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midnightwinterhawk · 3 years ago

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I put together a little collection of Sterek and Steter fics for funsies. “Just a few fics”, I thought, “nothing too crazy.” Thirty fics later I had to cut myself off and finalize the list. You can thank @the-cookie-of-doom for the inspiration.

These primarily fall under the Hurt Stiles Stilinski category because I apparently like to see my comfort characters suffer. Most of these have hopeful/happy endings but mind the tags. For reals.

Placed under a cut since I have no self control and this turned into a long post.

Sterek

adore to see your eyes fly by @1001cranes

(11,309 l E)

stiles is a pyromaniac, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

take my heart from me by @areiton

(23,188 l NR)

He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them.

To Derek.

He just wanted to keep them all safe.

That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"Why Can't You?" by @asterekmess

(3,602 l T)

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

(30,314 l E)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

A Victory March by @churkey

(2,688 l T)

When Stiles is eight he learns that nothing will be the same. His dad comes home one day after work and sits Stiles down for a talk. He explains that werewolves and all the monsters are real.

They're real and not hiding under anyone's bed.

Bury the Moon by darthjamtart

(16,592 l M)

First things get bad. Then they get worse. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s sacrificed until it’s too late.

Dying is the easy part.

Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous

(10,685 l E)

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Empty by @discontentedwinter

(48,034 l M)

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(188,781 l E)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

It Was a Wednesday by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

(80,129 l M)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Tiny Houses by @ohmyjetsabel-blog

(77,183 l E)

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

I'm There in the Water by @spaceprincessem

(15,878 l T)

“But it’s—” Derek paused, his words unsure, “it’s not like us,” he swallows hard, chin dipping to his chest in frustration, “it’s like a…”

“An abomination,” Stiles finished, nodding his head as he finally lets his gaze really look at Derek since Scott had pulled them from the water.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t because the way Derek looks at him makes Stiles feel like he is ten years old again. Like Derek is seeing him for the first time since they accidentally fell into each other’s orbit all those years ago. Like Stiles isn’t a burden or invisible.

Like he is enough.

Or five times Stiles felt like he was drowning and the one time he finally caught his breath

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

(2,577 l M)

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

The Price by theroguesgambit

(18,452 l M)

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town�� and no one can figure out what it was.

Nieważny by Zethsaire

(2,037 l E)

The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed. Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.

Steter

Make Me Bleed by @asarcasticwitch

(2,304 l E)

Peter’s expression contorts, impressed or surprised, Stiles can't decipher, but the grin on his face proves he’s not exactly disappointed with the unexpected turn of events.

“Which bite exactly were you hoping for, hm?” The older man curls one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, trailing his thumb along his pale, fragile throat.

Stiles tilts his head back in unyielding submission, giving the wolf no room to debate his sincerity. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Alpha.

Two Roads Converge in a Graveyard Town by @cywscross

(15,645 l T)

The Deadpool brings one more assassin to Beacon Hills. A man's gotta eat after all.

when you're going through hell (keep going for me) by cywscross

(57,022 l T)

Peter is abandoned in the aftermath of the fire, and Eichen House takes ruthless advantage. Six years later, when he's finally able to move again, he finds himself in a cell with a boy in a straitjacket.

(Kate’s biggest mistake was letting Peter live. Eichen House’s biggest mistake was letting Peter meet Stiles.)

Don't Fail Me Now by @discontentedwinter

(36,315 l E)

Stiles goes to Derek looking for help.

He finds Peter instead.

Peter takes what he's wanted for a very long time.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

(56,525 l M)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

(27,586 l M)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Into Eden by @graciebirdie

(12,232 l M)

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

(4,032 l E)

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

Call My Name by KouriArashi ( @gingersnapwolves )

(81,370 l M)

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Hide my tears in the rain. by MrsRidcully

(6,865 l M)

After years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos, it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.

In My Veins Like Disease by romanoffbarton

(1,140 l T)

He tries to leave once.

Foreshock by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(22,816 l E)

The day Stiles’ mom died, he almost leveled his house.

Not on purpose. Not even by mistake, really. More by instinct.

Since then he's dug his fingers into everything his has left, holding on with desperation.

Desperation never stopped an earthquake.

Your Touch is My Choice by twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(2,171 l T)

The first time John does it, Stiles is two years old and about to run into the road.

“Mieczysław!” Heart pounding, John grabbed him by the back of his neck and got a hand around his tummy, snatching him back. “No, you have to stay away from the road,” he said firmly.

Shameful Company by Whispering_Sumire (@whispering-sumire755)

(38,779 l E)

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth.

"No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?"

[About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Would You Forgive Me If I Called You Hope, Peter Hale? (Hope, By Any Other Name) by Whispering_Sumire

(10,099 l T)

Stiles has scars. He owns that, he accepts it, he's cataloged and memorized every single one, he's hyper fucking aware of them all.

"What do you want, Peter?" Having the more untrustworthy of the Pack getting protective weirds him the fuck out, leaves an odd fluttering in his chest, like moths, waiting perilously and suicidally to be burned.

He doesn't like it.

"You're injured," the man says, "and whatever it is, it's put you in enough pain that I nearly fainted when I-"

"- Used your werewolf mojo on me without my permission?" Stiles smirks, and Peter gives him a black look, crossing a leg over his knee and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on his pants.

"Tell me the truth Stiles, how bad is it?"

[Or: The one where Stiles has scars, is more than a little fucked up, and Peter notices. He helps.]

#hurt/comfort #angst #dark #hurt/no comfort #angst with a happy ending #fic rec #be kind to yourself and mind the tags #Sterek #Steter #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Peter Hale #hurt Stiles Stilinski #Sterek fic #Steter fic #to the pain

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bethgreeneishopeunseen · 7 years ago

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Gimple’s Pantheon: Freyja

Gimple loves to incorporate literary and mythological allusions into his story, the story he’s been telling since he took over as showrunner for season 4. For example, Bethyl and Carzekiel both have similarities to Hades/Persephone. He wants his story to ultimately be timeless. Glenn and Maggie’s search for each other in 4b is compared to Ulysses/Odysseus (X). During season six, @bethgreenewarriorprincess noticed two Easter eggs that connected Michonne to the Norse goddess Freyja/Freya. She suggested that Richonne was partially based off/modeled off of Freyja and Odr. Freyja and Odr are believed to be the same as Frigga and Odin, due to linguistic and narrative similarities (X). Christy planned on writing up a Richonne meta, but she decided to leave it alone, so with her permission I took the two Easter eggs she showed me and researched the idea myself, diving into 4x09 and 4x11. Along the way I discovered parallels and eggs related to Beth’s story. This meta will be split between Michonne/Richonne and Team Delusional, as warning for those who aren’t TD.

Before I go any further into my findings, I want to make something clear: Gimple seeds storylines in advance. Sometimes years in advance. No prop or other cinematographic element goes wasted in a scene. In 4x09, when Carl finds a boy’s room filled with video games, there is a Swedish eye chart (X). It foreshadowed Carl losing his eye exactly two seasons later, which is further supported by other similar props showing up in seasons 5 and 6. In 4x11, while recuperating, Rick reads a collection of Jack London’s short stories, which includes theme of cannibalism (X). This was right before Terminus was introduced to the Grimes family’s arc. In 7x12, the Richonne “Honeymoon” episode, Gimple symbolically marries the couple. During the opening montage, Rick finds a wedding dress, then he and Michonne are shown having sex, “consummating” the marriage (X). The rest of the episode is filled with romantic imagery, tropes, and them sharing intimate conversations about their relationship. All of this takes place in an episode called “Say Yes”. Gimple is a certified nerd.

The two main storylines in 4x09 follow Carl and Michonne on their own, learning about themselves and how they’ve changed. Carl declares that, “I can take care of myself,” before launching into a grief-filled monologue about Rick’s failings. With his father unconscious, Carl sets out on his own to find food. Beth told Daryl the same thing when he tried to take her back to their suck-ass camp. Like Carl, she was grieving, and Daryl was shut-down, emotionally as comatose as Rick was physically. She wanted to find a drink, to give herself a purpose and to live for once. She and Carl share parallels as their stories are both apocalyptic Bildungsromans (coming-of-age). Christy found a plaque that read “Fredag”. Much like the eye chart, the plaque is also in Swedish. It means Friday, but more specifically, “The modern Scandinavian form is "Fredag" in Swedish, Norwegian and Danish, meaning Freyja's day” (X).

The sign is even next to the can of pudding, so the audience is primed to notice to it.

The other Freyja egg that Christy discovered is in the Alexandria Safe-Zone tour. Near the mantle, where Michonne hung her katana, is a horse statue. Freyja is a goddess of beauty, love, lust, fertility, war, and death. Horses fit all of these attributes, and one of Freyja’s titles even means “Mare of Vanir”. Michonne also had a pet horse, Flame, during 4a.

In my research, some traits of Freyja immediately jumped out at me:

“A pair of cats work together to draw her cart, proving her sovereignty as a goddess. Diana Paxson suggested the names Bygul and Trjegul - "Bee-gold" and "Tree-Gold" - for Freyja's cats, to honor her connections with honey and amber.”

“Freyja's power and beauty are symbolized most strongly by the necklace Brisingamen. The four dwarven smiths, the Brising brothers, forged a golden necklace of unsurpassed beauty, which Freyja could not bear to let pass from her grasp.”

Freyja has many lovers/commits infidelity against Odr. (Source: X).

She and Freyja share similar traits and symbolism. The cat connection is obvious. But Michonne also has a deep appreciation for art, most famously embodied in her cat statues from 3x12 and 7x10. In 3x13, she explained to Carl that, “I just couldn't leave this behind. It's just too damn gorgeous.” Like Freyja, she values beauty. She decorated her home with paintings, went to galleries, and dressed fashionably, before the apocalypse (X). She was also very opinionated about art, indicating that she had a developed interest in that world. In the dream sequence from 4x09, she and Terry debate the merits of an exhibit. The Brisingamen necklace also fits as a trait of Michonne, because she’s worn the same gold necklace since she was fully introduced in season 3.

While the last bullet point doesn’t fit TV!Michonne, it goes along with the history of her comic book counterpart. Comic!Michonne has had the most lovers of any character in the comics, and she came on to Tyreese when he was with C@rol.

Michonne’s appreciation of art parallels Beth’s love of music and overall appreciation for beauty. They both push their men to see beyond survival, to make choices that will allow all of them live. They’re both compassionate, warrior women who came from a low period of mental/emotional instability. One symbol connected only to Beth, the ladybug, is even a symbol of Freyja (X). Freyja is described as being fair-haired and blue-eyed, like Beth, and her general attributes could also fit Beth. As I mentioned earlier, Bethyl and Carzekiel parallel Hades and Persephone, but Bethyl fits this mold the most. Gimple parallels both Michonne and Beth with Freyja, but Michonne is his main focus for this allusion.

With all of that in mind, there were also Beth eggs in 4x09. After Carl found the pudding, he went upstairs and passed some eggs, and he then had to escape from a walker, losing his shoe in the process. First he passed a box labeled “Peanut Butter”. People don’t just label a box “Peanut Butter”, especially since there was no actual peanut butter in the episode. The label refers to “Alone”, as peanut butter and jelly has become Bethyl symbols, and Beth chose the peanut butter. The peanut butter jar even reappeared in 7x08, in a Daryl-scene that mirrored his character development in Alone.

The second egg was actually a trifecta of eggs. The first room upstairs opened into an empty bedroom, and it contained a horrible sight. There was a dead canary on the carpet. The birdcage and bird caught my eye, as the last time a birdcage had appeared in the show, it appeared in Beth’s cell in 4x01 (X). Her birdcage had a number “4” inside of it, referring to 5x04 or Slabtown, which was her “cage” as she is the show’s songbird. The Beth connection goes further, as it is a yellow canary. Yellow is Beth’s signature color, as the color surrounds her and was part of her main costume, and the color keeps reappearing in moments and characters that parallel her. The same kind of yellow canary appeared in a season-4 Daryl poster, as reference to his search for Beth (X).

The fact that two yellow birds appeared in the same season cannot be a coincidence, especially since they both appeared in relation to other Beth-related imagery.

Then of course, there is the box on the bed labeled “Shoes”. Shoes, especially lone shoes, were established as a motif in this episode and continued into season 7, culminating with Boots. Who is Beth, no matter how you cut it (X). Carl loses his shoe escaping the walker upstairs, leaving a sign that references the lost shoe. TPTB wanted the audience to notice the shoe. I think all of these Easter eggs allude Beth's arc: peanut butter, dead song bird taken from its cage, and then Carl losing his shoe escaping the walker. Bethyl in Alone, Grady and Carl getting there when Beth is “dead”, and then her surviving the 800-walker herd, escaping from death, and returning as Boots/Binoculars Bethfoot. 4x09 contained symbols to outline Beth’s arc post-season 4, before it transitioned to full on parallels/rehearsals in 4x11. (In a previous meta, I already outlined how Glenn and Rick’s arcs in that episode foreshadowed Beth’s story: X.)

Overall, the house that Rick, Carl, and Michonne stayed in from 4x09 and 4x11 had Scandinavian elements. There was Nordic-looking artwork, which made me think of Rick as Odr/Odin, the supreme god in Norse mythology and a warrior god.

There is also a recurring water bottle from a company called “Wolford Springs”. The name itself sounds Scandinavian/Germanic, but I had never heard of it. The show has created fake brands in the past, so I looked up “Wolford Springs” and nothing direct came up on Google. Most results led me to a European company called Wolford that is known for its lingerie.

And Freyja is the goddess of lust and beauty.

Antlers also popped up in the background as decoration, which probably means the image is to be associated with Michonne. I looked up Freyja and antlers, and I was not disappointed. Freyja had a twin brother, Freyr, and they had a relationship.

On the god’s Wikipedia page, the introduction mentions that:

“The most extensive surviving Freyr myth relates Freyr's falling in love with the female jötunn Gerðr. Eventually, she becomes his wife but first Freyr has to give away his magic sword which fights on its own "if wise be he who wields it." Although deprived of this weapon, Freyr defeats the jötunn Beli with an antler. However, lacking his sword, Freyr will be killed by the fire jötunn Surtr during the events of Ragnarök” (X).

Gimple combined Freyja and Freyr for his story. Antlers appeared around Michonne because they refer to her katana, her signature weapon and her most iconic feature.

(Notice also the silver wind chime on Carl’s left. The D.C. spoon is one of the central symbols foreshadowing Beth’s survival.)

Before I go more into the other Beth eggs in 4x11 I found this time, I want to wrap up the Michonne/Freyja parallels. Freyja and Odr/Odin were a power couple in Norse mythology. They were both warriors, both rulers. Odin is probably most known for ruling over Valhalla, the celebratory hall meant for people who died in battle. Well, Freya had her own, in a sense, to compliment her husband’s:

“Freya is living in Asgard (the home of the Gods), the name of her house is Sessrumnir and it is located by the field Fólkvangr which means “field of the host”, “people field” or “army field”[.] It is a place where half of the people who dies in a battle go for the afterlife, while Odin will receive the other half. Freya is always given the first choice among the brave warriors, after she had picked the ones she wanted, the rest were sent to Odin” (X).

Makes you think of Rick and Michonne ruling Alexandria, doesn’t it? If you need further proof, here you go:

When Rick gets into bed to read that Jack London book, he sets his watch on the nightstand beside a tube of lipstick and a gold necklace. The gold necklace goes back to Freyja’s prized necklace, and in this set-up, the bed is a domestic space. It foreshadows Rick and Michonne sharing a bed for real two seasons later.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this meta, Gimple seeds plotlines early on. In this episode, Carl and Michonne scavenge through a house. There was a sunflower painting and a painting that resembled Mary from Terminus. Even major media sites picked up on these eggs (X). The other paintings, and the scene itself, allude to Beth. Michonne opens up to Carl in 4x11, revealing pieces of a past she had long kept locked up, but to keep herself from getting overwhelmed, Michonne has Carl play a game:

“Okay. I'll answer one question at a time, one room at a time, and only after we've cleared it. [...] You know, you could be a spy. Or a cop.”

The game parallels Zach and Daryl’s game in 4x01, about Daryl’s job. Zach even asked if Daryl had been a cop before the Turn. It’s been theorized that Beth would spy for Team Family, if she were in an enemy group. I believe that Beth is taken shelter, intermittently, with the Scavengers/the Heapsters. She’d become a spy for her family. Michonne also looks at a painting of a dog looking up at a full moon. My mind immediately jumped to Beth, who would be following the North Star in order to reach Virginia. There were full moons in 4x01, 4x12, and throughout season 5 (X).

Carl is eager to learn more about Michonne and impatient, so he asks, “Does this hallway count as a room?”

Michonne: If you can find a something we can use.

And this exchange takes place in a yellow hallway, one filled with Easter eggs. Tunnel imagery surrounds Beth, and the theme of “usefulness” is all Grady. Back at the house, Rick escaped from the Claimers through a yellow bathroom. Two yellow rooms, in completely different houses. Again, not a coincidence. As Michonne was meant to become a queen who would co-rule with her husband, Beth was meant to return.

#team delusional #richonne #props #parallels #the tunnel #richonne meta #michonne

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everysuperherofighting · 6 years ago

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The Best Music of 2018

2018 was a strange year for me. It should go without saying that the politics were grim, as the United States continued to embrace gestapo-esque tactics and concentration camps as a way of dealing with the “immigration crisis” (a lot of this happened under Obama too of course). The planet continued to slide into a dystopia of global warming as more and more animals became endangered or went extinct all-together. The mid-terms happened, with typically mixed results. Elon Musk called someone a pedophile on twitter for some reason.

On a personal level, in 2018 I moved to Ohio from Oregon (again). My band put out an EP. And I lost my father, something that I still grapple with on a daily basis, though it gets less present over time.

I’ve become interested in how I discover new music, as I’ve gotten older and can’t really consider myself to be fully plugged into any sort of youth culture, sub or otherwise. Finding new music has become a very intentional process; if I didn’t seek it out deliberately, I probably wouldn’t end up hearing much of anything. But that’s always kind of true for arty-weirdos like me.

For better or worse I discovered a lot of music the last two years through Youtube. As you probably know, if you play a song or an album on Youtube, there’s an autoplay feature that will automatically play something else when it’s done. I’ve found a lot of my favorite music lately this way, and in some ways it’s kind of filled the role that “cool record store clerk” or “late-night college dj” might have filled in the times past. This is not necessarily a good change. I’ve heard you can find a lot of white supremacists that way too.

Youtube has also become invaluable if you’re someone who wants to make a list like this one, and can’t afford to spend hundreds of dollars on albums. I think sometimes the artists even get paid a minuscule amount for the clicks! Hooray free information! I hope we can all find decent jobs someday.

1) CAMP COPE - HOW TO SOCIALISE & MAKE FRIENDS

I debated with myself about whether to put Camp Cope at number one, as they’re not the most musically complex or adventurous of my favorite albums this year. However I can’t think of another band that felt like it lyrically captured the zeitgeist of the times in such a powerful way. The whole album is great, catchy and upbeat jangly indie/punk with tinges of early 90s midwestern emo, made by three woman from Melbourne, Australia. Singer Georgia McDonald has a great voice, imbued with urgency, and her accent is a lot of fun to listen to too. Her lyrics have that same emotional rawness and honest specificity that early emo has as well - on “The Omen” she sings about loving someone since they were 17 and wishes for rescue dogs and a house by the sea, while on “I’ve Got You,” she bounces from the death of her father to police shootings, the loss of her childhood home, and the grappling with mental illness, and it all feels thematically relevant as this great moment of exhaled catharsis.

The stand-outs for me, however, are “The Opener” and “The Face of God.” “The Opener” is a scorching indictment of the indie music scene, as McDonald calls-out all the garbage women in bands have to deal with, from accusations that they only succeed based on their gender, to men continually explaining things, to men showing up to lay down a big steamy pile of unrequited love BS. These aren’t new observations, but hearing them all laid out in a row like this highlights their invulnerability and their ubiquitousness, the daily microaggressions that lead up to a larger picture of persistent inequality. On “The Face of God,” McDonald narrativizes the Me Too movement from the perspective of an abused fan, musing “could it be true? You couldn’t do that to someone. Not you, nah your music is too good,” her tortured delivery capturing the rage, shame, disbelief, and sadness of all the Me Too revelations about artists that we liked, and who abused that power again and again and again and again and again and again and again an

2) IDLES - JOY AS AN ACT OF RESISTANCE

Image by Paul Hudson via Flickr

Idles was one of my favorite discoveries of last year. I was actually a little concerned with this album since I’d heard the band was “embracing positivity” , and what I loved about Brutalism was their raw, unhinged sound and clever but cynical and pissed-off lyrics. There’s also a recurring thing for me of finding a really cool raw sounding band, punk adjacent but not necessarily fully in the scene, who then get less “punk” (and to me, less interesting) with each subsequent release as they sort of turn into just another indie dude band who like Big Star or the Replacements. This band sounds raw as fuck, I’ll say, and then later they’ll put out their fucking mandolin album.

Joy as an Act of Resistance is dope though, as their music continues to embrace a raw, chaotic sound of guitars that both swirl and jab like shards of glass, pounding “Lust For Life” toms, and stripped down basslines, while frontman Joe Talbot howls sarcastic indictments of masculinity, homophobia, and racism. In a similar way to last year’s Pissed Jeans album, they tackle ugly toxic masculinity with ugly, tough sounding music, hearkening back to a punk rock that was less rigid in sound. There’s this infectious positivity that runs through the whole thing however, a joy that comes from casting off the fixed roles that the patriarchal society tries to put upon us and embracing our (ironically) gentler natures. “I wanna be your best ever friend forever” Talbot says, sincerely on “Love Song.” “Let’s hug it out,” he repeats on “Never Fight a Man With A Perm,” and though the song is making fun of a coked out bruiser, I have a feeling it’s a sentiment he would share.

3) THE ARMED - ONLY LOVE

The synthesis of hardcore punk with electronic music is something I’ve been anticipating. There’s definitely been forebearers (Horse the Band comes to mind, though there’s probably other stuff in the underground), but this is the first time I’ve heard it done so well. The Armed sound like if you took one of the better mid-2000s screamy hardcore bands and mixed it with the noisiest and most frenetic parts of a chip-tune song. That may sound like a nightmare to a lot of you, but again, it’s done so well here that it just sounds like a noisy chaotic mess in the best and most elegant possible way. This is not to underplay the tightness of the song-craft at work here - the chaotic sound seems to me to be carefully orchestrated. Glitchy, brutal, climatic, and beautiful. (And the parts where the lady sings remind me of Blatz. The world could use more Blatz.)

4) SCREAMING FEMALES - ALL AT ONCE

Image by Jason Persse via Flickr

This band is kind of a mainstay on my year end list at this point, but I feel like they continually top their previous efforts, a rare quality for most bands. Incredible vocals, incredible song-writing, incredible guitar playing, as they reach ever greater levels of accessibility and hookiness, while still maintaining that slight edge that would put them forever as at home in a basement as a venue.

5) KALI UCHIS - ISOLATION

Kali Uchis lands at that sweet spot where pop, hip-hop, jazz, soul, and psychedelia intersect that’s occupied by similar weirdos like Janelle Monae, Miguel, and the Internet. It’s no wonder that one of the all-time prophets of future-looking pop, Boots Riley, shows up on one of the singles. There’s a real bossa-nova, latin jazz vibe on a lot of these tracks, and a kind of retro-sheen even as it pushes into the future. “It’s no fun to feel like a fool,” Kali Uchis croons while straight up wall of sound style saxophones blurp in the background. “Pussy is a hell of an addiction.”

6) THE INTERNET - HIVE MIND

Another year-end list staple for me, the Internet have been consistently putting out some of the best, solid-ass R+B since 2011. The whole thing is smooth as hell, but weird or tasteful in all the right places; the “hoo hoo” on “Humble Pie” or the building horns on “Mood.” And retaining just a hint of that old Odd Future off-kilterness around the edges. OG Dungeon Family poet “Big Rube” shows up on “It Gets Better (With Time).”

7) JEAN GRAE AND QUELLE CHRIS - EVERYTHING’S FINE

Quelle Chris is a new one for me, but I rocked Jean Grae when I first started getting into indie rap back in high school. I always wondered what happened to her since then, but apparently she’s been putting out a steady stream of mixtapes and underground releases pretty much the whole time, self releasing a lot of them through bandcamp. She’s a wicked lyricist, and her and Quelle Chris trade off bars of dense wordplay and biting commentary on the current age of “self-care” and neoliberal hellscapes over beats that are just weird enough. Much of their verses are delivered through a lens of ironic detachment, but it’s especially affecting when the irony cracks into real urgency or emotion, as in “Breakfast of Champions,” a reflection on the grueling, consistent presence of racism in America. “It’s bound to wreck your body or straight burn your body out” they muse, and then later, as if realizing the gravity of it all, “it’s like damn, shit, fuck, wow…”

Also Quelle Chris apparently taught himself to program 8-bit video games for one of the videos.

8) SELF DEFENSE FAMILY - HAVE YOU CONSIDERED PUNK MUSIC

Yeah dude, you know I like punk rock that don’t follow no rules. This is definitely more in the vein of Fugazi, or maybe even a slightly more jagged Wilco, than a NOFX or 7 Seconds, with nods to Americana and a vocal delivery that reminds me of a raspier Craig Finn. A central preoccupation of the album seems to be the delicate balance between art and maturity, made all the more so when you’re tied to a subculture that’s only “supposed” to last you through your early 20s. There’s some great lines throughout: “ “Explaining motherhood to a man, cold observation but he’s not capable of understanding; detailing math to a dog, won’t retain a word but if you’re lucky he may be a good boy and nod” and “The world’s not turning for you and the road never rises, you’re eking out a living like every other asshole” are highlights for me, but I think my favorite bit of cleverness is actually just the juxtaposition between the titles of tracks 6 and 7. “Have You Considered Punk Music?” asks one. The other: “Have You Considered Anything Else?”

9) SINGLE MOTHERS - THROUGH A WALL

Image by CRUSTINA! via Flickr

And here we have a release that’s a little more meat and potatoes, with steam-rolling drum beats, distortion, and yelled vocals about the desperation to be found in modern life’s mudanities, “dog parks and IPA.” This album’s just some fucking ferocious non-screamy hardcore, with that same relentless quality that the best hardcore albums have. “Catch and Release” even has some double kick on it. Interestingly, I find some of the core anxieties the same as in the album above however: “Better people than you or I have lost that spark for life,” Andrew Thomson bellows on 24/7, a Cassandra portending the potential pitfalls of age.

10) HOP ALONG - BARK YOUR HEAD OFF, DOG

Singer Francis Quinlan has an incredible voice, powerful and worldly, and she paints quick snapshots of narrative with her lyrics like a Lydia Davis story. The music has shades of mid-western emo, with some kind of funky, almost Jackson 5 style guitar lines. This one is definitely a step up in terms of instrumentation from their earlier records, with strings, acoustic guitars, and other orchestral touches. The title refers specifically to a dying dog from one of the tracks, though it also seems to apply to all the characters briefly given voice throughout the album.

11) CINDER WELL - THE UNCONSCIOUS ECHO

Beautiful, haunting folk from Amelia Baker of Blackbird Raum (and a few other fellows mostly from the folk punk/bluegrass scene). A little more straight folk than Blackbird Raum’s high energy mix of folk, metal, and hardcore. Stripped down and evocative, with one foot firmly in an irish folk tradition. Like Blackbird Raum, there is a foreboding quality to much of the music, like a warning of dark things to come.

12) NONAME - ROOM 25

A micro-trend I noticed in hip-hop this year was short albums, notable from a tradition that often includes massive releases and mixtapes stuffed with skits and interludes. This is the first of example of this on my list, clocking in at a respectable 34:48. Noname is a great rapper with an intricate flow, technical without being too dense for a more casual listener, keeping her ideas and narratives clear and present over funky neo soul beats. At times she can be extremely candid, rapping about her sexual escapades, emotions, and insecurities. In one of my favorite moments, the track titled “No Name,” she discusses the spirituality behind her stage name: “When we walk into heaven, nobody’s name gon’ exist; just boundless movement for joy, nakedness radiance.” She’s funny too though. “I’m just writing my darkest secrets like wait and just hear me out; saying vegan food is delicious like wait and just hear me out.”

13) JEFF ROSENSTOCK - POST

More noisy power pop from former Bomb the Music Industry frontman Jeff Rosenstock (though I suppose by this point his solo career is at least as significant; Bomb albums never made it to Pitchfork). I think this one’s a little less varied than “Worry” before it, and a little rawer around the edges. The title is seemingly referring to the time post-2016 election, though it seems to often be more interested in profiling the anxious mood than making specific political points (which you probably all know anyway). I can’t think of another song writer off the top of my head that more consistently exemplifies the anxieties of the millennial generation, whether it’s the mid-20s woes of joblessness and friend loss often detailed in Bomb the Music Industry, or this current outing. On “Yr Throat,” he talks about the ease he has talking about relatively frivolous matter like video games and vinyl records, verses more important matters. One of my favorite lines in the song is a little more direct however, commenting on you-know-who: “It’s not like any other job I know; if you’re a piece of shit they don’t let you go.”

14) DEATH GRIPS - YEAR OF THE SNITCH

Image by Montecruz Foto via Flickr

Supposedly the album title has something to do with Charles Manson, at least according to their very vocal and sometimes uncomfortably affiliated online fanbase. It’s pretty rare that I can fully decipher what a song is about, other than generally surreal lyrics that hint toward a dirty and unsettling underground, whether urban, suburban, or solely online. Death Grips, if you don’t know, make experimental and abstract hip-hop, featuring dark and somewhat unconventional beats, with a live drummer, seeming to draw as much from the tradition of noise music than from rap. For as weird as all this is, however, there’s usually a pretty solid song structure underlying each track, and they create some sticky hooks out of all the electronic chaos and bellowed raps. This time around there seems to be a bit of a shoegaze influence as well, which…. doesn’t quite fit their aesthetic? But is pretty interesting all the same.

15) RAVYN LENAE - CRUSH

Steve Lacy from the Internet (the band) produced this 5 track long EP of retro/future funk and R+B. “Sticky” is as catch a song as ever there was, and Ravyn Lenae does a great job kind of floating over the beat, mixing up her delivery. These artists nod a lot to 70s R+B and funk, and I love that they preserve the strangeness of a lot of that stuff, that otherwordly vibe, whether it’s the “oooo-HOO-hoo-hoo” on “Sticky” or the blunted synth stabs on “4 Leaf Clover.”

16) HINDS - I DON’T RUN

Image by Paul Hudson via Flickr

Indie rock from Madrid with several lady vocalists that’s just a tad sloppy, in a good way. Catchy and relationship oriented, but scratching at something deeper beyond the surface. I love the way the vocal mics all seem to distort slightly. Maybe I’m just an old now, but it makes me nostalgic for college in some way, smoking cigarettes and being heartbroken. Which was probably not actually as fun as I remember it.

17) JPEGMAFIA - VETERAN

Hard as hell raps over jittery noise beats that sometimes merge into moments of dreamlike beauty from a hip-hop auteur who handles all the production himself. This kind of reminds me of when Pitchfork called Odd Future “/b/ boys” (referring to 4chan). This is the new Extremely Online hip-hop, endlessly irony poisoned, vaguely left-wing but mostly cynical, inside jokes upon inside jokes. It seems like there’s some real anger in here too, and his raps often involve promises of violence, usually upon various members of the alt right: “Look, it’s the young alt-right menace; What’s the pistol to a pennant?”

18) MILO - BUDDING ORNITHOLOGISTS ARE WEARY OF TIRED ANALOGIES

Milo reminds me of the best of the older backpacker rappers, dropping classic lines so fast that you miss about 2/3rds of them the first couple times through. Equally at home dropping a reference to a video game, a philosopher, the harshness of race in America, and the Guggenheim fellowship, like one of those memes that eradicates the distinction between high and low culture by putting references to existentialist philosophers over a picture of Spongebob. Of course, hip-hop has always been doing that, hasn’t it?

19) EARL SWEATSHIRT - SOME RAP SONGS

Image by Anna Hanks via Flickr

Another notably short album, at a brisk 24:39. The songs are short too, often coming across as sketches, though really this is the kind of project made to listen to in one sitting. Like a lot of the rap albums on here, this is a project that takes the beats as well as the rhymes seriously, pushing forward into avant garde territory, but in a mellower way than JPEGMAFIA or Death Grips. They have an almost hypnotic quality to them, as Earl raps in his slightly aloof manner, though here the aloofness feels more like a mask only thinly hiding a deep sense of melancholy. The samples on here are thick with that old record hiss - even the vocals are hissy, like a transmission from someplace far away.

20) SUDAN ARCHIVES - SINK

Sudan Archives is a violinist from Cincinnati who makes pop music that sounds like nothing else out there, though it takes cues from hip-hop, R+B, electronica, and world music. The beats are stripped down but still lush sounding, the violin often leading in a way that sounds strange and otherwordly, utilized for it’s ability to create rhythmic hooks, while her lyrics meld the personal with the empowering with the political.

21) TEYANA TAYLOR - K.T.S.E.

Kanye West produced 5 different 7 to 8 track albums this year, with mixed results. A lot of people stan Pusha T’s Daytona, but this one was my favorite, a short and sweet album that’s mellow, romantic, and a little dirty. Teyana Taylor puts in a very versatile performance, and her voice is perfectly suited to ride over the old soul samples that make up the bulk of the production. Kanye’s musical output was of course overshadowed by his various bizarre political statements and right wing flirtations, but it would be a shame for this gem to get lost in the fray.

22) CHURCH OF THE COSMIC SKULL - SCIENCE FICTION

I don’t always love heavily conceptualized “revival” type bands, but this one is so much fun, not just doing pitch perfect 70s hard rock, but also spoofing (at least, I think it’s a spoof) the phenomenon of 70s cults. The members seem to dress in all white, and look like they just stepped off some Jesus-dude’s farm/compound. Of course it wouldn’t work if the music wasn’t so damn hooky. Harmonies, heavy organs, and hella riffs.

23) VINCE STAPLES - FM!

And another super short hip-hop album from one of contemporary rap’s best. Vince’s projects usually feature stripped down beats that would sound good in a car or a club, but the lyrical matter is dark as hell, another example of what a strange genre gangsta rap is when viewed from the outside. It’s hyper-masculine and braggadocios, but also equally often an expression of black pain that is then commodified into bangers for clubs, cars, and house parties full of white frat boys to dance and drink to. The contrast is all the more apparent every time Vince mentions one of his dead friends. I dunno dude, maybe I’m just getting old.

24) JANELLE MONAE - DIRTY COMPUTER

This didn’t grab me as immediately as her previous two full lengths, trending a little too close to mainstream pop for my tastes. But underneath the added sheen, it’s still a Janelle Monae album, bouncing gleefully from Prince-style funk jams to buoyant electro tunes. Monae drops the cyber-punk robo future concept to make an on-the-nose, album length celebration of queerness (though I think there may be some sci-fi on the Dirty Computer short film, which I haven’t watched yet.) The celebratory nature fits the larger, more conventional pop moves here, a sort of “queering” of mainstream pop. There’s also more rapping here than ever, and it’s always fun to hear Monae drop some bars.

25) FUCKED UP - DOSE YOUR DREAMS

Image by CRUSTINA! via Flickr

Similar to the above, this is an album from a long time favorite of mine that didn’t grab me as much as their earlier efforts, and that also seems to be making some moves toward a more mainstream pop sound, though here of course it’s pop music featuring a bellowing, gravel voiced hardcore singer and a bunch of loud Cock Sparrer style guitar lines. This is a concept album, apparently about a character who quits his job and goes on a drug fueled odyssey through the nature of reality, learning to reject an oppressive capitalist society, which sounds like the plot of an 80s British comic book, and hey, the cover is basically ripped straight from the pages of Watchmen, so there you go. They try out a lot of different styles here, which can be a bit hit or miss, but the core of Fucked Up, the interplay between Abraham’s bombastic bellows and huge sounding guitars, is as raucous and triumphant as ever, if a little more familiar.

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feelingdylano · 8 years ago

Text

Hurts So Good (Stiles Romance Sequel) ~Chapter 1~

I felt my body tossing and turning as I felt the whole room spinning. Beads of sweat began to form at my forehead as I whimpered slightly. Before I knew it, I gasped and sat up in bed, realizing it was just a dream.

“Hey, are you okay?” Stiles asked, sitting up beside me. I only kept my eyes forward and nodded, running a hand through my hair, attempting to catch my breath. He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in my neck, lowering his voice, “Come on, let’s go back to sleep.” I pressed my lips as I lowered my hand down to his. He took advantage and kissed my neck softly. “Or since we’re up…”

Facing him I could feel his hot breath before he pressed his lips to my own. I grabbed a hold of his cheek with my hand before running it up into his hair, kissing him a little deeper. Before I knew it, he pushed himself forward, gently laying me down and placing a hand on my thigh not bothering to part from my lips as he wiggled himself between my legs. His warm touch felt inviting as he began making his way up inside my shirt, tracing his fingers over my curves before gripping at me and pulling me closer to his body. I lightly gasped as he moved down to my neck and lightly nibbled on it, causing my own skin to curl and my back to arch in satisfaction. He smiled through the kisses before he moved back to my lips, kissing me with more passion. My own hands began to roam, managing to take off his shirt before making their way down to his waist, my fingers wanting to tug at his pants. But before I could go any further, I stopped myself. He pulled away as my brows merged together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. I lightly pushed on his chest as I attempted to sit up, “I—I thought you wanted to—”

“Believe me, I do, but—but this isn’t really happening,” I muttered, finally sitting up and looking up at him. “You shouldn’t be here…”

“Adelyn, what are you talking about?” he asked, his own eyes becoming confused.

“It’s just a dream…” I whispered. There was a moment of silence before I looked up at him noticing his sudden blank stare after my own words. My brows merged yet again as I placed a hand on face. “Stiles?”

“Shi (Death),” he muttered.

“Stiles?”

“Shi (Death),” he continued, “Yami. Watashi wa soradesu (Darkness. I am void).”

“What?”

“Shi (Death),” he continued. “Yami. Watashi wa soradesu (Darkness. I am void).” I suddenly gasped as his hand shot out before him, suddenly gripping at my throat, and pushing me back on my bed, choking me.

“Stiles!”

“Watashi wa soradesu (I am void)!”

I quickly sat up, gasping for air and gripping at my throat, attempting to fight back the feeling of being chocked. When I managed to calm down, I pulled my knees up as I buried my face into my hands, taking in a shaky breath as I did. That was the third time this week with the same nightmare, and much like every time, it still managed to get to me.

“It’s happening again,” I muttered, running my hand up into my hair. “The visions are starting up again…”

The next morning, I put my books together and stuffed them into my backpack, still slightly unnerved by my nightmare. My eyes suddenly flickered onto my nightstand for a split second, noticing the small cylinder sitting there, untouched and unbothered for what seemed to be a long while. I pressed my lips together, internally debating whether I should take it with me or not. Shaking my head, I buckled my backpack shut before strapping it over my shoulder and grabbing a hold of my black hooded jacket, finally heading out to my car.

Pulling into Lydia’s driveway, I simply honked and waited for her to finish getting her stuff. Since everything with the alphas and the Darach had finally come to a stop, we had managed to start living our normal teenage lives together. We would all just hang out as if nothing had happened just weeks prior. Everything seemed normal, well for the most part. I wasn’t too sure about that now since the nightmare began. I texted Allison while I waited for Lydia to come out, making sure if she was ready for us to pick her up, but no response. Shrugging, I only hoped she would be by the time we got there. The car door suddenly opened and Lydia stepped in.

“So, what’s the deal with this dream?” Lydia asked, placing her purse just beneath her feet and showing me the text I had sent her, explaining my nightmare to her.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, pulling out as she shut the door and making my way toward Allison’s house, “All I know it’s been a recurring nightmare and it’s been going on for three nights in a row. It’s starting to worry me.”

“Honey, I don’t think it’s a nightmare you should be worried about,” she muttered, pulling out her compact mirror and puckering her lips as she applied her red lipstick. “I think maybe you’re just—” she paused as she looked into the mirror, “—sexually frustrated. Meaning you probably need to get laid by the one and only—”

“It’s not that,” I interceded, my cheeks flushing as I knew what she was trying to hint at. “I’m thinking past that—you know, focusing on the part that’s actually a nightmare.”

“Well, considering that Stiles doesn’t know some strange foreign language and I’m sure would love to act out the first part of your dream rather than the last—I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” she finished up, closing her lipstick and adjusting her make up some more. I took in a deep breath and sighed out heavily.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re right,” I muttered, keeping my eyes forward. “Maybe I am thinking too much into it.”

“I’m telling you… You’re probably just—”

“No, Lydia—” I cut her off, not wanting to hear her theory about my body lusting after Stiles, feeling my cheeks burn yet again.

“What? I’m just saying that maybe you’re having said dreams because you’re starting to realize something about yourself and Stiles.” She paused briefly, suddenly remembering as she turned to me. “How has that been going by the way? Still nothing?” I shut my eyes for a brief second as I sunk back into my seat slightly, sighing heavily.

“Nothing,” I uttered. “He hasn’t gone past arm over the shoulder while we watch movies, or in this past one, spilling drinks all over my pants with his reckless driving.”

“So, he hasn’t even asked you for anything official?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said, grimacing. “Just might as well come out and say I finally want something more, but—I don’t know… I don’t want to ruin the wonderful friendship we have going on.”

“Well… you two have been hanging out together for how long?”

“A couple weeks now,” I grimaced yet again, gripping at my steering wheel a little tighter. “I’m just starting to think he doesn’t see me that way…”

“That’s not true,” she pointed, turning to me, “he tends to act differently around you.”

“How?” I asked, my brows merging slightly in curiosity.

“I don’t know,” she squinted. “He seems to just suit you, somehow. When the two of you are together, you’re not just Stiles and Adelyn. You’re a team. And he acts like…”

“Like what?” I asked as she paused.

“Like… you’re the most important thing that has come into his life!” Lydia seemed to smile a weird sort of smile that made it hard to believe her word. I simply shook my head and pulled into Allison’s driveway, where we saw her dad making his way toward his own car. I rolled down the window.

“Good morning, Mr. Argent,” I greeted, lowering my head down so he could see me.

“Morning girls,” he smiled.

“Is Allison ready?” Lydia asked.

“Uh, well—Allison left just a couple minutes ago,” he responded, his expression twisting into a confused one. “She didn’t tell you?” Both Lydia and I turned to each other, brows merged and confused as we both pulled our phones out, but no texts or calls from Allison.

We shut the doors to my car and quickly paced ourselves toward the school, wondering where Allison had gone and why she hadn’t bothered to let us know when we had all agreed the day before I was going to pick everyone up.

“Where do you think she could be?” I asked as we made our way into the hallway, our eyes scanning through the crowds. Lydia shrugged slightly.

“I—I don’t know,” she said. There was a scream and both Lydia and I turned to face the double doors behind us, jumping as somebody burst through. My brows merged as I saw Allison stagger in, her eyes wide and confused as she took in her surroundings. Both Lydia and I stepped forward as we took in her pale features, seeming as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Allison?” Lydia asked, her eyes concerned as she placed a hand over Allison’s arm. “Are you okay?”

In that moment, she ran a hand through her hair as she shook her head and began explaining what had happened just before she had gotten to school. Apparently, she had hallucinated her dead aunt, but by the looks of it, this had happened before.

“When did they start?” I asked, keeping my eyes on her.

“About—about three days ago? Why?” she asked, her brows pulling together.

“Three days ago,” I repeated, turning to Lydia, whose eyes widened, knowing exactly what I was referring to. In that moment, she grabbed a hold of my arm.

“We need to find the boys,” she stated.

“What? Why?” Allison asked.

“Because, you may not be the only one hallucinating,” Lydia muttered.

We had reached the underpass of the high school, where we caught sight of both Stiles and Scott standing in the middle of it.

“It’s happening to you too,” I could make out what Stiles had just said. “You’re seeing things, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?” Scott asked. In that moment, I quickened my pace, pulling the strap to my backpack a little higher before I finally reached them.

“Because,” I began, looking up at Scott first and then turned to Stiles, “it’s happening to all three of you. You’re all experiencing it.” I paused as they looked at me. “You’re all experiencing the darkness…”

Lydia pushed the double doors to the school open, smiling as wide as ever, seeming a little too overjoyed with the news.

“Well, well, look who’s no longer the crazy one,” she said, turning on her heel and facing us with her hands clapped together.

“We’re not crazy,” Allison defended.

“Hallucinating? Sleep paralysis?” she said, making a face as she looked at each of them individually, “Yeaaaaah, you guys are fine!” I rolled my eyes at her sarcasm as I stepped forward, looking to all of them as I crossed my arms.

“Aside from Lydia’s satisfaction to the situation,” I began, “you three are experiencing things out of the ordinary, and that’s saying a lot considering where we live—”

“Well, we did die and come back to life,” Scott said, turning to look at both Allison and Stiles. “It’s got to have its side effects, right?”

“Of course,” I said, nodding along with them. “However, it shouldn’t be taken lightly. Maybe we should talk to my mom or Deaton?”

“Maybe—” The bell rang and cut off Stiles, who turned to face Allison and Scott. “—but for now, we have to think of an alternative. We keep an eye on each other, okay?”

“We’ll help too,” I added for him as I motioned toward Lydia.

“And Lydia,” Stiles turned to her, “stop enjoying this so much.” She crossed her arms and looked up innocently.

“What?”

I rolled my eyes and headed toward my first class of the day, which unfortunately was out of the loop from any of the others. However, it didn’t stop me from keeping an eye on them. As soon as the bell rang, I rushed out of the classroom and caught sight of both Stiles and Scott at their lockers.

“Maybe we need a little bit more time to get back to normal,” Scott said in a hushed voice. I pressed my books against my chest as I appeared next to Stiles.

“Yeah, try not to forget, we hit the reset button on a supernatural beacon for supernatural creatures,” Stiles replied, fidgeting with his lock. “I think there’s a pretty good chance that things are never going back to normal.”

“Great, I move down here for normal, but instead I meet you guys and you just had open that can of worms didn’t you?” I joked with a smile.

“Ha, ha,” Stiles added sarcastically, smiling along. He tugged at his lock and his smile instantly faded when it wouldn’t open. I tilted my head as I watched him tug at the lock again, his fingers tracing over the numbers.

“Having trouble there?” I asked.

“I—uh—” He closed his eyes for a second before opening them back up and looking down. I looked at him weird, not knowing what was wrong with him.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine—” he looked up briefly before doing a double take toward Scott. My eyes flickered onto him and I gasped.

“Whoa, dude, your eyes,” Stiles said, taking in their red glow.

“What about them?” Scott asked, his breathing becoming uneven. I reached down into my backpack and pulled out my compact mirror, opening it up and handing it to Stiles.

“They’re starting to glow,” Stiles said, facing it for Scott to see.

“You mean like right now?” Scott asked, taking up the mirror.

“Yes, right now. Scott, stop. Stop it!” Scott raised a hand as he began to shake, his breathing slowly becoming heavier.

“I can’t—I can’t control it,” he breathed out.

“We need to get him out of here,” I said in panic, taking the mirror from Stiles as he reached out for him.

“Alright, just keep your head down,” Stiles said, awkwardly hugging his head and shielding his eyes. “Look down. C’mon.” Stiles began leading Scott after me.

“Over here,” I called out, finding an empty classroom. I opened the door and quickly shut it once Stiles and Scott made it inside. Turning around, I watched as Scott took off his button up and stripped down to his muscle shirt, huffing in pain. Stiles attempted to get closer to him, but Scott hunched over the classroom desk and motioned for him to get back.

“No, get back! Get away from me!” He almost growled as he seemed to be fighting back his transformation.

“Scott, it’s okay—”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he cried out, staring at us both with his glowing red eyes. “Get back!” I pulled at Stiles’ arm, ready to form a shield before us if in case he lost absolute control. Scott clenched his fists, digging his claws into the palm of his hands, causing blood to pour out as his fangs protruded and he let out a loud growl. Both Stiles and I watched in concern as he brought himself to his knees before us, finally calming down. Stiles let his backpack drop and I let go as we both stepped forward. Scott groaned in pain as he finally unclenched his hands, revealing just how badly he injured himself. He attempted to catch his breath as he laid back on one of the chairs. We knelt before him, not bothering to say a word.

“Pain,” he muttered through his gasps, “it makes you human.”

Without thinking about it, I took his hands in my own and felt my own eyes start their glow and the white and bluish aura form around our hands, healing his wounds at once.

“Scott, this isn’t just in our heads,” Stiles muttered, lowering his gaze. “This is real. It’s starting to get bad for me too.” I finished up and looked up at him.

“What do you mean?” I asked softly.

“I mean, I’m not just having nightmares,” Stiles continued, looking up at me. “I’m having these dreams where I literally have to scream myself awake. And sometimes I’m not even sure if I’m ever actually waking up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” I asked.

“Because… I didn’t want to worry you,” he muttered, lowering his gaze yet again. “Especially since it all started—”

“Three days ago,” I muttered, feeling my own stomach turn.

“Yeah, how did you know?” Stiles asked, his brows merging. I bit my lower lip as I attempted to change the subject.

“Uh—Allison said it started up around the same time for her…”

“What do you mean you’re not sure if you’re actually waking up?” Scott finally asked.

“Well… you know how you can tell if you’re dreaming? You can’t read in dreams,” Stiles continued, looking up at Scott. “More and more in the last few days I have been having trouble reading. It’s like I can’t see the words—I can’t—put the letters in order.” His brows merged for a slight second.

“What about now?” I asked softly. “Is it—is it still happening?” Stiles looked up and stood himself off the floor, his eyes flickering around the room before he stopped, his hands shaking, grimacing to himself.

“I can’t read a thing,” he muttered.

The next day, I made frequent trips to the library, attempting to pull out books and print out articles on possible explanations to what was going on, but I had no luck. I had tried to talk to my mom about it, but she only repeated what they had warned Allison, Scott, and Stiles about just before they sacrificed themselves to find their parents.

“Okay, but there has to be an explanation as to why it’s getting this bad,” I attempted to argue, but she only shrugged before sending me off to school, empty handed.

I sighed heavily as I slammed my notebook and library books down on the patio table, sitting myself next to Stiles.

“The Handbook of Near-death Experiences?” Lydia read out loud, making a face.

“It’s the last book left in the library,” I muttered. “I’ve literally gone through everything since yesterday and nothing. There isn’t much to go by to begin with.”

“Okay, so, what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?” Scott asked.

“Unfortunately, that’s the one thing it doesn’t cover,” I grimaced.

“Don’t forget about the whole being unable to tell what’s real or not,” Stiles added.

“And is being haunted by demonic visions of dead relatives,” Allison continued.

“Much less those things,” I muttered, making a face down at the book.

“Well… they’re all locked up because they’re insane,” Isaac said.

“Ha,” Stiles spat out sarcastically, “can you at least try to be helpful, like Adelyn?”

“Not much help if I’m coming up blank,” I said, staring down at the table.

“Well, let’s see… For half my childhood, I was locked up in a freezer, so being helpful is kind of a new thing for me,” Isaac continued.

“Really? Do you—are you still milking that?” Stiles continued, glaring at Isaac. Scott sighed in frustration before he slammed his head down into his arms on the table.

“Yeah I am still milking that—”

“Hi,” I soft voice suddenly cut Isaac off. We all turned to notice a petite Asian girl standing at our side, her hair pulled off to one side as she held her books close to her. “Hi, sorry I couldn’t help overhearing what you guys were talking about and I think I—” she took in a deep breath as her smile got bigger, pushing through her obvious shyness and awkwardness. “I actually may know what you’re talking about.” We all stared up at her, waiting for her to continue.

“There’s a Tibetan word for it,” she said, “it’s called bardo. It literally means in between state. The state between life and death.”

“And what do they call you?” Lydia asked rather rudely.

“Kira,” Scott answered too quickly with a half-smile. We all turned to him in slight surprise. “She’s in our history class.”

“So, are you talking bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?” Lydia asked, slightly glaring up at her.

“Either I—I guess,” Kira stammered. “But all the stuff you guys were just saying, all that happens in bardo.” Her smile seemed to get bigger.

“You really enjoy talking about these things don’t you?” I asked. She nodded. “What else do you know about bardo?”

“Well, see, there are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you just hear, and you can be visited by peaceful and wrathful deities.”

“Wrathful deities,” Isaac emphasized before asking, “What are those?”

“Demons, monsters, vengeful spirits… Satan himself, that sort of thing,” I listed, turning to Isaac, somewhat understanding what Kira was talking about.

“Demons!” Stiles scoffed. “Why not?”

“Hold on,” Allison paused as she looked back up at Kira, “If they’re all in progressive states, then what’s the last one?”

“Death,” Kira stated bluntly. “You die.” Our eyes widened as we all turned to look at each other. Huh. Well that was one way to put it…

The bell rang and we all sighed heavily. Stiles picked up his stuff and attempted to maneuver himself out of the middle of the table, knocking over one of his notebooks. I looked down as it had managed to flip open. My brows merged together as I knelt to pick it up, noticing the writing all over the page. In Stiles’ writing and capital letters, he wrote WAKE UP all over.

“What is—” He snatched it out of my hand.

“N—nothing.”

“Stiles,” I began looking up in concern. “What happened?” He stared into my eyes for a brief moment before sighing heavily and giving in.

“I fell asleep in class,” he muttered. “Well—more like I had a nightmare in class, while still awake…”

“We need to talk to Deaton,” I quickly stated. “We need to talk to him ASAP.”

Lydia and Allison decided to stay behind while I joined Stiles and Scott to the clinic. As soon as we entered the door, we immediately began to state our concerns.

“Sounds like your subconscious is trying to communicate with you,” Deaton began, locking the door behind us and leading us to the examining room.

“Well, how do I tell my subconscious to use a language that I actually know?” Stiles asked, scratching at his head.

“Tell me about it,” I sighed as I looked down and pursed my lips.

“Do you remember what the sign language looked like?” Deaton asked, coming to a stop. “The placement and movement of the hands?”

“You know sign language?” Scott asked in surprise.

“I know a little,” he replied, looking to Scott and back to Stiles. “Let me give it a shot.”

“Okay,” Stiles helped up on finger while he placed his other finger slightly above it, “the first move was like this,” he then circled his finger.

“That’s when,” Deaton stated.

“And then there’s this twice,” he continued, putting his hands side to side and lifting his right hand once.

“That’s door.”

“And there’s this in between them,” he finished, motioning under his chin with his thumb.

“That’s it?” Deaton asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed.

“When is a door not a door,” Deaton stated. My brows merged together as I crossed my arms.

“When is a door not a door?” Stiles repeated, slightly ticked.

“When it’s ajar,” Scott muttered, keeping his gaze lowered.

“You’re kidding me,” Stiles scoffed, “a riddle? My subconscious wants to tell me a riddle?”

“Not necessarily,” Deaton said. “When the three of you went under the water, when you crossed from unconsciousness to a kind of super consciousness, you essentially opened a door in your minds.”

“So, what does that mean?” Scott asked. “The door is still open?”

“It’s ajar,” I whispered, turning to Stiles.

“A door into our minds,” Stiles muttered.

“We did tell you it was risky,” Deaton sighed.

“What do we do about it?” Scott asked.

“Well, that’s difficult to answer,” Deaton said, making a face.

“No, wait a second, I know that look,” Stiles began, pointing at Deaton accusingly, “That’s the ‘we know exactly what’s wrong with you, but we have no idea how to fix it’ look.”

“I guess that’s the kind of look my mom had too,” I sighed out in frustration.

“Well, one thing I do know is that having an opening like that into your mind… it’s not good,” Deaton continued. “You each need to close that door. And you need to do it as soon as possible.”

We closed the door behind us and headed back to Stiles’ jeep and Scott to his motorcycle. We all stopped as another car pulled in and the Sheriff stepped out.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Stiles asked.

“I’m here because,” he sighed heavily, “I could use some help. Actually, your help,” he finished off, pointing at Scott.

“Why me?” he asked.

“Because eight years ago almost an entire family died in a car accident,” Mr. Stilinski began, “one of the bodies—a young girl named, Malia—was never found. There’s enough evidence that had me thinking that a werewolf could have caused the accident and then dragged her body away… If you can somehow get a lock on her scent, if you could somehow help me find her body, it may provide the missing clue.”

“And what if it was a werewolf?” Stiles asked.

“Then there’s somebody out there who murdered and entire family,” Mr. Stilinski replied. “Someone who still needs to be caught.”

The next day after school, Scott and Stiles made their way toward his jeep and I followed after, attempting to convince them to let me go with them.

“I’m not letting you two out of my sight especially after the past couple of days,” I argued, crossing my arms and staring at the both of them.

“What about Allison? Can’t you go keep an eye on her?” Scott said, opening the jeep door. I rolled my eyes and stood my ground.

“Lydia has got that taken care of,” I muttered. “That only leaves me to watch over the last two of my friends who are losing their minds.” Stiles sighed heavily before agreeing.

“Fine! But if something goes wrong, you leave, got it?”

“I can take care of myself,” I pushed on.

“Got it?” he asked again. I rolled my eyes and sighed.

“Okay, okay!”

With that we all jumped in and headed toward the station, where Mr. Stilinski already waited in his car, eventually leading us out to the Tate’s property. We each stepped out and carefully passed through the many traps set out throughout the place, reaching the room Mr. Stilinski had pointed out for us. Stiles took the lead and grabbed a hold of the door knob, attempting to push the squeaky door quietly, but failing. Scott threw his hands up into his head as Stiles squinted in hopes we wouldn’t get caught. I rolled my eyes and grabbed a hold of his hand and just pushed it forward for him. He ran in and quickly motioned for us to follow before closing the door shut again.

Both Scott and Stiles got right to it, grabbing stuffed animals off the bed and sniffing them. I slowly made my way toward the drawer and pulled out a small t-shirt, handing it to Scott for him to sniff. He shook his head.

“I’m only getting some animal smell,” he said. Stiles made his way toward the same drawer and grabbed a toy horse before handing it to Scott.

“What kind of animal?” he asked, rummaging through her stuff. I froze and slowly turned to notice the black Rottweiler standing at the foot of the door.

“Dog,” Scott simply stated, keeping his worried eyes on him too. I stepped back into Stiles as it began to growl menacingly. Stiles took hold of my arms and finally turned to notice the problem.

“Hi puppy,” he began softly, pulling me behind him. “Get rid of it.” He whispered toward Scott as I grabbed a hold of Stiles’ arm, pulling him back with me.

“Me?” he asked, holding onto the stuffed animal a little tighter.

“Yes, you. Glow your eyes at it, something. Be the alpha,” Stiles continued, not taking his eyes off the dog.

“I can’t,” Scott said, “I don’t have control.”

“Okay, buddy, you’re going to have to try something,” Stiles muttered. Scott took in a deep breath and extended his hand out, bending his knees slightly as he began moving toward the dog.

“Nice doggy,” he said in a rather high tone. We all jumped back as it suddenly began to bark.

“Apollo!” a man’s voice cried out. “Apollo! Shut up! Shut the hell up!” With that he stopped, tilted his head at us and whimpered as he turned and walked away from us. We all looked at each other briefly before Stiles shrugged and rushed over to one of the desks and handing Scott different items once again.

“Anything?” Stiles asked, turning up to him. Scott only shook his head as he grimaced.

“All I’m getting is that dog,” he muttered. Stiles sighed heavily before he turned to look at the pictures, taking his phone out and taking a picture of the two girls sitting behind the picture frame.

“Maybe we should go,” I muttered, giving up. They all turned to face me before sighing heavily and nodding, making our way back to the jeep, where the Sheriff waited.

“I’m sorry,” Scott began. “I tried as hard as I could, I mean if it wasn’t so long ago I might have been able to do it.”

“It’s okay, it was a long shot,” Mr. Stilinski grimaced as he shook his head. “In fact, it was a pretty terrible idea. I think I just ripped a wound open in that poor man. I never should have brought you guys here. I don’t know what I was thinking. Thanks for trying, alright?” He said patting Scott’s arm and squeezing my shoulder slightly before opening his car door.

“See ya at home,” he said toward Stiles before driving off.

“Well, aren’t there a lot of cases that go unsolved?” Scott asked, turning to Stiles. He stuffed his hands in his jacket as they stared off at Mr. Stilinski.

“Yeah, I just think this is one he felt like he could have figured it out right now,” Stiles muttered, pressing his lips together.

“Why is it so important now?” Scott asked.

“Well, he wants to be able to solve one more while he’s still sheriff,” Stiles finished off.

“What do you mean, still sheriff?” Scott asked, his brows merging. I bit my lower lip and lowered my gaze as I understood what he was trying to get at.

Later on that night, I sat on the corner of Stiles’ bed, slightly jumping around as he laid himself down next to me, sighing out in frustration.

“Just when we thought things would be okay,” he muttered through his hands as he ran them down his face. I stopped my squirming before laying myself back next to him, keeping my eyes up on his ceiling. There was a moment of silence between us before I finally decided to speak.

“Stiles… why didn’t you tell me about your nightmares?” I asked softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me about yours?” he asked. I tensed up as I slowly turned to look at him.

“How—how did you know?”

“Lydia told me you had been having the same problem,” he said, his brown eyes glued onto me.

“Did—did she say any specifics about it?”

“No, she just said you’d been having nightmares too or visions, in your case,” he sighed heavily as he turned to look up at his ceiling yet again. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I guess…” he paused briefly before turning to face me again, “I guess because they didn’t worry me so much when I was around you. You just… sort of made me forget I was having them in first place.” I pressed my lips together as I stared at him. “It wasn’t until I was alone, or away from you that I would be reminded just how bad they actually were…”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Same here.”

There was a knock at the door before it opened, revealing Scott just behind it. We both quickly sat up and Scott halted.

“Oh—was I interrupting—?”

“No,” I said rather quickly, my face turning red again.

“What’s up?” Stiles asked.

“Well, since Adelyn is still here, we’re all going to go find a body,” he said, turning on a flashlight he had in hand. “A dead body.”

Both Stiles and I grabbed our jackets and a flashlight before heading out into the woods.

“You know, if my dad’s right, that means there’s another werewolf in town that we haven’t met yet,” Stiles shuddered, stuffing one hand in his jacket pocket. I hugged myself with one arm as I held onto my flashlight with the other, feeling the cold wind hit me.

“I know,” Scott said, keeping his phone up in one hand as he tried to map the exact location.

“And if it turns out to be something like triplets and form together like a three-headed hound of hell, I’m seriously not up for that,” Stiles continued.

“Yeah, me either,” Scott sighed, “Especially since I can’t even control my own transformation.” There was a loud howl in the distance and Stiles spazzed out, quickly reaching for me and holding me. We bumped into Scott and caused him to drop his phone into a puddle of water just below the hill. We both turned to him as he kept his hands on my waist. He turned to look at me and quickly let go.

“Sorry, buddy,” he apologized toward Scott, who glared at the both of us. “I just hate coyotes so much. They always sound like they’re mauling some tiny helpless little animal.”

Scott jumped down before us and turned to help me down, but I managed to jump down without Scott’s help. Stiles on the other hand, stumbled down. Scott reached out for his phone and wiped it clean.

“Still works,” he smirked, staring down at his app. I looked up and directed my flashlight to the path before us, briefly passing it through a large boulder.

“Hold on,” Stiles said, pointing his own light to the boulder and stepped toward it. “I think we found it.” I followed after as I finally took in the rest of it, noticing the flipped over car.

“Uh—why wouldn’t they move it?” Scott asked. “Isn’t it evidence?”

“Well by the looks of it,” I began, bending over slightly as I took in the position of the car in the ditch. “It may have been too much of pain in the ass to pull out of here.” Stiles pointed the light around the car, taking in the beat-up parts and finally putting it on the door.

“Look at this,” he stated, getting closer to the car. My eyes widened for a second as I took in the large claw marks over the car door. “You see those?” Scott placed his hand over the marks, almost as if comparing.

“Animal claws would be closer together, right? A lot closer?” Stiles asked.

“Definitely not animal claws,” I muttered.

“Then it was a werewolf,” Scott said, taking his hand off the car.

“Then my dad was right,” Stiles muttered before kneeling and shining his light into the inside of the car. I knelt at his side and did the same.

“What’s that?” Scott asked, pointing to something sticking out of a small compartment. Stiles reached in and pulled out what looked to be a baby doll. He pulled back and stood up, shining his light on it as we all stood around him.

“Just a doll,” I said, picking at its ripped arm.

“I’m hungry,” the doll cried out. I shrieked as both Stiles and Scott screamed and jumped back, letting the doll drop to the floor. Scott clutched at his chest as Stiles sat himself down on a rock. I attempted to steady my breathing and beating heart as I placed a hand over my forehead.

“I think I just had a minor heart attack,” Stiles breathed out.

“Again, JUST a doll,” I said, dropping my hand.

“Wait,” Scott became rigid as I heard a low growl coming just a couple feet away from us. “Hey, guys. Please tell me you see that.” I looked around, but didn’t notice anything. Stiles stood himself up and walked his way toward us, attempting to look past the car.

“What do you see?” he asked. In that moment, Scott leaped forward and began running full speed toward a moving shadow, not bothering to answer Stiles’ question.

“Scott, wait!” Stiles cried out, stumbling around before finally running after him.

“Guys! Wait!” I cried out, finally running after them as well. And so, the chase began….

Chapter 2

(A/N: AH! First chapter to This Might Hurt Sequel! So, the picture was my pathetic attempt at making an aesthetically pleasing collage for Adelyn. Wish I could have actually fit some more stuff in there, but this was the best I could do. Anyways, besides the point. Hope you guys enjoyed! And I apologize, like always, for any mistakes.)

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #season 3b #scott mccall #lose your mind #stiles stilinksi imagine #teen wolf romance #anchors #tyler posey #lydia martin #hollend roden #allison argent #crystal reed #adelyn rodriguez #original character #nephilim

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krissysbookshelf · 7 years ago

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Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller! (Please Be Aware!! Contains Content Trigger!)

Matt hasn't eaten in days. The hunger clears his mind—and he needs to be as sharp as possible if he's going to find out just how Tariq and his band of high school bullies drove his sister, Maya, away. Matt has discovered something: the less he eats the more he seems to have . . . powers. The ability to see things he shouldn't be able to see. Maybe even the authority to bend time and space. Matt decides to infiltrate Tariq's life, then use his powers to uncover what happened to Maya. All he needs to do is keep the hunger at bay. But Matt doesn't realize there are many kinds of hunger…and he isn't in control of all of them. TRIGGER WARNING:

Eating disorders and body dysmorphia are recurring themes in The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller. Please be aware if these are sensitive topics for you!

LEARN MORE

TRIGGER WARNING:

Eating disorders and body dysmorphia are recurring themes in The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller. Please be aware if these are sensitive topics for you!

Congratulations! You have acquired one human body. This was a poor decision, but it is probably too late for you to do anything about it. Life, alas, has an extremely strict return policy.

Not that I’m some kind of expert or anything, but as an almost-seventeen-year veteran of having a body, I’ve learned a few basic rules that might save you some of my misery. So I’m writing this Rulebook as a public service. Please note, however, that there are a lot of rules, and some of them are very difficult to follow, and some of them sound crazy, and please don’t come crying to me if something terrible happens when you can only follow half of them.

RULE #1

Understand this: your body wants the worst for you. It is a complicated machine built up over billions of years, and it wants only two things—to stay alive and to make more of you. Your body thinks you’re still an animal in the jungle, and it wants you to eat ALL the food, and stick your DNA up in anything you can hold down. Lust and hunger will never leave you alone, because your body wants you grotesquely fat and covered in kids.

DAY: 1 TOTAL CALORIES: 3600

Suicidal ideation.

When you say it like that it sounds soft and harmless, like laissez-faire or any of the other weird sets of meaningless words they make you memorize in school. The letter from the psychiatrist sounded so calm I had to read it a couple of times before I saw what she was trying to say. She didn’t quote me. She didn’t tell my mom I said, Sometimes I think if I killed myself everyone would be a lot better off or Five times a week I decide to steal the gun my mom thinks I don’t know about and bring it to school and murder tons of people and then myself.

Instead, the psychiatrist said a lot of scary things in very tame and pleasant language:

Recommend urgent action— Happy to prescribe— Facilitate inpatient treatment—

Poor thing. How could she know my mom hides from the mail, with its bills and Notes of Shutdown and FINAL WARNINGS? I didn’t want to go see the psychiatrist in the first place, but the school set it up for me because I am evidently an At-Risk Youth. At risk of what, I wondered, and then thought, oh right, everything. At risk of enough that one or all my teachers filed whatever due-diligence report they’re obligated to file on someone who is obviously headed for homicide or suicide, so his or her blood isn’t on their hands. And as soon as the psychiatrist’s report came, addressed to my mom, I plucked it from the mail pile.

I read it on my walk to school. My mom still thinks I take the bus, but I stopped around the six thousandth time someone called me a faggot and punched me as I walked through the aisle. That kind of thing can really start your day off on the wrong foot. Plus, walking to school makes it easier to get there late, so I’m spared the agony of playing Lord of the Flies while we all stand around outside waiting for the first bell to ring.

The branches were almost entirely bare overhead. Stark and black like skinny fingers clawing at the sky. One crooked tree still had half its leaves. Hunger rumbled in my belly, and I felt like if I reached out hard enough, I could stretch myself taller than any of the trees. Hunger is funny like that.

Anyway. I shredded the letter, let it fall behind me like a trail of breadcrumbs. Lesson learned: Don’t tell people you want to kill yourself. Although really I should have known that one already. If high school teaches you nothing else, know this: Never tell anyone anything important.

I slowed down. Savored my last few steps before the hill crested and brought me in sight of the school. Stared up at the trees, and down the garbage-strewn road. Stopped. Breathed. Wondered what would happen if I turned and walked into the woods and never came back. I thought about this a lot. I had plans. I’d hitchhike or ride the rails or follow the river.

Under my bed there was a bag, full of books and hoodies and diet soda from the vending machine behind the ShopRite, and one of these days I would be ready to sling it over my shoulder and run away for real.

But I wasn’t ready, not yet. As miserable as it made me, I had to go to school. Not because I cared about college or education or a career or any of that pig shit, because anyone who spent five minutes in a Hudson High School classroom would know there was no actual educating happening anywhere in sight. The reason I couldn’t kill myself, and I couldn’t stop coming to school, was because Maya beat me to it. Because five days ago, my older sister ran away from home. She called the next morning from somewhere on the freeway to assure us she wasn’t kidnapped, she was taking a week off (“or whatever”) to go to some studio near Providence to record her band’s first album, she’d catch up on school when she got back. We shouldn’t call the cops. Etc.

She says she’s fine. She says nothing happened. But I don’t think that’s entirely true. I think someone hurt her. And I know who. And I had to keep coming to school because I had to find out what happened, so I could hurt him back.

So I crested the hill and walked down to the squat sprawling one-story building, an ugly heap of aluminum and brick, cursing my abject failure at estimating travel time, for I had arrived too early, and they were there, my peers, my fellow primates, hooting and hollering, pounding chests and grooming each other.

My senses felt like they’d been turned up too high. Maybe it had something to do with skipping breakfast, with the churning engine of my empty stomach generating electricity that danced in my limbs, crackled in my head, but these people stunk. They spoke too loudly.

Their clothes and bags were head-achingly bright. It made every step toward them harder.

And there, at the door, arms folded like the bouncers outside a club in a cop show, they stood. Three of them: Bastien, Tariq, Ott. Hudson High’s soccer stars; the shrewd-eyed roosters at the top of our pecking order.

“Pretty,” Ott said as one girl approached.

“Not pretty,” to the next. Grinning hyena-style at how her face crumpled.

“Pretty.”

“Fugly.”

“Thinks she’s pretty.”

At this, they cackled. Everyone but Tariq. Tariq, with his perfect stomach and impressive chest and a beard thicker than any high school senior’s ever, Tariq of the dimples and broad nose, Tariq who could have stepped out of my computer screen, because he’d fit right in on the sites I spent all night searching when my mom was asleep. Pages packed with boys, beautiful ones—a secret nation to which I would never belong. Tariq, who somehow made me feel fat and scrawny all at once.

Tariq, who saw me and looked away as fast as he could but not fast enough to hide the guilt that soured his face.

We had both been crushed out on Tariq, my big sister and me. He wasn’t like the other boys on the soccer team, even if he did spend an awful lot of time with them. He wasn’t a bully. He was handsome and smart, and even nice, sometimes.

That’s what made him so dangerous. Everybody knows to steer clear of a bully. Maya would never have gone to meet up with Tariq in secret if he had already showed us all he was a brutal thug.

But he seemed . . . human. So she did.

He didn’t know that I knew. And, admittedly, I didn’t know much. Just that they met up that night. So maybe nothing happened. Maybe he just gave her a ride to Providence, to this recording studio I don’t really believe exists, or to where one of her bandmates lived. The fact that he gave her a ride that night wasn’t what made me suspicious. What made me suspicious was this: something shifted, in Tariq’s body language, after that night. He doesn’t look me in the eye anymore. He turns his shoulders away from wherever I am standing.

Like right then, as I approached the front door, where he stood with his best friends, staring at the ground with his perfect lips pressed tight together.

I gnawed my fingernails furiously.

My mom tells me it is a disgusting habit. She tells me to stop. I can’t stop.

It hurt, how much I wanted to smash my face against those perfect lips. I wanted it even though I felt pretty sure Tariq did something terrible to my sister. And the wanting got rolled up with the shame and filled me with a sputtering, stupid animal rage. How could it be, that in spite of everything, I still felt lust when I looked at him? Lust, and hate, in equal measure.

That’s why I’m writing this Rulebook.

Your body is a treacherous savage thing and it is trying to kill you. I am here to help you win. Together, we are both going to win.

Ott saw me stop and stare daggers at Tariq.

“You want something, Matt?”

That’s my name: Matt. I didn’t want to tell you, because I hate it.

A matt is something people step on. A matt is full of filth.

I debated lying. Making up something badass or manly, Damien or Colby or Barrett or Bo, something gay-porn-star-y. But honesty is important. I want you to trust me. Because pretty soon I’ll be telling you some things you’re going to have a very hard time believing.

So, Ott called my name. My whole body twitched with fight-or-flight triggers, but I knew either choice would be disastrous. If I fought, I’d get my ass beat, and if I ran, my limited ability to make Tariq feel uncomfortable, to apply pressure, would evaporate.

People were watching. If Tariq hadn’t been standing there, I’d have gone about my business, but he was my real audience. Ott didn’t matter.

I winced, tasting blood where I bit down too hard on the cuticle of my ring finger.

In movies and books, all you need to do to stop a bully is to punch them back. Bullies are cowards, the story goes; they can dish out violence, but they can’t take it.

This, you should know, if you haven’t already found it out the hard way, is bullshit. I tried it, in middle school, and it made things worse. Maybe it’ll work for you, if you’re stronger than me, or a faster runner, but it earned me a lovely session of puking up blood.

I knew that hitting Ott wouldn’t get me anywhere. But I did see something flicker in his eyes, something like fear but not exactly that, something bigger, messier: hate and fear all at once. I took a step closer. I took a deep breath. I smelled him.

And don’t ask me how, but I knew. I knew from the smell: I made him nervous. I terrified him. My existence, my gayness, threatened his whole way of understanding the world, what it meant to be the male of the species.

I’d never understood the word homophobia before— people who are homophobic are not afraid of gay people, they just hate them! But in that moment it all made sense. Straight men will insult and assault and beat and kill gay men because they are terrified. Because masculinity is the foundation they built their whole worldview on, the set of lies that lets them believe they are inherently better than women, and gay people expose how flimsy and arbitrary the whole thing is.

I turned to him and said, “No, Ott, I don’t want anything. I was just wondering. What about me?”

His mouth curled into a snarl. “What about you?”

“Which one am I?”

He unfolded his arms with a slowness that revealed his uncertainty. “Which . . . one?”

“Yeah. Am I pretty? Not pretty? I definitely think I’m pretty.”

A girl giggled. Even Tariq cracked a grin, though he turned his head to hide it from me.

I took another step forward. Ott’s lips parted slightly, and I saw muscles tighten in his arms. He was confused and getting angry: he sensed I was humiliating him, but not in any way he could reasonably understand. He was desperate for me to touch him, or explicitly insult him, so he could hurt me. I had planned to tap his chest with one finger when I delivered the finishing line, but that would have made Ott feel justified in a physical response. So why bother.

Seconds ticked away—

“You are Not Pretty,” I told Ott an instant before the first bell rang.

Then I slipped by him and walked inside.

TRIGGER WARNING:

Eating disorders and body dysmorphia are recurring themes in The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller. Please be aware if these are sensitive topics for you!

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