#plaguedaughter

“A real tragedy, that,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. 

“It does that, sometimes. It’s…uh, different for everyone,” she said with a shrug. Lucida didn’t know how to fix either of those things with words, not that she wouldn’t give it a try, but she definitely couldn’t do it with just words. It took longer than that, more action, less theology. A lot of falling down and getting back up, finding yourself moving forward only to stagnate. It wasn’t fun.

SPRING AWAKENING! ★ ( ACCEPTING! )

He understands. The people you get aren’t always people you belong with. The places that bring you into being aren’t always ones where you can breathe. Call it being dealt a bad hand. What’s left, after the realization? The way he sees it, your choices boil down, more or less, to three options. Roll over and give up, make yourself smaller and more pliable until you fit into the niche you’ve been provided, or do what it takes— whatever it takes— to find something else, a space and a shape that better suit your survival.He understands, and usually understanding wouldn’t mean much of anything, except that he’d now know how to disguise a (figurative) blade between the ribs as a flippant remark, if the need or desire should ever arise. This is Frankie, though. It’s different with Frankie, so different that the usual contemplations and calculations never even enter his mind. Flicking a sprig of sage into her drink, Crow turns to slide the glass across the tabletop, rolls his shoulders, then props his forearms on the back of his chair and raises his brows. His nod is almost imperceptible.

can liv and frankie be a pictionary team??