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w-sincerity · 3 years

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hardships

Not going to lie to you, what is the point? I have a really hard week, like really hard, there has been some sunny moments but everything just seems really loud right now. I don’t know what to do, I can’t do anything right and I am constantly disappointing someone no matter what I do. I can’t do right by me, or my mom, or my sister, I can’t do right by anyone, there is always apart of me that is not enough and maybe I need to accept that and just live with it. Two and a half nights ago, 48 hours, or something close, the time to find a new place to live was beginning to close in and suffocate me. With the weight of the stress beginning to engulf my beloved mom, I stepped up to help her with finding a lease to sign into for the first time, maybe i wasn’t ready for it and it could’ve been a distraction to silence my screaming disordered brain. I still pushed on, 12,300 classified adds on craigslist. I combed the whole city, with Shaun’s job falling onto the ground and shattering into a million tiny irreparable pieces. We worked together for the first time in a while, it felt so sweet to feel valued again even if it didn’t last with the Saturday crashing in like a ton of bricks. Screaming, hopelessness, a man pulling out his hair in the passenger seat in front of me. In his rage, his shame, to hurt my mom, he claimed I should just kill myself then, Lorrie. Those words hit by like a semi-truck going 150kms, when I thought I was stronger than this, I was brought to tears by a man who isn’t with us anymore. 3 years and 4 months, he’s moved on, but it still bites like the cold wind in mid December. I fought my tears for Joonhyung, but without fail they still came, the idea of him couldn’t leave my mind for the next 30 minutes. I told myself over and over again that i was, and I am fucking stronger than this. This will be my time, I am not going there with him again. I am staying right where I am because IT IS my choice who I choose to fuck with, who I choose to live this life with, I am to live it peacefully and not give a shit. He will be there for me and if it makes me feel alive, fuck the rest. We parked on the side of the crowded street but nostalgic just outside of downtown, I lived there before when I was young, foolish younger, I had just met my ex lover, Luan, the memories of our first moments were mingling on the streets. It was bitter sweet as it was around the time when some of my closest friends were going to part ways until recently. (We said we would never grow up. Here we are.) It was not the place to look for a fresh start, still, I held my cellphone to ear, setting up a viewing for a laneway suite a couple blocks away from my hold house. A young, undeveloped, green flower bud fall down onto the windshield of my car covered with raindrops, in this small, almost meaningless moment, everything felt real, the good, the evil, my muse and my vice all appeared in my subconscious. It was only an hour and a half but it went by fast, three different houses spread out across the city, all too small, run down, or unsafe. The stress of managing the pressure of finding my family an inexpensive and suitable place to have a fresh start was engulfing me, along with the pressure of not aggravating my beloved sister’s anxiety disorder felt heavy on my already weak shoulders. One final suite to view, we arrived early, my exhaustion was worsening as I hadn’t slept more than 3 hours the night before. The suite worked out, our new landlord wanted to sign for a year lease right away. Something I haven’t had since I was a child, a stable place to love, a year lease, my own furniture. All these small things overwhelmed me, It’s working out, piece by piece, little by little, still the stormy seas of my mind crash upon the shore. I am fighting, baby. I am fighting everyday. But, never the less, something felt off with her, I couldn’t my finger on it, i felt the resent building. I kept my smile on because, I truly wanted to feel the joy behind it for a just a moment. I walked the familiar sidewalk to our favourite cafe, I laughed, made jokes as if I was fine, I was, feeling like I was worth something was a feeling I have craved for so long. I returned to my car with my family’s drinks, upon getting in the car I was greeted by noisy but pleasant conversation. I sighed, I wanted to be alone, all alone. She tapped on the lid of her plastic cup, smiling falsely at me with contempt. The resentment in her eyes was burning a whole in my chest. I don’t eat or drink when someone is speaking to me explicitly, especially these days. The demon inside me was starting to stir again, it’s claws scraping at the inside of my skin, my heart and soul beginning to become stone cold with unbearable pain. Still, I smiled through my overwhelmed, my mind was twitching as if I was about to burst at the seams. We continued on for the next 10 minutes as usual, the black hole of my aching heart beginning to become heavier and drop to the centre of my being. I had to know, I had to know how I was failing, how I wasn’t enough, enough for anyone, or anything, I had to ask, so I did. ‘What’s wrong, sweetie? Have I done something wrong?’. ‘Yeah, actually, I just feel resistance, like you don’t want to eat with me. It feels like how it did back in Mexico.’ A place I never want to return, a personal endless hell that took everything from me, it stripped me naked, brought me to my knees. My lungs filled with cement in that hell, I couldn’t scream for help. A hell that almost killed me, turning me as frozen, and lifeless as the walking dead. Those words trigger the deepest need to flee like a child, I can’t describe how profoundly the agony pierces my soul. My heart fell out of my chest dropping to the concrete floor and shattering into a dust on the intense impact, the breathe sucking out of my lungs as if the air was drained completely of oxygen, the cold, sharp, burning pain was unbearable. I couldn’t take it, I am worthless, I have failed everyone, I am nothing but a burden, a lifeless, dead corpse to drag around behind them all, a pitiful excuse for a daughter, a selfish, stupid, bitch, I mean nothing to anyone, everything I worked for is meaningless if she can so carelessly speak to me as if i don’t fight everyday for my next breath. She smiled falsely once again, shoving the blade deeper into my shattered heart. I started to cry like the weak bitch I am, further humiliating myself and sinking deeper into despair. As if to try to fix things, I took a sip of my drink, the sugar rotting my already decayed teeth. My stomach clenching in complete disgust, I cried, she looked at me with contempt as if i was faking all of this for attention when all I want is to disappear forever. I couldn’t take it, I spit out my sugary saliva in my hand and shamefully wiped it on my blue jeans. I heavily weeped, the sighs of their disapproval and disappointment filling my ears, go away!!!! go away!!! she took of her drink, after spitting the boba pearls out in her hand, she looked at me with contempt, as almost laughing, she was amused by my suffering, her gaze throwing my already heart onto the concrete once again. ‘that’s what you did with yours right?” Her voice was laced with manipulation. As I write this, the pain is so fucking unbearable, help me. The slight smirk drawn across her lips pushed me across that very thin line, I broke down, it hurt like never before, my world spinning and going dark around me. Like the weak bitch I am, I buckled forwards into my seat, weeping from the deepest depths of my soul. Their judging eyes watching my every move, ‘what’s wrong with her?’ ‘what’s the problem? I can’t do this shit right now.’ ‘why can’t you just go back to the way you were, jesus christ! cmon!’ Through my tears I reached forwards for my mom, grasping onto the back of her jacket, I desperately weeped ‘please, please make it stop hurting, please make it stop hurting, i cant take it anymore, please make it stop hurting.’ She kicked everyone out of the car. I crumbled in her arms, I couldn’t let go, i needed something, someone, anyone, before the crippling loneliness consumes me entirely. The rest of the night kicked the shit out of me, the contempt, the judgement, the rage as if every little thing in the world was my fault when I try everyday. Ducted taped and nailed together, I push my way through each day so she and my mom can smile. I stared at the ceiling for hours last night, recounting every minute of the hours before. The walls of my sorry excuse for a life closing in around me, when each breath stings, there is no way out. Still, I must be stronger even if I can’t take it anymore, I must endure another day, over and over again.

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scrawlacrossthewall · 6 years

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Tera sat, her stomach hung over the table top, clutching the soiled bandages in the palm of her hand and squeezing until a pasty white gleam crept over the skin wrapping her knuckles. He knees were bent, with all of her weight sitting forward on the balls of her feet. She could feel the firm hammering of her heart in her chest, and let her thoughts flicker to the warm streaks of tears dragging slender paths of white in the silt and ash that caked her face. Her brain, starved in the grip of exhaustion, could think only of how grateful she felt for the thick and smooth smear of heat that her tears graced her with, and prayed breathlessly for them to continue; anything that would keep her skin braced and guarded from the piercing maw of December night. The room she had barreled into was a far shot from “shelter”. The table she was hunched over had been nailed together from rotted wood and left to decompose in the torrent of snow. The concrete walls around her were barren and adorned with deep, charcoal colored scorches across their surface. The corner of the ceiling above her was completely vacant, having been blasted away by an artillery shell, leaving a gaping hole to night sky churning with a thick blanket of pale, grey sleet and sticky snow. She felt the wet, sharp prick of snowfall dig into her neck and felt her body fall tense. She pushed herself from the table and staggered backward, huddling into a corner of the room shrouded from the fall of sleet from an actual concrete ceiling. She looked to her hands, coated in brown, dried blood, and whipped the balled clumps of bandage across the room. She felt bile rise in her throat and stood to her feet, propped in the corner. She felt her stomach curdle in disgust, and her eyelids sealed as she dug her fingertips into two tight fists. The images she’d just bore witness to; the wall of muzzle flash erupting from the darkness and the slew of men and women being sliced apart by steaming lead hurtled from military-issue assault rifles… There wasn’t a heavenly home on the continent that could keep her safe from that horrid visual. The crackle of gun fire and moans, the gurgle of crimson bubbling form the mouths of fallen rebels… She felt the muscles in her throat yield and as her body threw itself into a hulking crouch, the thick torrent of sick poured past her lips. Her ribcage contracted, and she could feel her a dull tinge of warm soreness constrict her midriff as she retched. The plushy tissues of her throat began to lather in scolding pain, and the thin and acidic chicken broth she’d been slipping past her gullet tore into her juggular like the claws of a caged animal; punishing its master for her negligence. It took minuets of her frame being shaken by muscular tension and the bellowing between her expulsions of sick, but she eventually fell backward against the wall in exhaustion. She tipped her head upward, her eyes still closed, and drew her thumb along her bottom lip to collect a glob of vomit clinging to her mouth. Suddenly, her muscles contracted again, and she fell still under the guise of instinctual vigilance. “I wont be calling you the picture of perfect health anytime soon, huh?” She was struck with a peircing bullet of panic as she scrabled for her pistol holstered to her ribcage. She felt her fingers clasp it’s cold steel and opened her eyes. Him. “Sorry. I guess I beat you to it.” He was standing nearly 4 feet infront of her huddle in the corner, right hand outstretched, clasping one of his pistols and holding it’s sight steady pressed to her sternum. His sneakers were planted firmly, shoulder lenght apart, but were caked with silt and a crusted layer of mud. The soil had even reached to splatter the front side of his blue jeans, leaving his calf to brandishing thick streaks of it. He shuffled, holding the pistol steady and adjusting himself beneath his RAF jacket, the crests of its leather bustling with wool. His face was absolutely coated in dirt. It entirely encompased the left side, however, the right had retianed its pale tint, and she could see his cunning grin cocked in full point. His hair, however, was plastered upwards completely, a startling difference from its usual carfeully disheveled side-part. It was bizarre how after all she’d seen in the fleeting momments of escape from the soldiers, she was left to be faced with him. In just days, she’d slipped through the cracks of the AEC’s barricade around Jefferson. She’d escaped the massacre, she’d escaped the disease, she’d escaped the malice, and the famine, and even bore the brunt of Mother Nature as she trudged through the blizzard all night to find herself here, but still, she’d been powerless against fate. But in spite of all of the dangers, the single remaining catalyst was none other than the first Target. The Prey. How? She spat, grimicing into his dim, grey eyes, but feeling a stir she hadnt expected. Some inkling of light in the back of her concious as she examined the tarnished steel thay would surely be pumping holes into her the fibers of her tender, brittle skill. And all that it could be, or least the only sense she could make of the feeling, was that she was finally ready to see death. She let her eyelids clasp and breathed a heavy sigh, before silently confirming to herself that this was, in fact the end. Several moments passed before she realized that nothing had happened. No ceremonious flash of blinding light, or tongue-in-cheek remark to fall on her ears before the deifying thump of his weapon firing. Just stale, awkward silence amongst the hum of winter winds blending a thick blanket of snow into the ground around the two of them. “Are you going to do it?” She spat. “Do what?” She opened her eyes and cast a disgusted look into his face, still caked with earth. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She could see now that the wry grin on his face had now eroded into a feeble smirk of amused confusion. “I mean.. I don’t, but if it makes you feel better, I can act like I do.” “Stop playing fucking games!” She yelped, throwing her fists into the ground furiously. “You followed me all the way here after that massacre, just to watch me throw up and then throw a gun in my face for fun?! No!” She threw the words from her lips with sickening discourse. Finally, she breathed and wiped the dirt from the corners of her mouth. “You win. Congratulations. I don’t know if you’re just lucky, or I don’t have the skill, or what, but you win. I’m done chasing you people around. So if you’re going to take you shot, than take your fucking shot.” She finally gasped. Some time passed as they sat in an awkward air of contentment, Tera in her own words and the boy standing before her in plain confusion. Eventually, he let his arm fall and his pistol flatted firmly against his leg. “You know the whole “gunpoint” thing was just a formality. I was just expecting some banter, you know, ‘cops and robbers’ kind of thing.” “Yeah, well.” She simply looked away, too exhausted to heed the feeble cry’s of her better judgement and brandish her own weapon. “Look, I Uh.. I saw what happened in Jefferson, and I heard that you might have been involved. For what it’s worth, which I am sure isn’t much seeing as you’ve spent like, half a year trying to arrest me for Ration Cards, I’m glad you’re not dead.” She looked up to see him pawing the mud away from his left eye, attempting to do away with the thick, pewter coating of Earth. “And I brought you this, because I figured you might need it.” She watched him dig into the breast of the RAF flight coat and procure a small, leather purse that was colored red with a large, cream colored cross adored on its face. He let it fall to the floor and hesitantly kicked it across the concrete where it gently nudged against her knee. She looked up at him, and could discern his lips pressing into a concerned whimper. Slowly, she reached for the leather satchel and drew its flaps open, revealing a thick band of Ration Cards, various pill bottles and vials of medical fluid all jammed together to give the packet it’s thick and bloated stature. “Where did you get all of this?” “Oh, you know. Half of the year spent tearing across the continent while you’ve been Uh... for lack of a better term, hunting us has been good for business, I have to admit.” He slouched in his stance and let his free hand scratch the back of his head uncomfortably. She watched him, simply befuddled with this random act of what appeared to be kindness, or at least attempted peace. She thumbed through the bags contents once more as she struggled to find the appropriate reaction. Finally, she conceded. “I don’t know what to say, I-“ “Well, I mean, none of it is poison or anything. I promise you that. And if there were, there’s enough cash in there for you to pay someone to pump your stomach. Or at least punch you hard enough to make you spew.” He chuckled, letting his own irrelevant laughter cushion the irritating tear of direness felt in the exchange. “I just... why?” He suddenly felt a tinge of warmth. Some inkling of light in the back of his conscious as he examined the flickering pools of turquoise making up her pupil. He smiled, and for the first time in awhile, felt his chest fill with the sort of feeling that seemed to befall him upon seeing the shimmering glow of Capitol City illuminated in the night sky. “It’s just the right thing to do.” He said, watching her nod as her head tipped down pulled herself to stand on trembling knees. She wiped the dirt from her pants and sighed again, feeling her senses pull her back from the moment of bizarre comfort she had just felt herself fall into. The reality of this situation had become a clear eventuality now, and she was reminded that standing before her was the same person that She and Toric has chased across the country from the Metro district. As if her instincts had been whispering in his ear, Keith sighed and let his coy, boyish grin return to his face before raising the weapon lazily again. Business as usual. “Well, as fun as this has been, i’m gonna have to kick it. After all, these chance meetings we’ve been having really spice up my normal day-to-day, so it’s probably best we keep them... unpredictable, eh?” She simply shook her head, fighting the urge to let her lips contort to even the slightest smirk. “Whatever you say, Sommers.” “That’s what I like to hear.” He jeered, slowly stepping backwards in his lazy combat stance. As he turned to exit the barricade, Tera say him halt apprehensively. Without turning to face her, he called out solemnly. “So, your with the Revolution now?” She paused, stunned by the evident concern in his voice. “No.” She murmured. “Just got caught up in the gunfight.” She heard him sigh briefly, almost in relief. “Good.” He sneered, retaining his standard humorous tinge of speaking. “I’d hate to see you in anything but one piece.” With his final words, he turned his shoulder and his figure darted out into the snow, only to be enveloped in its thickness. She felt her skin prick sharply as her cracked and chapped lips finally settled into a warm, exhausted smile.

#my writing #short story #one day for a novel #fiction #alternate history #dystopian #Keith Sommers #Tera Patrick #American Executive Corps #“it’s just the right thing to do.”

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efimerc-moved · 6 years

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🗣+ deoksu and hayeong

MEME / @synrgetic / NOT ACCEPTING.

a beautiful breath of wind, twined between the branches of spring leaves, caught within its own symphonic whistles down the vine. it’s how he remembered her voice, sweet memories of dulcet whispers locked within the darkest corner of his conscious by a lost key: thin and elegant.

her mouth ( pouted lips the same hue of sunset coral streaking through the clouds, a shade that was once effervescent on his pale flesh ) enunciates in much the same way it used to, but words fall on deaf ears — white noise, crackling over thousands of frequencies deoksu never knew existed.

“i graduated last december, but i didn’t even think about taking a break because…”

flames burn in hayeong’s eyes, a turquoise blaze of zeal lost at sea; he doesn’t remember the depth of her ocean, just that he could never reach the bottom, fingers grasping at smoldering surfaces to no avail. deoksu searches for the kindle of his own fire, bone crushed over bone as he breaks through another bite of overcooked rice. unlit embers without traction; nothing more than year-old soot.

and her lone conversation continues, as though she doesn’t notice the stare on the dramatized movements of her chopsticks, how they obscure portions as though he wouldn’t take note, and— not twice, not once, does she find an amicable scrap of meat on the multitude of plates before them.

“do you eat?”

though deoksu’s questions are a string held taut by the necrotized fingers of a lover scorned, what pierces through a glass sternum and the paper heart beneath is the arrow crafted from blanketed abhorrence. those flames— they die in plain sight, until she places her chopsticks on the napkin beside her plate, sweetly delicate hands folding into each other.

( smooth, like the felicitous descent of the afternoon sun, the pads of each finger lingering on his skin, as though he was a stubborn thorn she could never pull out. )

the decorative rings on her left hand vanish, but there’s a diamond past the first knuckle of the index on her right hand and it catches the light with the slightest movement of her shoulders — creates a granulated twinkle in his eyes that feigns consideration, uncharacteristic. he knows where it started but doesn’t think about how it’ll end; culpability lost its definition before his heart forgot how to beat and he lost faith in the world as it stands before him.

“of course i do,” hayeong mumbles.

( guilty. dirtily so. )

“you look skinnier,” deoksu counters.

caught by the hunter’s headlights but trapped by his immeasurable wit, doe eyes search for their reflection within the restaurant window, washed out by the blinking neon lights and irrationality of itaewon’s quietest off-center strip. who stares back at her, razor-edged features distorted ( fat, fat, fat ) by a trick of the light, doesn’t resemble the hayeong that stepped through the door.

“we’re not here to talk about my weight.” but her voice wavers as though it’s become the very breeze he remembers, falling through musty tension without poise to speak of.

a reason why she thought it would be worth it — staring into the very eyes that wish to swallow her whole, listening to the maelstrom of a voice that broke more promises than it kept and, worst of all, being with him under the cover of a weekday evening because there was too much shame attached to what they used to be and not even the sun itself was permitted to whisper behind her back:

closure. reconciliation. something. anything.

“right,” said as he reaches across the table for the cutlets ( medium-rare, a little chewy, because neither of them bore the patience and expertise required to cook with ease ) on her cluttered, yet equally undisturbed, plate, “what do we have to talk about then?”

he cocks his head, damaged strands of splotched black barely touching the bridge of his nose, chopsticks held between the middle and ring finger of his right hand as he shovels another spoonful of rice into his mouth. hayeong’s knuckles, dusted a gentle rouge, fade into the rancid ivory reminiscent of her mother’s collection of fine china, and she bites into the inside of her cheek, tasting raw iron on the breadth of her tongue.

( more so than she would want to taste anything else, he assumes. )

a muffled hum, questioning in nature, throws the copper ring of sharpened spurs into the spaces between her ribs, and it bothers her — that brazen nonchalance.

“you cut me off.” he lights a separate flame at the back of her throat with rusted coal and gruff hands, venom derived from two-thirds contempt laced between the syllables jumping to an untimely death from the tip of her tongue. “then you just... you disappeared. no one knew where you went.” she softens, foolish. “the only reason i got back in touch with you is because gajeong—”

deoksu stares.

bright crimson flashes through narrowed eyes like a fragmentary omen blinking from the distant end to a winded tunnel, beckoning for her with a hand outstretched across the darkness. hayeong, vision covered by the treacherous palms of her own hands, follows on the empty promise of perseverance. a shame, he believes, because targets are drawn on every centimeter of bare skin she’s shown to him under the cover of night and, with every step forward, there are a thousand more arrows pointed at the bullseye. dead-center.

strong and tenacious may be the face she shows to the rest of the world, but cowardly are the features that stare back at him now, permanently etched into despondent frowns. ( pitiful, like the countless times she wore her heart on her sleeve like her favorite sundress and let it bleed all over his freshly-laundered clothes. )

stuffed with another piece of meat, he points the ends of his chopsticks at her, “i didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.” she swallows and tightens an impossible hold around her tortured hand; his chest aches but only for a moment, a fleeting moment he’ll long have forgotten by the morning. “or is that too cold of a truth for a spoiled brat like you?”

“fuck you.”

a useless mechanism of defense, the outburst isn’t out of character, nor does it bother him as much as the late-night patrons around them; admittance was the first step toward acceptance but she refuses to take one step forward out of sheer cowardice and, when she bows her head in their general direction — a brief restoration of an image she’s long since broken apart — he loses another ounce of respect for the person she used to be.

he liked it, once upon a time, because there was nothing to keep her from answering in the manner she wished despite the inevitable honorifics attached to otherwise dangerous words, but time never treats immaturity with tender love and shining diamonds, letting it rot within the bones it dares to live in.

“checked that off already, sweetheart.”

he moves on with his hands full of fractured emotions, without commitment, but she remains tied down by the same chain, blinking the ache from her kaleidoscope eyes as the world starts to refocus; how simple it was to forget how painful open wounds are until he pours three pounds of salt into them with a charming smile and a shrewd stare, seductive in his technique but never once merciful.

sweat creates a layer of discomfort on the nape of his neck when he turns up the temperature of the table’s grill and he reaches to scratch it, aware of her piercing gaze but never once daring to acknowledge it. silent, she watches frozen pork cutlets bubble under the pressure, wonders which was the moment she went wrong: a year before, when their first conversation was on the couch of someone else’s dorm, or in the past hour, when she stepped through the door or when she let him take control of the matter at hand?

“you were never like this before—"

he ignores her at first.

somehow, it hurts more than what he wants to say.

“why are you here, hayeong?” he speaks when he’s finished checking how thorough he’s cooked the cutlets on the grill, reaching for the scissors beside her plate. his voice is lighter, reminiscent of how he used to speak when the last light was turned off, like he’s found a calming place among the midnight clouds and she’s become pleasant company. “there was never a relationship between us to rekindle.”

more than half the meat ends up on her plate and it taunts her rumbling stomach in much the same way he does to her existence, laughing at her between whistling breaths.

she doesn’t want to answer him either.

so, focused on the minuscule movements of his jaw when he chews, she thinks about what she wanted, what she expected to come out of this — someone to rely on, someone who could understand her woes, someone with more than boulders for brains that would answer her calls at three in the morning and just listen to her talk, listen to her cry.

“because i thought we could—”

he pauses before another bite of rice and meat, snorting. “thought we could, what? be friends? listen,” he sets down his bowl and utensils, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward until the strings of his hoodie dangled precariously above the food, “it was fun while it lasted, i’ll admit that much, but i told you the truth: i want nothing to do with you anymore.”

“but—”

she tries again and again.

she doesn’t know why.

( desperation. )

“think about it, hayeongie! you should be used to that, shouldn’t you? everyone leaving you, for this or that reason.” and, after what seems like centuries, his words reach exposed bone at its weakest state and break it under their weight. “just take it in stride, the same way you always do.”

deoksu doesn’t have to face his own demons when he forces her to do it instead, and gratification comes with the sparkle in her eyes when tears start to pool in at the edges and smudge carefully-applied mascara. responsibility doesn’t have to fall on him anymore, and he finishes the unwanted heart-to-heart with a blunt, “it’s good that you’re on a diet. you looked like a whale last time i saw you.”

#synrgetic #tw disordered eating #i don't know what else to tw this as but it's also stupidly long so its under a read more anyway #` ( hayeong & deoksu ) ⦂ ⋰ * bond .#` ( butterfly effect ) ⦂ ⋰ * drabble .#` ( song hayeong ) ⦂ ⋰ * answers .#` ( yoon deoksu ) ⦂ ⋰ * answers .

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danvssomethingorother · 7 years

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Up For adoption (the Holiday Edition)

Last year, I participated in the Fiddlestan Holiday Bonaza. I actually planned on doing all the days but only got three done. These are the left over scraps of half finished stuff.

If you wish to adopt them you may but I’m mainly posting them as look how far I’ve come kinda thing. And for you guys to get some enjoyment out of stuff I will never finish but at one point had big plans for them.

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December 9th: Joy, Gold, Revelations

-Not All Gold Shimmers-

Summary: Despite it being Fiddleford's favorite time of year, Stan notices a slow decline in his boyfriend's mental well being.

December 3, 1980

In any usual year, the little research shack in the heart of the Forrest would already be well into its seasonal make over. Last year, Stan hadn't been able to finish his third helping of Thanksgiving dinner before his boyfriend was dragging him into the attic to collect enough Christmas garbage to make Santa ask them to tone the decorations down a bit. Then adding the Hanukkah decor to the mix, that Stan had no idea where the love of his managed to drudge up in a sleepy country town where he and his brother were the only people of Jewish decent, it looked less and less like a place of research and more like one of those quaint Holiday stores that only existed to scam people like Fiddleford Mcgucket out of their hard earned money.

That's how it had been the last four years, any way. Stan would never forget the look on Fiddleford's face on their very first winter together. He had drug in three boxes worth of Christmas junk from his little beat up pick up and began happily describing where he wanted to hang everything only for Stan to make him drop his last box load of 'Holiday Cheer' as he called it, when he announced he and his brother were Jewish. He instantly began spluttering apologies about being insensitive and began looking desperately at an amused Ford silently asking him why he never told him. After smugly watching him gasp and gag on apologies like a fish asphyxiating on dry land and 'assuring' them he would take it all back to the store, Stan slung his arm around Fiddleford's shoulder and told him it didn't matter to him what they celebrated, he wasn't paying the electric bill, so go as nuts as you want with all the Christmas lights your heart desired. Ford of course disapproved about 'going nuts' but didn't seem to say much about it later when he saw how joyous his friend was with the finished decorations. Since then, they had been celebrating an unholy fusion of both holidays, complete with tacky sweaters and butchered Hebrew and just far too many sweets altogether.

It was nice over all though and Fiddleford's joyous nature at that time of year was contagious. It never mattered that their home was a glowing monstrosity or the homemade sweaters were itchy or that Fiddleford never made Latkes right and they always turned out way too salty, it was Stan's favorite time of year. Even if you would never hear him say that out loud.

That's why it came as such a surprise on the first day of Hanukkah that not a single decoration was to be found. Everything was still nestled away in the attic. Fiddleford hadn't been shopping all through November to get everything ready for his favorite time of year and not a single gift was poorly hid in their closet. If wasn't for the thick sheets of snow outside the window already freezing the interior of the cabin, you could easily mistake it for summer without the major landmarks indicating it was indeed December.

Stan sat in his favorite chair not paying attention to the tv already beginning to static over, contemplating hauling it all down himself just to get his boyfriend out the slunk he had found himself in over the past few months. He continued to sit there though watching the sappy soap opera he was too lazy to get up and find the remote to change come in and out of focus knowing decorating wouldn't be the same without Fidds by his side. He glanced over to the dark entrance way and wondered if they were still down in the lab. Fiddleford and Stanford had disappeared down to it at day break and it was nearing sun down and he hadn't seen them yet. Soon he would have to go down and make them call it day but for now he planned to just not move away from his warm spot until it was absolutely necessary.

"---We still have so much to get done, Fidds," he glanced away from the now fully static TV screen as he heard his brother's voice echoing from the next room.

"Tomorrow, Stanford Pines," he smiled at the hiss knowing you didn't argue with Fiddleford Mcgucket when he used that tone and your full name.

(I don’t entirely remember where this scene was going)

---

Something slamming into Stan's face rudely woke him up from his dream world.

(A scene I really like, talking about how this isn't the first nightmare and Fiddleford talking about how he just wants to get the portal done with.)

---

( I was going to put a series of scenes here where Fidds was becoming more and more stressed out with Ciphford harassing him and making him lose more interest in the holidays as they take place and Stan not knowing what it is going on. Things becoming more tense between the three.)

---

The day had at last come, the portal was finished but Fiddleford didn't seem very excited about his own announcement.

(When Fidds leaves after the portal incident. He tells Stan he doesn't know his brother as well as he thinks he does.)

It had been three days since Fiddleford had left and the shack had taken on an eery silence since then.

(This where the revelation happens that Ford was worshiping a damn demon and his brother may have been tormenting his poor boyfriend.)

---

It didn't take that long for Stan to find his rusted over trruck parked under the neon glow of the little Holiday Inn a mile off from the bus station.

(This is where Stan wrestles the memory gun from Fiddleford and they have a cute conversation about the first time Ford called up Stan.)

"Welcome to 1981, Stan, ya made it," Fiddleford whispered between the sob stuck in his throat, leaning back into Stan's embrace.

Stan wasn't one for sappy emotional gestures but for Fiddleford he always made the exception. He pulled him tighter against him and kissed him on the top of the head.

"Yeah, I guess we did make it. Here's to surviving another one..."

------

December 17th: Sweaters, Kiss, Flurries

---

Ford wrinkled his nose as he took a sip of the juice Mabel had left in the kitchen. Upon further inspection he found Christmas oranaments floating at the top of the punch bowel.

"I wouldn't drink that if I was you," he turned his head around to find Stan leaning smugly against the door way, arms crossed in a cassual manner,"Mabel loaded it down with so much sugar it may just stop an old man's heart."

"What is it? Its like if sugar procreated with my worst nightmares..." he groused dumping what was left in his cup down the sink.

"Its Mabel's 'famous' Christmas flurries," the sarcasm that oozed from the word 'famous' sent cold shivers down Ford's spine, he wondered if whatever came from that bowl was worse then anything Bill could ever conceive.

"Its made from snow blended with enough sugar to rot my dentures, hot chocolate, two pots of coffee, a case of red energy drinks she thought looked 'festive' and a bucket of green glitter. Then she put ornaments on top to put for a more Holiday feel...."

Ford stared with disgust down into the bowel wondering how that little girl could possibly drink that and if maybe he should start a new page in the journal dedicated to her.

"Fidds drake a whole glass of it under Mabel's request this morning while you were down in the lab and he's so glittery he's took apart and put the TV back together like I don't know...a few hundred times..."

Under his casual facade Ford noticed genuine worry for his once again best friend in the subtle features on his face. There was a point in his life Ford thought his brother would look past his old research partner and not give him the time or day for his admitably strange mannerisms (that had become much much stranger with age). Then Weirdmagedon happened and the two had been close since then. Ford didn't quite understand when it happened or how it happened (and maybe didn't particularly want to for that matter) but his brother had decided to spend his golden years with Fiddleford and as long as they were happy Ford couldn't object. It was a strange life he lived, with or without the supernatural, nothing quite turned out the way he would have expected them to.

"GRUNKLE STAN! HURRY BACK! WE'RE DECORATING THE TREE!"

Stan tilted his head towards the yelling and jestered for Ford to follow him.

---

As the twins entered the parlor, Ford took instant notice of Fiddleford's slow, lethargic way he hammered a nail into place on the chimney for the stockings. His eyes had a lack of foccus as he looked up to him and Stanly and smiled. He was coming down from Mabel's concoction it appeared...

"Well look who came out of labernation!" Mabel cried loudly setting her eyes sternly on Ford, hands on her hips in a manner he would take more serisously if he wasn't looking directly at the mistletoe she had tied to her forehead or wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater he had seen since his final Christmas with Fiddleford.

"You missed Hanukah! Your brains could have been useful to beating Grunkle Stan's cheating every time we played Dreidel!" She huffed, Ford had to take a cautios step backwards to keep her long fake Christmas themed nails from jabbing him in the stomache.

"Fat chance," Stan stated bluntly from the other side of the room where he had already settled next to Fidds, taking the hammer from him before he could accidently break his finger with it, "With gambling all you need is luck and I have all of it."

"You had a loaded dreidel," Dipper cut in entering the room with another box of Christmas decortations that he deposited next to the tree that was a bit too large for the room, its pointy top compacted tightly against the roof in an angle.

"Who does that? I mean serisouly, the kids are supposed to win. That's why we bet with candy..."

"Well, me and the pig done ate the candy," Fidds said casting a cheeky smile towards Stan who crossed his arm and he tried his best to glower at his boyfriend without breaking the mock anger but it broke the instant Fidds kissed him on the cheek (a shrill squee errupted from Mabel making Dipper cover his ears), "So I reckon I was the real winner any who."

Ford almost cast a thankful smile his friend's way for distracting his niece away from the reason she had been cross with him but the second the kiss was broke her attention was completly back on him.

"You're not missing out on anything Christmas related though, mister!" she stated her fake nail tapping against his chest in an uncomfortable manor as she stood on her toes trying to be eye level with Ford.

He glanced over to his brother and friend for help but they only seemed to giggle at his troubles as Mabel began to tick all the 'Merry Activities' he would be participating in. With or without his consent.

---

Decorating the tree was more exhausting then it had any right being. The lights kept going out. Leave it to Stanly to find the cheapest lights he could find in the five finger discount aisle. Ford didn't understand why the kids snickered at him when he asked Stanly to return them for better lights. It was sensible since the darn things didn't glow right. He even offered to scrounge up some new ones in the lab, with Fiddleford's help he could make lights that never lost their glow. Maybe even keep the room warm without running up the electric bill but Mabel denied him access to the lab. It was his house, he shouldn't be bossed around by a thirteen year old.

Yet as he watched her stand on the step ladder shaking her mistletoe head piece at Fiddleford and Stanly before slamming their faces together to kiss when they didn't do so fast enough. Then she proceeded to do the same to her brother and Waddles, who had been trying to eat the garland rope Dipper was trying to string together. He knew he didn't want to damper their Holiday any more then he already had. He may not say it out loud enough but the four people in this room where the ones that mattered most in his heart and he never wanted to hurt them again.

As the mid after noon rolled in, they decided to take a break from their decorating. It looked like a seasonal store had already thrown up on the parlor. If the tree wasn't already crunched so tightly against the ceiling, it may have become a fall hazard with all the ornaments packed into every inch of it. Some of the ornaments were made of old tools painted red, green and gold. When he inquired Fidds about it, he flushed a bright red and said he always felt artistic around this time of year. As much as Fiddleford had changed over the years, being a bit too overjoyed about the Holidays was not one of them it seemed.

The only piece of furniture in the room was an old tattered up love seat that Fidds had scrounged up somewhere last weekend when he was Christmas shopping with Tate. The only way to describe it was it was a ghost of the seventies that was haunting this house. It was an ugly puce green with a tacky design Ford swore he saw on Fidds's favorite shirt back in college. Maybe that was what attracted his friend to it. It seemed he was always dragging anything home with him if it vaguely reminded him of some forgotten memory. Ford never said anything about it, he wanted him to get better and maybe one day fully recover from his ordeal and if that meant transporting the shack figuratively back to seventies, he was sure no one minded.

Stan and Fidds sat curled into each other on the sofa, Fidds already half asleep forcing himself to stay awake to listen to everything Mabel was saying on the floor in front of them creating a new sweater that seemed a bit big for her. Dipper sat next to her excitedly going through Ford's new research journal, lost in his own world. Ford smiled, Dipper may never become his apprentice and he had his own path set out in life with his sister always at his side but for now Ford could take pride in the fact that his nephew was still his number one fan.

---

#Fiddlestan #fiddleford mcgucket #Stanly Pines #grunkle stan #old man Mcgucket #Gravity Falls #Dan's fics #adoption sweep

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makelovetoyourpoison-blog · 7 years

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INTRO

Make love to your poison. Yes you heard me right. MAKE LOVE TO YOUR POISON. I know it may sound like an odd name for a blog but stick with me for a moment. I'm 23 years old and I’ve been battling multiple chronic illnesses my entire life. The only solid diagnosis of poison I know of is heavy metals but I’m finding out now there’s more to the story. Also being diagnosed with hypothyroidism, adrenal fatigue, Irritable bowel syndrome, acid reflux, insomnia, sleep apnea, fibromyalgia, joint hypermobility syndrome etc. I’m clearly effected in the autoimmune disease arena as well. I have come to realize that the only way to drive out the darkness within your body is to immerse it in light so yes make love to your poison, all of the poison repeatedly until it’s so enveloped in light it has no choice but to leave. My illnesses only started to become fully apparent to me at 21 as I gradually became debilitated. I noticed during my last year of college that I was losing more and more capabilities, I couldn't exercise, study, hangout with friends , these activities that were once enjoyable started to feel like chores. I realized shit hit the fan when I actually decided to pay attention to how much my restrictions were affecting me. It was a gradual process but then hit me all at once like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t sleeping. I was dropping weight like crazy. My vision was blurred. I had no appetite. I was in excruciating pain. I needed help walking. I was weak all over. Extremely fatigued. Unbearable migraines. My speech was slurred. My joints dislocating. I couldn’t remember simple things like my birthday, let alone read a sentence and retain it. I felt like I was carrying a dead body around. I was 120 pounds of poison at 5'8 and I felt like what I imagine 800 pounds would feel like on top of a little body. I was filled with rage more than any anything. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t lift my clothes to do my laundry. I couldn’t even pour myself water or cook for myself. I was completely dependent on my parents and we weren’t even in a good place. Two months before that place in my life I graduated culinary school. Seven months before that I graduated college. This was December of 2015 and I could not comprehend where my life was. I was dying with no diagnosis. I was beyond livid with my body for betraying me like this. I thought we were on the same page. I couldn’t forgive myself for falling ill. Instead I decided to make myself suffer more than I already was. I fed off of pure darkness. I would go to doctors and get told I needed a psychiatrist. That I needed to learn how to live with the pain or load up on meds to suppress the symptoms without actually getting to the root of the problem. My parents weren’t so supportive initially because they didn’t think I was as sick as I actually was. They couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I looked somewhat healthy on the outside but my insides were deteriorating. I was getting no answers, I saw no solutions. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I sat in my sadness and rage most days. Like many others I’ve felt helpless, powerless, and worthless. I’ve struggled with depression, loss, anxiety, abuse, rage, post-traumatic stress disorder from childhood and adulthood traumas, suicidal thoughts and layers upon layers of self-hatred. I wasn’t in the present most of the time because of PTSD. I had a friend I would talk to everyday and she just accepted where I was with open arms. I needed that. The world needs more people like her. She supported me through my highs and lows , the insanity of my physical symptoms , me being stuck in my own negativity , And me for a very long time not wanting it to leave . I rejected myself and my physical ailments for a long time. There was a lot of denial and desire to give up. A lot of praying for my body to stop fighting to survive. I victimized myself. “How could this happen to me?” “What did I do to deserve this?” I was angry at god. Angry at the world. Angry at myself for not seeing the signs all along. For a very long time I had no hope or faith. Eventually I hit a breaking point of suffering and I knew that if I wanted things to change I needed to commit to healing. So I did. I moved out and lived with another friend for a month and a half and went into pure survival mode. She was so incredibly supportive and comforting. Her family was amazing to me. I needed that so desperately. You’d be surprised the capabilities of an ill body when it has no other choice. It lit the fire under my ass that I was waiting for and that’s when things slowly started to shift. When I was gone my parents got on board and we started seeing new doctors. I came back home In February because my body was reaching a new low and I knew I needed more help. My body hit its lowest point right before my 23rd birthday. I was unable to walk, speak, read, shower or even get a minute of sleep. I kept going to the hospital trying to explain that I was losing my mind because even with medication I couldn’t get a half hour of sleep. I would explain my symptoms to doctors who would completely dismiss them. My body could not shut off which in turn lead me to become reliant on medication for sleep. I felt all of the vitality in my body being continuously squeezed out of me by unknown causes. April 20th 2016 I got a diagnosis of heavy metal poisoning and multiple food allergies. I was confused, relieved and devastated all at the same time. It helped me shift my perspective to how can I help myself instead of how can I hurt myself. It gave me a starting point to healing. I started to research ways that large quantities of heavy metals could infiltrate your body. I started researching different diets and put myself on the autoimmune protocol. I researched supplements, herbs, spices, everything and anything that could help. I came across many stories about people being poisoned from their amalgam fillings. I convinced my parents to replace five of them as well as removing two teeth that were rotting from the silver linings. Once I handled the teeth situation I slowly regained some capabilities. I felt lighter, I was able to speak more efficiently, and I could walk without assistance. I knew some of the poison had left but this was just the beginning. My other restrictions stayed stagnant, brain fog, memory loss, excruciating pain, weakness, sleep issues, digestion problems, numbness, tingling, blurred vision, the gang of horror was still fully intact. I would go through okay days and extreme lows, where some days I would have enough strength to shower and enough focus to drive to other days where I couldn’t comprehend a sentence, and I couldn’t move without hurting myself. This created a large amount of tension with my parents. I couldn’t work, I couldn’t move forward, I couldn’t function to the degree I would have liked to. I was angry, frustrated and sad. So were they. I needed an escape. I needed an extra push without their help. I lived with my friend again from the end of July to the end of September. This time I pushed my mind and my body even more. I started going out more and applying for jobs. I just wanted to regain power over myself. To regain my sanity. I got hired as a teacher at a daycare and I couldn’t be present. I loved the kids but I knew I was destroying my body just to get through the day and it was difficult but I knew I had to quit and really focus on healing now. I went back home once again. I hit an all new low December 14th at 23 years old, two weeks ago when I spent sixteen days at the hospital unable to walk, struggling to speak, think, understand, breathe, dealing with extreme tightness in my chest, migraines, sensitivity to light and noise, tremors in my hands, involuntary eye and facial twitching, feeling completely disoriented like I was on hardcore drugs when I was completely sober and in an inhumane amount of pain leaving with no answers. Having stroke like symptoms and seizure like activity with a clear MRI and MRA left me realizing this isn’t neurological it’s just appearing that it is. This is a common issue with many autoimmune and infectious diseases. My Physical illnesses in the past have made me feel so alone and isolated. At our core we are social beings who just want to feel a sense of belonging. Sometimes when we are on a path in relation to any sort of illness we don’t experience enough of that. I was lucky enough to have an overwhelming amount of support, comfort, care and love from friends, family and total strangers during my stay at the hospital. That experience made me realize that I need to spread awareness, knowledge and personal stories to help others that may be suffering with no answers, no support, and no real understanding as to what is taking place in their bodies. All I have done for the past two years is research about my symptoms and how to help them. Even before I was on board with healing I wanted to know what was happening in my body. I like to think I’m very knowledgeable on autoimmune / infectious disease related issues but I know there’s a lot I don’t know. These are very under researched illnesses and topics. I am always open to learning more and hearing new perspectives. I want to help those who are hurting. I don’t want anyone to suffer in the way I do or the ways that I have. I have built a very stable foundation with myself over time but it took a lot of hard work. I would love nothing more to share my personal stories, what supplements, herbs and spices have helped me, what techniques and guidelines to use for healing and more.

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