#i taste blood im sick of swallowing stones...

[chronicowboy]

petition to make the well by the crane wives THE eddie-diaz-buddie-pov song

[nellieofthevalley]

“All The words I couldnt say to you,

A ready army in my throat.

I taste blood, Im sick of swallowing stones-

So ill wave the flag, tell the boys to go home.”

In this scene; Blackrain(Marie) is being exiled for disobeying the warrior code and expecting kits as a medicine cat. Really, this was just an excuse to get her away from clan territory so she would stop telling everycat about the murder of Prarietail(George)- who fell off a cliff after being spooked by oaktail(Teddy), who is the leaders son.(context: Oakstar senior, Oaktails father, Covered up the death to protect his sons reputation. He was not happy when Blackrain continued to try and get justice.) When she realizes whats happening, she attacks Oaktail and tells him that one day she will be back to kill him- before she is thrown off by Silvernose(clive). Her last words to her clan are an ominous “watch your backs,” before she flees into the woods.

[definitelynotshouting]

There are a lot of songs that remind me of Hunger AU but I've never gotten the chance to write all my thoughts down because time is hard (+executive disfunction) but listening to a new release from The Crane Wives that just fit so perfectly made me decide FUCK IT! I may find it hard to write a whole list of songs and their reasonings but I can at least start with one!! So:

The Well - The Crane Wives (one of my favorites)

“All the words I couldn't say to you

Fill up the spaces in my chest/Oh, the damage I have wrought/A ready army in my throat” 

- So scarian but also Grian refusing to talk to the others, especially his lying to Mumbo in Chapter 9. The “Oh, the damage…” and “A ready army…” versions of the verse also bring to mind Grian during his talks with Xisuma and Scar, all sharp-tongued cruelty. 

“Send me anywhere, take me out

I'm the well they're gonna drag you down”

- Leave me to die or kill me yourself. Stop caring. Just whatever you do, don’t bring me back to Hermitcraft, because if you do I’ll hurt you again. I’ll drag you down and nothing either of us can do will change that.

“That old house, those rotting memories

Burned easier than I'd have thought”

- something about the death of the person the other Hermits thought he was and the death of who Grian was before he was a watcher.

“I taste blood, I'm sick of swallowing stones” - Grian is literally falling apart. He’s decaying and dying and he just wants to get it over with. 

“So I'll wave the flag, tell the boys to go home” - Stop trying to save me. Let me give up. I’m sick of surviving so just leave and let me die.

So. Uh. Thoughts? ( ゜─゜)

OUGGHHHHHHH I JUST FINALLY SAT DOWN TO LISTEN TO THIS AND GODS IT FITS SO BEAUTIFULLY..... what an absolutely gorgeous song, yeah im definitely gonna have to add this to the playlist >:]

And your analysis!!!! Ohhhh i LOVE this, i love seeing this kind of stuff, it makes me so happy!!!! Thank you for sending this, you're so right like this just fits so well..... it really does encapsulate the entirety of arc 1 in a nutshell, doesnt it???

If you ever have more songs you want to send me, please do, i'd love to hear your thoughts on them !!!! :D (also i love that we have similar processes on analyzing songs-- this is legit how i choose the songs for the playlist, by analyzing the lyrics and applying them to scenes or settings in the fic >:] )

[eldritch-fr-ideas]

Let us say you have had the misfortune to stumble across this forest. The sun was high in the sky, when you first entered, marveling at the trees, at the lush greenery.

Flowers sway back and forth to the wind's whim. Dew collects on the underside of cold leaves, which do not give when you touch them as leaves ought to.

Honeycomb crystals dot rotting, termite-ridden beehives like mockeries of what once was, and the streams sweep along skeletal remnants of fish in jagged waves that stab against dirt shores. Perhaps there is danger here, seen. Danger in the whorls of wood, in runes etched in tree stumps, reading that this is not a place of honor, perhaps you recognize it in bushes filled with ivory thorns shaped like dragon teeth, in a bright red fruit of the tree which beckons you to have a taste,

But when the skin is peeled away you can see it hides the flesh of Persephone. Twigs along the path do not snap but bend, they squelch under a claw, and inside there is a glowing algae which is bright, swirling yellow and green.

Best not to touch. Perhaps, say, you saw it, this danger to the body, this sickness, but now you could not leave. The forest has swallowed up the path you came here through. There is no exit save for the ones the keepers of this forest may, perhaps, deign to guide you to. If you are smart and if you are clever and if something in this place which is best shunned and left uninhabited deigns to take pity on you, You may leave alive. There is kindness here, you see. A resident will guide you out, should you win their favor. But you must work quick, to find a keeper, must play your cards fast, Quicker than the beat of the song from the lyre, Quicker than the falling star, Quicker than every tattler's songbird, Quicker than the moonbeam striking the knight's child across an oilslick wing. Quicker than the sun can travel across Sornieth. And you are not quick enough, the sun dips, drips, dips you in this dance of risk and reward into darkness, with the hissing insects that spin melodies before choking, crunching under faerie jaws and beaks. You are late, and a damp feather brushes your face, down your back and tail like starshine, leaving traces of blood behind like an omen. It is pitch black, now, the trees curving above you, for this is a forest and its trees live and bleed and scream and see. Don't touch the rocks, anymore. Under the surface of slate there are eyes. The pupils are softly glowing under the stone, can you see them? They can see you, their pupils are large and black. A dragon used to control them, but that dragon is dead now. The stones ate him, you see, for even the residents are not wholly safe. There is chittering. A lizard, blind in this pitch-dark just as you are, for they say some lizards were made by the same hand as the dragons, runs across stony eyelids and snatches something gently flapping out of the dark, brings it into the glow of the pupil.

It is a moth, a dark green color, colored almost like a butterfly, but not quite, and something crunches, screeches, screams with a voice that is worn raw with screaming as the eyeless lizard brings the moth close and bites. Blood spatters against the living stone, and the pupils within all focus upon the blind lizard.

The pupils stop glowing, and the world is plunged into pitch dark again as something moves, metal screeching and dirt rending under something with too many eyes.

The moth stops screaming. The lizard has no voice of which to scream, although its ribcage is coated in melted copper. This would be frightening, and in this hostile dark, light smothered by weeping willows, fear brought out as the forest's lesser inhabitants and components feast upon each other, it is so very possible to trip, step, be spun by the forest into a mushroom circle. The fae's circle. Cael's circle.

Hello there. "Who are you?" That's neither here nor there, young one. These woods are dangerous, especially at night. I can get you out, for the right price.

-----

hi its prophet anon, back again with some faerie horror!

this one is lore for this guy, who runs a funky little forest full of faerie horrors, or something! i don't know! most of the lore for him and his forest was written months ago and sucks but i rewrote some today and im feeling good about it

point being, hell yeah. the forest is ~cursed~ and is not a place of honor, but a danger best left shunned. it is laced through with sickened, crystalized music and Names and circles, it is the nature realm abandoned and left free to mutate until it circles back around into plague's grotesquery. it is trees given golden, bleeding flesh and birds given draconic speech and moonbeams given conscience and rivers given bones!

(its somewhere in the pox consulate, if we want to get canon. this is why no one goes there! its beautiful and wonderful and all of the plants have bones (and teeth sometimes) and the gods have shunned this place of failure so...something else, lets say, has stepped in)

The fae are always so... Fascinating. Many forget the true origins of the good neighbors, how they are not so friendly as the modern media presents.

((Mod: oh I love me some fairy horror! So much potential in fairy folklore!))

[sagemoderocklee]

12 and 21 for the angst prompts (gaalee)

im going to do prompt 12 another day, i swear, but this was... a lot to write and it’s taken me literally all night and i just wanted to post this now

21 i don’t want to lose youpart 4/5 of if wanting were enough i’d take you by the handTW: suicide attempt (seriously this one is not an easy one to read and if you cannot read it, if you think it’ll be too triggering, please do not push yourself. this is a very personal exploration of my own mental health, but i do not want anyone putting themselves in a bad place. im placing this under a cut so proceed with extreme caution) 

[kofi]

He jumps.

He falls.

He flies. 

The morning air rushes past him as he plummets, his weights pulling him down faster. His heart is in his throat and tears blur his vision as he falls towards the earth. The morning sun is a blur of soft golden hues, a kaleidoscope of light refracting within the salt water of his eyes.

He feels free for the first time in far too long. 

He feels weightless.

He feels wonderful. 

He laughs, the sound swallowed by the wind rushing around him, but it turns into a sob. He is flying to his death, falling towards the inevitable moment of impact. He has jumped towards the unknown, allowed gravity to pull him down, down, down... And when he finally stop--

A memory comes to him, unbidden. It is the memory of a dream, but it makes his heart ache to be on solid ground, not plummeting towards it.

Regret burns through him, like lava pouring from a long dormant volcano. It sears through him, smokes in his veins until he is consumed with it; with longing; with want. 

He wants, for the first time, to live. 

He punches a hand into the solid wall of rock that hides Suna within, dragging himself painfully. He has too much momentum though, his weights too heavy and the pull of gravity even stronger than he is. He pushes chakra into his arm and flings the other one towards the wall, digging his fingers into stone. 

He feels the snap of bone as several fingers break against the stone, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t stop trying to hold on. He closes his eyes tight, pushes poorly manipulated chakra into his arms with as much force as he can until he feels himself slow. 

It isn’t enough and the ground crashes into him, shattering his weak right leg and sending an explosive wave of sand into the air. His world goes black before he can pray to the gods of the desert that someone finds him. 

---

Pain has always been a sign of growth--he becomes stronger, faster, harder, better. In the wake of pain, he is one step closer to being splendid. Pain has always been firmly categorized in his mind as “good”, as “progress”, as “someday I will be good enough.” 

He pushes himself to the point of pain because it has always been the only way to measure his worth.  

But when Lee wakes to pain, to agony, to suffering it is beyond the pain of “good” or “progress” or “enough”. His body has known pain like this only once before, and even that pain does not come close to what this feels like. A blury memory, choppy and incomplete, hits him with the force the ground had. 

With the memory comes shame, comes regret. He wishes that he could take it back, wishes that the past could be altered somehow, wishes that he’d known any other way besides pain. 

It takes him a lifetime, an age, an eon to adjust to the pain. 

At the edge of his senses, as he finally acclimates to a body he’d rather not be in, he senses someone familiar. He becomes aware, too, of a dull beeping somewhere in the room and voices outside. His nose stings with the smell of herbs and antiseptic. 

He swallows, thickly. His mouth feels like sand and tastes like ash, his throat feels stuff full of cotton. He coughs, and the presence beside him moves closer, an intensity closing in on him. 

“Lee?” 

Fingertips touch his temple, gentle and unsure, awkward and stiff. 

He sighs, peeling his eyes open to look up into Gaara’s face. He looks sick, exhausted in ways Lee had never thought possible; his eyes are heavy and bloodshot, and his skin looks dull and lifeless. Lee shies away from that word as he looks away from Gaara to survey his hospital room. 

“Where--” He coughs on the question, his throat too dry for speech, and almost immediately there is a glass of water in front of him. He hesitates to meet Gaara’s gaze past the glass, but eventually he does. 

There are tears in his eyes, threatening to fall--and that’s another word Lee shies away from all too quickly. 

He sips the water carefully, and some dribbles down the side of his mouth. It’s room temperature and tastes a little stale, as though it’s been sitting for just a little too long in the warmth of his room. 

“How--why--” Lee wants to ask a million questions once his throat does not feel as though a drought has occurred within him, but he doesn’t know where to begin. Gaara looks stricken, as though Lee’s voice is that of a ghost speaking. 

He swallows again, steeling himself for what he’s about to say. 

“You saved me.” 

The tears in Gaara’s eyes roll down his face. His eyes are crystalline, reflecting the artificial light of the hospital in a way that makes the green of them look unnatural. 

“Did I?” he asks, voice gruff around the words and his tears. 

“I am alive,” Lee says. 

Gaara’s lip trembles. “Are you...? Or are you a ghost?” 

Lee knows what Gaara is asking, what he’s saying with that question. Tears of his own fall, but he has to fight not to sob openly because he can feel how it will hurt, how it will subsume his body with pain; pain he deserves--

He stops himself from that line of thinking, meeting Gaara’s tear-filled eyes with his own. “I do not want to be a ghost anymore.” 

Lee doesn’t know exactly what he’d thought Gaara would say or do at this, but he does not expect Gaara to collapse in on himself, face crumpling and eyes brimming with so many tears that they have become sea foam. He leans heavily against Lee’s bed, hovering over Lee as though he wants to crawl onto him, into him, bury himself within Lee and hold him tight enough so he can never leave. 

It takes Gaara long moments to collect himself. He cries quietly, his face scrunched up in ways Lee has never seen as tears run amuck across his face, down his nose, beneath his chin. They fall to the bedsheets, like rain, darkening the plain white like a scattered spring shower. 

Lee washes Gaara cry in silence. He doesn’t want to see this, but he feels he owes it to Gaara to witness this--to witness the devastation he’s caused. 

“Y-you should have died,” Gaara says. The words hurt more than his body, but Gaara keeps talking before Lee can runaway with the horrible truth that Gaara had wanted him dead all along. “I thought--when I found you--I was so sure. You should have died on impact, there was so much blood and you were unconscious, and--” He breaks off, looking away from Lee as though looking at him is a reminder of that very day, as though Gaara is not looking at a healing Lee but a dying Lee. 

Lee’s voice trembles when he speaks, weak and fragile like delicate glass. “I w-wish I could--I could take it back. All of it. Everything that has happened since I came here, everything.” 

Gaara looks at him with wide, glassy eyes, something flickering behind them that Lee cannot name. “Everything?” 

Lee nods. His memory is like wisps of smoke that he cannot hold onto, but he would never forget their kiss. “Everything,” he confirms.

“No.” Gaara is seething, the word slips from him like some sort of magic, a binding curse that Lee cannot free himself from. “You can’t. Don’t you dare take that back.” 

Lee frowns up at Gaara, confusion heavy on his brow. “But... you pushed me away.” 

“I was scared.” 

Lee comes up short. He doesn’t know what to think of this admission, doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with it. He is stuck now on the fact that Gaara does not want him to take back the kiss, hung up on the fact that Gaara won’t let him take it back. 

“When you first came here, I thought I could help,” Gaara says quietly. “I thought... It was self-important to think that because I’d been through trauma and loss, that I could somehow fix you. But I wanted to see you smile again.

“Sometimes you seemed to be getting better, but then you’d slip away again. We were all scared of what you’d do to yourself, but I thought if I just kept an eye on you it would be okay. You would be okay. Eventually. But you weren’t. And I yelled at you, and then you didn’t come home. I’d thought you had done something, I’d thought you’d hurt yourself but you were there, just sitting on the edge of the plateau, watching the sun rise.” 

He sucks in a breath, practically gasps as though the memory itself has winded him. 

“Do you love me?” 

The question startles Lee so much he flinches. It hurts to move, and the hurting of movement causes his body to seize up in protest. It hurts all the more of this. 

“I should get a medic.” 

“N-no, wait. Please.” Lee shifts, but he cannot push himself up--his left hand is in a cast and his right arm so heavily bandaged he cannot see his skin beneath, but he can feel the pull of his skin and knows it is not a sight worth seeing. 

Gaara moves closer, hesitating at the edge of the bed before he takes a seat. 

Lee wants to hold his hand, he wants to touch him so that he knows Gaara will not run away again. And maybe because he hopes it will offer Gaara some semblance of comfort too. 

After a moment of fighting with tendons and ligaments he knows he damaged, Lee manages to move his bandaged hand enough that it gently presses against Gaara’s thigh. The pressure hurts, however gentle it may be, but he doesn’t care. He knows he should care, knows he needs to stop thinking of pain as unquestioningly positive, but he wants to be a little selfish for just a little bit longer; he wants to feel Gaara as he pours his heart out to him. 

“I do not want to give you an answer that is anything less than the truth,” he manages to say, though the words are not as steady and strong as he would have liked them to be. “For a long time, I have thought about you. And maybe that is...” He pauses, his head beginning to ache. The lights are too bright and he is sure he has some head trauma, but he needs to get this out before he forgets. “In truth, I do not think I know what love means anymore.” 

Gaara is watching him, still as a statue save for the subtle movement of his eyes as they flit across Lee’s face. He doesn’t speak, and Lee is grateful for that if only because he is afraid of what Gaara will say. 

“And I do not think I know how to be as I was anymore, and I know that as I am now, it would be unfair to say I do. I might not. I may just... love that you are here when I need someone.” 

Gaara lets out a shaky breath, lips parting fractionally to let the breath escape. Tears glisten in his eyes, and Lee wants so badly to reach up and wipe them away. He can’t--physically limited as he is--and he shouldn’t. Before Gaara can think to say anything in response, Lee continues. 

“I have hurt you. I have been selfish in my grief. I have thought of only myself--and perhaps that is understandable, perhaps to a point it is even reasonable. But it has been almost a year, and I have not allowed myself to heal. I have wallowed, and any chance at healing I have rebuffed. I was so determined not to go on without my sensei that I pushed everyone away, pushed myself away. And because of that, I have hurt you.

“I never meant to,” he adds, tears coming to his eyes unbidden. “I truly never meant to. I just... I wanted it to stop. I wanted to...” He presses his lips together, fighting tears and the agony that comes with his words. “I do not know anymore. I just--every day it felt as though someone had come and carved a hole in my chest. I did not know who I was anymore--I do not know who I am. 

“And after what happened, I do not know what it will take to get better, but I want to get better. I do. And maybe if I can, maybe if I do then I can tell you without a doubt that I do love you.” He wants so badly to tell Gaara he loves him, wants so badly for something beautiful to come from all the ugliness he’s felt, but he wants it to be real; he doesn’t want to give Gaara false promises and false love. 

His head is throbbing fiercely now, along with the rest of his body. Exhaustion runs through his veins, and it is suddenly difficult to think of all the important things he’d realised as he’d fallen towards his death. He opens his mouth, but only manages to slur on words his mind is too sleepy to remember. 

Gaara reaches out for him, touching his cheek with those same unsure fingertips. He trails them across his face, wiping at tears, then moves to touch his lips. 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Gaara tells him. 

Lee wants to promise him that he won’t, wants to promise “never again”, but he can’t. He doesn’t know who he is or who he will become, and he doesn’t want to promise that Gaara won’t lose the person Lee used to be. 

“I will get better,” he says, because he thinks he can at least promise that. “When I do, if I know my feelings for you to be true, I will come back.” 

“You’re going?”

“I think it is for the best.” His eyes droop, but he fights against it. “You have done everything you can--too much, in fact. It is time I get better on my own, Kazekage-sama.” 

Gaara’s nod is a tiny, imperceptible thing, barely a motion at all. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

Lee manages to smile, a proper smile, for what feels like the first time. “Thank you.”

[sinfulblueberry]

Sing Sweet Seraphim

a prologue of sorts to the vague as fuck hint on what im working on that i dropped on this blog the other day, bc what else would i do when i haven’t actually studied properly in the last 3 months and it’s less than 13 hours at the time of editing this until my first exam

[a southern gothic-based fic with a hint of murder mystery]

It was an accident, Mark swears. An accident. An unfortunate incident. An unintentional incident, if a variation in words is an option. He’s not a murderer, he tells himself. He’s not a murderer, he insists, he didn’t do it with the intent of killing. He didn’t intend for anything to happen at all. He’s not a murderer.

The boy he knows from his french class had started yelling at him for being out of dorms after lights out, insisting he go back to his room or Mr Edwards would be informed of his “late night trip”. Mr Edwards always had it out for him for whatever reasons that those in teaching positions do. One more phone call home and Mark would be sent straight to a military training camp.

(What was the boy himself doing out of his dorm as well? It’s not uncommon for people to sneak out after hours, especially with the mistake of the male and female dorms being in the same building. But he’d just been in the corridor as if waiting to catch the ones that do leave their room.)

The last thing Mark remembers after that is the hushed tone he tried to coax the other student into instead of getting them both into trouble, the brief scuffle between them, and the spindly limbs that had flailed rapidly approaching the cobblestone floor below the windowless gap.

“Oh fuck,” Mark’s voice had croaked when the initial shock slithered its way from his stomach to his throat. “Oh fuck, fuck.” He’s an asshole, sometimes, but not a murderer. He’d never purposely wield a weapon against one of his fellow students, never plot their demise for any reason, never push a boy barely scraping 17 years old out a window under the watchful eye of the Lord he’s quickly losing faith in.

He feels sick when he scrambles down the stairs to the raised, short staircase outside. One of the more religious students or teachers at the school would probably wax poetic, unaffected, about the boy’s wine red blood spilling out his skull, compare it to the hard candy his mother used to buy him on a Sunday afternoon. Spill lines about how he fell with grace, if they had witnessed his fall, his murder, his execution, his slaughter, and recite a line from the Bible about the Lord leading them beyond death, calling his death beautiful beyond anything else you could bear witness upon.

Instead, he feels sick from how the blood does spill from his skull, too much of it to let the boy walk away at all. How it mats his hair into sticky, twisted strands and travels thickly onto the cobblestone stair beneath his head, to stain the faded stone. How pale he is already, due to the cold and the brunt of the fall shocking his own body, how his face is tense with an expression of pain yet relaxed with the quick release of muscles. Mark feels sick that this happened under his own hand.

There’s a constant prattle in his head as he numbly drags the body through faded dirt and grass of the unused sports field, a chant of how it’s not his fault, not his fault the boy had fallen to his own fate. How even under the eyes of God, he is forgiven. It doesn’t help the block in his throat and the weight in his stomach.

Despite being a boarding school, natural landforms like the firm ground and pristine grass shifting to a marshy waste devoid of any grass at all during the winter season were something that can’t be helped. This part of the field was only used in summer and autumn when the dirt is piled back over before winter and spring can flood it with constant downpours again. Mark feels his skin crawl when he initially thanks God for the strange tip in the land, where the soaked, slippery mud turns into a drop in on itself and into a slope, leading to a fenced area of a nearby farmer’s land. It’s unused during this time of year and people rarely risk the slip of watery earth to sneak into the field, good for hiding a mistake like this.

The body tumbles, limp and lifeless, down the slope and near the barbed fence of the separated land. It gets packed with mud, previously pristine clothes clumped with the stains of its own blood and dirt. A tense shudder is repressed when he takes a parting glance towards the slope before moving on.

The blood beginning to stain the stone is still there when Mark treks back to the dorm building. (Where would it go anyway? Would God forgive him? Would he make this mess disappear as forgiveness for this admittance of sin?) He has enough dirt on his shoes to cover the whole damn stairs, let alone the two steps the liquid had spread onto. It’s messy and doesn’t help the nausea in his throat, but at least now it’s more suspect to somebody actually wandering after lights out instead of falling from the floor above. (Groundskeepers are tasked with keeping dirt off the stone, and if blood is somehow mixed within the copper-toned mess after being scrubbed down, Mark doesn’t hear a word of it.)

The incident doesn’t slip Mark’s mind once during the next few weeks. The body is still there when he checks it every week - sometimes more than once a week at first when the paranoia and talk of the boy missing from french class is rapidly spreading - and higher authority within the school assure the boy is with his family after a close relative’s passing.

It’s painfully obvious what happened when police from a few towns over are leaving the gates of the school, painful enough that Mark’s throat clasps up when the urge to yell open admittance about how he had killed the boy, pushed him out a window, begged for forgiveness with no answer from the Lord that is ignoring his prayers for the act he had performed. He turns to listen to Tyler’s bitter musing about the missing student instead and tries to swallow down the urge to throw up.

It’s fine. The boy is assumed to have actually ran off somewhere when no body is recovered. It’s fine, nobody goes near the fence in winter, it’s fine. Then suddenly it’s not. Prime suspects gathered from student information are questioned, the slope is fenced off with pegs and rope, corridors are occasionally seen with police officers now. It’s not fine anymore, Mark’s committed murder as much as he denies it and nobody knows who the culprit is but him, only know of the body.

A week comes and goes with the bustling gossip of the investigation. Mark’s on edge almost every minute when he’s not sleeping, and even then he’s plagued with his dreams of consequences, his mother’s disappointment, the boy’s family’s tears shed over their sweet child being murdered ruthlessly by one of his fellow classmates. If Tyler notices how often he escapes to the bathroom to throw up, he doesn’t say. The guilt racks him cold and flushed with a sweat at the same time, invisible needles prickling along his skin and meagre tears slipping down his cheeks when his throat burns and he tastes the bitter acidic remnants in his mouth.

He doesn’t know why they can’t just take the body already and help keep it from racking his thoughts. Surely that’s asking for the guilt of God to be pushed upon their shoulders for not paying proper respect to the dead. (He tries not to think too much about that reasoning.) But investigations are investigations and only the priest from the school chapel has the nerve to speak against leaving the body in the dirt for the wildlife.

Mark’s never felt worse for wear in the whole 17 years of existence and it only got worse - until the constant titters about the boy from french die down to hushed whispers. It was getting better. Forgiveness still wasn’t there, but he felt less queasy when anything but water passes his lips. He could sleep easier and lived without Tyler asking if he’s okay when morning comes.

It’s just getting better and the guilt is finally wearing away from the front of his mind when the uproar of the missing boy is brought back among the students again. The urge to throw up there and then at the breakfast table they’re sat at is becoming more and more of an urgency.

The body was reported missing from the scene at the early hours of that morning, and it’s certainly not like the boy can up and walk out of the situation, as if he can walk at all, can breathe at all, can only lay there in the mud, caked in dried dirt and blood and-so Mark tries not to think about the new information at hand and instead focuses on actually swallowing the mouthful of grainy porridge that sufficing as his breakfast.

[5hfanfiction]

Home (chapter one)

a/n: TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of violence and gun violence 

    Being bounced around from foster home to foster home was, different. But it was not fun non the less. Avenue knew that to be true.         After being taken away at the age of six from her parents. Her mom dead with a belt around her bicep and a needle stuck in it and her father out of his mind. Now at the ripe old age of 15 the girl had grown into herself a bit. She had pale skin, dark brown hair that was a weird combination of curly and wavy, light brown eyes with green sprinkled around the edges. Her voice was low and raspy, being spoken with a pair of plump lips, small nose, and thick eyebrows.

    The girl grew used to being moved every 2-3 months. But, this being the case, Every social worker She’d had all think the same way. The basic teenager trying to rebel against society. Ave didn’t have the best track record though. She had trespassed, stolen, talked crap to any sort of authorative figure… been arrested to many times to count. Before all that ahe had one person that she could trust with her life, but people move on.  It was nights like this when Avenue missed her the most. But that’s besides the point. The girl getting a new social worker today. Avenue was sick of this.         It’s going to be the same story, they say that she can’t be that bad and then they give up on me about a month into it. In all honesty the girl just wanted someone not to give up. It gets tiring, considering that they are usually all old people who hold you up too high expectations. This time she really did it, now residing in not in a foster home, but a dump; a group home. It sucks, but you know, it can’t be that bad, it could be worse right? Wrong. Everyone here thinks that they have a chance of getting adopted or have a chance for redemption but they are oblivious to the fact that they are here until someone is dumb enough to adopt them. Not to mention the owner of this dump is like the wicked witch of the west, her hame is Maria (sounds like a jackass name right?)

     So this is really where the story begins. “Hurry up and get your lazy ass out of bed and come down here!” Maria called from the downstairs. The girl rolled my eyes, swung the covers off of her body, quickly changed into a random oversized t-shirt and skinny jeans, no socks, she hated socks, finally trudged down the stairs.

   At that moment standing towards the entrance of the building was a women who looked to be around her mid 30s, with dark black hair, electric green eyes that seemed to swallow you whole, pale skin, plumps lips, and smoking figure. What they both didn’t know is that this moment would change both their lives.  She smiled sweetly and Ave- for some reason not known to her- smiled back. The green eyes lady walked towards , Ave slowly until she said in a deep raspy tone “Hi my name is Lauren Jauregui, and I’m your new social foster mother.”

    Lauren approached Avenue with great caution not exactly sure what was going though her mind. Her face may be completely still as if a Greek stone statue, but her eyes told an entirely different story. Her eyes told every though and emotion racing through Avenue’s mind at that one time. Lauren extended her hand while still looking at Avenue. Avenue hesitated before shaking Lauren’s hand.“ You too will be spending lots of time together so don’t make it awkward on the first day Avenue.”, Maria fake smiled and so did Avenue. “Lauren you can go up to her room, she will be right up.” Maria told Lauren. She just nodded and disappeared behind the wall that separated them from the stairs.

     Maria slowly turned towards Ave. The girl knew that exact look. She just closed her eyes took a deep breath and opened ready for Maria’s words.

     Lauren on the other hand sat on the bed in the room that was Avenue’s. Lauren read her file, she knew exactly what she was getting herself into. But when Tyler called earlier this morning and she heard desperation in his voice, she agreed to meet the kid. Now  lauren knew what he meant in saying “that kid just needs a home.” Avenue’s eyes were wild and just scared. Looking at Lauren’s every move for a motive.    The room was small and cramped, the bed was quickly made, a small backpack layed on the floor next to a desk with a notebook and random sheet music screwn over it. Lauren looked at the small book collection on the desk, Yellow by Lena Nottingham, The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe, good taste kid. Quickly going through the book and the book had writing and underlining and highlighting throughout it.    The door opened and Avenue entered with the same emotionless expression. Lauren was the first to speak, “how bout I help you grab your things kiddo and we can get outta here?” Ave just nodded and started stuffing the small amount of clothes and belongings she had into the backpack. Lauren helped as much as she could but let Ave have her space. The pair finished up and made their way to Lauren’s beat up Honda. Ave took the passenger seat, Lauren the drivers and made the way to the Cabello-Jauregui residence. Lauren looked over at the girl staring out the window mouthing the lyrics to the Drake song playing Hold on, were going home        How ironic. Lauren quickly looked back at the road, how am I gonna tell Camila and Dinah?          The pair arrived to the house, it was a deep blue color with white triming, and a big old tree sitting next to it dividing their property from their neighbors. Lauren- after fumbling with the keys- let the girl inside and brought her to her room. “just settle in kiddo, I’m gonna go and work a bit.”, Lauren exited the room and went to the stack of papers on the kitchen table that she had to grade. And the two stayed like that untill 2:26 rolled in. That’s when Dinah Jane Cabello-Jauregui and her girlfriend Normani Kordei walked in through the door. Lauren knew it was Dinah by the signature front door flying open and,“MAMA IM HOME, WHAT’S ON MY EATS”    The tall Polynesian walked into view followed by Normani. “Well hello to you too.” Lauren responded. The girl already had a piece of bread stuffed into her mouth and let out a muffled hello.     “Hey Mama J” Normani greeted, before helping herself into their fridge. Camila and Lauren adopted Dinah nearly 10 years ago immediately after they got married. She was a trouble child at times though, with her knack of theatrics and all around being loud but grew into a strong independent 16 year old. Normani and Dinah met a year earlier and it was your basic high school love story.         Lauren took a deep breath, not knowing why she was so nervous,“ So girls, we have a new housemate.” Dinah stopped mid bite, and looked at Lauren as if she was crazy.

     “Mama I know your paper grading has been effecting you, but I think this a whole knew level.”           “No Dinah-” Lauren let her head plop onto the paper stack, “we have a new girl living with us, and she’s gonna be for a bit.”

     “What? Who? Why? How? Where?” That’s all Dinah could respond with. Normani looked between the two and was wondering what exactly was going on too.

      “Gah, just wait till dinner, I’ll explain everything later” Lauren knew going over this know would be a disaster. So Dinah, shook with this new information just went upstairs with Normani. And everyone stayed like that till dinner. Avenue came out of the room that she was staying in and went downstairs to see Lauren in her element. Her hair was in a messy bun, some weird kiss the chef apron on, and some indie music that Ave had never heard of playing, cooking. Lauren turned around and saw Ave standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Hey kid, dinners not gonna be ready for another 15 minutes.”

   “Okay, umm- do you need help?” Avenue asked rolling on the balls of her feet.

     “Yeah sure, thanks for asking, can you please set the table” Lauren flashed a smile. And Ave quickly set to work grabbing the plates and forks and glasses and putting them onto the table. The funny thing was there was way to many things out, 6 sets of everything. Now Ave may not be the best at math, but she knew for a fact she only counted two people, herself and Lauren. She didn’t ask questions. Asking questions was dangerous, Avenue knew that to be true.        Time rolled past as it always did, and soon enough Lauren was shouting at the bottom of the staircase ,“¡DINAH, NORMANI, HORA DE LA CENA!”

     The door opened next to Lauren and in walked in a tiny blonde girl. She was tan and sported a smile that could light up the darkest room. “Hey Mama J” The tiny 16 year old greeted Lauren and walked into the kitchen.

     White blood. As strange as that was that was the first thing that popped into Avenue’s mind after seeing this girl for the first time. The girl greeted Avenue with a cheery,“hello!” Avenue was gonna responded but she was cut off by a loud squeal, and saw a giant Polynesian running twords her with her arms open. Avenue stepped just to left of the girl and clenched her fists ready. The girl looked hurt but quickly recovered. “I’m Dinah! That’s Normani-” she pointed to an attractive woman to the left of her. Lauren came into the room and pushed the four girls gently into their seats and the front door opened.

    A small latina walked into the room wearing a police uniform. She looked to be around Lauren’s age. Friends maybe? Lauren got up and wrapped the girl into a hug, then a kis- Screams that’s all that occupied the room. Avenue was thrown off and onto the floor as he mounted her, throwing punches left and right. The mystery girl cocked an eyebrow at the new girl sitting at the table. Ave only froze when she felt the cold metal against her temple, the creak of the trigge- “who’s this?” The smaller girl asked.

     Lauren smiled and responded as smoothly as she could, which wasn’t all that smoothly to be honest, and answered, “this is Avenue. She’s gonna be staying with us for awhile.”

    The police officer offered a smile to the girl, who seemed to have a dazed expression on her face,“ hey mija, I’m Camil-”

    “You’re fags?”

     The sound of silver wear hitting a  plate was the only sound that was heard in that instant. “They prefer people, but yeah their gay.”, Normani finally broke the silence.

     Camila and Lauren sat down quickly and began eating. Lauren could tell both Camila and Dinah were fuming. Avenue seemed to be lost in her head, she looked.. relieved? 

     “I’m sorry.”

     Camila looked up at the Avenue. Her face were unreadable and her knee seemed to be bouncing a mile a minute. “You’re okay.” And with that the table gradually evolved to chatter.

   After everyone was done Lauren sent Ally and Normani home, Dinah to get ready for bed, do homework, fun stuff like that, and Ave to do whatever. As soon as all the children were gone Camila turned to Lauren, “what was that?”        “What do you mean?”

      “Well why do we have a stray in our house. And what the fuck was that at dinner.”

       “Okay easy Camilk 2%, so I may have got a phone call this morning and agreed to foster this kid for a bit?”

       “LAUREN!”

       “Camila calm down, she needs this. I know what she said at dinner was a shock to me too, but I feel like there was a meaning behind it-”

       “Yeah she wants to disrespect me and my wif-”

     “She apologized and YOU said it was okay. You can’t make a big deal about it now, okay?”

    “Okay.”

    “ I love you.”

    “I love you too.”

     Avenue finished the poem finally. ‘Gravity’ has been teasing her for the past 4 montha, ever sinc-, don’t think about it. She finally finished. Avenue smiled and retrieved the ancient mp3 player and cheap headphones from her bag. She let the sounds of Drake fill her ears.

Hold on were going home.                 A/N: and chapter one has been completed. If you prefer Wattpad I got chu fam: allysuss

[lunarfae714]

scandinavian meltdowns

June.

water falls water falls          i am water                           falling                           calling                           my veins                           collect-called                           the  Mouth of it all.                           She swallows you in one gulp,                           drops you at the bus station of                           the belly of the Source,                   er,                           Socrerer...                           so sore                                        i am mostly water                                        so many trees diseased                                        so many holes in the earth                                        to burrow into im                                        more at home                                        alone in a cemetery than in                                        the concrete ratmaze.                                        two dead stars collided this week                                        like ghosts making Love                                        accidentally.                                        genitalia creation station                                        their bus stop in the sky.                                        they made a black hole baby.                                        now there's a black hole                                        hole, tell.                                        i want to lay my head                                        at the black hole hotel                                        tonight &                                        see what Happens. *** 6.29 love and laundry. clowning. the wheel keeps going & going & going as strong as ever what does it mean to mean what does it mean to surrender under        ender                  ether                          whether or not i am filled with kindness for me for you when i am filled i can give some away of my insides they taste like marmalade a marmalade grenade i am in love with the Sun with living~truly Living with tongue in the mouth in your mouth undressing your mask of fear for fear is really just an ear with a big F before. like the rest of us~ were all just here cause the big F before us. ** someone today said i am always so happy they haven't seen the other half.

***

Autumn Longings.

lingonberries & mushrooms & stone walls & cellars. A corner of my heart dozes in Appalachia, Cakalacky & yearns to wake up. A corner of my heart is fully awake with sweet honey of rawplay. Got a suitcase of the feels~feels for adventures & movement,

a longing & Thirst for newness of

mountains & waters,because not full within? greater, more, expansion. (Process the madness.)

To return to the Wild West shotgun backwoods country,

soak my skin in sulphur springs,

make the autumnal pilgrimage to mama Shasta,

allow my bare feet to dance with the mud of new trails,

let my fingers dance along instruments & my voice meet the duet of my traveling comrade

pilgrimage to proper bluegrass & jam bands, 

mending the heart, through the ears, through the body

Travel with thumb or van, cook fancy & foraged meals over fires, 

never sure where to rest the head, but always finding a place   a dance of sitting & movement.

Mouth full of new moon, 

shine Head full of berries, & whine

Heart full of longing

Eyes full of rainsong 

My heart to yearns for Appalachia,

frog lullabies

folk & fae

wise women & the north-flowing river

waterfalls greater than mine, 

rhododendron like taurists 

dreaming,

                dream            

                              dream                       

dream carry me to the pictures in my head

let my tongue taste it all.

A movement and thirst within

when the peace & complete stillness inside wants to dance around

The longing remains. letting the voice inside

My head travel too

they always tell me You Are not alone

Yet I don't see anyone around

except the eyes of jaguar

When I close mine.

Alone not lonely not alone not lonely.

I paint pretty pictures in the head environmental junky

romantic sizing story

like the time I bloodlet on top of a hidden pyramid,

full moon in Cancer, winter Solstice 

made Love with a man with paws on his arms

Lies from his mouth 

married semen & moonblood

Like a cocktail,Stirred,

just for the ritual

it seemed important to Let winter inside me in

The heat of the Mayan jungle

while a symphony of howler monkeys

they also howl just because.

The more I fall in lovewith a place

Person, plant, or mineral,& walk away,

The more the space IN betweenUsThe nostalgia

Becomes sweet on the tongue

something sexy about Impermanace

you can't hold onto, eye

question authenticity.

  when you don't stay with something long enough does it stay dreamy? or does the dream get better bigger change beautiful choking growing glowing,

does it even matter at all?

what speaks louder, the mind or the belly?

Grateful for the playground

Of dust & wood

Dance & veggies

Wheelbarrows & hedgehogs

Pranks & exploring

Fires & silly songs 

Elderflower & berries

Mushrooms & ropeplay

Mazes & firewalk

Sweet playground of anything & everything & nothing at all.

The feels. 

*** 

Boston Mourning, 10.20.

Eye sit with blue ink & bamboo in warm Sun my spirit has longed for~ in a town of concrete, concrete painted Red with revolution. what Revolves?

eye feel the beating heart of Chinatown, eye feel vitality behind all feet dancing along the earth revolution orchestra.

Red hat woman behind me paints human eyes on rainbow wall, so many eyes, many recycled stories unseen. sitting with sadness & suffering Trusting it makes us us, makes us whole, makes us revolve as our skins wear & take off the clothes of our own cycles.

perfect symmetree leaf dances down my head now as an offering, neon yellow, as it falls.

***

raspberry turnover days, flakiness in my decisions, sweet and bitter in the heart. nothing is too great to be forgiven.

how do you observe the stories that seep from your mind & your month, & soak in the dirt beneath your soles?

***

Sailing.

after a night & wave of Low's lows, with a mind trapped in dark hallways, & an arrow in the sternum, eye rode with thighs coiled around cold metal bars on the bow. Not stuck~still~riding the waves, one with water, the soft marriage of wind & water, mind & feeling, like cycles of fizz. A load in motion, a wonder, to feel the feels & not get swept away in the washing machine of the soul: thank you, Father air for your breath like frigid hands that slap my face, hold my watery ways. We dance together in solid nothings. Low's lows paint my six sailing swords.

***

September Mushrooms.

smoke & mist & barns & things. when the fog lifts & Father Sky blows morning cheekkisses of cool air, the mycelium surfaces from the dirt of everything. the soiled soil of all avoided~the sweetness & the sickness, the sour, arises after tears to lick or not lick ? we bring to the surface mindless habits ooze from the ground ing & we jumped out windows this week at least the late summer sunflowers stand tall to kiss the moon goodnight, the moon tonight that moves from mercurys mind to watery river, moving water. We stand in the river because all is changing & we choose where we stand in the impermanence we can stay grounded, standing among mycelium guides

***

Summer Soulstice. at the time when the sun never set soul-stice the sun moved to cancer the water rises from the dirt sunshine eyes move from i think to i feel. a lover left today & the sun never stopped shining. lion day yamyub with colorful strangers sounds like a lunch special curiosity dances with play i walked to the bare rocks word vomit amid long walks~ not much sleeping these days, daydreams strong along new paths, new waters. midsummer is coming-- in the night sun we roll giant rusty wheel across the field to the pole it strikes rhubarb patches & yurts. bowling. draw the medicine wheel in everything, & remember the words of your grandmother from the north, where father Wind blows coldness into people. magic spells, casual my dad, jar jar binks & i heat the boiler run in circles round the berriesclimb up & down ladders to make board games real. pee in each others mouths for kicks make up stories that make us laugh in ways i haven't. not holding back nice to practice screaming & touching in silly ways.watch dad & his many lovers watch dad as everyone asks him to fix things. falling into dream in an old army tent like a hut set the canvas on fire one nightdad was too busy fixing other peoples’ things.reindeer fur burning strong.dad has more trinkets than ill know. falling into dream together because i wanted to watch the fire dance before i dreamt. in a playground of exploration emotion acceptance release scream, cry, lick, fuck, be, see every living thing as a reflection a microcosm embrace the impermance the challenge to remain stable within. **

august�� 

still in Scandinavia, aching for Father Sun's hot kiss on the skin, feeling wavy-er then ever, riding waves like climbing mountains, honoring heart openings & embracing shenanigans. doing the vegetable dance for life.

PLAYground..

***

late June’s dreamy, cotton candy skies the eves, during the hour or so of darkness.

✨ Wild wind gods speak in the night, hot sun in the day finally, sporadic rainfall before hundreds of toes dance onto this space for a new festival. trash has been painted, repurposed gifts for Spirit, sweat has danced down my skin where ticks furrow, fiery logs have fallen from stoves awake from dreaming, love created in the medicine wheel of trees around the hammock, dice has been rolled, all my walls of belief~framework has been tumbling into chaos as bodies move with the wind of the moment.

mmmm the mouth is full of words like candy, songs as my roots open up, and mind full of visions that lead the way.

*** 

strawberry moon

June Moon of strawberries & primary colors freckled seeds, freckled skins freckles are stars on the body grab some ink & use my elbow, play some constellation tic-tac-toe. gentle moon sensual moon warm blood ripe fruit tall grass fast tongues.. June Moon full, the traveling philosopher whispers to me do. do. do. do. do. do. before the mind speaks first. *** Summer 

scatter weather 

changes each moment

leaves in my yoni

after a forest runereading

lets check folks’ bellybuttons 

use that as currency

we grew from the bellybutton

is it our center?

law contract with Great Spirit;

we choose what we handle

we choose the Screenplay.

fire tending;

build up lincoln logs

iron rods on throats

bare your sole 

kiss the embers

burn a fear or two.

whisper of the ways

the tradition of the Sun & the Moon

or, dark magic, the

circles on my palms

foresee great possibility.

organized virgo

yurt with a carpet

carpet on the grass

a ceiling of ropes 

for getting choked, or

tied into a cobweb

prey for a monstrous spider,

on the rock of moss & ticks.

tonight, 

start a fire

sang some songs

made some Love

dreamed some dreams.

dust in the mouth

dust in the eyes,

happy as ever.

we all want more Love.

the hedgehog comes in dreams

and in waking

under the bed

to tell us 

silently

to take off our armor.

***

Late October Departure.. Reflections. Mirror Pond.

grateful for space for watery reflection~to move through feelings as scorpion piches us strong…there's a hue of heaviness across manialand now, with the storms & schemes, with One face calling the shots, amid the social/environmental raping so far from the natural, defining counteracting goodness & personal, local actions of earthwalking warriors to focus on.. Together honoring, protecting the Great Mother…

the last half year moved so quickly because time isn't linear & i felt so held in the space i was in witnessing & the laundry cycles that make me me. connected to YOU-expressions of the same PIZZA !!!!!

eyes with new vision:: towards the great mysteries they are SO FUNNY i want to roll around in dirt and rub it deep into the untouched corners my body . get ground-ed in the dirt of everything use my pain as natural gasoline to fill the vehicle of me & keep the traveler's wheels turning from the ground up to purple cosmos lets marry material & unseen, squares & triangles merge into WHEELS no right no wrong no judgment all paths roadmaps to appreciation station can we remain rooted among change or explode a little all is okay!

thank you, we cannot do this alone. paths of Love realizing the vision.There are so many ways we can live, more options available then we could ever dream 

up.what do you dream UP?

***

May Medicine

the Wheel spins, all is changing each moment, expanding, contracting, being. All a process.

Everything comes from no-thing & to no-thing shall return.  everything inside of us comes from the earth.  

the four Great Paths~Wisdom & spirit in the North, Love & innocence in the South, Introspection in the West, Illumination in the East.

if the thunder don't get you then the lightning will.  Walk in love. How can we change the lens of our situation to one of love?

***

Beltane Blessing.

the midpoint between spring & summer, when Father Sun & Mama Gaia light the fires of their passion on this wet & ready, windblown & wonderful Earth.

The rains cleansed our watery souls, the wind has swept away clutter in our minds so we're open & honest to our truths, ((honoring our unique creativity that lifts the universal body)), the Sun starts the fire & passion our bodies deeply know but minds often forget, & the Earth lets us ground~ barefeet become roots in the mud of everything.

Mmmm, go out & see the messages of Spring. What is fertile & alive? Make love in the forest. Tap in to the wisdom of the faeries around you. Speak sweetly to the plants in bloom, medicine to your spirit. Plant flowers & build a fire, let go & breathe in.

***

you are perfect as you are we are not raised to believe this we are not raised as we were when we slept & spent each moment with the earth We can rekindle The love affair if we care 🍂 You are perfect

***

these last are rupi kaur’s words:

do you have any idea how much of a miracle you are. how lovely it's been. and how lovely it will always be. i am kneeling before you. saying thank you. i am sending my love to your eyes. may they always see good in people. and may you always practice kindness. may we see each other as one. may we be nothing short of in love with everything the universe has to offer. and may we always stay grounded. rooted. our feet planted firmly onto the earth.

[taylorb94-blog1]

medical mystery

so one reason i wanted to start a blog was to vent and write out about the medical mystery thats going on with me right now. so here is the deal, pain we all experience it, physical or emotional. but, both at the same time is just unfair.

it all started two years ago, normal night sitting at home and then it started, the pain. lower abdomen, upper pelvis, whatever the medical professionals like to call it. basically us ladies know it as the area around the ovaries. i know what you are thinking and no these were not cramp x.x. thanks to the depo shot i haven’t had a period or cramps in what feels like forever. yes, i know “tmi” well you started reading and the natural human curiosity is making you keep reading.

so pain started, first kind of annoying but as the night went on, it got more and more intense. doubled over, screaming, crying, worst pain of my life. so my mom rushes me to the er, 5 hours, poked with needles and peeing in cups later, doctor says bladder infection. he convenced me that, thats all it was, shot me up with some toroidal and anti-biotics and sent me on my way. 

few nights later, same thing. this story is funny just wait. so since i was just there and showing the same signs, more poking for blood and they wheel me off to do a ct. now we (my mom and i ) are waiting, and waiting, and waiting...... finally doctor peaks his head in the curtain and the first thing out his mouth,” have you been swallowing coins?”, as you could imagine i had the most angry and confused look on my face. only thing i could think to say was “ DO I LOOK LIKE A  3 YEAR OLD LEFT ALONE WITH CHANGE?!?!?” don’t get me wrong in todays day in age with munchhousins and crazy people i get now that it was a valid question, but at the time i was just upset.so the diagnosis that night was “foreign objects in the cologne” yea try to go to work and explain that to your boss. with out mentioning names, i had a mole in the hospital who may have looked at my file for me. the ct tec. said the objects were “ undissolved food or pills”.... so my “coins” was my dinner. cant roll my eyes hard enough.

fast forward grand total of 6 E.R. visits. yes i know a lot but hey i needed answers. there were nights i laid in my bed just thinking to myself that a butter knife to the abdomen would give me some relief. why a butter knife? just think of how pissed off you have to be to make damage with a butter knife..... scary right? now we move on to the ob/gyn two different doctors, 4 different ultrasounds later. nothing , and everything passed though our minds,( cancer, cysts, endometriosis, ect. even telling myself if its the worst, “ hey i can always adopt”) but everything came back normal. 

then one doctor had the magical idea that he pulled out of his butt “hernia”. and if you are like me with all this medical mystery, google has become your best friend. a hernia occurs when you put strain on your body with heavy lifting and what not, producing a lump or bulge. i could be sitting down doing nothing and this pain starts, (hell its hurting now and i’m laying in bed typing this.) but i went with it, and talked to a surgeon. fast forward to another ct scan. this time with the contrast, both oral and though iv. if you have ever tasted that stuff, omg it was horrible and then to “make it taste better” they added raspberry flavoring. yea that tasted like a raspberry’s asshole. But i pinched my nose and gulped as much as i could at a time. thinking to myself “do this now and we get answers later.” 3/4 of a liter everything that went down tried to come back up. and as i sat in that waiting room i held back tears, because yes, there were more people in there with me. all waiting to do cts, lucky some not having to drink the horrible drink. but i couldn't help but think to myself, they all know what they are looking for. cuz of course i was eves dropping on conversations, but one cute guy was there for kidney stones, one was looking for something else i forgot, but when they asked me, all i could say was Idk and try not to cry. yes everyone was there for a bad reason but they all had something more then me. a piece of mind, a diagnosis, a plan. i had nothing but a gut full of nasty drink and theory. 

ct results come back, i sit in the doctors office hopeful that we have an answer, that we can make a plan, that i can finally start to feel better. 

my world came crashing down the second she walked in the door. i could see it all over her face, then she spoke,”honey i’m sorry but we don’t see anything on the ct,” i cried beyond control, ugly crying face and all. 

side note, i am not a thin woman. yes i am plus size and “over weight” and due to this sickness i haven’t been able to work out and lose weight. but after crying my eyes out so frustrated to the point i was begging for exploratory surgery. the surgeon looked at me and said “maybe if you lose some weight.” .... ok now im pissed. “NAME ONE FAT PERSON WHO HAS THIS PROBLEM” yes i need to lose weight, but don’t make that the dumb answer to this situation.

needless to say here we are, still in pain, changed diet, gone gluten free and all that fun stuff and yes i have lost some weight. Has any pain subsided? hell no. 

the pain had escalated to where i could not walk. so my mom took me to the emergency room again. (against my wishes) and i told the doctor on call” i was not leaving with out some kind of answer and stronger medication then what ive been given (cuz lets face it, no i don’t want hard core pills but the aspirin they have been giving me was not worth the kidney damage it was doing, it did not put a dent in the pain.) i laid on that bed crying, to the point i couldn't speak, and as me and my mother told her the adventures of the past two years. for the first time i left she was actually listening, that she didn't want to rush me out of there but actually give me an answer,especially when i said the magic words “please cut me open, ill do the exploratory surgery”, of course she didn't have one, but her theory goes right back to ovaries, something called interstitial cystitis. 

so we are back to square one, thinking its my ovaries but at least now i have a stronger theory, yes the pain is horrendous, the doctor visits seem tedious, and you start to question your sanity when the doctor tells you that nothing is wrong or they cant find anything. but its your piece of mind that you must hold on to. 

at the end of this, i hope people will say, “ she was a Warrior.”

i plan to keep you all updated as i continue my mystery medical journey. and i hope you are an entertained with my tails.

this is my story, i don’t regret posting it.