zephyr. @rowanfitzgcrald - Tumblr Blog

“Deep inside, she knew who she was, and that person was smart and kind and often even funny, but somehow her personality always got lost somewhere between her heart and her mouth, and she found herself saying the wrong thing or, more often, nothing at all.”

— Julia Quinn, Romancing Mister Bridgerton (via wordsnquotes)

#;isms

mason-janes‌:

She was petite, the girl, not tall enough to for her head to meet the horizon of the setting sun behind her, his eyes squinting, adjusting to the lack of light outlining her features. She had shoes–– what he would’ve called ballerina slippers around her neck and a purple book in hand. She appeared jittered most of all; fluttered, like a little hummingbird, but one suddenly perched, if there was ever a thing. He smiled, expression growing wider as he followed her finger to a patch of dense woods, shaded, and certainly no place for an afternoon doze, or so he thought. The blonde nodded his head in the direction of the dense trees, loosely extending a hand before he turned his head back to face her, “Over there… In the woods?” A laugh, small and boyish bubbled up to his lips, causing his bare, broad shoulders to twitch, “No offense, Miss, but I could name about half a dozen better places to read in this park,” He smiled, head lowering, hands shifting to focus back on the hook, but not without a lingering glance and a smile sent her way, “There’s a bench, just over the hill. The mosquitos shouldn’t be too bad, I don’t think,” He suggested, pausing for a moment, “–Not that you’re not welcome to go over there too.”

She scolded herself for letting words fly out of her mouth before thinking. Responses coming out on autopilot as if to fill any potential traces of silence it was a terrible habit she possessed since it kept her mind wheeling at all the other responses she could have said instead. A normal response, perhaps, one that could have even sparked a laugh to echo from the boy’s lips because he found her words funny, possibly even witty - but definitely not because he found her funny and her response odd. She attempted to hide any traces of embarrassment with a half-laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her cheeks burning crimson as a digit reached to push her hair behind her ear, only to be met with the daisy she had placed there earlier, the small flower falling onto the ground. There was no hair to push, aside from a few baby hairs, the rest pulled into a tight bun on the crown of her head. Brown hues glanced at the daisy laying a top the dark soil before her eyes lifted, landing on the boy’s bare torso and diverting her eyes just as quickly; truly noticing just where she had pointed to. She nodded her head, polite smile littering her features, “don’t want to end up like little red riding hood.” the words came out softly, an attempt at a joke that she didn’t commit to, “um--Just over that hill?” Rowan asked, pointing to the opposite direction and already beginning to take small steps in the general direction and walking away from the blonde, before pausing and turning, “thank you, by the way.” she added in, again, an automatic response; the please's and the thank you’s and the sorry’s embedded into her mind as if she were sorry for inconveniencing anyone in the slightest. She paused longer than necessary, debating the next set of words to come out - or perhaps gathering the courage to. “I’m Rowan, by the way.” she murmured, meekly.

#c: mason #IT IS I #ur fave goblin #w her long garbage replies #did u miss mE

Adorned in a gray knitted cardigan that was double the size of her lithe frame, a soft melodic hum to some song about jackie chan that currently infiltrated nearly every radio station flitted into the brisk mid September air like a music box. A nimble hand glided against one of the benches with a paint roller, staining the wood a mahogany brown. The two benches in front of the flower shop were in dire need of a paint job - the original wood hidden behind graffiti, and a horrid white paint job. The corner of her eye caught wind of a figure sitting down on the opposite bench she was currently working on, one that she had just finished painting. “Oh.” The syllable ushered out of her lips, barely audible as her eyes widened to match the word. She pressed her fingers to her lips, unsure of what to do before taking a step towards her newest company, “– maybe um, not the best choice to have a seat there…” She murmured, her nose crinkling as she pursed her lips, waving the brush in her hand, “I’m - sorry. I should have put a sign up, or something.”

#lan:chat #ur character could b watchin or be the one sittin #choose ur own adventure pals #i wish this ws better but its all i got

rollinpeaces

Danielle Campbell behind the scenes for Ferrvor cover shoot. ( x. )

#; visage

jasxncash‌:

“––Alright,” The word was spat out in a mutter, gruff and defensive beneath his breath. A looming pair of footsteps had been following him for some time now, winding and meandering through Westbrook’s side streets on his tail for a reason that, to him at least, had to be sinister. A deep drag of his smoke, a pivot in his footing, and he was turning to ‘stalker’, “Fuckin’ enough already.” Paranoia was a dear old friend to Jason Cash; the devil on his back, if you will. It was what you got when you dabbled in the felonious–– even worse when you lived it, breathed it, and drank it, too, “I know my ass is nice on the eyes, real nice, but it ain’t nice enough to be stalkin’ for ten blocks. So? The fuck you want?”

There was a big bouquet of flowers cradled in her arms; an arrangement she artfully made herself; green, blood orange, reds and yellows all but covered her face as she tried to navigate herself to the correct address. She had forgotten her phone at the flower shop, and was now trying to make her way back to any main street. Her mouth had opened several times, trying to muster up the courage to ask the male in front of her for directions but each and every time, no words would come out and she’d shut it again, only to readjust the bouquet, which was growing heavier by the second. She nearly bumped into him, coming to a sudden halt as he threw harsh words at her, landing on the girl like slabs of bricks falling from the sky. Her cheeks turned a shade of crimson as she adjusted the flowers so they weren’t covering her face and she could look at him, or at least at his shoulder, refusing to make straight eye contact, “i’m sorry.” the phrase came out automatically, and though it was always an automatic response for the girl; it was always a genuine one. Her eyes fell to the ground, “ your shoe is untied.” were the next set of words that came out and she cringed the moment they came out of her lips, “I mean, I’m a bit lost. and I’m just trying to get back to any sort of main street, I thought maybe - you -” she paused, biting down softly on her bottom lip as she shook her head, “never mind, I’ll just go - um, back the way we came. Sorry again.”

#c: jason #srry this is terrible

mason-janes‌:

He had his rod leaned up against an elm tree, the boy sat on a bench just before the beach of the lake began and fed into the murky water. He’d figured he’d needed a new hobby. He just didn’t think he’d be resorting back to fishing, but the promise of some decent-sized bass in the ‘Haverford pond’ not to mention the deal he was cut, he couldn’t refuse. It was one Hell of a nice day, enough to lure him into running around the park’s track a few times before fetching his gear, slipping off his sticky t-shirt and grabbing his bait from the front seat of his truck. He got up from the bench then, eyes trained on the nightcrawler he had picked up, still worming between his fingers as he grabbed his rod and steadied the hook, a shadow finding his peripheral, causing him to look up, suddenly feeling cautious, “… You aren’t here to slap me on the wrist, or something, are you?” He began, shrugging a should, a crooked smile on his lips, “–I checked with the park before. Promise. I’ll just be castin’ the line here.” He gestured towards the area, opposite to the park.

She hadn’t danced in what felt like years, aside of course, from the few solo dance parties in her room in the wee hours of the night that were prompted by a good song coming on shuffle on spotify. It’d been a long time since Rowan had wrapped the delicate satin fabric around her ankles and took part in a class filled with other girls leaping and prancing up and down a wooden floor. Before she had started at Yale, Rowan had been the type to come alive on stage; as if the shyness that crippled her was pushed aside for a minute and thirty-two seconds and an eloquence dripped off her shoulders when a spotlight fell on the young girl - and then with the fading sound of the beat, she was back to her normal self. Dance classes had always been different than being on stage; she was forced to watch as the other girls created bonds and friendships as she sat by herself, overly listening to the teacher and picking at a frayed part of her shoe to give her something to do. It took a certain amount of time before rowan could get out of her head after class; going through every motion and word she said that she could have said and done differently. It had prompted the girl to take a different route home, wanting to sit at the beach, or maybe somewhere mossy in the park and read. She had just stopped, bending over to pick up a small daisy, tucking it behind her left ear when a voice interrupted what she thought was a safe haven. It took a few heartbeats for Rowan to register the words being directed at her, her body turning to get a better look at the male, her pointe shoes dangling from her neck swinging in the process. “- oh. - I - um,” she shook her head, perhaps more aggressive than she intended to, “no. I was just trying to find a place to read.” the words echoed out quickly, holding up the book as if to advert the attention from herself to the Salinger book. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to - I can just go read over there?” She pointed to her left, eyes following the digit, not even sure exactly where heading left would take her.

#c: mason