#i. resistant child grown of wood and branch » study.

[graunblida]

in her st verse, lexa’s mom invites the hargrove/mayfield’s over for dinner -- at the time, both families are new to hawkins, tris and max hang out together and both their moms get along. lexa recounts it as one of the worst evenings of all time, as she and billy sat across from one another, engaged in passive aggressive digs the entire time. erin and susan are still friends in current timeline. 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

anonymous asked: Sapphire's post reminded me of Our Story! The most recent chapter wasn't the last one was it?

Liv says: I’m calling this Chapter 8.5. It still ties into their second marriage, of course—I just couldn’t resist Julia and little Claire. And a massive thank you to @lenny9987 who is always willing to read my drafts and give me feedback <3 

Read Chapters One through Eight here.

Our Story

Claire has few memories of her mother, and those that exist are only half-formed. Hardly memories at all.

Rather:

Small blips of sight and sound and smell. Directionless aches in the night, skin raised to gooseflesh by a living darkness. Sometimes there is a vision of two fine-boned hands, their fingers playing the air with passionate arcs and flutters. At others, there are emeralds winking from pale lobes, and a whisper of bergamot on the stretch of neck below. Baby, a voice says, so clear but distant, it’s only for one night. We’ll be back before you—

Fragments.

Among these, however, there is one that is complete. It is something Claire parades at dinner parties, a piece of trivia that reduces her childhood to the first five years of her life. No funerals, no suitcases. No grief hollowing her little, avian bones. Only: Easy.

In this memory, Julia Beauchamp wears a sweater dress and Kork-Ease boots. Her heels are impractical for a stroll through the park, though that is what they are doing—strolling—as they have done every Friday since Claire could walk. It is just the two of them, mother and child, while her father toils in a dark mechanic’s shop, slicked with sweat and sleeved in black grease. 

He will return so deflated that evening—“Like my own bloody oxygen pumped the tires.”—that Julia will kiss the moons under his eyes, will regret not capturing the sun. And so the following week, when Claire remembers her father’s tired face, she will produce a drained Dasani and hold it skywards. Autumn seeping inside the bottle and then inside her pocket; the bright November gliding down Henry’s throat over an meatloaf dinner. (He will indulge his sweet daughter, drinking and drinking until the December day where he cannot; where Claire must pour the bottle over a mound of dirt.)

But while Henry tinkers with cars so, too, does Claire’s mother do her own work. Observing, absorbing, and storing the day away—right here, on this park path.

That is how Claire’s one full memory begins: their joined hands swinging, and their eyes taking. Dried leaves; flannelled backs bent over canoe oars. So vivid in her mind, even now.

But when Julia says, “Baby, how about we play our game?” young Claire breaks the hold and sighs.

At this point, it has been two weeks since the death of her four-year old self, a feat for which she feels a tremendous pride. With the simple opening of her palm, she can now present her age—Five! Can you imagine?—without ever bending her thumb. Her parents often overlook this incredible development in Claire’s life, still seeing her as the girl with four wiggling fingers, as the walnut nestled in Julia’s stomach. Baby, Baby, Baby.

Claire waves at her mother, as if to say, Five, Five, Five.

“Silly me!” Julia cries. “What I meant to say was: Claire Elizabeth. An honest mistake.”

The correction is enough to earn Claire’s forgiveness. She huffs a petulant “All right,” though she has been waiting for this all week, the moment when her mother’s words begin to change. Their game, with its stories she only sometimes understands, is the key to a world she is slowly (but surely!) approaching.

Claire looks around and searches for their first target.

“Him!” she says, pointing to a man grieving his damaged kite. It lies in the arms of an oak, speared but bloodless, and the protruding branch reminds Claire of summertime splinters. Those little knives of wood, which always wheedle beneath her toes when she dances across the porch, barefoot. (Julia is an expert at removing such splinters. No tweezers needed, just, All better?—and it is. Her fine-boned hands giving Claire’s feet their rhythm again.)

“My. He’s a bit of an odd duck, isn’t he?” her mother says, studying the old man. She tilts her head to the side, as if the angle will reveal the source of his almost-tears, his slumped posture, the very soul within. “Robert! That’s his name. Robert—Owner of Toy Shops.”

Claire giggles with excitement. This has always been her mother’s trick: the divining of lives from the smallest of glimpses. Julia has been known to call it Magic, though Claire has grown more skeptical since the dawn of October 20th. (Magic is, after all, a baby’s word.)

“He’s a recent widower. Do you see how he wears a ring but keeps watching the couple over there?”

Claire does see, and she drafts a mental note for school the next day: Tell Mrs. Heath that Mum is smarter than that scraggly bugger, Albert Whats-His-Face. 

“No children either. He and his wife…his wife…” And just as Claire remembers, Einstein! Julia cries, “His wife, Susan! Dear, dead Susan. Both turned off by the whole business of childrearing. Susan’s mother up and left when she was only three.”

“And joined the circus?”

“Yes. I daresay she joined the circus.”

“Poor Robert, Owner of Toy Shops,” Claire laments. “Poor Dear, Dead Susan.”

“Mhmm, such a shame. Poor Dear, Dead Susan didn’t stand a chance against those wretched measles.” (At this, Claire’s fifth year gives her a sudden rush of gratitude. For Dr. Rawlings, who once stuck her with a vaccination needle. For her mother, who covered the red dot with a Pooh plaster. All better.)

“But why is he flying a kite, Mum?”

“Why, indeed…”

This is a crucial part of their game: where Claire probes with further questions, thereby allowing a detailed history to form. No room for doubt when everything is fully realized—just the growing surety that maybe, maybe their guesses are correct.

“I’d wager he’s quite lonely now, and for the first time in his life, he’s regretting they never had children.” Julia’s voice is so confident, that Claire nearly forgets it’s all a game. Almost believes in the name and the wife and the unborn children her mother has given this sad, old stranger. “Flying the kite is a way to…conjure them into existence. A big What if? Rather maudlin if you ask me.”

Claire cannot make sense of these fancy, foreign terms—conjure? maudlin?—or why anyone would fly a kite for their nonexistent kids. Still, Claire nods, Of course, of course, and plans to comb the ‘c’ and ‘m’s of her father’s dictionary. Ask him, casually, for clarification. (And if Henry were here, he would temper his wife’s candor with a more age-appropriate fantasy; shake his head. Even to her own husband, her mother has always been slightly incomprehensible.)

“Baby,” Julia says, suddenly serious. “Claire. Don’t you dare live to regret a thing. Promise me that if something scares you, you’ll do it.

“I’m not scared of anything,” Claire announces (except spiders and cavities; except Father Christmas burning in the chimney and the night noises coming from her parents’ bedroom). “When Willie Burke stole Jacob’s sausage roll last week, I gave him a wedgie. And he’s two years older than me!”

“A wedgie? God, you are fearless!”

Whenever Julia laughs, as she is now, it is the sound of a goose deep in his cups. Oddly enough, Claire prefers it to the less embarrassing, less recognizable titters of other mums. Should Claire ever lose her mother, finding her would be a cinch. She’d just listen for that boisterous, snorting honk, and—presto!—there she’d be. Boisterously snorting and honking.

“You know, munchkin, you’re my favorite. I’d be terribly sad if I didn’t have you.” 

“I think I’d be sadder. Papa never cuts the crusts off my sandwiches.” Claire turns once more to the old man. Her brows, just two brown lines of the softest down, knit together. “Will I ever be as sad as Robert, Owner of Toy Shops?”

“Not if I can help it,” Julia says, smiling. “You’re stuck with me.”

“For your whole life?”

“My whole life. I’ll never stop squishing those precious cheeks of yours.”

“Mum! That would hurt my face.”

They go on walking, leaving Robert and the shade of Dear, Dead Susan behind. Claire’s hand has returned to her mother’s, a granting of all past and future forgivenesses, if only to catch some of that maybe-Magic. Discover if it truly exists.

“Your turn!” Julia says, and she chooses a young boy picking flowers. “How about that lad over there? With the Chinese plumbago?”

Claire keeps her mouth shut, though ideas immediately spring to mind. He is a prince picking a posy for his princess, a wizard whose dragon follows a strict vegetarian diet. She keeps these conjectures to herself, wanting to prove that she is big—no baby! no walnut!—and has adultness growing inside her, like the flowers.

The boy reminds Claire of her runty friend, and so she announces, “His name is Jacob.”

“And what’s Jacob picking the flowers for?”

“They’re for his mum to paint,” Claire says. “She’s a…a famous artist, and she’s the only one who can get the plumbago blue just right.” (Too late, she realizes she has mispronounced plumbago, plumbagel. Feels one of those treasured links to adulthood disappear, alongside the missing ‘o.’) “She eats plenty of Vitamin A, so her eyes see what other people’s can’t.”

Julia smirks as the wind lifts her honey curls, then sets them back on her shoulders. So gentle, like the wind was made just for her, to offer its autumn-crisped affection. (Cinderellas and Rapunzels may not be real, Claire thinks—but mothers certainly are. Beautiful, ethereal, capable of a maybe-Magic. The closest thing.)

“That’s very kind of him,” Julia says. She squeezes Claire’s slippery five-year old hand, and the game goes on:

Under the sycamore lies a former ballerina, who once danced for Queen Elizabeth. Not far from her—“Near the tennis court, see?”—is an American scientist. He has made a profound discovery, something that cooks inside a glass beaker and over a flame. A cure for cancer? The bubonic plague? Who knows, but it’s Brilliant. (Boobonic plague? Claire frets, pitying her mother’s chest.)

And then there is that couple—the same one Robert had watched with such depravity—once Claire and Julia circle back to the gates. The man is dubbed Hal, the woman Minnie. Hal is given a talent for poetry and weather-predictive ankles. Minnie, a mastery of crossword puzzles and a penchant for box-color hair dye (How else to explain that lucent shade of blue-gray?). The pair met, per Claire’s request, in Morocco.  

“Like in that movie you and Papa always watch!”

“Casablanca? Darling, that’s perfect!” her mother exclaims, then adds, “Eloped in 1908. A love 65 years in the making.” 

This last statement makes Claire pause. 65 years, she realizes—despite her complicated relationship with double-digits—is a span of time much vaster than her own life. She can hardly imagine surviving that long, yet she suspects that her mother, with her maybe-Magic, will do just that. Live forever, being incomprehensible and laughing like a drunken goose. (Unfortunately, Julia’s so-called Magic will not prevent the crash that cracks her open. The middle of winter, and the geese a hundred steps ahead; long gone.)

“65 years? Mum, that’s ages.”

“It is,” her mother replies. “But if you asked them, I’d reckon they’d wish for 1,000 more.”

It’s Julia who takes the final turn, and so Claire shows her a girl by the lake. She is staring out towards the opposite bank, where a boy slices the cold, calm water. Each time he reaches the shallows, he stands, smiles at her until she looks at her lap. His reddened nose and his shaking arms have won something: the girl’s restless fidgets, the teeth biting the cushion of her lower lip.

There is a peculiar light on her face, though the clouds have stolen the sun and tucked it behind their fat, cumulus bodies. The light suggests something great, Claire thinks. A holy, incandescent secret. It is what gave Minnie’s bouffant its faint blue halo, and here it is now, spreading all over this girl, right up to her ears.

Julia gives her only a brief glance—not even a tilt of her head—before she seems to understand.

“Easy,” she says, and she nuzzles Claire’s scalp. Bergamot and the maybe-Magic filling the kiss.  “She’s found her soulmate.”

(On a day in August, Claire wears another white gown, carries another bouquet, and walks down another aisle ensconced by well-wishers. She feels a sense of fear as she comes before her husband, who she is marrying for the second time after nearly two decades. It is, she understands, the fear of a future regret: of doing this again, of not doing this again. And it is this fear that dares her to welcome the weight of the thistle ring, marry this beautiful man at the foot of the altar. Watching her, watching her—so much in his eyes. You break my heart wi’ loving you.

Claire recites her vows, teary with joy, but loud enough to be heard from the gallery. She pictures her younger self and her mother up there, observing, absorbing and storing away the sight of her. The not-walnut, the woman-grown now saying, “I do,” to 65 years. More.

And just as Jamie leans in for their kiss, young Claire notices how her older self is shining from the inside out. That same holy secret, all over her. And Julia, leaning down to Claire’s little skull, says, Easy.

And when Claire and Jamie turn to the crowd, Claire looks to the gallery. Holds her head like that, tilted upwards, as Jamie whisks her down the steps, towards a shower of rice.

Do you see? Claire is saying to her younger self, wanting her to know that there is grief but, Baby, there is Magic in the world.

Do you see? she is saying to Julia, wanting her mother to know for certain—at least this once—that she is right.) 

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #115: The Lover’s Tree.

Written: 6/3/2017                                                                              Nature Week

She was running blindly, which was not an easy task while her belly was swollen, gestating life, but it was important to both  her and her child that she run, even if she had no sense of direction, even as the branches whipped about her, her bare feet were cut on the rocks below, as the rain came down and made her frigid to the bone, even if running was pointless anyways, since her pursuers were much faster, and more capable, because she had to try. As her body screamed at her to give up, to take a break before it fell apart, she kept running. As she heard shouting and barking behind her, she kept running. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t in the right, because pride doesn’t care about whose right or wrong, it only cares about winning, and her pursuers were motivated solely by pride. However, after running for a while, after running for a subjective eternity, the girl finally heard something beautiful, she heard only the sound of the rain hitting the mud, the leaves, the stone, and nothing else. It had seemed as if she had finally had some good luck for once in the sixteen years that she had been alive, but she wasn’t a fool, she didn’t allow herself to be blinded by optimism, she knew that they would be close again soon enough, and she also knew that she couldn’t run anymore. Having to hope that the rain would mask her scent, she looked desperately around herself for a place to hide, vainly attempting to see through the rain in the shadows. She had to stop running, her feet were starting to protest and it took too much effort to lift them, and the mud that tried to swallow each step did not help one bit. Normally hiding would be an easy task for a girl as small as herself, but her child was a delicate obstacle that she couldn’t risk bumping against anything, so her odd shape prevented her from crawling into any hole that seemed to be large enough, and climbing the trees was an impossible task. Eventually she spotted a bush that would be large enough for her to hide in, to wait in while she hoped that the men and their hounds would just pass her by, so she forced herself forwards and stepped into the bushes. And then she realized the extent of her blindness, as she stepped over the bush and rolled down a hill, unable to stop her horizontal momentum, knocking into rocks and packed earth as she found her way into what was waiting for her at the bottom. There was a sharp pain in her stomach, but she didn’t have any time to worry about her child, since the briar patch that took a hold of her made sure that the pain would be evenly distributed as it cut into her a majority of her body, and she couldn’t help but to forget everything outside of the moment, she couldn’t resist screaming. It was only natural, the pain was too much for her, and even though she had often been beaten with a switch, struck across the face by her daddy’s fist, it was like she was starting to understand pain for the first time. She tried to lift herself out of the patch, but every time she moved her arms or legs, the thorns only dug themselves deeper, she felt as if she were surround by all sides, as if she were drowning in the patch. Her face pointed towards the sky, and the rain beat down onto it, causing her to have to try to keep it out of her mouth, out of her nose, since she couldn’t move her head without the thorns digging into her neck, into her skull. The sounds returned, reinvigorated by her screams, a sonic beacon that revealed her location. It wasn’t too long until she could roughly see the men and their hounds staring down at her. She didn’t try to beg, she didn’t try to protest, because she knew that none of that would change their minds. She only said, “Get me out of here”, and the men complied. Surprisingly, they were very gentle with her, they made sure that she was able to be freed without having to be in any more pain than she needed to be. When they laid her down on the mud they asked her if she was alright, she said that she wasn’t, they didn’t seem to happy to hear that. The hounds had been calmed by their owners, and they sat in the mud and waited. One of the men, the one that she had once loved, seemed to have not noticed her at all. Noose in hand, he was looking around at the nearby tree’s, looking for sturdy branches. “How bout this one?”, he asked, pointing to a large oak, and one of the fellows who was attending to his mistress had nodded in approval. The nod had been too subtle for the man to see, so he repeated his question, and another had shouted his approval. The man had beckoned another over, and then two of them began to set up the noose. “Its a real shame”, said one of the men, who was leaning over the girl so that the rain wouldn’t continue to strike her face, “you seem like a real nice girl. But this is how things have to go.” Looking over at the preparations, ���You really shouldn’t have gone and got yourself pregnant, that was just foolish of you. James is a married man. This is how things have to go if he has to keep his reputation. He’s a good man, but-” “Alright”, shouted James, “we’re all ready. Let’s get this over with. I don’t want this to take any more time than its gotta.” So, the man picked up the mistress, but made sure to still lean over her, he felt that she at least deserved to be comfortable in her final moments. He felt that he was a good man, so he had to ensure that she wouldn’t suffer. The noose was tied around her neck, and without waiting for last words or any comments, without the girl trying to protest, she decided that crying was enough, they hoisted her up, and she began to suffocate. She fought as her body demanded for air, since it was just natural instinct, but she fought much less than the others that the men had hung. When her legs stopped their pathetic kicking, the men began to walk away, to leave the woods and go back to their homes, to their wife and kids who would know nothing about what had happened there. When they were gone, the girl’s muscles had loosened a good amount, and she began to relieve herself. Along with all of the filth, her unborn child had slid out and hung below her, dangling by the umbilical chord that had connected the two. The frail thing resembled a human, but it was not fully grown, leaving it to seem strange, but the particulars are unimportant, since it was only in the outside world for several minutes, for it was an easy meal for the beasts in the woods. ——————————————————————————————————— Time marched forwards, and the girl had been found. The nearby town decided that it must have been a runaway, so they made sure to castrate the next one that they found, before they hung him. The man pleaded and said that he didn’t know anything about the murder of reverend James’ daughter, but they knew better than to listen to a man of his complexion. They believed themselves to be moral and good, so they dehumanized and refused to look at how barbaric their actions really were. The man had been hung on the same branch as the reverend’s daughter. Years passed, the man, the girl, and the tree had been long forgotten, until lightning had struck the large oak, causing it to combust, causing the nearby trees and brush to follow in its lead, creating a clearing when the fire had finally died down. Ash and charred bones of the forest had been left in the fire’s wake, but the oak had been able to survive, it had only been partially burned. People from the local town saw the sight and believed that the tree was a sign of good luck, it had become a spot for people to meet up, to relax, to socialize. There was some controversy when some of the towns elder’s had claimed that the luck was a sign of witchcraft, that the fire had shown that it was the devil’s work, but the reverend had checked the site, and declared that it was an act of god, not an act of the devil. Some people wondered if that was just the devil’s way of tricking people, wondered if the reverend was actually an agent of his, but these debates eventually became hard to follow, and died out soon after plants began to grow in the clearing again, making it a beautiful site. The civil war came and went, coal was found in the nearby mountains, and industry began to form. By the time world war one had passed, it had become a proper coal mining town, and a majority of the men would go off to work in the mines, making an honest living as the coal dust filled their lungs. The clearing had still been a popular spot in the town, and some couples had taken to marking it, making sure to carve in a heart with their initials inside. These couples were few, but they had all fallen madly in love with each other. World war two reared its awful head, and even though the American first sentiments had tried to let it pass by, Pearl Harbor had been attacked and the country was unable to ignore it any longer. Men from the town were drafted, so they left their hometown to fight on foreign soil, to do their duty to stop the evils of the world. After victory, after peace had finally been found, the soldiers had returned to their town to be given a hero’s greeting, and the population began to quickly rise, until ten years later when it had doubled. The new generation had taken to the mines again, but they found a new sense of comfort in the fact that the world seemed to be theirs. It felt like there was nothing that they couldn’t do, so a few left the town, and the rest mined away, proud of being Americans. The old oak and its clearing had become a park, and it continued to be a popular spot for youths to visit, only this time it was mainly visited at night, either by groups of boys who wanted to drink beer and have a good time, or couples who would park nearby and study each other’s anatomy. The few carvings in the tree had lead to a tradition among these couples, and as the years passed the tree was threatened with being consumed with these hearts, these promises of eternal love. And as time continued onwards, those couples stayed together, they never fell out of love, and people started to take noticed. It began to be known as ‘the lover’s tree’, and even became somewhat of a tourist attraction, for the ten or so visitors that the town saw each year. However, when those couples tried to begin families, they all realized that it had become an impossible task. Love had seemed to do a lot, but it wasn’t enough for any of the couples to provide any offspring, the town was plagued with miscarriages. The eighties and nineties came and went, while the population became older and older, with hardly any youths beginning to fill the town, since almost all of the towns residents had taken to carving their initials into the tree. Some of the men had died from black lung, or other such causes, and their widows had found that they were never able to move past their previous loves. Remarrying had been out of the question. Eventually the mines closed, and the aging town was left wondering what they were supposed to do, their hometown was at risk of dying out with their generation. They received few visitors, hardly anyone moved in from other towns or cities, and some of the youths that had been born had moved away. ——————————————————————————————————— A town hall meeting had begun with what was left of the wrinkled, gray, aging population. The reverend had begun the meeting, and addressed the concerned citizens, “Now, we are faced with a problem and I understand that you are all worried. Our wonderful town is at risk of becoming extinct, and when it falls the heart of the real America will die with it.” Murmurs of concern rose from the crowd. “But don’t worry, we have faced problems like this before, and we shall face them again, because our town will continue to live on. This is nothing more than hard times, but folks like us know how to overcome hard times, its in our blood, its what we do best.” A black widow (a local term for the women who had lost their husbands to black lung, and never thought of remarrying) rose from her seat and spoke up, “I think you’re right reverend. I believe that we should just keep living like we’ve already been living. There’s no reason to change, and the problem will work itself out eventually.” “Now”, said another black widow, “how is that going to work? Most of us women have already gotten to old to have children of our own anyways, and sitting on our hands won’t do a thing to bring young blood into this wonderful town of ours. And besides, even though some of us can have children, its not like that’s going to work any time soon.” “Actually”, the other retorted, “I believe that its just outrageous to believe that none of the younger women will have children. Why not stop trying? It will work itself out at some point, we just need to stick in there and we need to keep moving forwards, no matter how difficult the fight is. I love this town, and I don’t want to give up just because things seem grim. Why, there’s too much giving up in this country of ours already, and if we give in too, then we lose what makes us Americans.” “Yeah, but being blindly optimistic doesn’t help solve a problem, times change.” “You know”, said a retired miner, who had to talk slowly due to his troubles with breathing, “I think I’ve been around long enough to know that we don’t need to change, but I also know that this town will die out if we don’t do a thing to try and stop it.” “What are you trying to say?” Asked the reverend. “What I’m trying to say is that we need to move forwards by going backwards. Out town was great when the mines were open, when many of us were able to work and support ourselves, when everyone was much younger. We need to get the mines back open, so that we can make everything better again. We need to go back to the good old days.” Another retired miner spoke up, “But none of us are able to work anymore. What good is opening the mines going to do us if none of us can work.” “Well, that’s the thing, we wouldn’t be the ones working. With the mines, we could bring in young folk that need the work, that need the money, and then they will help to keep the town alive.” “Yes”, said a black widow, “that point is good and all, but why would young people want to work here? You know how they are, its all over the television, they are the worst generation ever to exist. They never did nothing good for nobody, and all they do is stare at their phones, at their computers, and they never do anything else. They’re too lazy and entitled to work hard for a living.” “Exactly!” Chimed in a retired miner with a nasty cough, “They don’t know what’s good for them, or anybody else. All they know is gender studies and computers, its all a load of crap. Would we even want them in our town?” “Yes”, a black widow agreed, “why would we even want young people in our town anyways? They’d probably become an entitled lot, even though they would be lucky to be able to live in this town of ours. I know that we deserve to have new blood in here, but nobody too young. And I hear that they’re violent.” “Yes, I’ve heard that too. Kids these days are more violent than its ever been, especially the ones from across the border, if you know what I mean.” “Of course we know what you mean, there’s stories everywhere of all of the awful things that immigrants have done.” The old, white audience murmured in agreement. “You just can’t trust them, we couldn’t afford to let them into our great town. Why, and what would happen if they did live here, and they started breeding like crazy? Would it even be the same town anymore? This is the heart of the real America, and I don’t want to sacrifice the American spirit just to keep the town alive. And we only have a slim police force, so who could protect us if they ever had one of their mass rapings here?” The crowd began to talk amongst themselves, worried about the imagined threat. “Now now”, said the reverend, “it will never come to that, so don’t worry people. We need to find real solutions though, so sitting in fear won’t do much to help our problem.” “Well”, said an ex-miner, “I feel like Howard was right, I don’t believe that we should have to change. We need to go back and reopen the mines. We need to bring in young people to work, so that they can learn what it’s like to live inside of the real world. The problem isn’t anything that we’ve been doing, our way of life has always worked fine, and it always will work fine. The problem is that the rest of the country seems to be broken. Everyone is changing for no reason, even though there was never any problem before. It’s just not right. We need to try to fix the rest of the country, or at least try to bring in some young people and help them to see how things really are, not as some bullshit degree or the lying media tells them how it is. I saw on the news that they’re trying to kill Christmas, you hear about that? They’re trying to bring muslim law into the country, they’re claiming that marriage is not just between a man and a woman, they’re trying to say that its okay for men to put on wigs and molest children, and that’s the problem. Its not us, its just that everyone seems to be so god damn-” The reverend said sternly, “Language, please! Do not use the lord’s name in vain.” “Oh, sorry father. I mean, its just that everyone is so sensitive now, its ridiculous. Everyone is worried about their feelings getting hurt, and  its become impossible to have any discussions. Or, well, that’s what I’ve heard. Its like, for some reason our once great country has decided that we white, God loving Christians, are the ones who are in the wrong. I’ve heard stories where they threaten to kill people who try to speak up, and righteously point out that the bible says that marriage is between a man and a woman, and that’s it. They refuse to arrest any minorities or women, and they’ve even gone so far as to be on the side of terrorists, just so that their feelings don’t get hurt. Do you know that its legal for a doctor to rip a baby out of a pregnant woman, only weeks before its born? Times just aren’t right, and its important that folk like us try to get together, and stand up for whats right, for what the real America is all about.” “But if everything is so backwards”, asked a black widow, “then how do we survive? How do we lure in young people without being called racist, sexist, homophopic, transphobic, or whatever dumb words that they use to try to shut down arguments? Its like what the television says, they’re just so brainwashed that you can’t even reason with them, they always just fall back onto their beliefs when presented with logic and reason or facts. Like this whole global warming hoax. Scientists don’t even agree on what the cause is, but that doesn’t stop people from buying into all of the lies about it. What are we supposed to do?” “Well”, said a miner, “I think that the answer is that its more important than ever to keep on living as we do, to keep real American values alive. Sure, we may be the persecuted few, we may be treated harshly and unfairly by the over sensitive, the entitled, the people who live in a fake reality. We need to hold on to our traditions and beliefs, we need to hold on tight. Like the lover’s tree, thats a wonderful tradition that our town has, look at all of the beautiful marriages that have come because of it. What happens if we let our town fall to the radicalism that this country is suffering from? Why, we’d lose our values, our traditions, and we’d even lose the tree itself. I bet those kids would come in here and tear the tree down, ignoring the decades of tradition that surrounds it, everything good that its brought us. And they’d do it for no reason other than to just change things anyways, that’s all they do these days, they change without paying attention to the harm that it brings about. Heck, they’d probably call it racist or something. And without that tree, why, the spirit of this town is practically dead.” “I remember”, a black widow spoke up, “when my husband and I first carved our initials into the lover’s tree, it was a magical moment. And although he died only four years later from black lung,  I will still love him more than anyone else on this planet. Why, that tree is one of the things that makes this town great, and its one of the reasons why we’re all here now. Imagine if we got rid of the tree, imagine all of the problems that we would have without it. Its always done us good, and it will continue to do so.” “Now, Ethel”, interrupted the reverend, “nobody wants to get rid of the tree. There’s no way any of us would let that happen, its one of our traditions that needs to be protected. You’re only getting upset about an imaginary scenario.” “Oh, sorry father, I just get so passionate. The world has become a terrible place, and we need to protect what’s good and pure. There’s nothing wrong with the tree, and there never will be.” The discussion in the town hall continued on for hours, but nobody was able to come up with a satisfying decision on how to keep their town alive. The only way that they could figure out how to bring new people into the town was through change, but they felt that it was too high of a cost, so they ended up going home disappointed. Individually, they tried to find answers, but time moved ahead and they couldn’t come up with any solutions. Poverty and old age made it difficult for them to stick around, especially since there had been little source of income since the mines shut down, and everyone was becoming too old to be able to work. Over time, the townsfolk either died from health complications, some of them suffering from lasting effects of their work in the mines, and many of the non-working widows started to find it near impossible to continue living on their own. Some were forced to leave the town, so that they could head somewhere where they could be supported, or even take up easy work, while others resigned themselves to their fate. As the town continued to shrink, the park once again became a common meet up spot, and the elderly townsfolk spent a lot of their time under the partial shade of the lover’s tree, reminiscing on the good old days. The tree itself was starting to die, its bark was becoming gray and hard, and the carvings were starting to wear away and fade. Some of the townsfolk made sure to re-carve their hearts, and the initials of themselves and their true loves, in order to make sure that it still survived, that their love would continue on. However, the park had become overgrown, it had become a unsightly place to stay, and the remaining ghosts of the town stopped visiting, since it was heart breaking to see what the town had been turning into. It had even become overrun with wildlife, making it dangerous to visit in the night time, when the predators would be lurking around the spot, looking for an easy meal out of any of the elderly who would sometimes wonder to the spot at night, in a fit of nostalgia. In the end it was just the reverend. He lived by himself in the rundown church, his skin loose on his body, and somewhat transparent, causing him to seem almost ghoulish. He spent the days praying, and puttering around inside of the confines of his building, only walking around in the town on occasion, since it pained him to see how desolate it had all become, but also because it pained him if he walked very far. His joints hurt often. Once a week, he would receive deliveries of food and water from members of his church, their parish in a town that was an hour away. They would always try to get him to come with them, but he couldn’t bear to leave his church, he believed that some day people would come, the town would be alive again, and he would be able to give his final sermon before joining his lord in heaven. One night, he realized that it was nearing his end, so, not knowing what to do, he wondered across the town, and ended up at the lover’s tree. In his final moments, he had etched this into the side: The lover’s tree, a testament to the importance of tradition. May it live long after we do.

[graunblida]

the muse as the zodiac signs.

rules: bold what applies to your muse. italicize what applies sometimes.

credit.

aries.     bonfires, competitiveness, hand veins, loud laughs, messy hair, sneaking out at 2AM, abandoned beaches, stray dogs, candle lights, body language, creaking floorboards, ouija boards, having no regrets, karaoke nights out.

taurus.     house plants, oversized sweaters, soft hands, fuzzy socks, visiting big cities, snoozing your alarm clock, the colour yellow, vanilla scented candles, aloe vera, fruit smoothies, baking cookies, the mom friend, loves the ukulele.

gemini.     femme fatale movies, in love with female villains, sharp eyeliner, quick-witted, does things out of spite, do no harm but take no shit, in love with dogs, probably cries during sad movies but won’t admit it, easily excited, ripped jeans.

cancer.     mermaids, easily infatuated by love, smelling flowers, picnics in open fields, gets sad when thinking about the past, impressed easily, daydreaming in class, plucking fresh fruit, loves skirts and fashion, would die for their friends.

leo.     confident in what they do, kill them with kindness, high ponytails, probably wants to visit paris once, not afraid to tell the truth, in love with cute animals, the one to lift others up, good at teamwork, the warm feeling of summer, dragons.

virgo.      pastel markers, the smell of lavender, has a welcoming vibe around them, actually organized, scrunchies, neat notes, loves going to museums, probably into photography, neutral colours, handwritten letters, stardust.

libra.     soft blankets, cuddling the ones you love, always standing up for your friends, hopeless romantic, can be very distant, can be a little dramatic, pretty hair, dresses nicely, tries to be popular on social media, optimistic, humorous.

scorpio.     cottages in the woods, in love with greek mythology, vintage t-shirts, really emotional but doesn’t want anyone to know, determined, moonlight, pretty handwriting, into the retro aesthetic, rainy days, doesn’t judge people, cats.

sagittarius.     always ready for an adventure, street smart, wants to travel the world someday, doesn’t easily trust people, alcohol, paintbrushes, can’t sit still, untied shoelaces, tangled up earphones, blasting music at midnight, eye-gazing.

capricorn.     cold aura, coffee is what keeps them going, probably haven’t slept in two days, actually a big softie, high-waisted jeans, cute pet videos, small apartments, has too many notebooks, often goes to the library, writing essays.

aquarius.      loves to paint and do any kind of art, wants to live at the seaside, knows a lot of random facts, shares food, messy notes, bullshits an entire essay, graffiti, has their own distinct style, wants to live their life like they want to.

pisces.     old teddy bears, unsent love letters, mom-jeans, loves to sing, feels at home by the ocean, writes poetry, hard-workers, always up for deep conversations, probably did the stupid thing, open curtains, a soft breeze.

tagged by: @hiddensteel ! tagging: @wxldchxld, @hersilver, @conniidel, @savagc, @seilas, @shesdaylight, @lghtpulled, @bokketo (muse roulette!) @sithdestined​, @percentstardust​ (muse roulette!) and whoever else wants to! 

[graunblida]

what kinda physical touch would just absolutely destroy u rn

kisses.    but not like on the mouth. like if you got kissed on the wrist or the hand or the forehead or the nose or the palm or the cheek or the top of the head or anywhere that isn't the mouth you'd fucking explode. this is unfortunate but you'd die happy.

tagged by: @hiddensteel​ <3  tagging: all y’all! (whoever wants to) 

[graunblida]

incorrect heda-isms: metal band verse edition ( feat @TRIKRU )

[graunblida]

what is your darkest desire?

TO GIVE IN

darkness takes beautiful forms in the human body. whatever's been holding you back from it, you're ready to surrender. you watch the moonlight shapeshift on the flooded earth, and think you might be lonelier than your mother. you've always been afraid of screaming, but you do it now, louder and louder until your throat bleeds, but no matter the pain, you're never turning back. (don't make deals you're not prepared to die for)

tagged by: @percentstardust <3 tagging: @hiddensteel, @wxldchxld, @herescues, @hersilver, @runaljod​, @lyonkept​ and whoever else wants to! 

[graunblida]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑   𝐃𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒   𝐎𝐅   𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐊   𝐌𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘   :

bold   what   applies   . italicize   what   somewhat   applies .   tag   some friends   to   play   along   !   repost ,   don’t   reblog .

𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒  :   scornful jealousy  •  pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-colored glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie  • milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous

𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄   :   prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings  

𝐏𝐀𝐍  :   enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire  • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry

𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒  :   angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words

𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒  :   serene demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxation is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry-eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory-based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes  

𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒  :   life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers • feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always travelling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person  

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃   𝐁𝐘   :   @hiddensteel <3  𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆   :   @wxldchxld, @bokketo (for nat and/or clint) , @stormbcrn, @conniidel, @hopegained, @battletook (silas and/or stefan), @prettybite​ @fifthbornforrester​ and whoever else wants to! 

[graunblida]

WHICH OBSCURE LOVE LANGUAGE ARE YOU?

sharing a blunt <3.     to be in love is to be so enraptured with someone that time doesn't matter anymore. if you could live an in-between life with your lover, you would. you want to spend all the time that you have with the person you love. you take your time, and that's okay. you know when you're in love because you're suddenly so comfortable around that special person.

tagged by: @hiddensteel​ <3 tagging: @wxldchxld​, @bokketo​ (for nat and/or clint), @stormbcrn​, @natshana​, @conniidel​, @adptations​ (for echo! ), @bloodiyr, @fifthbornforrester​ and whoever else wants to! 

[graunblida]

NEGATIVE  TRAITS  OF  THE  ZODIAC  SIGNS .

𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺.         tries to do everything at once. doesn’t know when to stop & take care of themselves.   bends over backwards for everyone even if someone did them dirty.   has entirely too much on their plate. over-assertive. both insensitive and oversensitive.

𝑻𝑨𝑼𝑹𝑼𝑺.  idealistic. spends a lot of time trying to impress others.  doesn’t like to apologize.   eating is a coping mechanism or just addictive personalities in general.   a tad co—dependent.

𝑮𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑰.          the most flip—floppy people ever.     what’s today’s mood?     never apologizes.   in denial 90% of the time.   their way or the highway.  desperately needs a break.    has a hard time setting goals because their goals scare them.

𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑹.          the literal meaning of  ‘i’ll give you the shirt off my back’.  isolates themselves in fear of someone hurting them.   wants to change but is scared of change.     complains a lot but never takes the advice people give them.

𝑳𝑬𝑶.         no one takes them seriously because they feel they always have to portray themselves as the fun one.   is actually really sad inside.     honestly needs a hug.     always exhausted.  a crackhead.

𝑽𝑰𝑹𝑮𝑶.          can dish it but can’t take it.     rushes everything.    anxious.     plans their future but forgets to live in the moment.   sometimes ignores their friends because they have so much on their mind.     talks about themselves a lot & sometimes forgets to ask the other person how they are.

𝑳𝑰𝑩𝑹𝑨.          solves everyone’s problems but their own.     is actually really sad & lonely.   gets easily heartbroken but tries not to show it.   will do anything to justify bad decisions.  honestly just wants everyone to love them but doesn’t really love themselves.

𝑺𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑷𝑰𝑶.         easily set off.     will give anyone the cold shoulder at any given time even without reason. keeps a lot in.   so observant that they often times find out things that hurt them.   too many  ‘what ifs’  swirling in their head.  has trouble showing their true self.

𝑺𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑼𝑺. impatient.   brash.  commitment issues.     body issues.     doesn’t realize they don’t need to change for anyone.    has a lot of different goals to a point where they get overwhelmed.    just wants to disappear & do what they want without anyone questioning them.

𝑪𝑨𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑵. scared people won’t like them unless they’re at the top of their game 24/7.  it takes a lot for them to talk about their feelings. secretly struggling.     fake happy.     needs a plan but doesn’t know what that plan is.   confident but insecure at the same time.    wants to be stable but sometimes wishes they could drop everyone’s expectations of them & live normally.

𝑨𝑸𝑼𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑼𝑺.         gets heartbroken like 30 times a week.   trust issues.   can be unmotivated & disinterested.    feels they have to adapt to every person they meet so they can be liked.   doesn’t know how to tap into their emotions despite being very intuitive.  confused.   expects little.

𝑷𝑰𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑺.          empathetic,  often to a point of no return.     plays the victim.     doesn’t know when to say no.     cynical. hermit.     is very impatient.    trusts everyone too much.     can be secretly very critical & judgmental.    can only tolerate maybe ten minutes of social interaction.     needs a lot of validation.

tagged by: @natshana <3  tagging: @wxldchxld, @conniidel, @hopegained, @hiddensteel, @stormbcrn, @bloodiyr, @fifthbornforrester, @bokketo (for nat and/or clint!) and whomstever wants to!

[graunblida]

WHICH RAGE LANGUAGE ARE YOU ?

men, raise the drawbridge ––

when you're angry, all your defenses go up. the unfortunate person or thing that managed to piss you off is suddenly talking to a wall. On the inside, you're screaming and crying and cussing them out, but somehow you can't express it. you're blank. emotionless. to anyone's knowledge, you could be zoning out of a lecture. because of this, it's hard to express how you're feeling when the person asks for your thoughts. you've choked your feelings down, and they won't come back up.

TAGGED : @stormbcrn​ TAGGING : @wxldchxld, @bokketo (nat and clint!) , @bloodiyr, @azticha​, @paestiche​ (silas and stefan), @fifthbornforrester​, @conniidel​ , and whoever else wants to! 

[graunblida]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓 ――   Repost, don’t reblog; tagged by: @alderheir thank you! tagging: @wxldchxld, @hiddensteel, @sithdestined​, @stormbcrn, @seilas​, @savagc​, and whoever else wants to! 

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ――

Full name.  leksa kom trikru (lexa kwinn trygstad -- modern verses)  Nicknames.   lex, natblida, joka (anya alone gets away with this) lexie (only if you want d e a t h )  Size. five foot ,seven inches. Age. early twenties, verse dependent. Zodiac. sagittarius. Spoken languages. trigedasleng, english ( verse dependent) 

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 ――

Hair colour. dark brown.   Eye colour.  green. Skin tone.  fair. Body type.  slim but muscular, athletic. Voice.  ranges between alto and soprano. Dominant hand.   right handed.   Posture.   well maintained.  Scars. faint marks here and there from previous battles/fights.  Tattoos. back, back of neck, right bicep, chest (verse dependent). Birthmarks. none. Most noticeable features.  eyes, intricate braids, jawline, armor, helm of the commander. 

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 ――

Place of birth.  sector seven, earth. Hometown. trikru village (main), suburbs near richmond, va (modern). Siblings. tris kom trikru. Parents. aerin kom trikru & iorek kom trikru ( both deceased).

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ――

Occupation.  heda of the twelve clans (main verse). Current residence(s). polis (verse dependent). Close friends. niylah kom trikru, gaia kom trikru, luna kom floukru, linkon kom trikru (verse dependent). Relationship status.   in love with her misery verse dependent. Financial status.  i mean...the tower has some holes...(verse dependent). Driver’s license. verse dependent.  Criminal record. verse dependent.  Vices. pretty women and alcohol. 

𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ――

Sexual orientation. lesbian. Preferred emotional role.   emotions? what are thooose?  Preferred sexual role. switch. Libido.  medium to high. Turn-ons. compassion, confidence, danger, assertiveness. Turn-offs.  lack of respect/boundaries, disingenuous behavior. Love language. physical touch, time spent together, acts of service. Relationship tendencies.   protective, affectionate (after some time), giving. 

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 ――

Character’s theme song. breaking the mirror -- fit for a king. Hobbies to pass time.   collecting knives, horseback riding, archery, training, hiking, reading.  Mental illnesses.  depression and survivor’s guilt.  Left or right-brained.  left.  Phobias. failure, indefinite isolation.   Self-confidence level.  medium to high.

[graunblida]

𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐂   𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

                           since  it’s  currently  the  olympics  in  tokyo,   i  figured  we  could  all  play  a  little  game.  for  multis,  pick  five  muses  &  which  olympic  events  they  would  compete  in,   for  single  muses,  pick  three  olympic  events  your  muse  would  compete  in.  feel  free  to  add  how  you  think  they’d  do!

LEKSA KOM TRIKRU  ( top three olympic events ):

1 )   FENCING.    are we really surprised? come on, lexa is sword girl. she is exceptional with a blade and would take up this hobby in modern verses as well. anything strategic or tactical is an activity lexa would be highly interested in. speed and timing are used to her advantage in combination with her size and build. she would probably use a mix of traditional fencing technique as well as her own unique style. 

2 )   RUGBY.    i just feel like this is the sport for sapphics lol. just about every rugby match i’ve witnessed looks like a battle on the field. powerful, athletic players are needed for a team to be successful. there’s a lot of quick thinking involved and one can go from offensive to defensive maneuvers in a blink of an eye. plus it’s a contact sport with lots of running and tackling. she’s in ( i also have some close friends who do rugby and they are my rockstar inspirations ). 

3 )   JUDO AND/OR KARATE.    hand to hand combat is also lexa’s jam. judo centers around take downs and using opponents’ movements/wrong steps to secure a victory. the grappling and throwing techniques in judo would translate to lexa’s fighting style in both canon and modern verses. i added karate as part of this event because performing katas is also something i can see her doing. memorization and good hand-eye coordination are some of her many talents. 

tagged by: @hiddensteel thanks friend <3  tagging: @bokketo (for nat or clint!), @bloodiyr, @wxldchxld ( i wanna see bearck compete), @natshana, @aigonakru (for whomstever you like), @sithdestined (maybe not beach volleyball lol), @conniidel, @alorir, @lghtpulled​, @hopegained (sadness isn’t a sport erron ) and whoever else wants to! 

[graunblida]

WHAT POPULAR COWBOY ARCHETYPE ARE YOU?

THE COLD OUTLAW you do what's best for you, and you alone. you hope it comes across that anyone you associate with is merely a pawn in your game. because of this you're a 'tweener when it comes to what's considered "good" or "bad". your past definitely involves an early exposure to how cruel the world can be and gave you the survival mentality... you're not quite bloodthirsty but you're not scared of it either. deep down you could use a hug or something though. once someone earns your trust (which takes a long time) they'll find you the most loyal person they've ever met, and that just maybe you've got a little heart deep down.

Tagged stolen from: @runaljod​ Tagging: all y’all (whoever wants to lol)

[graunblida]

what chess piece represents you?

THE WHITE QUEEN

You are the White Queen. The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board, meaning you are strong in some aspect of your life. Physically, emotionally, mentally, one of these is your strong suit. The queen can move anywhere she wishes upon the board, meaning you have your hands full with all the different tasks and choices in your life. Just be careful not to overwhelm yourself. For all your poise and status, your position will surely crumble under the weight of your pride.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘. @hiddensteel 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆. @wxldchxld, @stormbcrn, @conniidel, @seilas, @bokketo ( for nat and clint), @hersilver , @bloodiyr​ , @savagc​  (for whomstever bb) and whoever else wants to! 

[graunblida]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 ; 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

bold what applies, italic what sometimes applies and strike what never applies feel free to add on! [source] | Do not reblog! Only repost

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬.

being unable to stop smiling. laughter. bear hugs. happy tears. waving arms around. dancing. contently sighing. eyes twinkling. laugh lines.childlike playfulness. skipping. talking more. affection. cracking more jokes than usual. gesturing more when talking. higher pitched voice. squealing. jumping around. clapping. ( when she IS happy. keyword lol ) 

𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬.

tearing up. self-hugging. one-arm cross. an aching chest. scratchy throat. a runny nose. turning away. deep breaths. quivery smiles. crying. infantile sobbing. hands gripping each other or an object. covering mouth. puffy eyes. eyes appear red. running makeup. voice breaking. a distant or empty stare. monotone voice. asking for comfort. faking a smile. crumbling. shaking. whimpering. depression. abusing an unhealthy habit. withdrawing from others. big teary eyes. doing something even if it could hurt them.

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.

furrowed brows. baring teeth. passive-aggressive comments. sarcasm. headache. sore muscles. hiding clenched fists. irritability. jumping to conclusions. raising voice. going silent. demanding immediate action. keeping it all in until exploding. body tensing. making risky decisions. middle finger.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫.

wanting to flee or hide. what-ifs.images of what-could-be flashing in mind. uncontrollable trembling. rapid breathing. screaming. a skewed sense of time. irritability. keeping silent. denying fear. turning away from the cause. pretending to be brave. nail-biting. lip-biting. scratching skin. a joking tone but a voice that cracks. fainting. insomnia. panic attacks. exhaustion. substance abuse. tics. rushing adrenaline. face draining of colour. hair lifting on the back of the neck. feeling rooted to the spot. making body as small as possible. staring but not seeing. crying. a shrill voice. whispering. gripping something or someone. stuttering. flinching at noises. pleading.

𝐄𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

constantly yawning. blurring words together. dark circles or lines under eyes. mood swings. hallucinations. calling people by the wrong name. dizziness. denying they’re tired. slow blinking. trouble concentrating. stumbling. leaning on a doorframe for support. sluggish movements. falling asleep someplace that isn’t a bed. becoming irritated by the smallest things. “i’m awake, i’m fine.”. shaking so bad they spill their drink. fall asleep in their clothes. lay their head on the table because they’re so tired. passing out.

tagged  by  :  @conniidel tagging  :  @wxldchxld, @bokketo (for whomstever!) @hopegained, @sithdestined, @bloodiyr, @aigonakru ( for whomstever!) , @paestiche​ (for whomstever! ) and anyone else who wants to!