus found him and talked him down from his worries every time.

Having a friend made the problem so much easier for him to deal with and Vi couldn’t be more grateful for it. Remus managed to drag Vi out of his little ball of stress after every exam he had and take him to get ice-cream (something else he’d definitely had more of than last year) all whilst saying with no hint of a doubt that Vi aced them.

As summer began and Vi prepared to have Remus breaking down his door every morning for the next eight weeks, got ready to be busy over the summer for the first time in his life, he couldn’t think of anything better that he could be doing.

Finally, his life was just a little bit better.

And all it took was the knowledge that he was not a girl.

----

| Next -> |

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Rowans R&F verse #NewYears Verse #gpnna put the old and new tag on there in case anyone is confused #sanders sides virgil #ts virgil #virgil sanders #remus sanders #ts remus

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golbrocklovely · 1 year

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Helloo guys! I'm new to the fandom and i just want to know who do we fuck with and who we don't who's done our boys dirty and who's an actual good friend of theirs

( My bestfriend was the one who introduced me to the fandom w said ur page was the best❤️)

hi anon, welcome to the fandom :)

first off, that's nice that your friend recommended me. i feel famous now haha

okay, this got RIDICULOUSLY long so........ my apologies i give thorough notes lol

for friends of snc, i would say most of the ppl they hang with currently are good ppl. none of them seem overly weird or user-y just yet. bc snc mostly stick to themselves and kat and that's about it, so it's a bit hard to know who they actually are close to outside one another.

as for friends to be wary of, that's gonna be a bit of a doozy to explain lol

short answer: elton and corey. here's a post about elton that explains and gives more details about all of his shady stuff. corey gets added on bc he tags along with elton for all of his shit and is basically his lap dog so… fuck the both of them.

jake is a bit questionable, since he was shady in the past towards them. but i don't really think he's that bad comparatively to other ppl. plus he was like the only one from their old friend group that actually sent colby well wishes when he announced he had cancer.

their old friend group which includes but is not limited to tarayummy, kevin langue, mike's dead, reggie webber, all of them and some more have at one point or another been shady towards snc. or outright ignore that they ever existed to them, which is weird. you can fuck with them if you want. honestly, i don't care. i know i'm still a fan of aryia (badboywolfy) who seems to be on okay terms with colby/snc.

a lot of the shade thrown at snc from old friends hasn't been recent, so i'm willing to give some leeway with some of them.

there are about three ppl that colby hangs out with that i don't like, and have made that very clear on here. first off is brennen. i recommend you check out this account to learn why we don't like him. collectively most of the fandom doesn't like him. and if all of that shit wasn't bad enough, he also is just a clout chaser and uses colby whenever he can for videos which is just lame.

next person is shea, a girl that colby has done a couple collabs with over the years (mostly in 2017). to sum up what she's done in the most basic and quickest of terms - she's really obsessed with colby. she's been in gcs for years telling fans personal info about him, lies to them and tells them that she's dating him when he's clearly not with her like that, has told gcs info about other ppl in colby's life (that was a girl) so that fans would know this person and him weren't dating, has liked edits shitting on amber scholl (who we love dearly) and other girls colby is friends with, and when called out for it didn't say anything publicly but privately told her gcs the apology. then when she finally apologize publicly, continued to do it regardless. she also may or may not have talked shit about a fan that was into colby in said gcs and then blocked her and then when asked about the fan pretended to not know who that person was. when colby and her seemed to not be on the best of terms, she liked comments blaming the fandom for ruining their friendship.

so… yeah.

and then stas is the last person i don't like. she's very similar to shea in some regards, ie gcs. basically for a while has been telling fans info about colby, like what he smells like and shit like that. she would like edits shipping him with her (shea also did this a lot too, the difference was that colby also would like edits doing this. with stas, not so much.) she would constantly like and unlike things pairing them together. then last year, during a trip to europe - she started sharing her (and subsequently snc and kat's) location with fans which was how some fans found them. her mom was also sharing stuff on her facebook and fans noticed. stas' roommate is also in the know about fandom drama and likes things related to that on twitter. also during this trip, colby posted a snapchat that was of stas dancing that had "malishka" as the caption - which means babygirl/baby in russian (which is what stas is). this caused TONS of fans on twitter to congratulate colby and her on "finally" coming out as a couple, and she liked tweets about it. but it's very clear from the fact that colby was hella drunk during this festival that they all went to and the fact he doesn't know russian that clearly stas made him write it (or wrote it herself on his snap). colby has also constantly claim to be single all this time. they all came home from europe, colby hung out with her once more. stas has a sub-based thing on insta and fanfix where she posts bts of her life, and she posted she was going out on a date and in reality she and colby (along with a bunch of other ppl) were hanging out and going to a club. aka she was trying to make it seem as if she was going out with colby.

after that, colby kept some distance between him and her. i think something happened, but we don't know for sure. colby deleted comments on a tiktok shipping them together, colby told both snapchat and xplrclub that he was very much single and not looking for a gf rn, colby went on "date" with some girl and stas tweeted (and deleted) "wow.. sometimes the people you think who really care shock you the most" and "it was never real and meant nothing to you" and "lies". she also started a poetry insta and clearly wrote about him on there. she's also made tiktoks that can be seen as about him as well. she also still to this day on her sub-based content platform posts pics of her and colby behind a paywall.

i think her and him are on good terms now, but clearly something happened between them. and not in the "they dated and broke up and things were messy" kind of way. more like she was into him, he wasn't into her, and then things got messy and she took it out on him online and in front of fans.

so that's why i don't really like her. but if you want to like any of these ppl (maybe besides brennen and elton) you can. i don't fault ppl for liking whoever they do. god knows snc have done some questionable shit in the past. no one is perfect.

sorry this was really long lol i figured i would get it all out of the way so you don't have to do too much digging. there's probably more i could have added, but this is the... general gist lol

#ask #personal #cb ll #tc4

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thedickgraysonrp · 7 months

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What do you look for in a rp partner?

AND/OR

How do you overcome writer’s block?

♡ Munday Meme ♡

What do you look for in a rp partner?

Oh boy. This is going to be a bit long, so buckle up.

I think what most of what I look for in a RP partner can be divided into three main categories, both in Discord and Tumblr RP: Interest, Communication and Initiative. Now for a bit of an explanation below the line if interested:

Interest: If you don't show interest in what we roleplay, why roleplay at all? That is not to say you constantly need to come up with new ideas or plot devices, or fantasize about our muses doing whatever together 24/7—not at all. It links to one of the rules I state in my rules page, honestly: Quality over Quantity (or both, if possible). Quality in writing, for me, comes when you are actually interested in what happens in a roleplay when you write it. You want it to develop and grow, you want to continue writing a story together, or reach a satisfying conclusion to it. For shorter threads, you want to capture a moment—may it be funny, sad, dramatic or silly, it doesn't matter. It doesn't have to be an endless text wall, too. Sometimes a lot more can be said in a juicy paragraph than an empty text wall of nothing. When you're not interested in what you write, it SHOWS. RPing is a major hobby of mine, has been for years, and even if my interest fluctuates and is a subject of my whims it is clear as daylight when I lack interest and trust me, it probably shows in your writing too. Which brings us right to the next point—

Communication: I 👏 CANNOT 👏 STRESS 👏 THIS 👏 POINT 👏 ENOUGH. One of the things I find majorly lacking in Tumblr RPC is communication between partners. Maybe it's because RPs here are based on threads and not an instant messaging system, or maybe other reasons, but it shouldn't matter! From OOC conversations to deep dives into muses, communication with a RP partner is a MUST, no matter what platform you use. You want to wrap up a thread or not make one out of an ask/meme? You can either discuss it with your partner, note it in your tags, or like the post to let your partner know not to expect a reply (which is a thing here on Tumblr, I learned?). Not interested in that blog/partner? Though it's up for debate on this platform if to do so or not, I suggest just sending a small polite message to that blog/partner indicating that. I can only speak from personal experience, but most of the partners I did so were very civil about it and we parted on good or neutral terms. Sometimes it's not forever, and it means they are not interested at the moment. Of course, if civil communication doesn't happen, there's always a block option. Haven't gotten a reply to your thread for a long time? Don't jump to conclusions, message your partner. Tumblr is a glitchy goose and notifications are shotty at best, it might have just not popped up for them. Or, perhaps, initiating a conversation will trigger them to talk about why they haven't replied since they were scared or worried to talk about it. Want to RP with this new/old blog but don't know how? Talk to them. Who knows? They might have been waiting on the other end to hear just from you. There are a lot of other examples out there. Most of the roleplayers I encountered on Tumblr are really nice and eager to write, and even if things don't work out between you two, you know you've tried. Now, I'm no saint—I myself find it hard to message people sometimes and ask/discuss things because I think I may be annoying/a drag/unwanted/etc. (anxiety yaaay), and one of the things that reassure me it's comfortable and safe to talk to other people is them initiating or talking back. You never know who is on the other side of the screen. I would love to make friends here and share my interests beyond RPing and writing if I feel safe to do so, too. People automatically assume communication means constantly talking to your partner every minute of the day, which is NOT even close, and that's where the third category comes in for me—

Initiative: I intentionally put this here and not with communication to make a point. No, you don't need to talk to your partner every hour of the day and be all over them to show your interest, BUT you do have to show initiative. So what does that mean? To me, initiative links both interest and communication together. Yes, we're all people with things to do outside Tumblr and the RPC, some of us more busy than others and so on. And yes, while roleplaying is a hobby and not a job and you have no obligation to it whatsoever and it's for your enjoyment and pass time alone, you are still writing with someone. Naturally, like every communication, there are expectations on both ends. It is recommended to set those expectations beforehand, of course—may it be stated in your rules (as it always should) or discussed over if anything is unclear. Initiative means showing to your RP partner that you're still present and there's a potential of interest. It doesn't necessarily mean sending asks/memes or answering starter calls (though these are always usually highly welcome if your partner posts those), because we're not always in the mood to write with that specific muse or answer that specific thread. Or, sometimes, we're just busy. Initiative means engaging with their blog, show them you are still interested in it even if it's not necessarily in writing with them atm. Liking that visual they posted or headcanon they wrote for their muse, leaving a comment on something, tagging them in stuff and so on. And if you are interested in writing with them? Don't wait around—ask them if they want to write or send them something. You may not always get an equal level of interest as yours, if at all, but they will know you are there. And that's what counts. You don't need to do this every minute, every hour or every day. But you need to do it. If you'll sit there expecting people to engage with you out of the blue and you do nothing at all, it's most likely not going to happen if you don't initiate. People would most likely assume you are not interested in their muses, writing or blog and just leave you alone. I know how hard it is to take initiative sometimes, it can feel like a big step— it feels that way a lot of times for me too. But it takes two to tango. The sheer amount of times I thought my RP partners don't want to write or be partners anymore because they the engagement was one sided is ridiculous.

So, yeah. Be mindful of yourself and others when roleplaying or engaging with RP blogs.

#ooc #( wow that was longer than I expected )#( sorry for the rant )#( and I just noticed I didn't answer the second question! )#( sorry again :D;;; )

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theragethatisdesire · 8 months

Note

It was really hard to narrow it down to only three 😅

🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

hello nonny!!! i completely understand- it's going to take me ages to decide what i want to ask tiff and bloomy lolol i am so thrilled u are participating!!

🚀 Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

i go back and forth on this. i have a really long hp marauders fic (that i will never share but i just love writing in that uni) that i have a massive outline for, but again, it's literally like 100+ pages. i have found that i usually only outline for OC fics, not so much x reader. i don't know why, x reader just comes more organically to me and i like to "characterize" the reader as little as possible, so i focus mainly on the canon characters. i do have an outline for my reiner x oc fic, but it's solely to keep all the canon-divergence straight and i've done a poor job of keeping up with it LOL

🏷 Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

i think i use tumblr wrong lol i will sometimes scroll the x reader tags, but more often than not i hunt down fics/new blogs to follow via mutuals or fic recs. i think this is a hot take, but i actually like the "for you" tab on here? i get a ton of good stuff there!

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

to write literally whatever you want. especially in terms of fanfic writing, i go by a method of self-indulgence. like, if i haven't written a fic that indulges a random persons wants, that's fine, because someone else on the internet has. i was so scared to post initially bc i wanted to cater to everyone, but once i leapt over that hurdle, i was just like you know what? it's my blog, it's my writing, and i write my best stuff when i'm writing things that make me happy, not trying to focus on interactions or special requests or being palatable.

thank you again for popping in to ask, angel!!! these were really good ones hehehe

#nonny #ask games #ask game #rage.rambles #about the author #maybe i should just start tagging everything about me with that lol

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neptunetheplanet7 · 3 years

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫

DM ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE PUT ON THE TAGLIST!!

;mikasa ackerman x fem!lesbian!reader

;modern au, band au

word count: 3.3k

warnings: fluff at first, angst ig, angry levi, hitch, swearing, arguing/fighting, yelling

sorry it took a while to get this out there. school started for me last week and it’s been hard getting back into the groove of things. thank you for being patient with me!

listen to the music masterlist

prev | next

A couple of days passed since Zeke's sudden arrival. Eren agreed to your terms of his brother's stay with reluctance. He understood where you were coming from, though. Armin was right about him respecting your decision.

Tonight you and your bandmates would meet your large friend group at a nice restaurant nearby. You stood in the bathroom attached to your room, styling your hair the way you wanted.

In the last two days, you received texts from a few of your curious friends. They all seemed very interested in who you were bringing to dinner. If only they knew it was the strong-willed girl you'd had a crush on for years.

Sasha and Connie put the pieces together and teased you relentlessly about 'bringing a date to dinner'.

You were nervous to see the reactions of your friends when you walked in with Mikasa. Unlike you, they didn't get a warning of her return.

Stepping back from the counter and smoothing down your outfit, you exhaled softly. You took one final glance at the mirror and left the bathroom.

Two blonds were arguing in the living room when you entered.

"What's going on?" you asked cautiously.

"We can't leave him alone in the house while we're out. He's like a child! He already broke two vases because he slipped while looking for spare change!" Armin explained. He was wearing a white dress shirt and black slacks. He ran a hand through his silk hair then placed both hands on his hips.

Zeke protested, "Y/n, you can trust me. Don't listen to him, he's delusional." He was still in his usual attire, a t-shirt, and jeans.

Armin's face turned red from anger. "Why you-"

"You broke my vases?" you interrupted.

"No."

"He did! I watched him do it the second time!"

You learned the hard way that messing with Armin was a death sentence. Especially when he was mad. The argument had to stop before it turned physical.

"Zeke, get dressed. You're coming with us, but you sit far away. You don't talk to us or our friends." You pointed a stern finger at him.

He pouted and groaned like a child before slumping his shoulders and stomping down the basement stairs.

Armin rubbed a hand over his face and, in an annoyed fashion, checked his watch. "Will they ever be done?"

You chuckled. "You're always the first one ready. Don't you know that by now?"

He rolled his eyes and fell back on the couch. "Shut it."

Eren appeared at the basement door, looking frustrated. In his hand, he held out the tie to the suit he was wearing. "How the hell do you tie this thing?"

Armin sighed and stood back up, his rest short-lived. They made their way over to him and began to walk him through each step while his eyebrows only furrowed more.

His long hair fell around his face as he tried his best to maneuver the tie correctly. His face lit up once he got it right.

"How have you gone this long without knowing how to tie a tie?" Jean leaned his head out of the hall bathroom, which you didn't even know he was in.

"Shut up, Kirstein. I get by." He glared.

Jean laughed and fully emerged from the bathroom wearing a beige suit vest and slacks. Underneath, he wore a cream-colored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was tied back in a short ponytail with a few strands falling loose.

Your eyes shifted back to Eren, who was struggling to put on his suit jacket and you stifled a laugh.

"Stop laughing! It's not funny." His words were hard to understand since he held around three bobby pins between his teeth.

You laughed some more despite his agitation. You were disrupted by the light clacking of heels on the stairs to the second story. Looking in that direction, you saw Mikasa walking down and you had to stop your mouth from dropping open.

She was wearing a simple tight black dress that reached just above her knees. Silver dangly earrings were in her ears and a dainty silver necklace hung around her neck. Her ring adorned fingers played with the hem of her dress. She smiled at you from across the room.

Eren bumped your hip and you nearly shrieked. His presence next to you had gone unnoticed until then. He snickered at you and nodded to Mikasa. You narrowed your eyes and tugged a lock of hair out of his bun.

His smirk dropped. "What'd you do that for? Now I have to do this all over again. Bitch." he grumbled the insult and left your side.

Mikasa walked over to where you stood. "Hi."

"Hi." You returned her smile.

She sucked a quiet breath. "You look nice."

You couldn't fight the grin that spread across your face at her simple compliment. "As do you."

She smiled again and you felt you might collapse from the surge of butterflies in your stomach.

Zeke came up from the basement, gaining everyone's attention. "What the hell are you wearing?" Eren chided.

He was adorned in a baby blue suit with ruffles decorating the dress shirt. You struggled to hold in your laughs, as did the woman beside you.

"Don't talk about it." Zeke lowered his eyes to the floor as Eren laughed loudly without shame.

"Marco's here to pick us up," Jean announced, shoving his phone into his pocket. He wanted to see Marco's reaction to Mikasa's homecoming at the dinner, but that dream was cut short when she answered the door to him the day prior. He was shocked, to say the least.

Sure enough, when you looked tho the front door, you could see the glare of Marco's headlights in the darkness.

He waved you all over to get in his car. Jean sat in the passenger seat, perks of dating the driver. In a backseat that was designed for three people, you were crammed inside with Armin, Eren, and Mikasa. Zeke was forced to ride in the trunk.

Mikasa was pressed up against your skin. In the confinement of the car, you could feel her warm breath tickling your shoulder whenever she spoke.

A shiver ran through your body and your hands gripped your knees. Nobody noticed, thank god. You were very grateful that the only light sources were phone screens and the button rims inside the car.

Everyone chatted mindlessly until Marco turned a corner into a parking lot. He parked the car near the entrance and got out with everybody following suit.

Once you were inside, you were greeted with the familiar smell of the restaurant. It was the one you always went to when meeting up with the group. You didn't know the owners, but Reiner did, and he was the one who planned these gatherings.

"Welcome to Galliard's!" greeted a blond man whose name tag read Colt. A look of recognition crossed his face. "Oh, it's you guys. Right, this way." He grabbed a menu for each person and led you to a large booth in the middle of the restaurant.

You took a good look at everyone. You all went to the same high school, some of you just didn't meet until later. Like you, Sasha, and Connie.

Five people were seated at the table. Two were missing. Ymir and Historia were late. Figures.

They all saw Mikasa looming behind you since each of them had some form of shock on their face. Several voices suddenly arose from the group.

"When did you get back? And why did I not hear about it?" voiced a betrayed Bertholdt.

"Mikasa, I didn't know you would be here," Annie said coolly.

"Oh my god, Mikasa!" Connie tried to act surprised.

"Mikasa! I had no idea you'd be here." It turns out Sasha was just as bad of an actor.

"This is your plus one, Y/n?" Reiner held a knowing expression.

"So no one is happy to see me?" Eren sounded hurt.

Reiner wasted no time standing up to pull you in for a hug. He pulled back after a few seconds and held you by the shoulders at an arm's length away. "Like the beard?" He gestured to his chin.

"Sure, Reiner, it suits you." You patted his shoulder and he returned your cheerful smile. He moved to talk to the others as Bertholdt came into your view.

When he hugged you, you noticed how much taller he was than you. You had to stand on your tip-toes to see over his shoulder. "What the hell, Bertholdt?" You fucking ladder," you blurted.

He laughed at your lovely way with words. "Hi, Y/n. It's been a while. I'm glad to see you're still doing well."

"It has. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. How's it going at the school?"

"It's definitely going. I'll tell you about it in a second. You wanna sit down?" He moved to the side to let you slide into the booth. Mikasa was on your right and Bertholdt was on your left.

Everyone was seated except for Zeke, who stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Eren told him to find someone to get him to a table. He just pushed up his glasses and left.

Across from you sat Sasha, Connie, and Jean who were laughing their asses off at something Marco said. Reiner, Eren, and Armin sat on the cushy bench across from Annie who sat on one of the three chairs pulled up to the table.

"So, Mikasa, when did you get back?" Annie asked.

"Earlier this week."

"What? You've been here that long and we didn't know?" Reiner gaped at her.

"We thought it'd be a nice surprise." You shrugged.

"I thought you were bringing a date. Or is she your date?" Connie teasingly wiggled his eyebrows while Sasha laughed loudly.

You blushed madly at his question. "Shut up, guys! You already knew I was bringing her, anyway."

"You knew?" Bertholdt's eyes boggled.

"No wonder you're so calm. Out of everyone I'd expect you two to go ballistic," Annie pointed out.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Connie lifted his arms in an attempt to appear threatening.

A new voice spoke, "It means you're an idiot." You looked up to see Ymir stood behind Annie's chair with one hand around Historia's shoulders and one in the pocket of her suit jacket.

"Ymir, hi!" You greeted and she raised an eyebrow.

"This is your date?" She chuckled.

"She's not my date," you grumbled, folding your arms. Ymir just snickered and sat in the chair next to Annie's, Historia sitting next to her.

"Quit it, Ymir. Is that all you have to say to someone we haven't seen in two years?" she scolded her girlfriend.

"How is it, Mikasa?" Ymir turned and asked.

"It's good. Glad to be back." She gave a small smile.

"That's good to hear! We're all happy you're back," Historia said with enthusiasm. Mikasa nodded in response.

You picked up your conversation with Bertholdt from earlier about his job. He was an elementary school teacher and from what he told you, he was very good at what he did.

Other conversations went on, jokes were told, and by the time the waitress came to the table for your orders, you'd caught up with everyone. The whole group was excited Mikasa came home and it showed.

Her hand brushed against yours multiple times under the table and your shoulders tensed up whenever they touched hers. She didn't seem to mind the contact. You wished she'd just take your hand since you were too scared to do so yourself.

Those moments of giddiness were short-lived because you noticed two familiar figures at a table toward the back.

Hitch smiled maliciously and waved at you while bringing her champagne glass to her lips. Marlo sat across from her on his phone, drumming his knuckles on the table.

Your eyes widen and you quickly move away from Mikasa, startling her.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" She placed a hand on your shoulder with a worried expression.

"I'll be right back." You brushed her hand off and shimmied out of the booth, heading to the bathroom.

You pushed the door open and luckily no one was inside. Your hands gripped onto the edge of the counter as your mind raced. What the hell were they doing here? Why tonight? Your blood was beginning to boil as you became angrier by the second.

The door swept open and in walked the woman of the hour. "Hello, Y/n," she sang.

"What are you doing here? Can I not have a meet-up with my friends without you riding my dick?" you sneered, looking at her in the mirror.

Shock flashed across her face and she let out a breathy laugh. "Such colorful language, Y/n! I didn't expect that from you!" She turned to face the sinks and your eyes met in the mirrors.

"What are you doing here, Hitch?"

"I'm having a nice dinner with my friend, that's what I'm doing. It just so happens you were here tonight as well," she said.

"So it's a coincidence? If you say so, I don't believe you."

"That's exactly what it is. You don't have to believe it, but it's the truth. I can promise I wasn't planning on spying on you tonight." She blew her bangs away from her face.

She honestly couldn't tell if she was lying or not but your anger level was rising quickly and you didn't know if you'd be able to stop yourself from saying something you would regret.

"What is your problem, Hitch? Seriously, have you nothing better to do? I haven't seen half of those people in months." You tore your eyes away from the mirror to fully look at her.

"I told you, Y/n. I wasn't here for you. I don't have a problem." She narrowed her eyes as she stood at her full height, facing you.

You scoffed. "Tell me what your problem is. I want to hear you say why you're doing all this. You never did give me an explanation."

"I don't have a problem."

"Yes, you do. Why did you follow me in here? Do you think you can intimidate me or something?"

"I know I can intimidate you. Stop acting like you're the one with the power right now. I'm the one who has the guts to tell people what we were. You wanna know my problem? My problem is you. You couldn't get over a stupid high school crush. You still aren't over it and it's fucking weak."

You backed away as she got angrier with every word she spat. She hesitated for a moment and inhaled sharply.

"What's weaker is how much I care. I gave a shit about you and you couldn't see that she didn't. I knew about your feelings the whole time. You think I'm dumb? I know you thought of me as a distraction. And I liked being your distraction. But you run away from everything. You're a fucking coward."

You were too shocked to even try to apologize. Your mouth fell open and tears pricked your eyes. Her breathing was ragged and her eyes were big. She blinked several times and the light caught a few wet streaks on her face when she turned her head.

"Hitch, I-"

"Please, don't say anything."

The state of shock you were sent into was broken when a sudden bang sounded outside of the bathroom.

Hitch looked desperate to get out of the situation, so she took the opportunity to bolt out of the bathroom. You took a moment to compose yourself before leaving to assure your friends you were okay.

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, you stopped dead in your tracks when you were greeted with the jarring sight of Zeke seconds away from being punched in the face.

A man with short black hair was kneeling on Zeke's table with one hand gripping his collar and the other pulled back in fist.

"Zeke Jaeger right? You owe me a lot of money and my wedding ring," the man seethed and punched Zeke hard in the jaw.

He fell to the floor, clutching where he was hit. You stood there, stunned. Just as the man was bringing his leg forward to kick him, your instincts kicked in and you rushed to crouch in front of him. You braced yourself for the impact that never came.

"You'd really kick a woman?" an unfamiliar voice spoke.

You looked up and saw him being held back by a man with a slicked back undercut and a bomber jacket adorned with patches.

Eren and Mikasa were at your side in an instant with the others following closely behind.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" Mikasa put her hands on your shoulders and you nodded. Eren shot you a worried glance while tending to Zeke.

The short man was still being held back by the guy from before, but now someone new was at his side. He looked like bomber jacket dude but with a different hair color and style. He was trying to talk down the black-haired man.

Bomber jacket interrupted, "Look, dude, you're scaring my customers. We don't do that shit in here. One of my waitresses panicked and called the cops. They'll be here soon for you if you don't take this the fuck outside."

"Porco! Watch your language," the brunette hissed. 'Porco' glared at, who you assumed was, his brother.

Eren and Mikasa helped Zeke up and began to lead him out of the restaurant. You and the others followed, except Annie, Reiner, and Bertholdt who stayed to talk to the restaurant owners.

Once you had safely gotten outside, you sat Zeke down on a bench. Sasha managed to snag some napkins for his wound.

Everyone except for you, Eren, and Mikasa were seated on the sidewalk. You three were also on the bench.

The door to the restaurant was pushed open and two voices were heard. The short man was walking out and a taller blond man was lingering behind.

He noticed Zeke and stopped his mumbling. He pointed a shaky finger at him and his face contorted into a nasty glare.

"Where's my money, bitch?" he shouted.

"Levi, why don't you calm down before you do something again." The blond man said.

'Levi' scoffed. "I just want my money back. And my wedding ring. Where the fuck is my wedding ring?"

The color drained from Zeke's face. Levi yelled at him again, "Where the fuck is it?"

"I pawned it."

If looks could kill, Zeke would be dead. The pure anger that was displayed on the man's face was enough to make you cower.

"Let me at him!" Levi purged forward and Jean attempted to stop him, but just ended up on the concrete. He pushed past Eren and in the blink of an eye, Zeke was on the ground. He was getting the shit beat out of him in front of your eyes.

Your friends yelled at him to get off. The man who was following him tried to hold him back, but Levi seemed even angrier than he was inside the restaurant. Eren tried pulling Zeke away with help from Mikasa.

Sirens sounded in the distance and you knew they were growing closer with each passing second. The staff hadn't called off the police, you realized. "Guys," you called.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

The sirens were muffled by the yells.

"Stop, Levi!"

They were clearer.

"Get off him!"

They were loud.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Blaring lights could be seen over the hedges.

"Get off my brother!"

"Guys!" you yelled over everyone. You pointed to the police cars that were now pulling into the parking lot.

posted: 9/7/21

no reposts, edits, or modification to my work by anyone other than me.

#aot fanfiction #band au #mikasa ackerman #mikasa x reader #mikasa x you #modern au #snk fanfiction #attack on titan #levi ackerman

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professorsnape394 · 3 years

Text

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Four: The Three Broomsticks

A/N: This is the fourth part to my fanficiton ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 1733

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

The following days transpired just as the day before had done; a lot of potion brewing and a little conversation. However, more notably Severus Snape was actually participating in the conversation for once. Aria could not yet say she had seen a pleasant side to the man, however he was acceptable to converse with at the very least. By the end of the third day he no longer pretended to busy himself with textbooks and he actually elected to help with the potion brewing for once. Being able to talk to the Professor and ask him any questions helped her a great deal in learning the correct procedures. She felt herself being more at ease around him, and soon enough they had developed their own way of working together, that she found quite enjoyable. Even Severus had become accustomed to the woman's presence in his classroom as she pranced around the cauldrons, laughing every now and then at his sarcastic comments he hadn't entirely meant to be humorous.

Aria had been lost in thought as she stirred the final potion to completion. "I was thinking." She said cautiously. "It's pretty hard finding things to occupy myself at nights, there isn't much to do here, except aimlessly wandering the halls. How do you feel about maybe taking a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend, have some dinner, maybe drinks? It would make a change from the elves cooking, although I admit they'd be pretty hard to beat."

"I appreciate the offer Miss Dumbledore. However you know how I feel about spending time with Mr. Hagrid, I doubt a change of setting would convince me, especially with the addition of alcohol." Severus spoke, his tone softer than it usually would at such a request.

"Hagrid wouldn't be there." She hastened to add. "He mentioned he has business out with the castle grounds. I just figured since the two of us would be here anyway, it wouldn't make any sense for us to sit alone."

"You may have forgotten, Miss Dumbledore, but I like being alone. I eat alone every night, and I do not wish to simply be your back up plan, now Hagrid has left you to do the same."

"I don't mean for you to be a back up plan Sev- Professor Snape. I just think it might do us both some good. After all haven't we been getting along better these past few days." Aria wanted to get to know the man more, she felt they had got off on the wrong foot and the way to fix this was spending more time together, and hopefully they would even become friends at the end of it all.

"You haven't been as disagreeable as I expected you would be, I will admit. This does not change my previous opinion." He stated.

"At least consider it." She pleaded.

With a sigh Snape flipped another page. "I'll consider it." He agreed, continuing reading his book, no longer interested in conversing with the young witch.

The next few days dragged in more than ever. Aria enjoyed keeping herself busy and was not used to having this much free time. The only thing keeping her sane was her passions for drawing and nature. She chose to combine the two and spend her days outside, sketching the beautiful landscape she found herself in. She preferred to opt for portraits, capturing the essence of humanity in her sketches, but trees were fine too. She shrugged.

Sunday morning eventually came around and Aria chose to tackle something she had been putting off ever since her arrival at Hogwarts. A small pile of letters had accumulated on her bedside table, ignoring each one as they came in. She immediately recognised the scrawled writing on the envelope and could not face opening them. Every second day she received a letter and it broke her heart knowing what lay within. Reading each one carefully, she knew she could not face writing the response the sender desperately awaited. Instead she scribbled a small, generic reply, making sure to include that she would be too busy to write often due to her crazy schedule. This of course was a lie as she had virtually nothing planned for the next couple of weeks until term begun. Aria did not want to face even reading any more letters as long as she remained at Hogwarts, and so she swore to herself she wouldn't no matter how hard she knew it would be.

A firm knock echoed through her quarters just as Aria sent her letter off with beautiful brunette barn owl. "Come in." She called curious as too who would be calling on her. Shocked to see Professor Snape striding into her private chambers, Aria couldn't help but question his presence there.

"I've had time to think about your offer." He stated blankly, visibly out of his comfort zone.

"And?" Aria pressed.

"And I suppose there would be no harm in joining you for one meal. After all, as you say, we both will be here alone, we may as well keep each other company."

"Fantastic!" His colleague gleamed, jumping up from her position on her couch. "Just give me some time to get ready and I'll meet you there? Say six oclock at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Six is fine with me. Don't be late." He warned, leaving the room just as quickly as he came.

Aria entered the Three Broomsticks at five forty-five, ensuring Snape had no reason to reprimand her once again for her tardiness. It stunned her to find the sallow skinned man already sitting at a booth, firewhiskey in hand, patiently waiting on her arrival. She couldn't help but smile to herself as she watched him tap out a rhythm on the side of his glass as he took yet another sip. She wondered if it was out of impatience or nervousness, either way she thought it slightly endearing to see.

Hearing the click of a familiar set of heels quickly approaching him, Severus Snape looked up from his glass, almost needing to hold back the urge to smile, but managed to keep his composure. He rose to his feet, holding out a hand to greet the fellow Professor, instantly cursing himself for such a foolish action. "Sit." He commanded, motioning to the seat across from his own. "I'll get you a drink."

"Oh no, there's really no need Professor." Aria insisted, shaking her head, causing her beach-like waves to brush over her exposed shoulders. "I'm afraid alcohol doesn't agree with me at the best of times." She admitted.

"Correct me if I am wrong, Miss Dumbledore, but as I recall it was you who suggested a meal and drinks. Or did I mishear you." Snape asked, feeling almost foolish, having already down two glasses of Firewhiskey.

"I did say that didn't I." The young Miss Dumbledore blushed. "I apologise, sometimes I just cannot stop myself when I speak, I often forget the consequences of drinking, which as it happens is the ultimate consequence of drinking." She chuckled.

The older man shot her a small look of disdain, not at all as amused as she had expected him to be. He let out a small grunt of dissatisfaction, and proceed to down the dregs of his drink.

It took a few more awkward moments of silence and Severus being slightly more irritable that Aria had wished for before the two finally settled in to a rhythm of conversation. Soon enough it came time to eat and Aria took it upon herself to call over the waitress. As he ordered Aria watched as Severus made no effort to look up at the woman serving him. It crossed her mind that maybe this was a deliberate attempt at ignoring her voluptuous breast and curvature of her hips. However, on the other hand she considered that maybe he truly was not interested as she thought back to their conversation a few days before.

"She's stunning." Aria couldn't help but observe. "You should go for it, chat her up, she might be into the dark, brooding, intellectual type."

"As I told you before, Miss Dumbledore, dating it not top priority for me. If you find her so attractive why don't you, as you say, 'chat her up'." Snape replied sarcastically, not expecting the woman to take him seriously.

"I might just." She said, finding her eyes following the waitress back to the kitchen for a moment or two. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous as the witch watched the woman walk away from their table, though he was not sure why.

"So tell me Professor Snape." The young Professor began. "What are the other Professor's at Hogwarts like? Who am I took look out for? Who's my competition." She grinned, wriggling her eyebrows menacingly.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." He hummed in response.

"You know." She shrugged. "Who are you close with? Will I have to fight them for custody of you." She laughed, although the Professors expression did not change. "What I'm trying to say Severus is, I'm new here, besides yourself and Hagrid I know no one. I'd like to consider us friends, though you may have a different opinion. I was simply trying to express my nervousness at being the new girl. I was hoping you'd be able to help me settle in, introduce me to your other friends and colleagues that is." She sighed.

"You do not seem to understand my disposition, Miss Dumbledore, that which I feel I have made abundantly clear. I am not one to socialise. I am not one to make friends. I am here to teach and teach alone. I do what your grandfather asks of me and that is the extent of my relationship with the staff. They understand how I am, and respect that. I do not bother them and in return they do not bother me. You have been the first to struggle with this concept, Professor." He struggled to grant her the title.

"I didn't realise." Aria stuttered slightly, not understanding how she had not caught on. "I had simply thought you had a vendetta against me, due to my position here at Hogwarts. I didn't realise you shut yourself off from everyone. I apologise for any inconvenience I have caused you." The tone of her voice softening, becoming almost a whisper-like volume. She was embarrassed she had forced him out of his habits and brought him to the Three Broomsticks to clear the air. She realised now it had been a pointless act. This man had been stuck in his ways for over a decade and she would not change that a fortnight into knowing him.

"I am here, aren't I." Severus stated, trying not sound as harsh as he previously had. "Had I truly despised you I would not be wasting my time here with you. I have come to the realisation that if we are to work in such a close proximity to each other, it would be best if we maintained at least some level of civility with one another."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Professor." She replied shyly, remaining silent. Immediately Severus regretted opening his mouth. He didn't entirely hate her company and in fact he had found himself starting to enjoy the evening. It took him a minute or two to gain the confidence to speak the words aloud, but he figured the pay off was worth the sacrifice of a small amount of pride.

"Will you stop fretting woman." He demanded. "I was just beginning to find your constant rambling tolerable. If I wished to spend the evening in silence, I wouldn't have made the effort to accept your invitation to come here tonight. You have managed to entice me thus far, do not spoil what may be your one chance at a friendship with me."

"A friendship?" This piqued her interest.

"You know what I mean. A working relationship. A tolerance. A chance for me to accept your position as my apprentice." Snape corrected himself, fumbling over his words.

"Mmmm." She smirked, taking a small sip of butterbeer. "I'll just pretend a friendship is off the cards for us then, Professor. Although I don't recall you mentioning trips to Hogsmeade as an exception to your reclusive personality." She raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Despite his annoyance at her persuasive abilities, and daring comments, he was glad he had convinced her back to her previously inquisitive self.

Both choosing to ignore any reservations they might have about their 'non-friendship' the two spoke for hours with ease. With each empty glass of fire whiskey Severus Snape found himself relaxing more into the conversation, his reputation becoming a distant memory. It was the first he had allowed himself to truly relax in possibly the whole of his life.

It seemed in one evening Severus had gotten to know all there was to know about Aria's life, although strangely she mentioned nothing regarding her family and Snape chose not to pursue the subject. He loved listening to her talk, she was a rambler, rarely needing any interjection from him except the odd mumble here and there and that's the way he liked it. He was a listener, he loved taking in new information no matter the subject. Most importantly it meant he did not have to share anything about himself, unless the woman specifically asked, and even in those rare occasions, she knew better than to pressure him when he chose not to provide an answer.

Aria told him of the schooling she received in Ilvermorny, her school in America. She told him of her job working in a local alchemists after she left school. She confided in him of her dream to become a professor, or an auror even, really she was just desperate to make a difference in someone's life and her dream would not succeed by spending the rest of her days working in a dingy old shop. "And that's why your grandfather brought you here?" He questioned, the topic piquing his interest. "You told him of your dream to teach?" "I guess you could say that." She agreed, not wanting to raise any more questions than necessary. "He didn't bring me from America though, if that's what your meaning. I was already here. My mother sent me to school in America to protect me, with all that Wizarding War carry on and what with me being a Dumbledore, she didn't want to put me in any more danger than I already was. She remained here with my father however and I visited on the holidays." Snape raised a single brow at the mention of her mother and father but changed the subject completely, seeing the woman being to shy away slightly.

"It's getting late." Severus observed. "I should walk you back to the castle before it gets too dark."

"That would be nice" Aria smiled, rising from her seat.

The couple made their way back to the beautiful lit up castle as the sky turned a deep shade of blue above them. They continued to speak all the way down to the dungeons, this time Severus participating just as much as Aria. The Potions Master escorted his apprentice to the door of her quarters, the two of them swaying awkwardly not knowing where to go from here.

"You can come in for a drink... if you'd like." Aria hesitated to ask. "Although I'm not sure I have anything alcoholic, so tea might need to suffice."

"I appreciate the invitation, but it's been a long day for me, I'm afraid I must retire for the night." Now they were back in the familiar castle grounds Severus felt as though he had suddenly returned to his body, and the events of the night lingered at the forefront of his mind, a deep feeling of regret developing in his stomach.

"Very well." Aria agreed, feeling slightly uncomfortable herself. "Good night, Professor Snape."

"Good night, Miss Dumbledore." He spoke softly, rocking anxiously the balls of his feet, waiting for the woman to disappear into her quarters. With a simple nod and one final smile from Aria, she vanished from his sight. The sound of the door closing echoed through the halls, ringing in Severus' ears, and suddenly he felt more alone than he ever had before.

Aria stood with her back to the door, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. As much as she enjoyed the evening with her mentor, the intense awkwardness that occurred at her door, got her thinking about the man on the other side. Her intention was to get to know the man better, and though he did not confide in her much, she felt she had achieved that, maybe more than anyone ever had.

Why had he allowed her to get close to him when he claimed to distance himself from the world?

This thought circled her brain for the rest of the night.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel

#severus snape #severus snape imagine #severus x oc #severus snape one shot #Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction #severus x reader #severus x y/n #alan rickman #potions master #potions masters apprentice #dumbledore #dumbledores granddaughter #severus snape x reader #severus snape fluff #severus snape smut

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80s-roger · 4 years

Text

Not On My Watch (pt 5)

Pairing: Dad!Roger x Mum!Reader

summary: you’re divorced with queen’s roger taylor due to constant cheating and irrational behaviour towards you. but u have one person in common: your daughter, Laura aka your favourite human on earth. Your marriage with roger had its ups and downs but laura was the happiness in it. Now that she’s 8 and starts to realise how your terms with roger are, you finally tell her that you’re seeing another man except her father and she took it really warmly. She seemed excited to meet the new man unlikely your ex husband who accidentally learns about it by Laura, the weekend you would leave her at his place: on weekends you had some cute getaways with R/N because the court decided that Laura could stay or visit her dad on weekends and stay with him for five days each Christmas and easter vacations. On summers he has the right to be with her for two weeks.

check: masterlist // dialogue prompts

If you haven't read the previous chapters, here they are: part one // part two // part three // part four

note: it wasn’t supposed to be this specific plot, but I promise you the good one is at next one ;)

warnings: flashback scenes, angst, fluff

words: 2,849

taglist: @madeinheavxn @namelesslosers @stacymaytaylor (send me an ask or a message if you want to be tagged)

You set the table, eating like a proper family for the first time in two and a half years. Laura was extremely happy seeing her family reunited. You were telling her stories from the past, which she found intriguing and interesting. You didn't forget mentioning about Roger taking you with him on tour in the United States, a year after started dating. It was the first time you went abroad. You fell for Roger hard. Losing him made you lose yourself too.

"Wow mum, you never told me stories with dad. Fairytales are boring." She gasped after hearing your US experience.

"Why didn't you tell her stories about us?" Roger curiously asked.

"Because at the time, our marriage was going downhill. You know, so I tried to not think of you." You answered.

"Oh.." he didn't have to say something. "So Laura, do you want to hear another story of mum and me?" He asked. Meanwhile, you prepared the dishes for the washing machine. Laura nodded, waiting for the narration.

Flashback

"So you're going out with Kath's friend?" Brian asked Roger.

"Yes," Roger answered while fixing himself at the mirror. "So Kath is your new girlfriend? I thought she was a groupie." He joked.

"Haha, very funny." Brian mocked him. "She's a nice company." He added.

"What about the bone zone?" The blond drummer pondered with a naughty smile on his face.

"That's good too, I don't complain." He shared a laugh with his friend. "So where will you meet her?" He questioned.

"Outside of the pub we met." He answered. "Where should I take her?" Roger nervously asked as if he never went on a date.

"Where do you take most of the girls you like?" Brian asked trying to help him think rationally.

"Bed?" He said back and gained an eye roll from Brian. "But Y/N is so hard to get, I don't know. I'm afraid if I say something wrong she'll lose interest in any second." He mumbled.

"Easy Rog.." Brian tried to calm his friend down. "She agreed to go on a date with you, that's progress, right?" He continued. Roger nodded. "Which means she finds you cute or hot or I don't know how girls describe us." He chuckled at the end making the blond drummer laugh.

"Alright, maybe if I take her to some other pub where we can talk?" Roger thought again.

"Excellent. She's not like the other girls you date, Roger. She's, you know, -" Brian tried to explain what type of girl you are.

"The I-want-the-man-to-chase-me. She's screaming that." Roger described what girl you are and he was right. "It was so hard for me to get to talk with her after our gig ended, I'm even surprised she finally agreed." He added, now wearing his perfume, ready to meet you.

"She likes you, pal. Good luck!" Brian hugged his friend and Roger was on his way to meet you.

You were nervous too. You didn't want to be late. You were used to never arriving on time, but this time, it was a date with a man you liked from the first moment, as much as you denied it. There wouldn't be any other second chance with him, he'd become a famous rockstar.

"There you are!" Roger spotted you coming faster to his place.

"Shit, am I late?" You asked, checking your watch.

"No, no, I just arrived." He was waiting for you, for about ten minutes. But he came at the checkpoint a little earlier due to impatience seeing you.

"Alright then." You stopped a little to catch your breath. Your high heels hurt your feet by walking so fast. But you wanted to look beautiful. The blue dress you were wearing had Roger staring at it and you all the time.

"You look so beautiful Y/N." He gasped as he was checking you out. "Nice dress, nice heels, nice hair, nice you." He ended the compliment with a hand kiss. He really wanted you to catch feelings for him.

"Thank you, Roger." You smiled after receiving his kiss and his compliments. "Where can we go?" You asked.

"There's another pub downtown that plays jazz music and we can talk without shouting." He joked and gently grabbed your hand, opened the door for you and placed you inside.

"Oh, I like jazz." You were surprised that he was probably into jazz. You waited for him to get into his red Renault car.

"Perfect, let's go." He started the engine and nervousness hit your body. You were shaking, feeling like throwing up. A handsome guy next to you, an upcoming legend wants to go on a date with you. "Hey, are you alright?" He asked after stopping at the red traffic light. He checked your hands trembling and gently placed his on yours. "You're not cold, are you?" He asked. You can't be cold on a May night.

"No, I'm just a little nervous." You tried to keep smiling. You're not the tough girl he met a couple of days ago, but a vulnerable nineteen-year-old girl trying to find love.

Roger was feeling split: He had two options in his head. Should he take you to the pub you both agreed or somewhere isolated to talk with no one seeing. That would make you feel more uncomfortable.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked waiting for any answer. "You want me to keep driving or stop somewhere? I promise I won't do anything." He shared his ideas with you. You looked at him confused.

"Could you stop somewhere, please?" You politely asked trying to not sound bitter after your sudden mood.

"Sure, are you alright?" He asked again, trying to find any isolated place for you two.

"Yes, it happens a lot when I'm feeling nervous." You explained.

He didn't say a word. Until he found that place, behind a church, with no soul around. It seemed creepy if you consider you are on the car with a man you met a week ago. But you liked him.

"Listen, if you are feeling nervous, we can call it off." He showed empathy at you feeling awkward.

"No, I won't have another chance with you if we call it off." You got out of the car, trying to get some air. Roger followed your moves, now standing behind you.

"What do you mean?" He asked raising his hands.

"I mean you'll become famous and everything that goes with it and you'll forget about me anyways." You tried to explain.

"Why would I forget you? I like you." He straightforwardly said, sending you shivers.

"I like you too, but I don't want me to love you." You are a person full of emotions, throwing that to Roger made him feel weird.

"Why are you talking about love? This is a date, not a wedding." He objected.

"Exactly, I'm afraid if we become a girlfriend-boyfriend thing, I'll eventually love you and then things will get nasty." You could look years away. Look at you now.

"Are you nuts? I wanted to get to know you, I want to know you well, be my girlfriend, how do we call these things?" He questioned.

"Relationship." You answered turning around, to face him. "Would you like that? I wanted that for years." You asked trying to hide your desperation. But you couldn't.

"Hold on, you never had a relationship?" He asked confused, coming closer to you.

"Don't make fun of that, I never liked the boys who approached me." You admitted. You could see his eyes, sparkling from excitement because he knew now how inexperienced you were on that part. A hopeless romantic with huge fantasy.

"Well, I'd like to be the one." He smirked and grabbed his hands around your waist, pulled you into his arms and kissed your lips. Your first kiss ever. His lips harmoniously moved onto yours giving them what they needed all this time. Tenderness. "How was that?" He asked, his eyes now focused on yours.

"Amazing." You licked your lips and smiled, not feeling nervous anymore.

"Is the pub still a plan?" He asked.

"Yes." You were so hyped after your kiss you couldn't focus on anything besides Roger. His hand caught yours leading you back to his car.

Flashback ended.

"Wow, mum!" She turned to your place. "Dad was your first kiss?" She asked fully awed by the narration.

"Yes, he was." You blushed as you both looked at each other. He was fluttered by your current reaction. Your first everything.

"Oh dad, tell me more!" She begged for more stories, but it was time to leave.

"No young lady, I need to have some other memories between your mum and me." He playfully berated her. "Besides, we have to take you to Laura." You stood up from the chairs and moved towards the hall, wearing your shoes.

"Mum, will you tell me these stories instead of fairytales?' She asked while Roger helped her once more with tying her shoes.

"Yes, I will." You answered. You wanted to tell her stories about you and her father, but most of these are explicit. Not special for children.

-------------------------------------

Roger drove off to John's house to leave Laura. "I'll take her inside." He declared and you stayed in the car to wait.

"Daddy, what about my stuff?" She asked.

"We're going to mum's place now to take your stuff. We'll come again." He rubbed her head before knocking the door.

"Hey Roger, I was waiting for you now." He smiled at his bandmate and turned his gaze to Laura. "Hello, Laura! The other Laura waits for you inside! Come in!" He kissed her head.

"Bye, daddy!" She hugged him and walked inside the house.

"I'll come back again to bring her clothes and tomorrow's books for school," Roger said.

"Sure. I'm waiting for the details tomorrow." John winked.

"Ah, I see where you're getting with that." Roger laughed. "Just the abstract." He joked and left the grand house to come back to you.

"You have the keys to your apartment?" Roger asked you.

"Yes. And a piper spray for any case." You showed him that, referring to R/N who could wait for you around the corner.

"He won't harm you, over my dead body." He reassured you and placed a kiss on your forehead. "Shall we go?" He asked and you nodded.

There wasn't any talk during the car drive, but that didn't make it awkward. It was a peaceful silence you used to have before the dark days arrived. You couldn't hide your fear though, it was visible. Your hands were rubbing your thighs nervously. Roger, noticed your behaviour and placed his hand on yours. "It's going to be alright. That's why I'm here, with you." He placed his head on yours, giving you a reassuring kiss. You hugged him in return, feeling his scent against your senses. He smelled amazing. His perfume combined with nicotine was what you could characterize him.

You opened your apartment's door, seeing the inside of the house upside down. You knew he would fuck it up. All you could think of was who's going to clean this mess?

"Oh God-" you gasped and closed the door behind you.

"Y/N, don't worry we'll fix this mess together." He reassured you. "Do you think he did it on purpose?" He asked trying to figure out what was R/N's intent.

"Shit." You gasped again, looking at your ex-husband horrified.

"What?" He asked after seeing you turning pale.

"FUCK." You yelled, running to Laura's bedroom, looking for your diary. He knew about it.

You searched for it at the place you're hiding it and thanked your lucky stars it was up there inside the pillows you keep at the closet. "Oh God, oh God, thank you!" You stared above, kicking out all your angst while holding your huge notebook. It was clever of you to hide something personal at your daughter's room, in a cupboard she never uses. Roger followed you and sat next to you.

"Y/N, you alright?" He asked placing his hand at your back. His eyes fell at the notebook you were tightly holding. "What's this?" He curiously asked and tried to hold it but you politely refused. "Oh. Is it personal?" He questioned.

"I was keeping a diary all this time." You confessed.

"A diary? How long?" He asked as he was checking all these used pages.

"Before you." You smiled and scrolled a few of your pages.

"Wow, that's a lot..." he was amused. "So I guess I'm in there, aren't I?" He asked checking for assurance.

"Don't guess. Be sure." You smiled.

"Can I see just one page please?" He politely asked.

"I'll show you my favourite." You seemed too excited to get to a specific page.

Roger next to you was smiling through the entire process, trying to read while pages were fastly zapping, until you stopped somewhere from the first twenty pages. He focused on your point of view, trying to understand what you were writing about.

"Oh, your first time." He awed. After reading the sentence: my heart was beating so fast at the moment he was inside me, even my soul could see his, from our eyes. "I didn't know you were so sentimental about it." His cheeks blushed from everything you wrote.

"Of course I was, it was my first time. I loved you, Roger." You opened your heart to him for one more time. His eyes were wide opened. It was the first time he got to hear from you how you really felt about your first time. He continued reading to the next day, how you behaved after your first time.

It had to happen right? Or not? My parents are going to kill me. It should have happened after marriage. That's what they've been saying all my life. I love Roger but he would never settle for a wedding. He's a rockstar now, he would probably abandon me if I ask him to marry me. I have to keep it a secret.

"Y/N, you never told me that your parents are against sex before the wedding." He was shocked at what you were writing.

"I know, I had to do it, otherwise you'd break up with me. I didn't want that at the time." You said feeling secure now that he's still by your side.

"Oh, baby..." he whispered and kept you in his arms. "Was it too important to your family to keep your virginity?" He asked.

"It was for them to keep it until my wedding night." You started. "But you know? I only wanted to give it to the man I loved so bad one summer night. And it was special for me, you made it all about me." You continued and stayed in his arms for a couple of minutes. "They always believed my first time was at our wedding."

"I think you have to take this with you. It's not safe on its own. We should grab Laura's stuff and drive them off to John's." You both stood up and put your daughter's stuff in a bag.

You got in the car again, still silent. You were just reading random pages from your diary, getting all emotional. From you meeting him, dating him, marrying him, giving birth to his child, divorcing him... You wrote many things in there. It has an emotional value. You knew by now that Roger was the only person you wouldn't bother reading it, after your permission of course, because almost every page has his name on it.

---------------------

After giving Laura her stuff, you went back to Roger's fancy house. You were getting used to getting there. He looked like wanting to stay with you again, without including the disagreements. He opened the door and you both walked upstairs, leading to his bedroom.

"Do you think you should stay here now?" He asked.

"Why?" You returned as you placed your diary at the nightstand.

"That asshole could come to your place, any moment. You're not safe." He explained. "Maybe you should stay here. With me." He came closer to you, his face inches away from yours. You didn't say anything. Just let him do all the work for you.

His kiss was deep and his hands couldn't restrict themselves from touching your waist. These couple of days, you are much closer than you were when your marriage went downhill. You wanted to give it a chance.

"Tonight, I want you to be loud. I missed that." He stated, looking you into your eyes.

"Loud?" You asked, trying to understand his motives.

"Really loud. This is why Laura isn't here." He winked and left his room, going to the bathroom to take a shower.

"You're the filthiest man I know!" You playfully yelled at him.

"Oh, I know love!" He loudly answered from the bathroom and so on, you went downstairs to fix two glasses of red wine. Chilling situations like these, haven't happened since Laura was a baby.

#roger taylor #Roger Meddows Taylor #roger taylor fic #queen fic #queen band #queen #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x female reader #roger taylor x Y/N #john deacon #freddie mercury #brian may

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chiyohsrifle · 4 years

Text

Got tagged by the marvelous @hvnnigram and I can't wait to bare my soul to you guys. this is a long one, so let's go!!

Rules: Tag people you want to get to know better 🖤

Your name and then what you would've named yourself: My full name is Montserrat (I'm Mexican, in case you couldn't tell. Well Mexican-American but anywho) but I typically go by Montse. Mainly cuz people struggle to pronounce my full name hehe but I also just think it's less of a mouthful. Idk, I honestly really love my name and don't think I'd change it given the chance. Maybe something shorter just cuz paperwork can be a bitch. I like Rene but otherwise, I'm pretty attached to my name lol.

Astrological sign (sun/moon/rising if you know them): I'm a sun Pisces, a moon Aries, and a rising Virgo, I believe :)) All in all, I'm an emotional, empathetic bitch

When did you join Tumblr and why?: Was going through my emails yesterday and I've been here for a year?? apparently. So yea, I joined Aug./Nov. of 2019 and I'm almost certain it was cuz I wanted to see more Good Omens fanart lol. But I got more active this year cuz quarantine do be forcing me to have some wack coping mechanisms. Also BBC Merlin had me reeling and I needed somewhere to scream.

Top 5 fandoms: Hannibal (obviously), BBC Merlin, Killing Eve, Good Omens, and The Umbrella Academy 😊

Top 5 favorite films: (oh Lord, the cinema buff in me is Panicking rn) God, there's so many I love but I'll try to give varietyTM. But I'm a Cheerleader (1999), Parasite (2019), The Wind Rises (2013), Little Shop of Horrors (1986), and Hector and the Search for Happiness (2014).

Go to song when you wanna Feel something: if we're talking like emotionally charged, TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan always sends me reeling. Endorphins wise, Ahora Te Puedes Marchar by Luis Miguel always makes me wanna jump and move around. And La Vie Boheme from RENT, just pure serotonin

What's your religion or faith, if you have one?: I was raised with a heavy Catholic background but I'm agnostic, I believe is the term. Basically, I don't think there's not a God or higher power(s). I just don't align with anything specifically. But I do believe there's something running things, whether that be spirits, the stars, gods, etc. I can't say.

A song that makes you feel seen: Not to be a theatre kid on main but, Breathe from In The Heights. That song and whole musical hold such a special place in my heart, esp with Nina's character cuz I'm Nina. Every part of that song just Gets Me and i ugh, can't articulate it but yea, that song be me.

If you could pick a career: A writer or painter. Anything creative/artsy really cuz crafting is just so calming to me.

Do you have a type?: ngl, I'm kinda the 'falls in love with their best friend' stereotype but beyond that, not really. I kinda just see attractive people and mentally short circuit

What does your soul/heart yearn for?: Not to sound like a character from Hannibal, but to be understood. To be cared for and feel supported. To allow myself to rest and be comforted/loved. Just to feel safe ig. Whoop, that got personal, anywho

If you had to describe yourself in 5 words to someone who doesn’t know you: intelligent, caring, awkward, Very Queer, and chaotic

Favorite subject in school: English and History!! I think they're absolutely fascinating and I'm gay so obviously I connect way too much with literature

Where does your soul feel most at home at?: Close to someone that I love, in comfortable silence. Or any situation where I have wind blowing in my face, it's super comforting and idk why

Top 5 fictional characters: Rowena from SPN, Bella Crawford, Beverly Katz, Eve Polastri, and Jack Crawford

Top 3 moments in a show that made you ugly cry:

1. The ending of Your Lie In April. Idk if any of yall have experienced that, but let me know if you have cuz shared trauma. I was crying so hard, I couldn't breathe. Dry heaving and everything, it was Not Pretty

2. Like literally all of One Day At Time. I know, it's cheesy but that show means a lot to me and I get so emotional watching it cuz I connect to the characters so much. Anything with Elena makes me sob cuz like she's me but also my baby, ya know

3. Um Queer Eye in general but specifically the episode with the gay pastor. That hit close to home on so many levels and boy, was I sobbing the entire time.

(Before y'all ask, honorable mention to Mizumono, TWOTL, and the ending of BBC Merlin cuz I may have been too tired to cry, but trust me, I was emotionally wrecked after all three)

The earth, the sun, the moon, or the stars: Ooh, I'm gonna have to go with the stars but I love that lesbian space rock too

Favorite kind of weather: Thunderstorms, rain, cloudy, grey weather. Fall, I love the fall, give me autumn pleASE

Top 3 characters to kin you with: Guinevere Pendragon from BBC Merlin, Vanya Hargreeves from TUA, and Abigail Hobbs from Hannibal

Favorite medium of art: I love all art very much but I guess drawing and film especially

Introvert/Extrovert/Ambivert: Gonna say ambivert cuz I can be shy but buckle up, cuz the second I'm comfortable around you, it's absolute chaos. You will learn too much about me and that's okay 😌

Favorite literary quote: If poetry counts, it's something like "And if the devil was to ever see you, he'd kiss your eyes and repent". Idk who wrote it but it's an Arabic love poem. Actual book quote tho, "But I'm tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change, but I keep changing, in all these little ways." from Simon vs. The Homosapiens Agenda cuz damn me too.

Some of your favorite books: Simon vs. The Homosapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli, the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell, When I Was Puerto Rican by Esmeralda Santiago, Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, All The Bright Places by Jennifer Lee, Autoboygraphy, and Copper Sun

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?: Europe or New York. No real specifics for Europe, defiently leaning more towards Western Europe and the Mediterranean cuz they just seem so pretty. And NY cuz I want a studio apartment hehe and also I adore NY. I went a couple years back and just fell in love. Although live is a loose term cuz I've always thought of moving around a lot. I like traveling and settling down isn't really convenient for that so these are kinda just ideals lol

If you could live in any time in history, when would it be?: Oh, defiently 60s/70s. Also, anytime matriarch societies were common cuz I wanna see what that looked like

If you could play any instrument masterfully, it would be: the acoustic guitar and piano. Maybe violin, but those two for sure

If you have one, which god or goddess do you feel more connected to?: I've always really vibed with Athena so her. But also Diyonuses cuz man's is the ideal.

And finally, your favorite recent selfie in your camera role:

(Excuse the eye bags and look in general, I was sleepy when I took it)

Whoo, that's all folks. I'm just gonna say that any of my followers/mutuals who want to do this, feel free to say I tagged you. Thanks for tag, once again, babe!!

#thanks for the tag!#luv u babe #mwah <3 #get to know me #about me

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galaxierowls · 3 years

Note

The Great Gatsby

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;

If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,

Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,

I must have you!"

—THOMAS PARKE D'INVILLIERS

Chapter 1

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

He didn't say any more but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we're descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather's brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

I never saw this great-uncle but I'm supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father's office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, "Why—ye-es" with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year and after various delays I came east, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.

I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.

He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.

His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

"Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

"I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

"It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside."

We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

"I'm p-paralyzed with happiness."

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.

"Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically.

"The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore."

"How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby."

"I'd like to."

"She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"

"Never."

"Well, you ought to see her. She's—"

Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

"What you doing, Nick?"

"I'm a bond man."

"Who with?"

I told him.

"Never heard of them," he remarked decisively.

This annoyed me.

"You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East."

"Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else."

At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

"I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember."

"Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon."

"No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training."

Her host looked at her incredulously.

"You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me."

I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

"You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there."

"I don't know a single—"

"You must know Gatsby."

"Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?"

Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.

Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.

"Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it."

"We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.

"All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?"

Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.

"Look!" she complained. "I hurt it."

We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.

"You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—"

"I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding."

"Hulking," insisted Daisy.

Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.

"You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?"

I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way.

"Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?"

"Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone.

"Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved."

"Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—"

"Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things."

"We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.

"You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.

"This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?"

There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me.

"I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?"

"That's why I came over tonight."

"Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—"

"Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker.

"Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position."

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.

The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.

"I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?"

This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.

"This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said.

"Don't talk. I want to hear what happens."

"Is something happening?" I inquired innocently.

"You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew."

"I don't."

"Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York."

"Got some woman?" I repeated blankly.

Miss Baker nodded.

"She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?"

Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

"It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety.

She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?"

"Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables."

The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.

The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.

Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.

"We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding."

"I wasn't back from the war."

"That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything."

Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.

"I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything."

"Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?"

"Very much."

Thank you.

#she speaks #ria ur so funny

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taehyung-the-baehyung · 7 years

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Im on summer break rn and I have one more month to go!! I'm happy that I can sleep in and chill but I'm??so?? bored?? like yeah I can meet up with friends but I do that like 2 days a week and the rest is just ?? ahhh do you have any recs? anything to check out? anything to do?literally I don't care if it's a band, a book, a video, show, hobby or just a freaking baking recipe,, I need stuff to obsess over and I need lots of it ://

WHY IS THIS ME?

honestly, i’m the type of person that has to be learning something. i don’t miss homework and tests or anything, but i miss learning. so i’d say just go learn or do something new. go visit museums, drive around aimlessly and go wherever interests you, learn a new language, etc.! i’ll tell you what i’ve been doing and some other recs below the cut (cause it got kind of long 😅)

fill up my inbox ❣️

• i’ve been learning some html/css over at codeacademy and that’s a great website. i’ve always been interested by coding and i think theme makers here on tumblr are so talented. from the little html i’ve dealt with, it’s very intriguing so i want to get really good at it! i recommend learning coding, even if it’s a little bit. it’s a great job skill and to say you learned it yourself would be pretty cool. @roxiestheme & @magnusthemes are two of my favorite theme makers and a lot of the time these amazing theme makers will have tutorials or learning resources to help you out if you’re interested!

• i’ve also been trying to learn some korean and keep myself brushed up on my italian, so i’ve been going through resources for both– watching movies and shows (kdramas are a great way to spend time, i tell ya :D). @bitesizekorean & @19tc are two my favorite korean langblrs and i’ve been taking italian for 6 years now so i just generally stick to reading news articles, finding netflix shows that have italian audio, etc. learning new languages is always fun, even if it’s just a couple basic phrases! italian, spanish, korean, hindi, etc. it’s all out there to learn!

• i used to read a lot when i was younger but now the only thing i read is fanfic…which is perfectly fine, but i miss whizzing through entire books and not even blinking before picking up the next one! i had two months to read but i highkey procrastinated on this one…although finally last night i started a new book and am liking it so far. i recommend making a goal for yourself to finish x amount of books by the start of your semester! currently i’m reading china dolls by lisa see and up next will be behold the dreamers by imbolo mbue

• obviously i write a lot and lately i’ve been motivated by consistently seeing stories that i personally felt were better than mine. i’ve reached a point where i’m writing regularly but can’t see any improvement, so i’ve been doing writing exercises and reading a lot about writing. if you are interested in starting to write i highly highly recommend @writeworld and @lizard-is-writing on tumblr (you can always always always come to me as well! i may not be an expert but i can definitely be a supporter as you start!) i’ve also been reading bird by bird by anne lamott which i like because is really encourages me to stick to my writing and not abandon it out of discouragement (which i’ve done in the past…) i recommend trying to dabble in a new art or continue a passion of yours that you’ve always had! whether it’s writing prose, or poetry, drawing, calligraphy, painting, collaging, you name it– try something new with that creative brain of yours! go find things on pinterest if you need a little spark! moodboard making is also something fun you could try right here on tumblr that’s pretty popular!

• another thing that is semi related to the one above is journaling! this helps me write everyday, but it also helps me sort out how i’m feeling and why. i’m a very self-reflective kind of person so although it’s always happening in my head, it’s great to have a place to really work through the way my mind works and articulate it. my favorite journals to use are these book journals which take old children’s books or novels and they insert journal pages between the original book pages. absolutely charming if you ask me. BUT i’ve been journaling for years so i have like a million and three filled journals and while i love looking through them, i thought it might be interesting to try out typing them as well so i’ve started one on tumblr, which makes my life easier since i’m basically always on this damn website xD it’s convenient so far, and i like that i can sort through things by tag. but i kind of prefer the physical journals so i might revert to my old ways…

• and lastly, i take only average care of myself. i don’t eat enough (i’m pescatarian and super picky so i’m like 80% sure i’m not getting enough protein) and i only workout when i feel like it (when i’m home anyway, i’m pretty good about it at college since the gym is literally like two feet away…). this summer one of my goals has been to really workout and learn about fitness. i watch a lot of youtubers and read up on basics about how certain foods can affect different parts of your body. tiffanyrotheworkouts have been my go-to at home workouts and abby pollock has been amazing in terms of teaching you about muscle groups and then going into certain workouts to use when you’re at the gym. i definitely recommend trying new things to keep yourself active! take walks by yourself around your neighborhood, go hiking, go for a run, head to the gym, dance around to your favorite music at home. i’ve always been bad at this, but i’m trying really hard to not stay planted in front of my laptop.

other things that are super fun to do:

• bake some desserts

• learn a recipe from a different culture of cuisine

• go to museums (one of my favorite things to do)

• explore your city / town and find those hidden spots that you end up loving

• go on a bike trail

• find new music on spotify (always keeps me busy for a long time)

• go shopping and upgrade your wardrobe

• learn photography

let me know what you decide to take on or if you discover something yourself to do! oh and here’s one more:

• talk to your favorite tumblrs! (aka i love interacting with y’all please come talk to me)

#kavya says #damn i went hardo on this #but it was fun #cause now i have a list to follow too #i hope you find something to keep you inspired #anon sarah ☼

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