Shen Manyu

❝My profile is fake. I'm actually a cat.❞

[moshimanyu]

❀ ──────── { 沈曼语  〜 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚 } ──────── ❀

⋆ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑒𝑎, 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑝, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡. ⋆

▹  𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘: Tu Manyu (涂曼玉)

▹  𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘: Shen Manyu ( 沈曼语)

▹  𝗘𝗡𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗛 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘: Margot Shen/Tu

▹  𝗘𝗧𝗬𝗠𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬:

    — 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦

    :: 沈 (𝗦𝗵𝗲𝗻): Depth or water.

    :: 涂 (𝗧𝘂́): Spread or apply (like paint/ink) or referring to a river.

    — 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 name

    :: 曼 (𝗠𝗮̀𝗻):  Graceful, refined, elegant.

    :: 玉 (𝗬𝘂̀): Jade

▹  𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗦: Manyu (default) | Minnie (close friends) | Xiao Tutu (by neighbors or regular customers)

▹  𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛: January 10th

▹  𝗔𝗚𝗘: 25 (𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦)

▹  𝗭𝗢𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗖: Capricorn

▹  𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗘 𝗭𝗢𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗖: Snake

▹  𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡: Autumn

▹  𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗨𝗔𝗟 𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: Heterosexual

▹  𝗢𝗖𝗖𝗨𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: Co-owner and Repair Technician at "Old Tu's Fix-It Shop."

 ❀ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗬𝗔𝗥𝗗 [Residence]

▹  𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: No. 23 Courtyard, Cǎochǎng Hútòng, Dongcheng District, Beijing

▹  𝗩𝗜𝗕𝗘: A slightly rundown but clean courtyard house tucked away in one of the city's older hutong alleys. It smells perpetually of jasmine tea, simmering bone broth, and the faint metallic tang of old tools.

▹  𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗣: 屠师傅修理铺 (𝑂𝑙𝑑 𝑇𝑢'𝑠 𝐹𝑖𝑥-𝐼𝑡 𝑆𝘩𝑜𝑝)

 ❀ 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

▹  𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠: Tian Xiwei

▹  𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧: 168 cm (5’6”)

▹  𝗕𝗨𝗜𝗟𝗗: Slim but solid | Hidden muscles under soft curves | Surprisingly toned arms.

▹  𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘: Round, youthful | Big, doe eyes | Natural pout | Dimples when she grins

▹  𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗥: Long, dark | Usually in messy ponytails | Low bun | Twin braids | Stray wisps always escapes

▹  𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗡: Fair but often sporting tiny bruises or scratches from work | Light freckles across nose in the summer

 ❀ 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

—𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘶 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩. 𝘚𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝟫𝟢% 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝟣𝟢% 𝘪𝘤𝘦-𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴.

▹  𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗦:

▸ Old Man Tu’s cooking (even when it’s too salty or too bland)

▸ Street food, especially 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘫𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘣𝘢𝘰 and scallion pancakes

▸ Stray cats (she names them all)

▸ The smell of rain on hot concrete

▸ Popping bubble wrap from repair packages

▸ Drinking tea so strong it’s almost bitter

▸ Autumn

▸ Gambling (especially 𝘔𝘢𝘩𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘨)

▸ Watching old Chinese movies and melodramas with Old Man Tu and yelling at the screen

▸ Old Man Tu’s snoring (ironically, she complains to him about it but she likes it, giving her the comfort of knowing that he’s still there and alive.)

▹  𝗛𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗦:

▸ Bullies.

▸ People who yell at the elderly or children or to anyone

▸ Wasting food or useful parts

▸ Soggy fries, lukewarms soup, celery

▸ Alarm clocks

— more to be added.

▹  𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗦:

 [ + ] — resourceful, forgiving, observant, brave, humble, patient, generous, kind-hearted

 [ - ] — emotionally guarded, avoidant, self-doubting, overly independent, bottles emotions, possessive of loved ones, passive in conflict, hypervigilant, struggle to ask for help, anxious but hides it

 [ ! ] —coldly efficient, emotionless in crisis, lethally focused, physically intimidating, morally flexible, silent rage, no warning before action, sometimes unforgiving

 [ ? ] — quiet in new places, self-sufficient, blunt, sentimental, blunt, competitive, easily flustered, routine-oriented, stubborn, protective

▹  𝗛𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗦/𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗥𝗞𝗦:

▸ Hoarder of small things: pockets are always full of screws, candy wrappers, hair tie, washers, etc.

▸ Snort-laugh: When something is genuinely funny, she snorts. She hates it but can’t stop it,

▸ Door checker: Locks the shop door, then checks it twice. She also sleeps with her back to the wall.

▸ Flinch reflex: Loud noises make her jump like a startled rabbit and immediately her arms go into Kung Fu stance. She also sometimes covers it with a laugh.

▸ Feeder: If she likes you, she will put food on your plate or give you some food without asking. Refusing is not an option.

▸ Talks to cats: She talks to cats like they understand her. Sometimes, they do.

▸ Keeps a multi-tool in her pocket. You never know.

▹  𝗙𝗨𝗡 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗦:

▸ She once arm-wrestled a construction worker for a bag of 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘢𝘯 and won. She gave him half the oranges anyway.

▸ Her mandarin has a slight roughness from growing up around old men and street vendors.

▸ She has named every stray cat in the alley that comes to the shop for food.

▸ Her secret comfort food is instant noodles with an egg cracked in and too much chili oil.

▸ She hoards sauce packets from takeouts like they’re gold.

 ❀ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗞

 [ UNDER DEVELOPMENT—TO BE ADDED.]

 ❀ 𝗞𝗘𝗬 𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣𝗦

 :: 𝐓𝐮 𝐗𝐢𝐮𝐥𝐢 (屠修理) — 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

▹  𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥. :: 𝐓𝐮 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐮𝐚 (屠兰花) — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

▹  𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥.

 :: 𝐗𝐢𝐞 𝐗𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 (谢玄金) — 

▹  𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥.

——————————————————————————————————

[moshimanyu]

╏𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗧𝗮𝗳𝗳𝘆

It’s 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗼’𝗰𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗼𝗼𝗻 on a Tuesday, and 𝘉𝘢 is taking his usual midday nap on his reclining chair, already 𝘀𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴, after pretending to read the daily newspaper, despite his blurry eyesight, and it was even 𝘂𝗽𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲-𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻. I don’t tell him, 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲. 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠. Most kindnesses are just letting an old man hold his 𝗱𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆, even if it’s printed sideways.

The light from the front window and the door cast a 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥, making the dust motes look like 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴. It’s a slow day and the shop is quiet…well, except for Ba. But this was the kind of quiet that I find 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴. 

The radio murmurs something 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 from the corner, with its volume turned so low, the 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘺𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 passing by the shop, and the 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘴 calling out to passersby, and Mantou is curled up, half asleep, on the windowsill like a 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥, one ear twitching at a fly he’s too lazy to chase and small a wooden dish with a few pieces of 𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘶 𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 (𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺) on it. 𝘉𝘢 always keeps a jar of them beside the register, "𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛," he says, though the children who come in are mostly grown now, and the ones who do visit reach for their phones before they reach for candy. 

I was at my usual workbench and there’s a music box in front of me, 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝘅𝗲𝗱.

It belongs to Mrs. Chen’s granddaughter—a small, porcelain thing with a ballerina who hasn’t spun in 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀. The machinery is 𝗷𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗱. The music 𝘄𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆. The small mirror has tiny cracks on it and some scratches on the wood it was in—it tells how 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹-𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 the keepsake was. The ballerina is stuck mid-pirouette, arms up, face blank facing sideways, 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈.

The music box is 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲. 𝑂𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦. The metal teeth inside are 𝗯𝗲𝗻𝘁—one of them nearly 𝘀𝗻𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱, another 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗻 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 from years of playing the same lullaby over and over. I’ve been gently coaxing them back into place with a pair of tweezers with gentle pressure and the kind of patience that 𝘉𝘢 says I didn’t have as a child. 

"𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑎 𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑓𝑢𝑙," 𝘉𝘢 would say. "𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠𝘩 𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑤𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑔."

I don’t know when that 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱. 

I’ve been working on this for an hour. Maybe longer. Time always does something funny in the shop—it stretches out like 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘺, then when you look at the clock, it’s gonna be past supper. 𝘉𝘢 says it’s the dust. I think it’s what happens when you 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴—you lose track of time.

My hands were moving at an efficient pace, the pace of the years that I’ve grown to learn over the years of watching 𝘉𝘢 fix 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. The tempered shift of tweezers and turn of screwdrivers. I was 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹. The metal teeth started to look parallel, I think. One by one. Slow but 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 work.

When I thought it was fixed, I wound the key.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴. 

A heavy sigh escaped me as I slumped back. I hadn’t noticed that I’d been so deep in fixing this music box that I was sitting up perfectly straight, my muscles locked in a rigid line of 𝗳𝗼𝗰𝘂𝘀 and I felt my spine cracking.

I looked at the music box with a frown and tried to wind it again, carefully, this time. 

Listening closely to the machinery. Maybe I didn’t wind it right.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 again.

But then again, I know that some things take time. For this music box, 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𝑇𝘩𝑎𝑡’𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑥𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. 𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴.

And I think—this was it. 

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 is my little corner of the world.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 workbench with scars and stains.

The radio playing a random opera that no one remembers.

𝘉𝘢 in the next room with his 𝘂𝗽𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲-𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 newspaper, almost choking from his snoring and his blurry eyes and his quiet, stubborn love.

Mantou dreaming of flies 𝘩𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐𝘩.

The light going gold and then amber and then gone.

𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

This was enough, for now. 𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘄—I still have a ballerina to save and give her back her song.

[moshimanyu]

` 𝒫𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 ⅋ 𝒫𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 ⬩ #𝒎usi𝒎anyu 𝄞 ˊ ㅤ 𝆘 　　ㅤㅤ　　ㅤ　　　　ㅤㅤ　　ㅤ　　　　ㅤㅤ　　ㅤ　　ㅤ　　ㅤ　　 　　ㅤㅤ　　ㅤ　　 　જ⁀➴ 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⸻ ⊹ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑠﹗

‎ ‎ ‎ 〝𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝑖'𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆.〞

—————————————— 𝄞

‎ ‎ ‎ 〝𝑖 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑡 𝑢𝑠 𝑎 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒〞 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

[moshimanyu]

hi! thanks for following me on tumblr! what is your fave genre to write about tho?

🎐⊹ Hello! Thank you for this question. :> Even though I am open to all genres to write for and I love them, I seem to always seem to be attracted to writing the medieval writing genre or anything that seem old. May it be of old high fantasy, dark Victorian, renaissance, dark ages, etc. <3