#and neon abyss... man neon abyss is a bitch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jasperwhitcock · 4 years ago

Text

05. FAMILY FEUD

surprise, bitches. bet you thought you’d seen the last of me. why do i update my fic always a month apart. sorry!! i’m always working on it, i just write really long chapters... anyways, here is chapter five of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag.

i've incorporated some quotes from midnight sun because obviously this is still something of a parallel to midnight sun & i wanted to stay true to some of the reactions. also, you may recognize a little blurb imbedded here that i've written before about the bookshelf hehe. hope yall enjoy ♡♡♡

The weight of the battle I was fighting within myself was beginning to surpass the previous toll it’d taken on me. Every moment since I met Edward, it seemed I was falling further down into an abyss that I couldn’t climb out of, and every time I felt like maybe I’d found my grip, I only fell further. Again, I was frustrated as I sat outside Edward’s house in Carlisle’s Mercedes, watching the hazy, obscure sun slip further away behind the blackened clouds, leaving me shrouded in the darkness of a midday storm and the cover of pouring rain. I felt partially guilty for not returning Carlisle’s car. He wouldn’t mind running home, but Esme might not be too pleased about the puddles his drenched clothing would leave on her newly installed flooring. Although after today, it might not matter anymore.

I wondered what I’d return home to. Would they have already finished packing up our belongings? Would they be waiting to confront me about the consequences of my actions? Carlisle was forgiving, but would the rest of my family be?

For those reasons, I wasn’t ready to return home yet. But mostly, I was hesitant to drive away because I knew the moment my tires left Edward’s street would be the moment I’d be leaving him behind in Forks. I felt unprepared for the finality of such a moment.

When I heard the soft purr of an engine turning onto the street around one in the afternoon, I sighed, shifting the car into drive and moving forward to the end of the road in case it was Edward’s father returning home. I watched in my rearview mirror as the silver vehicle confirmed my suspicions by pulling into Edward’s driveway. Although the darkness of the thunderstorm’s gloom brewing in the clouds did little to obscure my eyesight, the torrent of rain pounding down relentlessly onto the green earth was too thick for even my eyes to catch a good glimpse of his face.

I could stay and listen – hear the voice of his father and compare it to the quality of Edward’s low, soft timbre, see if Edward’s sincerity in sticking to my version of events was genuine, check if he was truly as alright as he insisted – but maybe I was only looking for reasons to avoid heading home. Or maybe I was just being unforgivably invasive.

I glanced at the digital clock. 1:05. If they had stayed in their classes after the accident, there was still another hour and forty minutes before my siblings would be released from school. If they went home early, then Carlisle still wouldn’t be home for another two hours and twenty five minutes. I decided I’d rather not be there without Carlisle, so I lifted my foot off the break, slammed on the gas, and headed for Port Angeles before I realized where I was going.

As I left Forks behind me, the rain softened to a more consoling pitter patter on the roof of the car, and the clouds, although still grey, were lighter, hinting at the hidden sun. I made it to Port Angeles in under half an hour, luckily finding the roads to be mostly empty.

I drove at an appropriate speed once I reached the city. It was surprisingly beautiful scenery for such a disastrous day. It had snowed the night before here as well, but the melted snow hadn’t refrozen into ice. Instead, the tops of the buildings were covered in a thin layer of fluffy white snowflakes. The clouds above were thick enough to conceal me from the sun but held no implications of oncoming rain.

I located a parking spot near my favorite old brick building and paid the meter for the next few hours. The air was even more wintry here than in Forks as the harbor air brought in fresh, freezing ocean spray. There was a bookstore I liked to go to here in Port Angeles. Even as a child, Forks didn’t have an adequate library or bookstore to satiate my needs. My previous grievances with the rainforest of a city aside, there was always the silver lining of the bookstore.

If there was one thing that I looked forward to when arriving in the otherwise detestable small town of Forks in the rainy state of Washington, it was returning to the familiar mahogany of the sturdy bookshelf in the tiny living room of Charlie’s small, two-story house. It had been a gift – a homecoming gesture – in hopes to put me in better spirits when I was forced to spend my summers with my father. He knew how I had disliked his gloomy town just as my mother had. A friend from the reservation, Billy Black’s, young, cheerful son built the bookshelf himself. Billy had dismissed Charlie’s offers to pay his son for the service, insisting he accept it as a present in return for all the nights Billy stole away to the Swan Residence (Swan, the last name I held as a human) to watch the game on Charlie’s much larger – though not by much – television screen. When he hadn’t been looking, Charlie slipped a small wad of cash to Billy’s kid who excitedly accepted it, eager to save for some other projects.

Over time, the book shelf became a home for some of my favorite classic novels. On his days off, when his friend Harry Clearwater was unavailable for a fishing trip, he’d picked up books of all kinds, hoping I would find at least one I liked in the overflowing collection. The bookshelf was stuffed with paperbacks and hardbacks, lining each ledge edge to edge with books piling horizontally on top of the other books as space began to run out. It was a gesture that moved me in ways I was unused to and ways I couldn’t find the words to express.

When I was in town, Charlie drove me to some of the larger cities surrounding his small town and waited patiently as I perused the shelves of second-hand book stores. Smart as he was, he wasn’t a very articulate man, struggling to convey the depth of his emotions through words. But something in his eyes betrayed the way his heart overflowed with pride and adoration watching his small, gangly daughter enter into a world of her own as she searched for her next favorite story to add to their beloved bookshelf. It was a look I caught that sometimes made me feel embarrassed and shy by the profundity of the love in it, but now a look that I’d always remember. A look that would always make my unbeating heart feel somehow full and empty at the same time. Intense feelings of love and sadness for what I’d once had and since lost. This bookstore was our favorite, and therefore, it would always be my favorite. It still held the aged charm of the past, but they made some modern improvements in desperation for relevance today. I’d made sure to keep the store open with anonymous donations. Too many independent bookstores suffered in such a competitive, unfair market full of large online distributors.

I listened to the familiar hum of the glowing red neon sign in the window as I reached for the door. A bell above let out a peal of rings as I entered, and the clerk behind the wooden counter looked up beneath her large glasses. Her skin was deeply tan with olive undertones and her dark hair was cropped in a perfect line above her shoulders. Her eyes registered shock upon seeing my face, her heart rate picked up, and she stuttered over her words. “W-welcome!”

“Thank you,” I smiled softly, though finding the politeness to be difficult today. I didn’t want to come across rude or threatening, but feigning anything resembling joy was especially exhausting. I kept my voice gentle and even so as not to alarm the woman.

“Let me know if you need any help!” She called after me as I passed the counter, heading deeper into the store.

The shop was unpopulated at this time of day. Only a few people loitered here and there examining the shelves or curled up on loveseats with hot coffee cups to recover from the chill of the outdoors.

I crossed over the entirety of the first floor, finding the concealed narrow staircase that led to the upstairs. Tasting the air, I could tell there was nobody immediately near me, so I flew up the staircase at a more reasonable speed though I was in no hurry. The second floor was a brown labyrinth, the bookshelves placed in a way to create an intimate maze with countless little crevices to slip into and hide away from the rest of the world. Hardbacks and paperbacks piled the shelves and walls from the floor to the ceiling. The air was filled with the scents of crispy paper, aged ink, and the sweet, musky smell of older books. The lighting was warm reddish-orange, dull, and not ideal for reading despite the setting, but a miscellaneous mélange of lamps in all shapes and sizes embellished the spaces tucked between the bookcases, generating enough brightness to read in tiny, personal pools of light.

I weaved a path through the maze until I reached a dead-end corner with a single, wine-colored armchair in a faded leather. An ornate wooden plaque spray painted gold with eroded edges was drilled into the shelf behind the chair, the words “For Charlie” engraved into the pallet. Well, my donations were mostly anonymous.

No matter how many times I rounded this corner, every time my eyes fell on the empty chair hit me like a wrecking ball with nearly unmanageable grief. Any attempt to decipher the thoughts that came with this always led me to simplistic statements because that was all that I could ever handle. It was too much emptiness, too much numbness, too much complexity. It was always simply too much. And that was about all the conclusions I could come to no matter how much gentleness and coaxing Esme, Rosalie, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Carlisle comforted me with. It was always easier to push away the thought, to avoid thinking too much than to acknowledge the hole in my chest. Some days I almost forget, and some days it becomes seemingly ever present. It was always easier to ignore the gravity of the grief.

But in this life with the absoluteness of what we are, all we can do is to go on. One next step at a time. As much as I felt so much stronger and accustomed to this life, there was no denying the simple truth – there is so much loss in immortality.

I sighed. Even with all of our physical resilience, the extremities of our emotions in this form was enough to be tiring. I took steps forward and turned to sink into the chair, feeling very small. Looking out at the warmth of the bookcases and the endless array of novels, I thought of what it would be like to be Charlie sitting here, watching his awkward daughter run her finger along all the spines or disappear into the maze only to be found on the floor somewhere surrounded by piles of books.

Sometimes being here I could feel the ghost of Charlie’s love. The intensity that he couldn’t quite always communicate and that I didn’t always understand the extent of. But here, I could feel it. And I felt the same love for him in return. I missed him. His thick mustache, the sudden youthfulness in his warm, brown eyes when he smiled, the endearing crinkles that reminded me of his age. The coffee rings on the table, and the snow chains on my tires. The flush of red under his translucent skin when he was angry or embarrassed. Just like how my skin had been. Like father, like daughter.

I wondered what he’d think of my life now, and what he’d think of what I’d done today. Knowing the circumstances of the secrets I was meant to keep, would he have thought I’d done the right thing as Carlisle had? Or would he have thought I interfered and placed my siblings at risk like the rest of my family might think? I think that despite the consequences, he would have said something like, “you did the right thing, kid.” And maybe he’d even uncomfortably ask me about whether or not this boy was someone he should be keeping his eye on and would be immensely relieved when I reassured him that the answer was no. The thought almost made me smile. So then, I couldn’t bring myself to regret my decisions, and I wouldn’t allow myself to.

I sat there in the weathered leather of the chair for some time, listening to the subtle dragging of pages sliding off of shelves, the whoosh of air and the crispy rustle of paper as someone turned a page, the heaviness of footsteps on dead pieces of floorboard, the twinkle of the bell above the front door, and the whisper of the frozen wind rushing inside. After an hour, I stirred, rising from Charlie’s chair to trace my finger along the edges of the shelves, the action stirring up some dust particles to leap into the air like dandelion seeds, the warm light catching them in astonishing ways as they floated along. I left my little nook briefly to find the right section that would hold the book I was suddenly searching for.

When I located it, I plucked the gently used novel off the shelf, vowing to officially mend my own copy at home since it was the same story that Emmett had destroyed the morning of the first day I saw Edward.

I returned to the armchair, once again sinking down into the burgundy, and flipped through the aged pages until I found the place I left off at.

I’d have read until closing time, but eventually something in the unreliability of initial appearances in Pride and Prejudice began to bother me in a way that it never had before. I gave up on the book and instead sat unthinking – or attempting to, at least– quietly for a few hours.

Again, I longed to sleep. I’d never needed an escape as much as I did now as my mind was becoming too tiring a place to consciously be.

After some time, I heard creaky footsteps on the ancient wood up the stairs and the jingling sound of keys hitting each other. I waited patiently as they approached, imagining where exactly they may be in the labyrinth as they turned corners and hesitated to quietly shove stray books back onto shelves. They drew closer, closing in the distance between them and my little nook, finally rounding the corner.

“Oh!” The clerk from downstairs gasped in surprise, dropping the book in her hand. I stopped myself from saving it to not startle her any further with sudden movements, allowing it to clatter noisily to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, only then rising from the chair to lean down and collect the novel after an appropriate amount of reaction time. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The clerk’s heart boomed loudly in her chest. “No, no, it’s alright!” She laughed breathlessly, a hand fluttering to her heart. “I just didn’t think anyone else was here... We’re, uh, sorry, we’re closed!”

“Oh, I’m sorry again,” I laughed softly as well to relax her, extending my hand to offer her the book she’d dropped. “I must have lost track of time.”

“That’s okay! It happens more often than you think...” she laughed again, her heart rate slowing down to a more regular place, though now that she recovered from the shock, her face was mesmerized by the oddness of my jarringly perfect appearance.

“I’ll leave now,” I smiled politely, pushing the book forward to her hand, careful not to touch her skin. Without processing, she took hold of the book. As I began to pass her, she clumsily turned.

“Oh, uh, wait! I’ll unlock the door to let you out!”

I allowed her to pass me up and leisurely followed her through the maze down the stairs. Her blood had a sweet smell, but it was still unappealing in comparison to Edward’s.

Once we’d reached the door, I could see how much time had passed whilst I hadn’t been paying attention. Through the large windows, night had fallen in a blackened cloak over the port city.

“Here we are,” she shyly chirped in a very intentionally favorable tone – something she probably reserved for customer service – and fiddled with the keys. Her hands shook slightly, and I felt guilty for how it must feel to have her back turned to a predator. Of course, she couldn’t know the difference, but her body recognized the threat. Finally, once she’d found the right key, she jimmied the rusty metal into the lock – missing the narrow fissure twice at first – and opened the door.

“Sorry about that. Thank you so much for coming,” she turned, gesturing with a shaky hand towards the outside world. The bitter wind blew in through the opening, making her shiver.

“Thank you,” I smiled again for her sake. Her eyes were peculiarly light compared to the rest of her features, making them extremely prominent. They were lighter and more hazel, yet the shade of green made me think of Edward again. I sighed. “Have a good night.”

I stepped out into the darkened street, looking down at the strange way the red light from the neon sign in the window washed over and illuminated my skin. Tiny bugs flew around the street lamps up above, casting irregularly moving shadows on the frozen sidewalk.

The heavy door shut loudly behind me, and she clicked the lock. It was unusually quiet, though that could be due to it being a weeknight. The bulbs in the streetlamps hummed and the bugs buzzed in response.

I strolled along the sidewalk, taking my time before returning to Carlisle’s car. I should have paid the meter more generously. It expired two hours ago. I’d received a parking ticket. Oops.

I removed the frozen slip of paper and unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. I had no desire to drive fast at first, deciding to return home at the speed limit. After about forty minutes, suddenly the anticipation to get the confrontation out of the way overcame me, and I drove 200 miles per hour the rest of the way home. Within minutes, I was turning onto the miles-long driveway.

As I raced for the garage, I listened for any movement from the bright house. There was none. I wondered how long they’d been sitting still, waiting for me. I groaned aloud in greeting.

The garage door was open so I pulled into the blue fluorescence and parked beside Rosalie’s day car. I sighed once before determinedly exiting the vehicle.

I slammed the door a little too hard before catching the handle before it hit the body. Perhaps I’d reached my quota this morning when it came to destroying car doors.

I ran through the small section of woods separating the garage from the house and braced myself for the impact of the meeting.

“Hello,” I said sheepishly. I wanted to sound stronger and more confident, but my nerve wavered as I entered the dining room to see everyone waiting for me at the long oval table. At the eastern head of the table, Carlisle and Esme sat side by side, their hands resting together atop the mahogany. I felt some of the resilience I’d mustered in the last few seconds return upon seeing the intensity of Esme’s golden eyes. They were full of concern and overwhelmingly forgiving. It was reassuring.

Rosalie sat directly opposite from Carlisle, very intentionally avoiding eye contact with me, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. I could feel the tension and coldness emanating from her. I was unused to feeling spurned by Rosalie. She always tenderly cared for me, always taking my side… My actions must have truly offended her today. A twinge of guilt twisted my abdomen.

It was unfair to feel any sense of betrayal considering the danger I’d placed my family in, but still with Emmett wrly seated beside Rosalie, and Jasper standing behind them, leaning against the wall mirroring Rose’s crossed arms, I felt some irrational anger at the lines being drawn. Of course, I should have known better than to think Emmett would have my back as if he wouldn’t undoubtedly support Rosalie.

Alice sat beside Esme, her eyes focused on something other than the room. I wondered if her visions made her support waver, if in all the hours I’d been gone, she’d been moving back and forth on either side of the room. She always chose the winning side.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “First, for this,” I crossed to the other side of the table to sit beside Carlisle, placing the parking ticket on the wood and sliding it over towards him. His lips curved into an amused smirk, and I felt encouraged by the expression.

“And more importantly,” I turned to face Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper. “I’m very, very sorry for this morning. It was incredibly selfish, irresponsible, and stupid of me to put any of you at risk. It’s all my fault… I take full responsibility for my actions.”

Rosalie’s exquisite face finally looked up at me, her expression full of hurt. “And what does that mean, Bella? Are you planning on fixing this?”

The implication behind her words filled me with sudden indignation, and before I could calm myself down, I snapped, “not in the way that you mean.”

Of course, something had to be done about the accident, but what was the point of going to such idiotic lengths to save his life only to end it later? Didn’t she realize I’ve been fighting to keep him alive since the very moment I’d met him?

Rosalie took offense to the harsh accusation of my words. “You say that as if I’d advocate for this under normal circumstances.”

“I had planned on leaving before, and I will leave now if it makes things easier.” Rather than keeping my voice calm and even, the words again came out in ways I didn’t intend. Unnecessarily punitive. I knew it was ridiculous to be so angry with Rosalie’s anger towards me when she was entirely right, but I couldn’t tame my passion in defense of Edward’s silly little life.

“Oh, no, Bella,” Esme murmured. “Please, you can’t leave.”

I reached to squeeze my mother’s hand.

“It’d have been helpful prior to this morning,” Jasper spoke up. “Now, it’s irrelevant.”

“Jazz is right,” Emmett agreed. “There’s no point in leaving now. If anything, that’d look more suspicious.”

“I agree with Emmett, Bella,” Carlisle nodded. “For you to disappear, perhaps it’d make the boy more inclined to talk. Either all of us leave or none.”

“Edward won’t say anything,” I insisted.

“You can’t know that,” Rosalie argued.

“I trust him,” I disagreed, surprising myself at how true the statement was. I thought back to the biology lab when he’d jokingly asked if I trusted him. It was in response to his identification of the stages of mitosis, and I had said no. Now, I suddenly entrusted him with the secrecy of my vampire abilities. I was really unintelligent. She scoffed at my words. “Alice, back me up.”

“I can’t see what will happen if we just ignore this,” Alice rubbed her temples before shooting an accusatory glance in Jasper and Rosalie’s direction.

“We can’t ignore this. Bella, I have always supported you, and of course I love you dearly. But clearly, this isn’t some minor mistake. You were right – it was incredibly selfish and irresponsible and stupid! And it’d be even more irresponsible and stupid for us to allow the human the chance to say anything about it. Carlisle, you must see that,” Rosalie turned her attention to our adopted father.

“It’s not like we haven’t left rumors behind before,” I reminded her. “And I don’t recall anyone else’s first offense putting them on trial like this.”

She ignored the second part of my statement. “Rumors, Bella. Today, you’ve provided eyewitnesses and evidence! It’s not enough that you were perfect prior to today. You’re no more a saint than the rest of us! We have to be perfect always! This was a massive mistake!” Rosalie stood up from her chair. “And I know that!” I stood up as well.

“Then you should agree with what’s the right course of action! It doesn’t have to be a big production. So he seemed alright after the accident. Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. Say Carlisle missed something far more serious than it looked. I don’t delight in this, Bella, but the rest of our kind would expect us to take care of this. Technically, you should be the one to clean up after yourself.”

“Rosalie, the Masen boy is completely innocent,” Carlisle gently disapproved.

Rosalie frowned. “It’s an unfortunate consequence to Bella’s mistake in favor of protecting us all, but a consequence nonetheless”

“Rose, I am sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t matter anymore, Bella!” She interrupted.

“I never wanted this. I never wanted to place you or Emmett or any of us in this position. I know my actions have affected you. But I couldn’t just let him die that way!” My chest sunk at the thought.

“But it wasn’t your place to meddle with fate. You’ve already interrupted his life with your existence alone. Why let him survive? So that you could slaughter him later?”

I winced at her words, but a low hiss escaped my throat as well.

“Rose...” Emmett reached up for her hand to placate her, but she pulled away.

“No, it’s the truth. Our existence and your fixation on his scent posed a threat to the boy. His time came, but you interfered. Now he poses a greater threat to us. So what was the point of that then? You couldn’t help yourself from cutting into his life? It seems the universe provided you with an easy way out, and you went out of your way to make things not only more difficult for yourself but for us as well. I don’t always love this life, but excuse me for taking it personally when you’ve threatened the tiniest piece of happiness I have here! You should have just let him die! It seems you’ll end up killing him anyways!”

The room shifted completely. Suddenly, everyone was on their feet, Rosalie leaned towards me in defense, Emmett uncomfortably but faithfully crouched by her side, Jasper’s stance was more confident and relaxed but poised to strike as well. Carlisle and Esme were both by my sides, holding me in place by my arms. Only Alice remained in her seat, not at all concerned by the change in atmosphere. It took me half a second to realize what had triggered everyone’s response – to process the vicious growl that erupted from my throat and the tenseness of my body as it coiled to spring at my own sister. I was too stubborn and furious to feel any shame yet. I scowled but eased my stance, allowing Carlisle and Esme to gently coax me back to my chair. Everyone else loosened their defensive posture. Emmett made Rosalie sit down, her golden eyes narrowed in a harsh glare of which I was the recipient. Jasper stood straight again but remained stiff. Once we’d all relaxed, Carlisle began speaking again.

“Rosalie, I know you mean well, but every life is precious. To murder a blameless child poses an even greater risk to us. The occasional accident or lapse in control is a regrettable part of who we are, but to bring harm to the boy would make ourselves unworthy of the protection you so lovingly wish to give us. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk something much more important. We risk losing the essence of who we are.”

I couldn’t help the tiny smile that pulled at the corner of my lips.

“Carlisle, it’s about being responsible when Bella was so horribly irresponsible.”

Being on the receiving end of Rosalie’s inflexibility and anger was not at all pleasant.

"It's being callous," Carlisle corrected softly before repeating himself. “Every human life is precious.”

Rosalie sighed heavily and turned her head to again avoid looking at me, making it very apparent where the two of us stood.

“The question is whether or not we should move on,” he continued.

“The last thing I want is to unroot any of you. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Carlisle. I feel confident about Edward’s silence,” I insisted again.

Rosalie huffed loudly, and I turned just in time to catch her rolling her eyes.

“Well, we certainly don't have to decide now. Perhaps we wait then,” Carlisle nodded.

I turned to face Alice, searching for some reassurance about the future but instead following her accusatory gaze to where Jasper stood leaning against the wall again. They were having another one of those silent conversations they shared that the rest of us were lost to. It was almost as if they could read each other’s minds.

“What?” I asked.

“Jazz seems to feel he’s above this conversation,” Alice gritted her teeth. “He seems to think he should set things right.”

My eyes flashed between her and Jasper, whose face was expressionless and unmoved. It took me a moment to piece it together.

“Jazz,” I warned as I began to feel irrationally overprotective again. “I won’t let you punish him for my mistake.”

“So he benefits from it then?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I won’t allow it,” I repeated.

“And I won’t allow Alice to live in danger. You can’t understand, Bella. You don’t feel about anyone the way I feel towards her.”

“That’s irrelevant. I’m not just going to stand aside as you murder him,” I hissed. “I will not let you hurt Edward Masen.”

We stared at each other. I knew he was measuring the opposition and sampling the depth of my determination.

“Jazz,” Alice interrupted us, cutting through the tension in the air.

“Don’t bother telling me you can protect yourself, Alice. I already know that, but-”

“That’s not what I was going to say, but thank you for the assumption,” she rolled her eyes. “And it’s true, I can. I don’t need the backup, you overprotective fool.”

She said the last words playfully, her voice full of affection, as she stuck her tongue out. The action was out of sync with the mood of the room. “What I was going to ask for was a favor.”

Jasper’s eyebrows raised at what was seemingly an inappropriate time to make any requests. My eyebrows knitted in confusion at where the conversation was heading.

“I know you love me, but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill Edward. First, we all know how headstrong Bella is, so you shouldn’t doubt how serious she’s being right now. I don’t want the two of you to fight. Seriously. Secondly, Edward is my friend. Yours too. At least, he’s going to be.”

“What?” Jasper gasped. Even though we were all very much accustomed to Alice’s ambiguity and the bizarre certainty she spoke with about things only she had seen, this was not a statement that could so easily be digested. I couldn’t tear my attention from Alice, staring intently at her face as if the meaning behind her words would suddenly be written on her forehead. What had she seen in that little odd head of hers?

“I’m going to love him–” as she said this, I nearly choked on the air whistling down my throat “–someday, Jazz. I’d be very put out with you if you don’t leave him be.”

I was locked into place, my eyes still boring deeply into my sister’s face. I could feel the pucker on my forehead etched into my expression as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. I kept expecting Alice to explain, but every time she opened her mouth she only confounded me more.

“Ahh!” Alice sighed, smiling brightly. “See, there’s nothing to worry about! Edward won’t say anything at all.”

I could not see.

“Alice,” I whined impatiently. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know, Bella. I told you something was changing in your future.”

“In my future? What did you see?”

“Hmm… I don’t think I should share quite yet,” Alice locked her jaw, and I growled, exasperated.

“Oh, clearly, Bella can’t be trusted lately to not act on her impulses! You should give her whatever warning you’re hiding,” Rosalie sighed, annoyed.

I was still feeling illogically irritated with Rose’s resentment, but I couldn’t disagree with her. “She’s right, Alice.”

“I really don’t think-”

“Who votes that Alice shares what she knows?” I asked restlessly. “Raise your hand.”

It was juvenile, and this was not how we came to decisions ever. Of course we’d discuss differing opinions, but never so bluntly did we vote in this manner. The way I approached the subject was rude, but still unanimously, six hands shot into the air including mine.

“Fine,” Alice huffed, scowling. “But I’m not obligated to share anything just because the rest of you voted. That’s silly. I’m only sharing because I can see that Bella won’t let this go.”

She paused and we waited, staring. It was as if we were awaiting the results of a reading from some fortune teller at a carnival, anxious to see which tarot cards she had pulled. Anxious to see what this would mean for my life.

“My vision keeps becoming clearer. At first, it was just hazy, and I couldn’t make sense of it or of who I was seeing. Every minute it’s like Bella’s more decided,” Alice began. Six pairs of eyes flickered to me, but I had no idea what she was referring to, nor did I know how this related to the boy. Alice frowned a little as if she knew what she was about to say wouldn’t be received well. “It seems there’s only two ways left for Edward now. Either Bella will… end his life or… he’ll join us.”

Esme gasped as my mouth dropped open.

“Join us?!” I choked out once I recovered. “I…. I have not made a decision anywhere in that realm at all. That has never ever crossed my mind. Why in the world would I turn him?”

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe I do it because I love him too or at least, I will. I don’t know.”

“Love him, too?” I gaped, convinced Alice’s abilities were broken somehow. “What does that even mean? Who else are you talking about?”

“Who do you think, Bella?” Alice rolled her eyes again, impatient at my lack of clairvoyance. “Clearly not Rosalie.”

“Love him!?” Rosalie questioned incredulously, eyeing me as if I’d completely lost my mind. Maybe I had.

I then realized what Alice meant as I watched Rosalie’s face and processed the other baffled pairs of eyes.

“You mean me!?” I gasped.

“Woah! What the hell...” Emmett almost laughed in surprise, then decided it was indeed actually funny and broke out into real, booming laughter. “Damn! That’s rough. Of course, Bella would fall for a human!”

“Fall for a human?” Esme asked, completely astonished. “Fall in love? With the boy she saved today?”

“Nobody is in love with anybody,” I stood up. “That’s completely absurd!”

“Ooh, touchy subject,” Emmett snickered. I glared daggers at him.

“What exactly do you see, Alice?” Jasper asked.

“I already told you. It depends on Bella’s strength. Either she’ll kill him herself which would really destroy you, Bella, not to mention how very irritated I’d be with you–” she gave me a stern look through narrowed eyes as if I’d already committed the murder then returned her attention to the rest of our family “–or he’ll be one of us someday. There’s not much else to say; the visions are finite but not detailed. It will require a great deal of self control…”

As she continued to muse, I was still frozen in place on my feet, completely numb and completely bewildered.

“...Greater than even Carlisle’s capability maybe. I wouldn’t have put it past her prior to this, but now… It’ll be extremely close as to whether or not she kills him. The only thing she’s not strong enough to do is stay away from him. That’s a completely lost cause.”

The room was entirely quiet.

“Well, this complicates things greatly,” Carlisle murmured.

After another moment of silence, Rosalie piped up. “I can’t believe it. In love with a human-”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Rosalie!” I snarled, returning to some clarity.

“Girls, please-” Esme began to plead.

“Ooh, she got you there, babe,” Emmett interrupted, chuckling as Rose growled at him.

“Emmett,” Esme warned sternly. He held up his hands in surrender but winked at me, grinning widely.

I couldn’t even appreciate the realliance. I was still too lost in the sudden upheaval of my entire life.

“I suppose the plans remain the same, though," Carlisle said thoughtfully. "We'll stay and watch. Obviously, no one will...hurt the boy.”

“Of course not,” Jasper agreed, nodding his head once. “If Alice only sees two ways, then it’s unnecessary to take matters into-”

“Shut up, Jazz,” I said numbly.

Everyone’s eyes flickered over to me.

I was just loving being the center of attention these days.

If Alice only sees two ways...

“You’re wrong,” I whispered. For the first time in my life, I was betting against Alice.

My psychic sister opened her mouth to protest but stopped after seeing either in her head or on my face that I wasn’t finished.

“I hardly know Edward. I don’t see how it could be possible for me to… develop any kind of… feelings for him. That’s entirely ridiculous. I mean, he’s… human! The only scenario that could potentially ever happen – which again, it’s absolutely implausible – would be if I were to accidentally change him. And even then, I mean, why would I-... He’s so… Ugh, just nevermind! That would be a complete mistake. A mistake greater than the one I made today. And I’m very sorry to you all for how I’ve mutilated the future with my actions, but I’m going to fix it. I’ll leave-”

“You can’t,” Alice and Esme interrupted at the same time. My sister’s tone was one of annoyance while my mother’s was one of concern.

“You’re right,” I nodded, but my agreement wasn’t for the reasons Alice meant. I wasn’t considering my capability to leave based on my own will power against leaving the boy behind. That was something too complicated to unpack here in front of my family. Something that’d be better dealt with on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. I wouldn’t leave because it’d be more crucial for me to stay now. The responsible thing to do. “But I’ll try to...I will stay away from Edward–” suddenly, I felt a desire to begin to distance myself from him and referring to him by his name felt too deeply personal, so I corrected myself, “–from the boy, I mean. It’s not right to condemn him to either fate. I won’t allow that to happen.”

As I spoke, Rosalie’s face softened and she materialized by my side, taking my hand.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved today, Bella. I only spoke out of love for our family. But you’re right. It’s not right. And I’m glad you’re choosing to do the right thing by staying away. I still don’t feel as though trusting him is responsible, but if what Alice has said is true-”

“I’m sorry, too,” I cut her off quietly, not wanting to hear the rest. I was feeling sorry for so much more than just how I spoke to Rose.

Esme appeared behind me as well, placing her hand encouragingly on my shoulder. “We are here to support you, Bella.”

“Thanks,” I murmured unenthusiastically.

Nobody moved again as they waited to see what I’d do next. I felt like a zoo animal.

I sighed, releasing Rose’s hand and shaking off Esme.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to be by myself.”

“Of course,” Carlisle responded.

I crossed behind the west side of the table. Emmett let out a low, cartoony whistle of relief to break the tension, and I punched him on the arm as I passed. As I exited the room, Alice called, “wait!”

She was by my side in an instant.

“This is from the accident. It’s Edward’s. I thought maybe you’d want to return it to him.”

I looked down as she pulled my unresponsive hand away from my body to place the thick, chestnut journal I’d seen Edward reach for in his backseat right before the accident. I stared at her, impassive, so she sighed and wrapped my fingers around the worn leather to force it into my grip.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, turning and disappearing out of the house into the forest.

As I ran, I felt the weight of their eyes on me.

27 notes · View notes

holywitchkid · 5 years ago

Text

“Yeah, uh-huh. Right on the shit stained dick. You rammed hard with that one. Hit straight up to that deep dive asshole. Bet you’ve tried sucking it off all alone, that herpes filled mouth of yours better watch out for e-coli. Brown stuff gets right in those cuts you’ve been biting on all day and night—gonna wish you had AIDS! ” there was a time and place, but that somehow never really mattered. Word vomit at the group of suave cocksuckers that thought there were some sort of deal to be made, some IOU and a Taiwanese twinks ass up for munching for under two grand on a Wednesday night. Fuck that.

The time: 1:30 am.

The place: some gay bar in The East Village

His eyelid was throbbing—out the flesh, like it was a heartbeat exposed to icy air. Heat practically radiating and he really wasn’t sure if he was bleeding. Homo’s used to be the easiest target. In and out and maybe with a blow job so fueled on coke or whatever else that he’d paint that all black come the exit. Not this time. This time he judged his own intake wrong. The euphoria of the heroin and the jolt of the speed not soon after a rival edge that left Malcolm in a chaotic daze. He wanted nothing more than to rip at the testicles that came near, straight from the source. Tug and tug hard enough to see eruption. Veins to floss with, something. Something so visceral and momentary he could paint with the left over’s on the wall like graffiti.

He didn’t like these guys. These friends of a friend. They knew his mother. A surefire sign had he been clued in.

Selling used to be easier. Being pulled out of the dimly lit hallway with leather nut huger insignia splashed all over the walls like it was cum and neon glory holes as if there was some kind of artistic value and Michael Jackson’s high pitched scream vibrating through as if each had something to say with every hardened cock with every step forward into this tragic abyss.

“You good?” Hunter asked, his hand forcefully pushing at Malcolm’s chest back into the Kylie infused Olivia Newton-John country edition techno beat. Avoiding a dragged Britney along the way that gave them both a side eye with a pointed look at what was going on in the VIP. “ You want something?” Hunter asked....

—all Hunter did was irritate him, and he’d forgotten all about him actually that is until he felt his presence close by. Barely hearing his words as he looked at his emaciated face and his piss stained teeth. Malcolm’s hand colliding with the blondes head was no big thing as he pushed him away and pushed him hard. The other’s own stability compromised with the beef next to him, it would’ve normally made Malcolm smile. The pain of others was always something to notice. But, his pupils were fixed on the hallway he’d just come from and his pulse rose. He could feel that. Everything stopped around him. Hands turned to fists even on the bar top he had a hold of. The rainbow flag beats around him played to his senses and created a stop-motion sort of revelry. Sirens were going off. At least that’s what it felt like at an equal tune all in pattern with the raging of his pulse and yet there was nothing happening. No one came out the darkened hallway at a misfire of a deal. He was left there with nothing but Hunter and a crowded space.

“Suck his dick.” He said with a nuanced vibrato. Moving from his lone position, sure now there was nothing happening. No force out to get him. No move to make the deal an actual deal....they’d pussy’d out. So how else was he to make for an entertaining night? The best way he knew how.

Force.

“Come on. You want to. It’s big, it’s black. It’s a real life Cobra. Fuck your throat up.”Though it wasn’t an ask more so a tell with quick motions of a potential threeway to entice the other, unzipping at the black guys bulging pants he had no intention of taking deep in any shape or form. More or less shoving Hunters face into unknown dick. The man with bright blue contacted eyes he got a good look at as he felt Hunters hair in a squeeze through each finger before backing away. It felt like they were on the same wave length. Rage. Hunter that chess piece.

Hunter would listen too, he was such a little bitch.

#self para #ch: malcolm remington

3 notes · View notes

unchartedterritoria · 6 years ago

Text

Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 26

*NEW CHAPTER*

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5* Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 * Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 * Chapter 15 * Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 * Chapter 18 * Chapter 19 * Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 * Chapter 22 * Chapter 23 * Chapter 24 * Chapter 25

As always, you can read the story thus far on A03 HERE

Tags: @jodiereedus22, @shambhalala, @missdictatorme

Reviews and comments are always appreciated!

Summary: Sam and Faith finally get a bead on the location of the Lincoln treasure. Sam finds out Jasper is hot on their heels and finds out in the worst way he ever wanted to.

Faith grabbed Sam by the hand and led him down the populated corridor. The sun was at its apex of the afternoon, sending tourists off the beach and into the gallery for some respite from the overwhelming heat.

The excitement Faith felt radiated off of her and Sam felt as if he was grasping a live wire. The neon colors that had awoken within her when they had first swiped that diary in Springfield had emerged and taken hold of her again. Sam saw suspicious glances in their direction, more of them being garnered by the second as she half ran, dragging him behind her like a bored dad at Disneyland. Seeing this, he pulled her back by his side to slow their pace.

“Slow it down, you got half the place staring at you,” Sam murmured in her ear. Draping an arm across her shoulders, he kept the two of them at a steady pace as the curious faces gradually turned away from them.

The portrait of a solemn, middle-aged Dr. Samuel Mudd hung square on the wall; the man's narrow chin hid behind a scraggly beard, a vast contrast to the baldness of his head.

A printed picture hung next to it, a large hexagon building of dark red brick floating in a vast expanse of bright blue ocean.

Written over the photo display was a story that Faith now knew by heart. The plot to assassinate the head members of the Lincoln government, the failure of Atzerodt and Paine to murder Johnson and Seward. The trial that indited Mudd as a conspirator for setting the broken leg of John Wilkes Boothe.

A black and white photograph of a cement doorway stood out atop the colorful contrast of the print beneath it. A heavy door with a heavy lock stood open in the shot while a small plaque hung above its entryway. The carved words wobbled, but the sign was still legible:

Whoso Entereth Here Leaveth All Hopes Behind

“Mudd's cell,” Faith said in a small voice.

Sam's eyes scanned over the small paragraph underneath.

"It was an inactive fort, so they used it as a military prison. He helped treat prisoners and soldiers while he was here when yellow fever broke out in 1867, that's how the asshole got his goddamn pardon," His voice dropped to a growl. Frustration pulled at his eyebrows, making his eyes seem to go dark.

“Even inactive, it's massive. If it's here in Key West, how the hell did we miss it?”

“That's because it's not in Key West,” Faith told him while she read the fine print at the bottom of the glossy picture, “It's 75 miles west of here in the middle of the Gulf.”

Her heart was racing as fast as the thoughts in her head. This had to be it. She could feel it, and Sam could feel it too.

Sam's mouth began to travel a mile a minute, spewing forth plans, how to get there, how to find his millions and how to spend it.

Faith stared at the portrait of the famed Dr. Mudd.

Sam's words lost meaning for her as she stared into the dark eyes of the painting, reduced to a dull murmur in her ears. The sound disappeared entirely, as heady anger began to form in its void. A swirling eddy of dark thoughts built up a fury within her that she hadn't felt since she was a teenager, the eyes of the portrait fueled the needless fire.

You son of a bitch. Look at everything you've caused.

"Faith." Sam tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to shift her glare towards him instead of the portrait.

“Whoa, hey. What?” He questioned, pulling his hand back quickly.

“Look at everything his caused,” Faith muttered, resuming her stare at the picture of Mudd.

“All he did was fix the guys leg.”

“And that leg belonged to the guy that killed Lincoln.”

“Not his fault, he didn't pull the trigger,” Sam retorted.

“Guilty by association Samuel.”

“Just because history made him out to be a Bad Guy doesn't mean he was a bad guy.”

“You don't know that.”

Sam brought his face close to hers, his tobacco laced breath wafting up Faith's nose.

“Guess what? Neither do you,”

Faith bit the inside of her cheeks, unable to come up with a response. She could only lower her eyes in silence.

“Alright, now, let's go get this thing,” Sam declared and began to stalk down the hall, a sense of purpose in his step, towards the front doors as Faith tried to keep up with his long strides next to him. “It's a fort in the middle of the goddamn ocean so, lucky for us, there can only be so many places to hide it. We'll hit the bar, Ronni should be workin' this afternoon, she's gotta know a guy we can charter a boat from.”

"You think I'll find my answers somewhere in there?" Faith asked. As the days had turned into weeks, her original search for answers about her family had warped into this larger than life treasure hunt. She had allowed herself to get swept up into Sam Drake's world and into Sam himself. What started with dipping a tentative toe in the water turned into a swan dive into a dangerous blue abyss where the warm water churned with excitement and showed no signs of slowing down.

“They're there, and if for some reason they're not, we keep goin' til we get them,” He assured her.

"What if the treasure is there, but my answers aren't?" She asked, giving the sleeve of his t-shirt a gentle tug, bringing him to a stop.

Faith's answers had always been secondary for Sam on this adventure. Finding that treasure was his primary goal from the moment that Nathan had uttered, 'worth a shitload' and he made no qualms about it either. He wanted to be rich; he wanted a find that was all his own. Finding Libertalia was fantastic for Sam, and as much as he enjoyed sharing the adventure and the discovery with his brother, there was that selfish part of him that kept him wanting more just for himself. In his mind, Faith was just this person he was in charge of. Keep her safe and get her home. Sam hadn't counted on the llama loving, personal demons dealing, Depeche Mode dancing Faith Spencer that had emerged from that dark blue dress two months ago and boldly stole his shirt, taking a piece of his heart and a sliver of his soul with her in the process.

So the question gave Sam pause for only a moment.

“Like I said, we keep going until we get them. It'll just be easier with me being a millionaire,” Sam the corner of his mouth raised into a cocky grin.

“We keep going? We?" Faith's heart fluttered in her chest. She had resigned herself to the fact that this crazy chapter, hell it was more like an insane novel, in her life was coming to a close. The Book of Sam Drake would end with a goodbye, and she had steeled herself for it. The possibility of an epilogue to their story hadn't been a hope for her, until now.

“Yeah,” He said softly to Faith, gently taking the tip of her chin between his rough fingers and tilting her head up until her eyes met his.

“We.”

It was a simple word. Short and to the point. Faith found its meaning in Sam's warm hazel eyes where the two letters spoke volumes.

He released her chin and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his pants.

“I mean, that is, if you can put up with me that long. I've been told once or twice that I can be a real pain in the ass sometimes,” He said with a sigh, his playful charm back front and center, stowing away his emotional side.

“Sounds like a conservative estimate,” Faith rebutted bluntly. Sam scoffed and continued towards the entrance. After a single stride, Faith grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Wait! Hold up!”

"What?" Sam said, trying not to sound too impatient.

“I never saw Robert. Gimme two seconds!” Faith said, already jogging back down the concrete corridor before Sam could protest. He eyed the front doors of the gallery a few feet away and wrapped his fingers around the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

Might as well have one while I wait, Sam thought and strode casually out through the entrance, positioning himself near the freestanding post ashtray next to the building.

Faith entered the WEIRDLY KEY WEST section of the museum again. This time, the tourist hustle and bustle had thinned out, leaving the exhibit all to herself. She headed towards the small room that held the doll, making sure to avert her eyes from the portrait of Mudd on the wall. For the next few minutes, she just wanted to revel in the quirkiness of something cool.

Faith opened the glass doors to find herself in a small room. The walls told the story of Robert, his origins and his mischiefs in the town, along with a warning: 'Beware! Ask permission of Robert to take his picture. If you don't do this, you do it at your own risk!' Faith smiled and looked towards the right where a giant blackboard stood. A layer of chalk dust coat it, little fingerprints letting the black base show through. A nub of chalk dangled from a string and magnetic metal clips dotted the boards surface, some with small pieces of paper attached. Above it all hung a sign, asking you to 'Leave a Message for Robert!' Faith smiled. Bubbly anticipation welled inside her as she began to formulate already what she wanted to write.

She finally approached the square exhibit case made of glass in the center of the room. Robert the Doll stood on a riser, bringing him to eye level. Faith had seen the Chucky movies, Annabelle and all of their horrid sequels. All of those films had been based on the doll in front of her. She had steeled herself, expecting something sinister looking and found herself to be very wrong.

Robert looked like any other doll in a museum that was made at the turn of the century. He was the size of a small child, dressed in a sailors outfit, complete with cap, and sitting up in a small wooden chair. A fabric casing simply stuffed with straw, his face was basic, and its features merely indented to define them. Small divets dotted the matte brown skin of his face where time had worn it away, giving him the likeness of a child with pockmarks. In the crook of his arm, he held a small stuffed dog with tightly curled tan fur.

Not in the least what Faith had pictured.

“Wow, anticlimactic,” She muttered to herself, studying the quality stitching that held the doll together. “No offense meant, just not at all what I pictured,” Faith apologized, taking a step back and blew out a nervous breath. “I know granting your wishes isn't your area but, if you have any influence, could you please help me find the answers about my family and why we have that Bible? I would really appreciate it.”

“I really like your little doggy by the way,” She added with a lopsided grin.

A large hand suddenly wrapped around her mouth and nose. Sam had done this to her before, which took away the startling feeling she felt the previous times. She began to roll her eyes and froze. The lingering smell of nicotine or the tangy scent of his aftershave wasn't there. Instead, the smell was sweetly astringent, bringing to mind a fruity tequila. It was also coming from a rough cloth pressed between the strange hand and her face.

Faith clawed frantically at the hand, pulling hard, trying to scream as loud as she could. She stomped her feet blindly to make more noise and with the desperate hope of landing a foot of the man behind her but his strong upper body kept her forward. Her brain pleaded and prayed for Sam to hear the commotion. Her eyes searched for something to grab on to when a heavy mist settled in her head. Faith's thoughts became muddled as her limbs grew lead heavy. The noise from her decreasing struggle began to sound hollow. As her brain slowed and her sight darken, Faith saw a translucent reflection of the hand wrapped tight around her middle in Robert's glass case.

The hand was deformed.

Sam checked the time on his phone. Fifteen minutes and two smokes had passed since Faith went to visit her funky doll. He contorted his face in annoyance.

"C'mon honey, it's a doll, we got a lot better things to go look at," He muttered openly to no one. He looked around the lobby of the building which had become eerily quiet as the tourists emptied back out onto the beach. He glanced absentmindedly through the doorway into the grassy courtyard. A meter long iguana dashed across the lawn, fast enough for Sam to register a whizzing by of green hues. Something didn't feel right.

She should be back out here by now, he thought, as goosebumps rippled across the back of his neck. Sam stalked quickly down the hallway, his expression darkened and his heart sped with every tourist he noticed was gone, the hall empty. Seeing the WEIRD KEY WEST sign, he broke into a sprint, calling out Faith's name. Sam strode purposefully through the exhibit.

“Faith?” He called loudly, making a beeline for the tinted window room where the doll was.

“Faith!” Sam shouted as he flung open the glass doors.

Save for the doll in his glass case and the decor on the walls; the room was empty. Sam's eyes scanned the room wildly. The writing on the chalkboard made him stop breathing, stop hearing, stop functioning except to read the words in front of him. Written in chalk, in flowing, perfect script.

I've taken your queen. Your move Mr. Drake. With kindest regards, - J.

#dangerous #My writing #sam drake fanfiction #sam drake x oc #samuel drake x oc #OC X Sam Drake

13 notes · View notes

sinceileftyoublog · 7 years ago

Text

Top 60 Albums of 2017

You’ll see the same narrative everywhere: 2017 sucked, so we found solace in incredible music. That narrative is true and vital, but not the one I’m here to wax about today. This year, I made a conscious effort to dig deeper. Instead of listening to more albums, I decided to listen more to the albums I did discover. At SILY, we reviewed well over 100 records that came out in 2017--mostly original LPs, but some EPs, live albums, compilations, and reissues as well. Most importantly, we listened to each record with open ears--even the bad ones--discovering something new upon repeat listens.

With the help of contributors Daniel Palella and Lauren Lederman, here are our top 60 albums of 2017.

60. Katie Ellen - Cowgirl Blues (Lauren Records)

On Katie Ellen's Bandcamp page for Cowgirl Blues, there's a manifesto that follows the track list, reading, in part:

I will be deliberate and unafraid, discerning and kind. I will not live under the umbrella of shame. I will not accept responsibility for your feelings or your bullshit. I will say no and be taken seriously.

Rising from the ashes of a breakup and the disbandment of her previous band Chumped, Anika Pyle crafted a record that’s not just about endings. To categorize it that way, as a breakup album, would be reductive. It’s an unapologetic statement for existing on your own terms, for embracing what you feel even if it’s messy. It’s one of Pyle’s strengths as a songwriter: taking something so personal and making it feel universal.

At just shy of 30 minutes, Cowgirl Blues is compact and efficient, capturing an array of emotion that touches on just about everything from the quiet moments of desire in “Drawing Room”, to the institution of marriage (see “Lucy Stone” and “Proposal”), to accepting the difficulty of moving on. Pyle’s lyrics recognize those feelings and let them exist without belittling them, without apology. It’s an album about independence and navigating a newfound world in exactly the way you want. - Lauren Lederman

59. Spencer Radcliffe & Everyone Else - Enjoy The Great Outdoors (Run For Cover)

Having been long obsessed with Spencer Radcliffe’s Blithe Field project, I had come to know him as a warm figure, one whose careful and gentle approach to sound-making provided a sort of unrivaled comfort. Upon discovering his songwriting project as Spencer Radcliffe, these expectations were met even outside of his electronic tinkering—his deep but assuring voice complements a loose and sarcastic tone to his songs. The breezy world of Enjoy The Great Outdoors, his first release with a full band, takes all of these elements and ups the musicianship while still maintaining the wit and charm of all of his past efforts. Speaking so nonchalantly about the promise of life after death on “Long Con”, about love on “Trust”, there is always a sense of humor underlying his sometimes tragic poetry. With that is a shade of hope and unbridled confidence too, though, a smirk cutting through rough times: “O’er the fields we go / We bring lightning, we melt snow,” he sings on “Wrong Turn”. Fantastic songwriting and a unmistakable bond with his band makes for a unique and special record. - Daniel Palella

58. Felicia Atkinson - HAND IN HAND (Shelter Press)

French experimental artist Felicia Atkinson creates a jarring but cathartic soundscape on HAND IN HAND, a record which keeps its extreme frequencies close and intimate—from crackling buzz to soft-spoken voice. The record’s most calming and disorienting qualities both serve to envelop the listener in a visceral experience, where all of its sounds feel within arm’s reach. ASMR sensibilities and a complex world of layered poetry makes for one of the most interesting experimental records of the year. - DP

57. The World is a Beautiful Place & I am No Longer Afraid to Die - Always Foreign (Epitaph)

The world feels a little upside down these days. It's easy to feel that the outlook is bleak, but it's in those moments where I turn to particular bands for something like a glimmer of hope. The World is a Beautiful Place & I am No Longer Afraid to Die is one of those bands for me, and Always Foreign captures that same positive momentum even at its most biting.

Whether you hear "Faker" about the band's lineup change in the time between albums or as a statement about our current commander-in-chief, when the guitars pick up and vocal shift to, "Are we awake yet?", you're filled with a feeling that villains can be vanquished, that there's got to be a way forward. There's a stream of anger throughout the album, and rightfully so, but it never leaves listeners alone to simply seethe or wallow.

With the release of Always Foreign's first single, the band reminded us that they can write a tight pop song ("Dillon and Her Sons"), but it's "Marine Tigers", the album’s seven-minute epic, that stands out. The sprawling track builds and builds, tackling the xenophobia that vocalist Dave Bello's father experienced as a young man and that truly hasn't disappeared. "We're here / I told you so," a gentle, almost ghostly chorus of voices lulls mid-song before Bello declares, "Please remember as a person / It's the land that's always foreign". Then, the song explodes into a cacophony of horns, creating an almost foreboding moment. It feels like a rallying cry. It's the kind of line that demands to be shouted in a dark venue or in the streets, with your community, and that's something we need right now. - LL

56. Amine - Good For You (CLBN)

It’s been a long year, hasn’t it? January feels like a lifetime ago, and the rollercoaster of this country’s current political state doesn’t seem to be anywhere near stopping. So, take a break and listen to Aminé’s Good For You. The Portland rapper exudes a kind of joy and self-aware silliness that feels refreshing, an antidote to the chaos everywhere else. Whether turning up the flirting with his breakout hit “Caroline” or “Spice Girl” (for which, yes, he did need approval from each of the actual Spice Girls) or poking fun at the way no one can pronounce his name in the introduction to the Girlpool-assisted “Hero”, Aminé’s debut exudes the sunniness of his signature color yellow. But it’s not all sunshine all the time. Aminé digs a little deeper, balancing that light joy with a keen awareness and introspection (“Sundays” and “Beach Boy”).

If you need another example, take his performance of “Caroline” this November on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. With a massive platform before him, decked out in a bright yellow leather jacket, Aminé effortlessly combines his upbeat breakout hit with a brief yet critical verse directed to the current administration. It’s that ability to pivot between those two moments that make Aminé and Good For You stand out so brightly. - LL

55. Joseph Shabason - Aytche (Western Vinyl)

“An album about physical and mental decay and memory loss risks being emotionally manipulative. But Joseph Shabason’s debut album Aytche, a collection of instrumental experimental saxophone-based tracks with a malleable sonic palette, actually puts you in the place of the haze. Shabason, who has contributed his playing to albums by The War on Drugs and, more notably, Destroyer (you have him to thank for that cornball saxophone playing on Kaputt), asserts himself as a player in the saxophone world like Colin Stetson–pushing the instrument not necessarily to its limits but exploring a side of it jazz musicians don’t often explore: Its potential for deep textures.”

Read the rest of our review here and our interview with Shabason here.

54. Protomartyr - Relatives in Descent (Domino)

“On Relatives in Descent, Casey finds a newfound sense of purpose, simultaneously sardonically railing on the evildoers and hypocrites while rising and resisting. Just as notable is the guitar playing of Greg Ahee; on many of these new songs, he finds a way to alternate between gorgeous, higher pitches and pummeling riffing. Drummer Alex Leonard is equally steady and chaotic. In essence, the band has learned how to really lift you up and knock you down.”

Read the rest of our review here.

53. John Moreland - Big Bad Luv (4AD)

“On 2015′s great High on Tulsa Heat and now on Big Bad Luv, Moreland describes suffering from old wounds in old towns and the emotional abysses that follow them. His lyrics hit hard, his voice pure gravel but never sounding too much like his mouth is full of coins. What differentiates the new material from the old is his band. With Aaron Boehler on bass, Paddy Ryan on drums, Jared Tyler on dobro, Tulsa Heat engineer John Calvin Abney on guitars and keyboards, and Lucero’s Rick Steff on keyboards, Moreland has the perfect backers for his tales of neon signs and nooses, relics of what once was and the dire results that come from them.”

Read the rest of our review here.

52. Waxahatchee - Out in the Storm (Merge)

“By the end of the album, Crutchfield has made peace with herself and her situation. On closer “Fade”, she sings, “I feel amazing today / You interrupt, you yell in my face / But you finally hear me say / That I’ll walk, I’m walking away.” A soft acoustic track, despite the lyrics, it’s not an extroverted kiss-off but reflective and ultimately empowering. There are hints of such positiveness sprinkled throughout Out in the Storm, mostly in the form of her familial and musical safety net. Whether it’s her personal or professional relationship with her sister Allison (she sweetly sings “I see myself through my sister’s eyes” on “Sparks Fly”), who plays keyboards and percussion on the album, or relying on a chorus to back her up on “Hear You”, Crutchfield is never really alone. But she is the star of the show, and that she ultimately becomes the director of her own real-life show makes the payoff of the album that much sweeter in the end.”

Read the full review here.

51. Bitchin Bajas - Bajas Fresh (Drag City)

“For their first non-collaborative effort in three years, Chicago experimental trio Bitchin Bajas (Cooper Crain, Rob Frye, Dan Quinlivan) have changed things up a bit. Added to their usual lineup of synthesizer, guitar, saxophone, and flute are, more concretely, percussion and more horns, and, more broadly, a newfound willingness to explore. Bajas Fresh is the band’s best record yet for this very reason: It’s varied enough to stand out, similar enough to form a logical progression from past work.”

Read the rest of our review here.

50. Tinariwen - Elwan (Anti-)

“Of course, the instrumentation on Elwan is top-notch. In general, the album starts out borderline festive and becomes more somber as it goes on. “Sastanàqqàm” is an ode to friends and loved ones, its raw, imperfect riffs and funk strut exemplifying its celebratory nature. Recorded at Joshua Tree and in Morocco, Elwan is in general full of lively percussion and back beats in the background, its production only enhancing the rich layers of the music.”

Read the full review here.

49. Jens Lekman - Life Will See You Now (Secretly Canadian)

“The truth is, after listening to Life Will See You Now, I’m not sure what I’ve heard, either. The album is chock full of songs about paranoia and anxiety that also have a real sense of humor, all backed by confidently cheesy, funky, and tropical appropriations of disco, bossa nova, and jazz–on one song, he literally samples Charles Mingus. On paper, none of it should work, but it does because Lekman is too smart to completely over saturate himself. Plus, who else would name a song “Hotwire The Ferris Wheel”?”

Read the rest of the review here.

48. Drake - More Life (Young Money)

After the grandiose slog of Views From The 6—an album whose scope and breadth of ideas made for a fine but exhausting album—More Life was a great sigh of relief for Drake. Above all else, the supposed playlist shows Drake having fun again. In a year dominated by “Mask Off,” one flute-centric rap song went criminally underplayed: The first time I heard “Portland”, with its infectiously dumb recorder beat that totally understates the raucous interplay about to ensue from Drake, Quavo, and Travis Scott, I absolutely lost it. It’s one of his greatest tracks to date and is just a shining of example of him letting loose. Channeling his usual introspective melodrama with splashes of South African house and grime and some amazing features, More Life is easily one of Drake’s most inspired efforts to date. - DP

47. The National - Sleep Well Beast (4AD)

“The National’s new album Sleep Well Beast is not a reductive study of nature versus nurture. Instead, the very fact that lead singer Matt Berninger is explicitly considering his mortality is new, and we’re there, as usual, for his many internal monologues. Really, for a band notorious for a dour sound, The National’s songs–especially on 2013′s Trouble Will Find Me–found the light in the struggle for upward mobility. Well, The National have made it, and what now? Berninger’s thinking about the day he dies. Donald Trump is president, and it’s all a recipe for disaster.”

Read the rest of the review here.

46. Alex Lahey - I Love You Like A Brother (Dead Oceans)

“Expanding on the upbeat songwriting from her EP B-Grade University, Alex Lahey’s debut album, I Love You Like a Brother, shows a young musician with a masterful grasp of infectious hooks and lyrics that embrace an every-person kind of storytelling you might expect from more veteran songwriters. One of the most exciting aspects of Lahey’s craft is her ability to take those seemingly simple moments in relationships – the elation, the excitement, the awkwardness and anxiety – and fashion them into seemingly effortless rock and roll.”

Read the rest of the review here.

45. The XX - I See You (Young Turks)

“But more impressive on I See You is the singing of Madley Croft and Sim. Whereas before the two seemingly attempted to sound like each other, on I See You, they come into their own. They yearn instead of whisper. Madley Croft attempts a higher vocal register on “Lips”, holding her own against the high-pitched guitar and sample of David Lang’s “Just (After Song of Songs)”. She’s also just as strong as the surf guitar tones, subdued harmonic vocal samples, and militaristic drums on “Brave For You”. And closer “Test Me”, which begins with Madley Croft’s one-syllable-at-a-time delivery, has Sim joining in on the final three syllables, providing the ultimate contrast to the first time you heard the band.”

Read the full review here.

44. Mike Cooper - Raft (Room40)

Mike Cooper’s latest release for the Room40 label pits his laid back lap steel improvisations against a dreamy backdrop of warm synthesizers and sporadic glitched sounds. Similarly to Fennesz’ Endless Summer, Cooper wonderfully weaves the summery analog in with the spastic digital, creating a world all his own. The image of the raft—all at once adventurous, creaky, and impractical—is perfectly captured on these sonic experiments. Though Raft seems difficult and odd on the surface, repeat listens reveal its easy-going nature. Even its harshest glitches and most aimless moments feel like necessary wrong turns in this enthralling exploration. - DP

43. Ex Eye - Ex Eye (Relapse)

“On Ex Eye, every song besides the opener is a journey. Third track “Anaitis Hymnal; The Arkose Disc” starts out with drones and then introduces a deep kick drum, pulsating saxophone, and subtle finger-picked guitars. The blast beats and wilder saxophone again come in later, sounding at first like a battle but retreating to a slow march. The final track, “Form Constant; The Grid”, meanwhile, starts with minor guitar notes and familiar saxophone. Here, though, it’s Ismaily’s gorgeous synth textures that stand out. (They wouldn’t sound out of bounds on a Pink Floyd album.) The beats and guitars start out akin to slowcore and become more sludgy as the song goes on. It’s less ambient than other tracks, everything coming to a head at the end. Ismaily’s upward synth melodies sound like vocals even more than Stetson’s actual vocal intonations into his saxophone. It’s an instrumental masterpiece that ends an album that truly transcends genre, let alone side project novelty.”

Read the full review here.

42. Jake Xerxes Fussell - What In The Natural World (Paradise of Bachelors)

“Jake Xerxes Fussell takes old songs and makes them very much his own. Reading their lyrics alone, they look like the classics or standards they are. But listening to them, you’d think these songs were originals. On his new album What In The Natural World, as with his self-titled debut, with his voice, arrangements, and playing, Fussell sells songs as portraits of modern life even if they go back a hundred years. His voice is wonderfully unforced, bringing the outsider art of the album–from the Roger Brown painting on the cover to the songs themselves–inside your head and heart.”

Read the rest of the review here and our interview with Fussell here.

41. Chicano Batman - Freedom Is Free (ATO)

“On the heels of breaking into the mainstream, L.A.-based Latin soul band Chicano Batman have given us their best offering to date. Immaculately produced by Leon Michels, Freedom is Free is a big album in every sense, from personnel to ideas. Each track is composed and played with care and precision, featuring great work on everything from the guitar to the synthesizer to the organ. Lyrically, it sees lead singer Bardo Martinez at once hopeful and full of despair and existential dread. In other words, it’s life in a nutshell.”

Read the rest of the review here.

40. Bibio - Phantom Brickworks (Warp)

“Haunting” as a word to describe music is already a cliché, and perhaps even more cheap as an attempt to describe Phantom Brickworks, a record built on mysterious reverb and long-form spacial ambience. It’s also an apt word, though—every note on Phantom Brickworks feels like the reverie of a sound from a decaying space. Decay may be the main feeling evoked by this effort. Every piece builds slowly and patiently on ideas, always seeming to plod curiously through a long abandoned space. There are no jarring discoveries or sudden turns. The world of Phantom Brickworks is slow and methodical, at times joyful or dull, but always mystifying and beautiful in its haze. - DP

39. Myrkur - Mareridt (Relapse)

“But the most affecting track on Mareridt is “Crown”, closer to a Lana Del Rey song than black metal, adorned with layered vocals and gorgeous harmonies. There’s one line in particular that seems to address Myrkur’s sexist detractors head on, in which she rhymes “Am I adored?” with “Am I a whore?” Here, she not only stares right into the eyes of the outwardly sexist, but uses “whore” as a synecdoche of all things a woman isn’t supposed to be. In other words, she outlines the limitations put on and expectations of a woman in metal, a woman in music, and a woman in general. The supposed dichotomy–the adored versus the whore–underlies the attitudes of the guy I heard at a Myrkur show surprised she was “not that bad,” as if he couldn’t believe he was hearing such otherworldly and evil screams from a woman. On Mareridt, Myrkur is not trying to prove anything. In battling sexism, and in battling her nightmares, she simply shows she can do it all, and there’s not much more powerful than that.”

Read the full review here.

38. Demen - Nektyr (Kranky)

“But the two best tracks on Nektyr wow you. “Ambur” features bowl-like sounds in front of a drum beat, Orm’s singing guiding you through the lead-out. And then there’s “Morgon”. It’s a nine-minute epic, starting out with beautiful drones and introducing drums a minute and a half in, giving and taking these elements until you can barely hear the hi hats around the noise. Ultimately, again, piano is in the forefront, Orm’s formless yet steady voice providing stability and breathtaking technical mastery. It’s compositions like this that make Nektyr one of the most exciting experimental releases and best debut albums in recent memory.”

Read the full review here.

37. Jefre Cantu-Ledesma - On the Echoing Green (Mexican Summer)

Jefre Cantu-Ledesma’s latest efforts have seen him frequently lumped in with shoegaze, creating massive, screeching walls of beautiful density. On his last EP, In Summer, he even admits to a direct influence from Cocteau Twins. On the Echoing Green takes these dreamy tropes and doubles down. After the gorgeous and curious intro of “In a Copse”, “A Song of Summer” builds upon synthesizers that literally feel like a summer breeze, layering warbling guitars and actual vocals from Argentinian artist Sobrenadar to create his dreamiest composition to date. His less guarded approach to collaboration has allowed him to craft a brilliantly layered and joyous record without betraying his normal sonic signatures—a blend of sounds so brilliantly in the red that they blend together in cacophony and seamlessly, a backbone of drum-machine tempos and splashes of recordings and otherworldly sounds that position Cantu-Ledesma as one of today’s most interesting sound artists. - DP

36. Algiers - The Underside of Power (Matador)

“The essential thesis of The Underside of Power–and of progressive movements throughout history–you can find in the title track. “I’ve seen the underside of power,” Fisher sings. “It’s just a game that can’t go on.” Resistance comes in many forms. Closing track “The Cycle/The Spiral: Time To Go Down Slowly” is a fast jazz piano number with gospel and blues call and response, referencing a musical genres steeped in stunning black optimism despite all odds, and referencing an era when black culture began to flourish in the public eye despite oppression. “I cried out for power,” Fisher sings. “Someday I will find it.” Algiers makes you, too, believe.”

Read the full review here.

35. Bell Witch - Mirror Reaper (Profound Lore)

“While you may be able to pick apart certain segments of Mirror Reaper–for instance, the quiet around the 17-minute mark could be an interlude–it’s clearly meant to be heard as a continuous piece, one that goes by in a blur. The interplay between conflicting elements, like chanting and growling, or uplifting bass and repeated bass notes that test your patience, makes the whole experience blend together. Shreibman’s organ at the end is the most funereal the album gets, really shining with emotive bass and drums laden with distortion. Of course, there are the moments with Guerra’s and Moggridge’s vocals, but the very fact that Mirror Reaper, a doom metal album through and through, ends with singing, shows how boundary pushing it is.”

Read the full review here. (and look out for a profile of Bell Witch in early 2018!)

34. Converge - The Dusk In Us (Epitaph)

“Converge captures it well on “I Can Tell You About Pain” as well, its odd time signatures reflecting the constant hypocrisy of the song itself: Despite the title, the song’s main refrain is “You don’t know what my pain feels like,” rendering the initial act of sharing fruitless, consistent with the old adage that the definition of insanity is doing something over and over and expecting the same result. Indeed, many times throughout The Dusk In Us, Bannon feels crazy. But that, too, he overcomes. His best metaphor is in Vasili Arkhipov, the Soviet Navy officer whose lone vote is credited with preventing a nuclear strike. It’s important, Bannon argues, to abide by morals even in trying times.”

Read the rest of the review here.

33. Allison Crutchfield - Tourist In This Town (Merge)

“Allison Crutchfield’s Tourist In This Town is, in her own words, a record about all types of change. What better way to encapsulate that theme musically than to fully realize a change in sound? With the help of synthesizer master Jeff Zeigler, Crutchfield abandons the raw rock for a more curatorial and experimentally electronic approach. Combined with her always clever lyrics, it makes her proper solo debut a success.”

Read the rest of the review here.

32. Nadia Reid - Preservation (Basin Rock)

“What’s also amazing about Preservation is that the combination of the instrumentation and the production from Ben Edwards makes it one of the best albums of the year. Reid’s layered vocals perfectly complement the fuzzed out guitars on “The Arrow & the Aim”, while “Right On Time” is perhaps the catchiest song she’s ever recorded, its post-punk guitar riff and upbeat drums making it an effective follower to the bare “Hanson St Part 2 (A River)”. And her sub-genre jumping is also impressive. She does straightforward rock (“The Way It Goes”), slow-burning country (“Ain’t Got You”), and even slowcore (“Te Aro”). The album establishes Reid as one of the biggest–and perhaps most underappreciated–singer-songwriter talents in recent memory.”

Read the full review here and our interview with Reid here.

31. Kelela - Take Me Apart (Warp)

Take Me Apart is about the process behind Kelela breaking up with one lover and then going into another relationship. We’ve all been there. Where we haven’t been is where Kelela’s at as an artist. Transitioning from mixtape/EP territory into album territory mirrors her growth as a person detailed over the course of the album. After establishing herself four years ago with Cut 4 Me, she’s finally delivered a truly fully formed statement. Take Me Apart is R&B with somehow tasteful inclusions of some of the least subtle production genres of the past decade--dubstep and trap. That’s due to the constantly burbling dark synth and bass undertone of songs like “Frontline” and “Turn To Dust”, plus the Janet-inspired R&B of “Waitin”. But it’s also a testament to Kelela’s abilities as an honest and personal songwriter and lyricist. The title track, with star production from the likes of Arca and Arield Rechtshaid, is still Kelela’s show, a tale of diving in deep with an ex, rekindling a flame where the sex is good but you know it’s bad for you. She’s empathetic on “Onanon”, singing from both her and her partner’s point of view, and on “Better”, the “Call Your Girlfriend” of 2017, becoming platonic friends with her ex. Most importantly, though, Take Me Apart is about black and female self-love that persists throughout all of Kelela’s trials and tribulations. She demands respect and communication on the sparkling “LMK”, and on closer “Altadena”, she sings, “There’s a place for everyone / Let me remind you.” “Universal” is a word that gets tossed around a lot, but it feels appropriate here. - Jordan Mainzer

30. Charly Bliss - Guppy (Barsuk)

“Overall, despite what it may initially sound like, Charly Bliss’ Guppy is not a light album. What becomes most important on it is that Hendricks, for the most part, writes deceivingly complex lyrics about what she knows, and as it turns out, what a lot of us, independent of background, know, too.”

Read the full review here and our interview with Charly Bliss here.

29. Phoebe Bridgers - Stranger in the Alps (Dead Oceans)

The debut from Phoebe Bridgers, Stranger in the Alps, combines a culturally aware sense of time and place with devastating personal emotional experiences. From the start, she sets the scene: Lemmy and Bowie have died, “How Soon Is Now?” plays as trash is burning. But it’s all background for her story and subsequent empathetic looks at depression and anxiety. “I have emotional motion sickness,” Bridgers sings on one of the album’s standout tracks. It’s an apt description of trauma-related depression, but over an almost upbeat funk strut, it becomes an anthem for the times: We can find solace in each other. “I have a friend I call / When I’ve bored myself to tears / And we talk until we think we might just kill ourselves / But then we laugh until it disappears,” Bridgers sings on “Funeral”. Sure, Stranger in the Alps is not for the faint of heart--at one point, Bridgers compares herself to Jeffrey Dahmer--but it’s also got a sense of humor. The title comes from the censored version of a famous crude line in The Big Lebowski, while another standout track, “Demi Moore”, takes its name from a misheard lyric. Like all of us, Bridgers is fascinated with pop culture and what it says about humanity, but mostly, she takes a look deep into her own soul from the perspective of a humanist and a realist. - JM

28. LCD Soundsystem - American Dream (Columbia)

“To title an album American Dream in 2017 is cultural suicide, especially when you’re a band inexorably linked to Brooklyn elitism. Yet, LCD Soundsystem, having gained wisdom (yes, and notoriety) from breaking up with a bang and reuniting a mere 5 years later, pull it off. Just as the musical and sociopolitical landscape have changed, so, of course, have the people in the band, most notably leader James Murphy, who divorced around the band’s initial breakup and is now a father. The previous ideas, musical and thematic, LCD Soundsystem has explored–experiencing regret, not selling out, staying cool–are present on American Dream. But references to old songs aren’t just a wink and a nudge. They actually manage to contextualize the new and old songs in a linear narrative, an amazing feat for any band, let alone one releasing their comeback album.”

Read the rest of the review here.

27. Jay Som - Everybody Works (Polyvinyl)

The phrase “bedroom pop” always conjures something of a stock photo in my mind: The artist atop an unmade bed in a bedroom that's dark with the shades drawn, surrounded by the tools necessary to craft intimate, emotional songs. Jay Som’s Melina Duterte crafts “bedroom pop” with an admirable DIY ethic, but the care and craft in each song on Everybody Works is what makes this album stand out among a wealth of great albums this year. Writing every lyric, playing each instrument, and producing the album’s 10 eclectic tracks, Duterte is a seemingly unstoppable force.

Whether exploding the intimacy of the album’s shimmery opener of “Lipstick Stains”, the funky guitar solo on “One More Time, Please”, or the fact that “Baybee” demands you dance (which the crowd happily did at Jay Som’s Chicago show this past March), the impeccable songwriting of Everybody Works is on full display. “I’ll be right on time,” Duterte repeats on the album’s closer, “For Light”, and her timing couldn’t be more perfect. - LL

26. Young Thug - BEAUTIFUL THUGGER GIRLS (Atlantic)

Prolific releasing, mumbling, embracing gender fluidity: It always seems like Young Thug is ahead of the game, spearheading trends in hip hop. BEAUTIFUL THUGGER GIRLS, his latest “commercial mixtape,” has been hailed as “country trap,” the acoustic guitars on songs like “Family Don’t Matter” and “For Y’all” and the now-infamous Bright Eyes interpolation on “Me Or Us” giving Thug ample opportunity to rise above the beats and instrumentation for a singing album. Was this to be the next trend? Well, while acoustic elements are present on BEAUTIFUL THUGGER GIRLS, framing the entire release in any of the aforementioned ways takes away from its raw honesty. It reads like a relationship in real time, ups and downs with Thug’s (now ex-) fiancee and kids leaking into his life as a star and occasional target. “I’m about to buy you your own ride / I don’t need you involved in homicides,” he sings on “Tomorrow Til Infinity”. (He wants to see his family tomorrow, which means he’ll have to see tomorrow). More blunt, he declares, “I pray my daughter never ever experience no train” (gang rape) on “Daddy’s Birthday”. But apart from his promises and more-than-occasional braggadocio, he’s also confessional. He admits to affairs on “Relationship”, something that would eventually lead to his very public breakup with his ex-fiance. Even in hindsight, however, what would eventually become of Thug’s relationship doesn’t take away from BEAUTIFUL THUGGER GIRLS, a document of a time and a place in his life. - JM

25. Fever Ray - Plunge (Mute)

Karin Dreijer’s second album as Fever Ray is somewhat of a coming out party--as a single woman and as a queer person--but it’s notable for its simultaneous frank sexual politics and banging beats. Like her previous music as both Fever Ray and half of the late, great The Knife, Plunge imagines the dance floor as a place without judgement where the blurry lines of gender and sexuality fade into non-existence. But Plunge is the first Dreijer record to tackle the system head on. “This Country” sees Dreijer present what she wants with both directness and double meanings: “Free abortions and clean water / Destroy nuclear / Destroy boring.” Later, she delivers an instant classic line: “This country makes it hard to fuck.” Ostensibly from the perspective of both policy and rigid social norms, Dreijer knows that declaration is the first step towards the eventual destruction. “You’re not curious / I don’t think you should hang with us,” she sings on opener “Wanna Sip”, a line that out of context seems exclusive but is really more about power dynamics and solidarity with the non-conforming. Sexual power play is perhaps the album’s main theme--“First I take you then you take me,” she offers on “To The Moon And Back”--but it’s the pride and confidence with which Dreijer delivers like “I want to run my fingers up your pussy” (only three lines later) that makes Plunge astoundingly radical. - JM

24. Tyler, The Creator - Flower Boy (Columbia)

The same kid who was once saying vile, homophobic things both in public and in his songs is now rapping about individuality and perhaps even coming out of the closet. So went the hype behind Flower Boy, Tyler, The Creator’s second major-label album. But the reason it’s his best to date isn’t so much the context, or even the usual washy synth-based Neptunes-inspired production. It’s that Tyler has finally learned how to rap about things we all face, like loneliness and depression, without being destructive towards others or himself. That’s what Frank Ocean-featuring standout “911/Mr. Lonely” is about, yes, but he shares it from the get-go on “Foreword”: “I was never into the beaches and all the sands / See, I was in the woods with flowers, rainbows and posies.” He finds his way out through his individuality. “Tell these black kids they could be who they are / Dye your hair blue, shit, I'll do it too,” he says on “Where This Flower Blooms”. His singing has improved to an unrecognizable level, as on sweet love song “See You Again”, purportedly originally written for Zayn. But his level of inclusion shines through most on “November”, a song that uses the month as a metaphor for the best time of ones life, giving time for his peers--Syd, Kilo Kish, Taco, Jasper Dolphin, and even manager Christian Clancy, who he questions throughout the album--to share their “November,” too. The record ends with a funky, soulful, sparkly instrumental, putting Tyler’s amazingly multi-faceted growth on display. - JM

23. Paramore - After Laughter (Atlantic)

If you’ve followed Paramore throughout their career, you’ve seen their constant evolution, whether through their lyrics, their sound, or their lineup changes. But with After Laughter's core group of Hayley Williams, Taylor York, and the return of Zac Farro, the band takes a poppier turn which complements the not-so-sunny lyrics. The opening to “Hard Times” feels like light years away from the pop-punk of the band’s first album. Coated in an 80’s pop sheen with a catchy-as-hell marimba, you might be surprised to hear that the opening lines don’t mirror that same sunniness: “All that I want is to wake up fine.” Williams has been through a lot in the time leading up to After Laughter, grappling with depression and learning how to navigate through it. The juxtaposition of the album's biting song titles ("Fake Happy", "Idle Worship") and that infectious, danceable sound is a perfect depiction of the album's title: that almost lonely moment after a laugh subsides. But it doesn't always have to be so lonely; sometimes, you just need a beat to move to and an anthem to sing, two things Paramore are experts at creating. If this is the band's new direction, it's an exciting indication of what Paramore, and this particular lineup, is capable of. - LL

22. Moses Sumney - Aromanticism (Jagjaguwar)

Aromanticism is one of the best sung, written, and played albums of 2017, from the layered, harmonized vocals of its opener and closer, lovely strumming of “Indulge Me”, finger-picked guitars of “Don’t Bother” and “Lonely World”, and analysis of modern notions of love as oppressively capitalist and heteronormative. Wait, what? Indeed, the debut album from Moses Sumney is the most personal, political, romantic anti-love album you could find, as a result of its honesty. Sumney’s ability to simultaneously paint visceral metaphors--a swollen, hungry belly representing his heart on “Plastic” stands out--while crushing your soul with simple words of worries is mesmerizing. “Am I vital / If my heart is idle? / Am I doomed,” he croons on “Doomed”. For Sumney, researching and making Aromanticism provided not necessarily the answer, but a sense of acceptance - JM

21. Sheer Mag - Need To Feel Your Love (Wilsuns RC)

“With their full-length debut album Need To Feel Your Love, Philadelpha’s Sheer Mag have made their most self-consciously 70′s-inspired music yet. Lead singer Tina Halladay’s Janis Joplin-meets-Joan Jett vocals rise above Thin Lizzy guitar riffs to make songs that both kick your ass and make you want to kick some ass. But Need To Feel Your Love is presented in the context of today’s political climate, where the need for self-care and care of others is just as if not more important than actively participating in inclusive politics. On the record, Halladay sings about good and bad relationships, sexual desire, and comfort just as much as she does rioting in the streets. Still, since every song has the same or similar instrumental base, the most interesting and gutsy tracks juxtapose heavy sounds that are conservative by today’s musical standards, with radical politics.”

Read the rest of the review here.

20. Gas - Narkopop (Kompakt)

Having not released music for nearly two decades under the Gas moniker, there was understandable speculation as to Wolfgang Voigt’s direction. Given Voigt’s distinct trademark formula for this project, it’s always astounding how he manages to keep his compositions within the scope of his specific brand of ambient techno but still cover new ground. Narkopop feels right at home with his previous work, now treading through somewhat darker territory. Though moments of his previous work, namely on Zauberberg, are slightly more sinister in tone, there is a malaise on Narkopop that feels new and enthralling. It’s almost as though the listener is dealing with the post-euphoria of 2000’s dense, lush Pop, all synapses fizzling and recovering. The more grating moments toward the middle of Narkopop--specifically, a slow, down-sampled march on “Narkopop 5″--are its signature, perhaps making it a bit more challenging in the context of Voigt’s discography but still perfectly placing it within his sonic universe almost two decades later. - DP

19. Julien Baker - Turn Out the Lights (Matador)

Turn Out the Lights feels like a massive step forward for Julien Baker, who could have easily put out Sprained Ankle 2.0 and likely satisfied fans. What’s so moving and exciting about Baker’s second album is the steps she’s taken to expand not only her sound but the way she approaches the themes she introduced on her debut. “Over” gently welcomes the listener to the album, signaling something more than the sparse guitar plucking listeners may have come to expect. That familiar guitar sound isn’t far away, though, as the track bleeds into the album’s first single, “Appointments”, which also introduces something new outside of this fuller sound: a glimmer of hope in the lines “Maybe it's all gonna turn out all right / And I know that it's not, but I have to believe that it is”.

Baker has always been open with depicting the struggles of addiction and mental health. She's open about those seemingly endless conversations around faith, too. Here, she takes these themes and pushes them further, expanding her sound with piano, strings, and even horns. Her lyrics continue to bloom, pushing the boundaries of the deeply internal so they reach further, stretch outward. On the album’s closer, “Claws in Your Back”, she reflects on that familiar feeling of hopelessness, but there it is again--that glimmer of hope in her final note sustaining on the final word of the album: “Cause I take it all back, I change my mind / I wanted to stay”. Sometimes hope is all you need. Baker knows it, and on Turn Out the Lights, finds the power in it. - LL

18. Lorde - Melodrama (Republic)

“But her strength as a writer is in her creation of an atmosphere. “Supercut” has a chugging synth line perfect for a highlight reel; as she sings, “In my head, I do everything right,” it puts you in the exact same place, playing your biggest regrets back in your head. She also offers an impassioned defense of her generation, the butt of many an avocado joke, as on “Hard Feelings/Loveless”, the album’s 6-minute emotional centerpiece laden with finger snaps and beautiful blips. The transition from the first half of the song features sampled dialogue from Paul Simon in a recording session because, well, why not? She presents it proudly without care, mirroring the lack of care her generation takes towards old-fashioned notions of love.”

Read the full review here.

17. SZA - CTRL (RCA)

With just a guitar and her stunning voice, the opening track of SZA’s CTRL immediately grabs you, plunging you head-first into the world of the album. It’s a place where every part of desire is laid bare–both the sexiness and the insecurity–and control is often an elusive force. The raw, almost diaristic lyrics are so direct and honest, it’s hard as a listener to not lose yourself in the private world of SZA’s songs. “Let me tell you a secret / I been secretly banging your homeboy,” she sings, and there you are, in the middle of it all with her as she navigates the album’s 14 tracks.

Even before its eventual release, CTRL had an air of mystery around it. Its continuous delays left listeners wondering if it would ever see the light of day. In the end, SZA brought forth an album that explores the electricity, the beauty, the messiness, and the self-consciousness of present-day relationships. It’s a close examination of modern sex and romance that doesn’t hold back, and it was absolutely worth the wait. - LL

16. Milo - Who Told You To Think??!!?!?!?! (Ruby Yacht)

Milo is a rapper for people whose favorite author is Thomas Pynchon--his references and metaphors are so layered and plentiful you almost have to have Genius open to fully understand what he’s saying. He’s the type to sample James Baldwin and reference Fargo on one song and make a computer science joke the next. He quotes Nietzsche even when he doesn’t have to. He’s also a true poet, one who is not afraid to simultaneously speak his mind about the effects of the prison-industrial complex on people of color and appear goofy and bourgeois. But if that makes him sound flashy, he isn’t. Milo frames his use of 10-dollar words on Who Told You To Think??!!?!?!?! as essential and radical. “The vocabulary is so vast, so big,” he says on “Landscaping”, later proclaiming, “My vocabulary pays my rent.” Milo has made a point of making a living off of his art and poetry, and he’s starting by truly believing he’s revolutionary. (“I be to rap what Keynes be to Locke,” he spits on “Paging Mr. Bill Nun”.) The production is appropriately jazzy, funky, and spaced out, the Herbie Hancock-like piano on “Pablum // CELESKINGIII” and harmonic beat of “Take Advantage Of The Naysayer” perfect complements to his unabashed flow. His words not only give him a sense of empowerment but an almost mystical life-saving quality. On final track “Rapper”, he gives the reins to Busdriver: “Spray a homie just with a simple ten bar / Verse or two, I will curse your crew.” It’s a form of non-violence rooted in a genre of music protected by a higher power. - JM

15. The Regrettes - Feel Your Feelings Fool! (Warner Bros)

“What’s perhaps most important about Feel Your Feelings Fool! is that it has the ability to reach a wider audience while promoting ideas of equality and acceptance more relevant today than ever. “A Living Human Girl” celebrates the imperfections of the body and life itself, Night singing, “An ass full of stretch marks and little boobs / A nice full belly that’s filled with food / Sometimes I’m pretty and sometimes I’m not / So let’s take a listen, hit me with your best shot.” “Bronze” is an honest song about female friendship and the dangers of being fake, while “Ladylike/WHATTA BITCH” dispels classic male stereotypes about feminism. And of course, there’s “Til’ Tomorrow”, the quintessential punk song that says you better express what you feel today because you might not be alive tomorrow. It’s a remarkable sense of perspective for a young band’s debut, but The Regrettes know just as well as anyone that, just like our bodies and our rights, love doesn’t last forever.”

Read the full review here.

14. Hurray for the Riff Raff - The Navigator (ATO)

“Lyrically, on The Navigator, Segarra explores being a woman and one of Puerto Rican descent in a complicated world–and all of its contradictions. On “Hungry Ghost”, she sings, “I’ve been a lonely girl / I’m ready for the world,” displaying a simultaneous sense of humble honesty and confidence. On the title track, she sings, “Today I feel weak / but tomorrow I’ll feel a queen / I was raised by the streets / Do you know what that really means?” The message is heard; we don’t know what that means, but what’s important is that she does and deserves to be listened to despite what white society tells or suggests her.”

Read the full review here.

13. Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith - The Kid (Western Vinyl)

“Let’s get this out of the way: Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith’s The Kid is concept album about four stages of life. It’s not obvious if you listen without that context, and that context is not necessary to enjoy the album. In fact, after listening to the album for the first time, by the end, I forgot the entire concept behind it. That’s because The Kid is another chapter in Smith’s mastering of the Buchla synthesizer, used on The Kidamong a heap of other synths.”

Read the rest of the review here.

12. Julie Byrne - Not Even Happiness (Ba Da Bing)

“Not Even Happiness is a beautiful album that sees singer-songwriter Julie Byrne getting the most out of simple, yet deep elements: her stunning voice, illustrious guitar finger picking, and natural imagery. A woman who spends her time not writing songs studying environmental science and working as a ranger in Central Park, Byrne turns to nature to make memories and associations. “And when I first saw you / The sky, it was such a natural blue,” she sings on “Natural Blue”. She may not remember the shirt she was wearing that day, but she sure as hell remembers the chicory grass.”

Read the rest of the review here.

11. William Basinski - A Shadow In Time (Temporary Residence)

“Like the best tributes, “For David Robert Jones” doesn’t attempt to sound anything like Bowie or even ambient co-pioneer Brian Eno. Instead, it sounds very much like William Basinski, his own personal way of honoring one of his musical heroes. Taken as a whole, A Shadow in Time shows Basinski as someone who, like Bowie, can try seemingly polar opposite styles within the realm of the avant-garde and absolutely succeed.”

Read the full review here.

10. Pile - A Hairshirt of Purpose (Exploding In Sound)

“On the first song of Pile’s incredible new album A Hairshirt of Purpose, lead singer Rick Maguire refers to “worms like you.” Who is he talking about? An ex-girlfriend or friend? Our current leaders? All that matters is that we’ve felt the same way before at some point in our lives. That is, Pile is an every-person’s band. Whether providing us with ballads–there are more of those on Hairshirt than ever before–or noisy rockers, they draw us in, inviting us to explore the absurdity of everyday life along with them.”

Read the rest of the review here and our interview with Pile here.

9. Vagabon - Infinite Worlds (Father/Daughter)

“Laetitia Tamko of Vagabon has reworked early material to make a statement of a debut album that will inspire kids to start bands and become musicians and songwriters. Masterfully self-produced and self-recorded (Tamko plays almost everything on the album), Infinite Words is a bedroom recording that doesn’t sound like one at all, the mix of acoustic and electric guitar, drums, and Tamko’s broken voice all combining to make songs that cut deep and hit hard. While the songs on Infinite Words don’t directly or specifically reference Tamko’s story (the Cameroon-born artist moved to NYC in high school), they’re lyrically honest and easy to relate to.”

Read the rest of the review here.

8. Mount Eerie - A Crow Looked At Me (P.W. Elverum & Sun)

“That death is real is not something all of us truly know, and it’s safe to say that up until a year ago, Phil Elverum did not know it. After his wife Geneviève Castrée was diagnosed with cancer in 2015 and died a year later, Elverum wrote songs about the before, during, and after and recorded them in the same room his wife died, using her instruments. The result is A Crow Looked At Me, an incredible album, an instrumentally minimal affair that’s not so much art as a concrete document of Elverum’s coping process. For those who have gone through something similar to him, it likely has the potential to be a saving grace.”

Read the rest of the review here.

7. Sampha - Process (Young Turks)

“Process in turn plays like an affecting journey from nihilism to selflessness, the compositions as breathtakingly cinematic as they are musically curatorial. He displays the creative courage that collaborators Drake and Kanye West used to boast, using repetitive staccato background vocals, layers of synths, and his soulful voice on almost every song.”

Read the rest of the review here.

6. Arca - Arca (XL)

“Alejandro Ghersi’s new self-titled album as Arca is unique in his discography, and not just because it contains untreated vocals entirely in Spanish. Despite synths, beats, and sound design reminiscent of his past work, it’s a leap in all ways, an effective artist statement and personal statement of identity and sexuality. When he sings, “Quítame la piel de ayer,” or “Take off my skin from yesterday” on opener and first song released from the album “Piel”, he’s presenting a new Arca.”

Read the rest of the review here.

5. (Sandy) Alex G - Rocket (Domino)

“So what differentiates Rocket from past Alex G releases is not that it sounds different. It does sound different, and every song is unique. What matters is that every song is essential. From the whooshing, vocoder-laden “Judge” to the wiry indie rock of “Big Fish”, there’s something for everybody here. But really, everything is for everybody–even closer “Guilty”, with its jazz beat, cheesy saxophone, and disaffected chorus of 20 somethings. “Has the question become darker than the answer?” Alex G probes on that song. Throughout Rocket, he asks questions of possibility, but he lets you provide the answer: He really can do anything.”

Read the full review here.

4. Vince Staples - Big Fish Theory (Def Jam)

“Vince Staples is a ¾ glass empty kind of guy, so it’s no surprise that perhaps his best record to date centers around the different things that limit us. Concentrating on the walls we build around ourselves, Big Fish Theory is a Staples album in that it takes you on a tour through his psyche, but what makes it so bitter is that at one point he’s rising above what holds him back only to be summoned by tragedy once again. His daydreams are nightmares of him murdered by racially motivated violence or alone and heartbroken obsessing over a woman. (It’s actually the latter that seems to haunt him more these days.) Fame and money, meanwhile, may not break his heart, but it won’t fulfill him. There’s a con to every pro.”

Read the rest of the review here.

3. Circuit Des Yeux - Reaching For Indigo (Drag City)

“Circuit Des Yeux’s Reaching For Indigo was inspired by something difficult that happened to Haley Fohr on January 22, 2016. That’s all we really know about its inspirations; yet, the songs themselves are even more shrouded in mystery. Reaching For Indigo is the type of album that doesn’t come around often, where every track is both different and essential. It’s amazingly sung. It’s a masterpiece even if too “experimental” to ever become a widespread classic, save for those who cite Debussy as their favorite composer.”

Read the rest of the review here and our interview with Circuit Des Yeux here.

2. Jlin - Black Origami (Planet Mu)

“I’ve always been skeptical of those labeling Gary, Indiana producer Jerrilynn Patton, best known by her stage moniker Jlin, a footwork producer. True to the title of her remarkable new album Black Origami, she treats every sample like an immaculately constructive crevice coming from the dark depths of her soul, piecing them together requiring the work of a great mathematical mind. Her collaborations with dancers and fashion designers make her music aware of the body. And her compositions have so many peaks and valleys that, unlike so much exhausting, overwhelming, monotonously dissonant and droning maximal electronic music, it lets the tracks–and you–breathe.”

Read the rest of the review here.

1. Kendrick Lamar - DAMN. (Interscope)

“It’s hard to dissect any Kendrick Lamar album and simply ignore the sheer magnitude of his lyricism and rapping: His sense of time and place is impeccable, his flow unrivaled. Even without any ostentatious sampling of Tupac interviews, there’s still a heady concept behind DAMN. just as there is behind all of Lamar’s albums. It’s just not one that’s as immediately thrilling as past artistic statements. It’s a bit tough to swallow. But it’s every bit as necessary. I think of Phil Elverum singing, “Death is real,” and I think of DAMN. But Kendrick Lamar’s disproven the next line–you can make death into art.”

Read the full review here.

2 notes · View notes

keroseneinhalers · 4 years ago

Text

I 💯 have 👅 never 💥😤 seriously 😒 considered 🤔 the 💜 dynamics of 🔥 dream 😴 x Onceler in 👉🔙 my 👇👊 life. 😓💯 Both 👩🌜 are 🔢 so 🆘💯 tall and 😦➕ Long ⌛ and 📸 Capitalist 💰 it's a 💰 match made in 😌👉 heaven. They 👧 say 🗣 opposites attract 😻😻 but 🍑 if I learned 😻 anything in AP Physics that 🗳 is a 💓🏴 falsehood. Dream lends the 🔙 Oncler his hoodie, the 😱🅿 plain 🍦🍦 one 😥 with ♠👏 the 👏 greeen smily face 👲😀 because ❌♂ they 🙋 both like 👎🍼 green. 💚 They laugh 😂 because green is 👌💦 the 😍 color 🌈👏 of trees 🎄🌳 and aliens, neither of which 😩😩 they believe 💭☪ in. Dream 💭 pushes a lever and another clout goblin comes 💦💦 screaming out of the abyss. Oncie giggles. He 👨 thinks 🤔💭 the 😂 goblins are 🚫🔢 fugly mother 👩 fuckers 😀 who should 👍 cease their ⬅ existence. 💖 Dream 💭 does 👏 not ❌ agree. ✅ They 👧 are his 👿 clout goblins. They ✊ work 🏃😍 in ⬇👈 his clout factories day and 👏 night 😴🕛 making clout for him. 💬 He starts ↔🏁 sobbing. 😭 Oncie how could 🔮🤔 you say 😅🤔 that to 💦 them I 👁👁 love them ❄🍑 he 👱 says. 💭 Oncie can't 💦👍 speak 🗣 he is 🔥 too 💗😂 filled 💦🔋 with 😭 disgust 🤢 and 👅 also ➕ marshmallows because he is 👉 a 👏🏿 certified 👍 freak 😍😩 seven days 📆 a 👭😂 week. Dream walks 🏃🏃 away 🏖♀ crying.😿

George not 🚫❌ found 🏻 and the Lorax are 👀 in love. 😍💕 U 👉🍆 may 🗓📅 not 🙅 think 😠💭 it’s 💯 possible because George hates 😠 trees 🌳 because ✔💁 he 👂 is 🏻💪 British and 👏🏻 they 😈 don’t 🚫😡 have trees there ✔🆗 but 👹 they make 🖕 it 😂💤 work. 💵💼 Every 🏾 seen 🤔 a 🖤 British person ♂😡 and 👏😱 a 💰👌 tree 🎄 in 👸 the 👉 same 💩😎 room? That’s 🚟 what I 🙈💁 though. 🤥 Bitch. 🏿 One 👆🚟 day 😎 the 🍆👨 Lorax was like “yo 😒 yo my ♂ bro ❤ “(because the Lorax is a 😜🅱 hypebeast frat boy I 👨 don’t make 🙅 the rules 📄📜 I only enforce ♂ them 😬 with my 🎄 desert eagle) 🦅 “what’s ✉ poppen’” he said 👨💬 stroking 🍆✊ his neon orange beard. George blushed because 🚱 he 👈 loved 😍 a humanoid tree 🎄 person with facial hair 💈 yes ‼💦 sir. 👍 “What?” Says George not 🤜🚫 found 🚫👌 sipping his ✋♂ gamer 👤 juice. 😛 “I got 🍸 you a present 🎀🎀 bbygurrl.” Screams 😱 the Lorax, slapping the 👩 G-Fuel 💦🅰 out 😜🏼 of 🚨 George’s hand. “What 😟 the 👏➕ fuck! LORAX YOU ☠👁 KNOW 🤔🤔 I 👁 LOVE 💏💏 MY 💵 G-Fuel!” 💰 Screeches minecraft ⛏ YouTuber 🏻👌 George not 🚫 found. 🏻👌 The Lorax blushes, touching his 💦 index figures together and 💦 using his 🥇 facial hair 💈 to ♂ retrieve a 🅱🅰 box from the void. YouTuber George not 🌼🚫 found gasps,” oh 🐦🐦 Lorax you 😍👆 didn’t!” 😊😑 “I 👀💕 dwid UWU” 👅💦 says the 👌 Lorax, “Will you 💟 make 👏🏻 me 👐 the happiest anthropermophic orange hippie creature 🙈🐙 on this 🙌 side of 🔴😣 [REDACTED]?” “Yes oh 👶☹ a 💰↘ thousand times yes!” 🤗 They got 🙏🍸 married the 🏔👏 next 📅 day at a 👌💰 supreme themed wedding. 👰 George wore a ❔ Gucci tux and the 👉👏 Lorax wore nothing because 😼💁 he is 😩👉 one 💍♿ with 👏 nature. Somewhere in ✝🙌 the distance a 🅱👌 pissbaby posted 🙀✉ a Craigslist add 👈👈 for 👉🍆 another British man to be 💦🚫 his sugar 🍦🍭 baby 👶 no 🅱 pics 🖼 just 👌 conversation men 😫🤡 20-45. 🆗🎉

Heyy so if there's any song that makes you think of dream smp/ lmanburg please tell me 👀 im trying to make a playlist rn on youtube hhh

74 notes · View notes

14thsumoon · 7 years ago

Text

rules: answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people I was tagged by @oneofthewolfchildren THE LAST 1. drink: water? I'm not sure??,,, 2. phone call: I have like 20 missed calls you really think I remember the last time I had a phone call? 3. text message: @ ride, that bitCH 4. song you listened to: Young And Menace - Fall Out Boy 5. time you cried: I almost cried during a car ride today does that count? 6. dated someone twice: lol nope, never even dated 7. kissed someone and regretted it: no??? I only give platonic kisses so???? 8. been cheated on: nope  9. lost someone special: no 10. been depressed: all the time, dude??? 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: sadly I have no idea how to get my small baby hands on alcohol so nope 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. ,,, uh um neon red 13. gray gray and more gray 14. literally almost any pastel yea h IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:  15. made new friends: YEA @ THE FAMILY CHAT LOVE YALL CRAZY KINKY FUCKERS 16. fallen out of love: describe love 17. laughed until you cried: yea it was something with my family thinking I have depression or something 18. found out someone was talking about you: no??? I try to make myself as small as possible in most cases so people don't acknowledge me 19. met someone who changed you: yeehaw yes 20. found out who your friends are: yesu uwu  21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: I don't have a fb oops GENERAL  22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: 0 dude I don't have a fb  23. do you have any pets: my doggo and bunny (my soft children)  24. do you want to change your name: yeah I don't really like having my dead name as my legal name so?? 25. what did you do for your last birthday: nothing I have no friends irl and parties are lame  26. what time did you wake up: ffffff idk man I don't even sleep most nights (I keep pulling Ryans) 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: ,,,,, reading fanfics 28. name something you can’t wait for: when I can finally change my name, move out, and be treated like a """normal""" person (and not like a lost child with depression, @ irl family treat me decently you shit fucks) 29. when was the last time you saw your mom: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 31. what are you listening to right now: fffffjxj music while my family (LOUDLY) bitches to each other  32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: I've never met a Tom oops  33. something that is getting on your nerves: people and my family (yes I'm mentioning them a lot it's because they irritate me and keep trying to get me to be """"normal"""" >:0) 34. most visited website: ao3 and Tumblr because I don't have a real like only the internet  35. hair colour: brown with light tips  36. long or short hair: medium?? idk but it's still too long for me 37. do you have a crush on someone: na man I'm aromantic 38. what do you like about yourself: nothing I'm just a little ball of self hatred, starvation, and getting mad over art  39. piercings: I don't really like earrings??? also they aren't useful in any way so why even bother 40. blood type: pfft have no idea what my blood type is 41. nickname: eevee, daddy (only rob can call me that ;)), um eve?? and E.C. (was it e.c.?? I can't remember) 42. relationship status: platonically taken by my lovely (kinky) wife 43. zodiac: taurus 44. pronouns: he / him and they / them 45. favourite tv show: Rick and morty oops 46. tattoos: I kinda want one when I'm older??? Idk they're not cheap and I have no idea what I'll get  47. right or left handed: left  48. surgery: no, not till I'm older and can get all the transition surgeries :') 50. sport: I don't sport, sorry 51. vacation: dude it's summer and I've just been staying in my room most of the time unless my family drags me out and forces me to go outside  52. pair of trainers: red, red, red I like red so I got them red and thEy HURT MY FEET MORE GENERAL  53. eating: I've only had one thing all day and that was hours ago I'm eating nothing 54. drinking: nothing  55. I’m about to: do nothing?? finish that fic I was reading??? convince my family to let me have some of my stuff back?? force persona 5 out of my aunts religious little hands and play again with more screaming over Akechi??? 56. waiting for: Winter to come and make the bugs go away 57. want: my video games back (and cathrine but apparently i get too into the game and believe that I'm in that world and that's why I don't sleep and don't eat much according to my mother) @ family, smh 58. get married: n o 59. career: commission artist??? something that doesn't have to do with too many people and has art 60. hugs or kisses: hugs  61. lips or eyes: eyes 62. shorter or taller: uh both??? i don't understand so both 63. older or younger: idk man  64. nice arms or nice stomach: neither??? I don't want to be around people in general idc about how they look 65. hook up or relationship: I'm not interested in a relationship and I'm a fucking child  66. troublemaker or hesitant: both HAVE YOU EVER:  67. kissed a stranger: no 68. drank hard liquor: god I wish 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: I don't need contacts or glasses so no 70. turned someone down: I'm not sure how but yeah 71. sex on the first date: no I'm a child and sex repulsed what do you think 72. broken someone’s heart: no?? 73. had your heart broken: pft my hearts a cold emo abyss with no love so no 74. been arrested: not yet but considering my bucket list idk about the future  75. cried when someone died: no 76. fallen for a friend: na DO YOU BELIEVE IN:  77. yourself: nope 78. miracles: lol no  79. love at first sight: na  80. santa claus: nein  81. kiss on the first date: idc man do whatever on your weird romance things  82. angels: not at all OTHER:  84. eye colour: dark brown 85. favourite movie: ok I have like 4 favorites just ,, hhh, the nightmare before christmas, coraline, literally anything little witch academia & corpse bride I tag @yanireyesart @ask-otabek @umbrethefluff (heY UMBRE 👋) and uh anyone else who wants to do this I guess??

#shut up eve

3 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 4 years ago

Text

{SF} The Spoilers Ruin Everything

{SF Satire} The Spoilers Ruin Everything

By DWG

Since the Spoilers had come, everything kind of sucked.

They wore long fuzzy white robes and purple plush hats that were pompous and had a smooth velvety feel to them. They smelled like pimp juice and had Star Wars TV shirts on but they were always full of puns like: I AM THE DARK SIDE with a picture of James Earl Jones instead of Darth Vadar or C3PO FOR GAY ROBOT RIGHTS with R2D2 painted like a rainbow flag. They even had their very own Miley Cyrus dogs on a leash. They all had a male dog’s body with Miley Cyrus heads with the tongue hanging out and all they did was suck their own balls all day.

We don’t know where they came from. Did they crawl out of the basement abyss? Did they all live with their mother? Was it even possible to have that many fat overgrown late forties white men smelling like Burger King in one city? Soon they spread across the mid-west and a few Spoilers were in Canada. They loved to go around and tell people things. It was as if they could read your mind.

First it was small things like they just knew what TV shows you were into, they were television psychic. If you were a Game of Thrones fan, they would ruin the show for you if you hadn’t read the books. If you hadn’t seen a movie that just came out, they would tell you how it ended and why it sucked before you had a chance to see it. Then they got personal, they seemed to know intimate details about our lives. An acne-crated Spoiler in a pimp hat with a neon overcoat wearing a Yoda shirt that said: BRINGING SEXY BACK, AM I? came up to me and my friend Diandra at the bus stop. He told me, “Your mother never forgave you, she died thinking you hated her!” and then he turned to my friend Diandra who had been dating the same guy for eight years, “He is never going to propose to you, he is cheating on you with your sister Rhonda”. I flew into a rage and grabbed the fat bastard by his shirt and flung him into traffic, he smelled like old cheese and pit sweat. A bus came by and—SPLAT!

We were covered in lard and internal organs. A dozen undigested cheeseburgers from various fast food joints filled the pavement and a homeless man grabbed them and began eating. The smell lingered grotesquely like cat urine burning my nostrils.

I prepared myself to be arrested for manslaughter but instead the people at the bus stop began to applaud. They said things like, “Way to go! About time somebody stood up to those assholes! They told my daughter that Justin Bieber was really created in a test tube to be a pop star, I knew that but she liked that lesbian,” I smiled, Diandra patted me on the back.

That was when we decided to kill all the Spoilers.

We started a movement.

Occupy Comic Con.

We called ourselves the Secret Keepers. We wore shirts with pictures of Nostradamus shot in the head that said, “WE DO NOT WANT TO KNOW THE FUTURE!”

A man came out as a Spoiler and was crucified by the media.

He went on Twitter and outed gay celebrities before they had a chance to out themselves on the cover of People and Binge and Squeal like a Kardashian magazine.

He told people who was going to win the Super Bowl that year. He said he was chosen by God to spoil things and he had visions of the past, the future and TV show finales. His name was Tom Cassandra. He told us about books, movies and TV shows that were still in preproduction years in advance, what the trends would be for the next 20 years and what the next controversy would be. What celebrities would die year by year. We tore him limb from limb and cannibalized him on Skype to an adoring audience. The revolution had begun! Operation Occupy Comic Con was under way.

The first rule of secret keepers is that we don’t know where the secret keeper meetings are held until the late minute which makes commuting a bitch. The second rule of secret keepers is that we cannot use our real names, we have to have code names. I called myself Wolverine, Diandra called herself Cleopatra and we were lead by Giant Boner of America. He was a wise old Buddhist monk who had come out of seclusion and broke his vow of silence to help us take down the spoilers.

“Fuck those know-it-all, motherfuckers!” he said, “Enlightenment can only be achieved by shutting the fuck up! So let’s kill these nerds!”

We quickly learned the behavior of Spoilers. They liked McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell and occasionally Wendy’s. They rode those electric carts at Walmart and farted as they passed you in the aisles. They went to Comic Cons, a lot. I mean, A LOT. They were into hentai tentacle porn and only liked Asian girls. They travelled from city to city to get all the best swag and then sell it on Ebay. They always bought ten issues of the same comic book and then spoiled the ending by publishing the last page online.

We set up the bombs shortly after noon that Friday the 13th. Two furries were fucking behind a dumpster while a guy in a Chewbacca costume was jacking off a guy dressed like Nick Fury. A group of Whedonites were talking about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly and how they were the best shows that had ever existed since the beginning of time. Before we knew it there was an explosion and screaming and a decapitated Chewbacca head spinning in the street. I was surprised they hadn’t seen that coming.

Then things got really ugly.

As hard as we fought back against the Spoilers, they got more vicious. They weren’t just fucking with people’s entertainment, they were fucking with people’s lives.

In Chicago, a fat guy wearing a coat made of green monkey fur approached a young couple and whispered to them how their first child would die. The man pulled out of a knife and stabbed him to death. The cops came but refused to arrest him. It was as if we had all made a silent pact to kill all the Spoilers and we would not let anyone stop us. The Spoilers just couldn’t help themselves though, they started to dress in disguise so we didn’t recognize them. They wore FUBU clothes and NorthWest jackets and even L.A. Raiders shirts to blend into the crowd.

A Spoiler in a porkpie hat approached an elderly woman at a Walmart and told her the exact month and day and hour of her death, she pulled out a knitting needle, stabbed him in the eye and then drove away on her electric powered cart. An employee shouted, “Cleanup on aisle 6! We got some human garbage over here!”

The Spoilers took to the internet and spoke of being persecuted, they said they were modern day Jesus types and that it was all part of a government conspiracy to suppress the truth. They said JFK was an alien, they said Elvis was still alive, they said James Dean was really black and that Obama could shapeshift into Taylor Swift on weekends. We knew they were just making shit up at this point to throw us off their trail. It wasn’t until a Spoiler named Arthur McFadden III Jr. spoiled a terrorist attack plotted by a Norwegian militant named Sodarnmadatjerall that things took a strange shift.

Suddenly a spoiler had saved thousands of lives. He had spoiled a major disaster and saved a country from another 9/11. We were screwed.

He was given the Congressional Medal of Honor.

That was when things got weird.

The President put a no kill policy on spoilers.

Spoilers have the right to spoil, just don’t listen or read the paper or go on the internet, he said, it is your own choice to allow yourself to be spoiled.

Angry protestors lashed out at the President. Amanda Billingsworth of the Anti-Spoilers Society of America or A.S.S.A. said, “The President is asking us to exercise self-control and make informed decisions, I don’t know about you but that is not the America I grew up believing in! I expect immediate gratification and people to bend to my personal likes and dislikes!”

The audience cheered.

Some people didn’t want to listen and were arrested for dragging a Spoiler behind their car for five miles in Alabama and then hanging him from a tree.

Crosses were burned on the lawn of a family of Spoilers in Louisiana.

Suddenly people were fighting for the rights of Spoilers, there was even a Million Spoiled March of people walking hand in hand with Spoilers. It was catered by McDonalds who spoiled the secret of their own food by making their new trademark: Our Food is Awful and Will Slowly Kill You. Stop Loving it! But that only made people want it more. After all, people wanted the happy meal toy even if that meant plumping up their children into butterballs. After so many years of eating nothing but fast food, a person’s skin would get greasy and yellow and their transformation into a Spoiler would begin.

After the Spoiler Rights Act of 2018 passed, no one could do harm against another Spoiler.

On a daytime talk show a woman reunited a mother with her Spoiler son who had a falling out after he spoiled her relationship with her ex by telling her that the man didn’t really love her and fantasized about dolphins during sex.

They made an entire movie about Spoilers.

It even said how much it would make in the ads for it, the reviews were written by critics who gladly spoiled the ending and every aspect of the film but people still went to see it and it won the Academy Award that year. The Spoilers walked up to the stage before the envelope was opened because they knew they would win.

IT IS OKAY TO BE SPOILED, Oprah screamed on the cover of Rich Bitch magazine. Once Oprah says something is true, no one else can oppose her. (There was also a great article on 2000 ways to jack off your man with inanimate objects but I digress).

We knew then that we were defeated.

Now we live in a world without surprises.

I don’t get angry when some guy at the bank tells me when my car is going to break down or what happens on my favorite TV show that night. I realize now that nothing matters. Every single aspect of our lives is mapped out now, there are no surprises. We have no free will anymore. I met my wife at a rave because a Spoiler came up to us and said, “You two are going to get married one day.” I smiled and introduced myself.

Before we moved in together, the realtor turned out to be a spoiler woman who said, “The place is horrible and smells funny but it’s really all you can afford, anything else you look at they will reject you because you have shitty credit so you might as well sign up now.”

We did.

Our doctor told us the sex of our child before my wife even knew she was pregnant, he left it on her voicemail and said he was sorry but it just came to him in the middle of the night.

So we weren’t surprised when the barista at Starbucks told us what the name of our child would be. We told him to hold the whip and thank you. We named our child Leviathan in case you are interested.

After a while it’s comforting to live in a world with no surprises, where free will and destiny are essentially meaningless.

As I cross the street today, I do it knowing that today is the day I am going to die, I was told this seven years ago. A lesser man might try to avoid this fate but others have tried and they end up dying in other ways that are even more horrible and painful. You cannot be unspoiled. If you try to be unspoiled or ignore your Twitter feed or don’t go on Facebook they will find you and spoil you somehow.

When the car hit me, I knew the face of my killer, it had been spoiled for me.

It was the same guy who did my taxes. As I laid there bleeding in the street, feeling the life drain out of me I heard a fat kid on his mother’s lap eating a cheeseburger say, “He’s going to die in the ambulance, Mommy.”

And guess what? I did.

submitted by /u/Snoo97520 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/39G1TLG

#Blogger #Story

0 notes

thestonehearted · 6 years ago

Text

Turning 18

Turning 18.

Wow. 18 years. So many things I thought I would do, to many things I thought I would become, so many places I thought I’d go and so many people I thought I’ll meet.

I guess turning 18 excited me, I was excited to turn 18, say goodbye to my childhood, accept being a so called adult, with an open arms and an open heart. But it actually didn’t turn out that way, sadly I guess.

It’s so fucked up that now is the time that I’m figuring shit out now, like I had it all planned out, where I’d be, somewhere far, beautiful, living my best life with some amazing people, with whom I’d just met. Definitely still not figuring it out. Definitely not. But then life had to become this unfair son of a bitch fucking me over so hard leaving me grasping for air.

This year has definitely made me a stronger person, made me learn so much about myself, loose so much of myself, made me see who my people are and made me hold them closer. It started out pretty fucking amazing, with being in Oman, being the best that I had been, my mental health was STRIVIN there, I was so calm, at peace with myself. Still somehow shackled by anxiety, but I was happy, I could wake up every day and not think about going back to sleep. And for that I’m so fucking grateful for Priya Cheriamma and everyone else for making it that way for me because god knows I fucking needed it. I needed to just let go, for 11 years I was holding on so, so fucking tight to something which would soon leave me. I had to let go, Oman was spectacular, to not having to worry about anything when I wake up to going to sleep, so tired but happy with the day. It was nice, the evening walks, long talks with Priya cheriamma, bitchin’ with Dhanya, getting annoyed by Mohan Cheriachan and of course feeling so loved by Lehini it was so good. And I needed it. It also made me appreciate my parents more, not many people let their only child fly across the world alone just because they needed a break. Fuck man, it was beautiful.

Coming back was okay, I did want to stay there longer but I also wanted to go home. I mean, I could stay at a 10 freaking star hotel and my room would still be my sanctuary. Home was great, sleeping in everyday, focusing on myself and only myself, that was great. Netflix, eat, chill, movie, ah that was the fucking life, improving my guitar skills and makeup skills, finding the confidence to actually sing and play. It was good for me, it really was.

Then came spm results, I guess I still haven’t mourned, the failure, I mean I’ve spoken about it but I hadn’t processed the disappointment, I still don’t know where or how I fucked up, in my head I still did everything fucking right, I mean I did it all right for 11 fucking years all the sacrifices, the hours spent the money spent, the love and friendships lost, all of it went into vain. I guess that’s the most hurtful part, like I had one fucking job to do which was to get the best that I could ever get, and somehow I fucked up that shit. And I don’t think you could ever recover from something like that honestly, it hurts too much to think about, to know that there’s nothing left, that life is just that, you might never get a second chance because of how fucked up life is, its kinda heartbreaking and depressing to think about honestly.

And then came Harry’s concert, the neon coloured fucking highlight of my life, damn that concert saved my life. At that point I had lost all hope, I was certain that I’m not gonna have future, one that i wanted one that I would like, or be proud of and I honestly thought I was not going to have a future. His concert was the light, it was the best day of my life, it made me think that there’s actually fucking great things in life. It kept me alive for more than a year. It made me have hope. It made me want to live. It was such a perfect day, I honestly would not change anything about it, not even a single thing. Ever.

I was happy, I was grateful, I felt euphoria, and fuck it was a good feeling. That day 3/5/18, I did not have any negative feelings, at all and fuck that felt great. I say that it was the best day of my life, because all the emotions that I had felt, it was all of extreme and pure joy, excitement, and gratitude for how fucking beautiful life can get. And listening to meet me in the hallway live, oh fuck that was fucking beautiful. At that moment it felt so beautiful, to hear my favourite song in the entire world live by my sweet angel Harry damn I would give anything to relive it everyday for the rest of my life. That concert also pushed me, it pushed me out of my comfort zone, it made me meet new fucking amazing people, those who I genuinely hope will be part of my life for a very very very long time. And I got to touch Harry as well, that was just wow. Going was one thing, being at barricade was another, BUT TOUCHING HIM? Bitch wake me the fuck up. It was truly an amazing experience. Elating if you would call it. I say with confidence that I would not be alive today if it weren’t for that concert. After getting my results, it felt as if I was pushed into this deep abyss of what failure feels like and the concert was my life jacket, one of the few things I managed to salvage from the surface, and it held me long enough, long enough for me to learn how to thread water in that place, and god I wanted to die and end it all when it ended. As dramatic as it sounds, I lost all hope, what the fuck was hope, I remember so clearly bawling my eyes out in the shower and fuck it hurt, it hurt bad. Real bad. But that’s the thing about hope it fucks you up so hard leaving you breathless and without a will to live.

And two weeks before that was Zedd and fuck that was so much of fun, I hadn’t had so much fun in very long. It was just fun, no emotions, no overthinking, just losing myself in my favourite thing in this fucked up sphere of life, music, god that was just fun. But that’s just the thing about concerts, so fucking beautiful, it lets you loose yourself, you become one with the music, you feel the goddamn music in every cell in your body, you feel it running in your veins, you feel it in your soul, that 2 hours of euphoria, it leaves a marking on your being.

And after the Harry concert came my worst nightmare, it’ s all a blur until now, how I survived for this long, despite being this fucked up, how I managed to still be in one piece despite being in so much agony, despite suffering every day, despite sing life pass me by, despite being so fucking depressed it hurts to wake up every day. God it fucking hurts.

But in all honestly, I’ve got to give it to myself, despite being so fucked up, I am still here. I’ve fucking learnt that I am a strong ass bitch. I fucking survived 8 fucking months in hell with constant anxiety, pain and feeling so so dark that when light enters its so fucking overwhelming that I still want to die. Matrix has thought me a lot about myself, despite it making me loose so much of myself that some days I don’t even recognize the person in the mirror. I’ve learnt to love myself. Because there will be certain points in your life where you’re so irrevocably alone and you’ve gotta lick your own wounds. So what I’ve learnt is that fuck self love is so fucking important.

I’ve also learnt a lot about the person who I thought I wanted to be, and also the person I want to be now. I learnt that the most important thing in life is to be an actual good person, and that’s all I want to be in life honestly. I want to be good, genuine and I’m slowly getting there. I want to help, I want to love, because on my darkest of days, having a string of fucking straight A’s for every exam, that shit’s so fucking useless. Being a good person is underrated, good, genuine people should be celebrated, should be put on fucking pedestals on life.

I’ve been so blessed in my life, minus the fucked up hell of matrix that I’m at, I just want to cry and die and smash things, that place fucks me up. BUT OTHER THAN THAT haha I’ve been so blessed with a lot. A lot of love, choices and everything and sometimes it overwhelmes me to the point of tears, so that’s why I wanted to give back. I want to give back to the people who don’t have that choice, who don’t have the comfort, the safety. And this us me being clear that I want to give it to the WOA. Bless them, everyone deserves to feel safe, appreciated, and loved, so hopefully, I can play a small teeny part in helping these unfortunate women and children be somewhere a tiny bit closer to a life they deserve. And I hope I receive clarity, about myself and my life in return, does that make me selfish?

This year has also thought me a lot about the people around me, and this new lessons have pushed me to love myself, because people even the closest to you, are fucked up and when given the chance will fuck you up as bad. I guess what I learnt is that once you find that genuine ass group of people who love you and actually want the best and want you to be happy, hold on to them for dear life because fuck genuine people are more extinct than fucking white tigers. Don’t expect people to do shit for you, do it and be that person for yourself, but know how people think and feel. Fuck with people who want you to be actually happy, and want the best for you, because those people are the best and what you can do for the universe in exchange is wish everyone to be happy and to wish the best for them. And be genuine.

Also know that if people screw with you, the problem is actually within them and rarely you. That’s the thing about toxic people, they are filled with so much toxic that its bound to leak, and the closer you get the more potent it feels and gets. And also never, ever trust anyone wholeheartedly, roommates or cousins or classmates baby I know you just want to belong but they don’t care about you at all, they really don’t and understanding this and finally comprehending this will kill a part of you, but honey you’re a string as bitch and you yourself can revive it. And never put so much emotion into any relationship because how good it is, it will come back to bit you in the ass.

So tie an allegorical bow around this, don’t expect shit from people, emotions, actions, be that person for yourself because despite whatever the world tells you, you deserve it. You so deserve it. Choose good people who want you to be happy and what you can do for this world is be your authentic self and be genuine cz baby that’s beautiful.

And that’s my year, fucked up, messy and weird but beautiful nonetheless. It was a year of awakening, understanding and broadening of perspective and I’m honestly proud of myself for making it this far. And to top it all of I am fucking amazing and I know that and I don’t need anyone to tell me that or fucking otherwise. Peace out, its been one hell of a ride.

0 notes

rockonchiaroscuro-blog · 7 years ago

Text

No One Can Warn You

No one can ever warn you about who you’re going to become.

About what you’re going to become.

About how someday you’ll reach a point where all the pieces of yourself

Are broken

And ground to sand

Glittering on the sidewalk like forgotten stardust.

No one can ever really warn you

About how hard life will feel;

Like it’s easier to give up,

Just stop existing,

Let the particles of who you are

Fade back into the chaos from which you were created;

Life’s chaotic enough anyway, why not fucking lean into it.

No one can warn you about the dangers of falling in love.

They can try;

You deserve

Better,

They say.

You deserve

More than he can give you,

You deserve,

You deserve…

What?

What do I deserve?

Did I deserve to be a secret?

Hidden from view,

A desperate man’s private shame

As he crumbled around me?

Did I deserve to suffocate in the ashes

Of his phoenix flames?

Did I deserve to be trod into deep, dark, sedimentary layers of self

By the heavy steps of his “journey”?

Probably not.

But no one ever warns you

That being his dirty little secret makes you feel like mystery;

That the way he silences your breath with his mouth

Is headier than any exotic perfume,

More intoxicating than any drug,

Stopping time itself in its tracks and narrowing existence to

Just

You

Two.

Did I deserve waffling -

Void of syrupy sweetness,

Morning joy sucked dry like a fucking Eggo

Burned in a toaster -

Dipping like a broken set of scales

Tipped in nobody’s favor?

No luck for this Libra baby,

As my choices condemned me.

Probably not.

But no one ever warns you

That the moments he chooses you

Are the sweetest victories;

That his hands on your hips

And his voice in your hopes

Whisper promises across your skin

Like you’ve never felt before in your damn life.

No one ever warns you that boys who promise you forever

Sometimes lie

And others -

Perhaps even worse -

Believe what they say,

And then change

And leave you and your promises behind.

Did I deserve the image of her, and her, and her,

Staining his bed with poison

To burn memories I held dear to my heart,

As if with acid?

Did I deserve to no longer be the secret

But rather to have secrets be kept from me,

Torrid and bold-faced

And void of magic from this new, unforgiving flip side?

Perhaps Karma’s a bitch,

But did I deserve the bile in my throat,

The tears in my eyes,

The blood pumping in my veins

As I tried to change for me for once,

To be healthy for me for once,

To escape his toxic cycle,

Only to be dragged back in

By the trap I had set for myself

Of unconditional love?

No. I didn’t.

But it doesn’t really matter, does it?

It happened anyway.

I loved him anyway.

I love him anyway.

And he’s gone now, so… what?

Fallen into the easier embrace of another woman,

Pretty and slim and perfect,

Everything I’ve ever been told I should be -

So, of course, everything I ever wanted to be.

Everything I can never be.

It’s hard to feel enough

After you’ve tasted the heavens on his lips

And felt beautiful in the depths of his gazes

And been suddenly and unceremoniously robbed of both.

It’s hard to know who you are when the girl you thought yourself to be

Is built upon the paintings you made with him in your head that, while lovely,

Now feel like a lie,

The color being drained from sun-dappled trees

And wet cobblestone streets

And the bright neon signage of the city

As though God took a pressure washer to the Earth,

Cleansing us of the burden of being.

No one can ever warn you that this cleansing

Will remove you from yourself,

Make you hate yourself,

Make you feel unloving, unlovable,

As though the disease of his affections

Is a toxin too dangerous to expose to others.

No one can ever warn you that one day you’ll realize

You’ve acquired a taste

For boys who treat you badly -

The taste of blood

And bile

And tears

Coming to feel like home.

No one can ever warn you that one day

You’ll look in the mirror

And watch yourself fade away,

And fall,

Tumbling down

Into the abyss of yourself.

0 notes

edibleaddiction-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Letter to a Narcissist

I’ve always played the healer, the mediator, the supporter. I just always assumed it was my role in life. Those who were broken always seemed to find me and I was all too happy to fix them. It gave me purpose. You were like others before. You had your demons - those you hid and those you admitted outright. In the beginning I helped you, I paid your medical bills, I let your arrest slide, I ignored the screaming matches with your family because, well, everyone deserves a chance, right?

I thought I could see the potential for the man you could be when no one else did, and that made me special. I could be the rock for your foundation, the glue that held you together, the bond that kept you strong. I was prepared for that role. But you weren’t building blocks, were you? You weren’t bits of a puzzle just needing a little tidying and a keen eye?

I loved you anyways. At least, I tried to. And you seemed to at first as well. You cast out that net of giving, understanding, and fake love to see what you could catch. You certainly ensnared me. Over the next few months you seemed to be vulnerable and caring… But eventually my instincts, that little whisper of doubt that always sneaks in when you least want it to, worked its way into my brain. I started to pull back because I didn’t see that you needed me. Not really. You never said thank you. I’d come home from a full day of work, grad classes, and commuting and I didn’t even get a “hello” when I walked in the door; just the silhouette of you, face lit with the glow of a neon screen.

I thought if I showed you how to be a good human being you’d return the favor. I made you cards, I put the utmost thought into every gift I gave you. I made every special occasion a highlight in our relationship. I was rewarded with a generic note and a Walmart bag filled with trail mix on my birthday. Unwrapped gifts bought the day before Christmas under the tree that I begged you to get. You told me “It’ll be great. We can both get use out of these presents!” You never could remove yourself from the equation.

All those promises and supposed returned kindnesses didn’t seem to be from the heart. They were mirror images and actions of what I had already done for you. You copied me and I stood looking back into a tainted, foggy reflection of my own generosity, because you had no inkling of how to do this on your own.

Every trip we took was a walk on eggshells. Did I remember to remind you to bring your meds? Did you remember to pack your cigarettes? What would I need to go out and buy once we got there? You said it would be fun, to get away for a while. What you really meant was that you’d have me all to yourself, to toy with me for a while. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

We never ate dinner together, let alone made it. Endless days morphed into pointless nights and I stopped thinking about you. And I reflected on my past, to better times, to times I felt appreciated. And you knew it. You didn’t pay attention to me, and I took a step back to sort out my thoughts. I talked to someone, that perhaps I shouldn’t have, but still, it was only talk, a friendly conversation, and you exploded. And I fought like I have never fought anyone. Mugs flew, screams echoed, punches were thrown. I was an animal backed into a corner and you knew you had me trapped. That was 4 years ago. You never trusted me to my own feelings again.

You said I had to go to therapy or that was it. Because I wasn’t attracted to you anymore. Was it so hard to see why? I went, terrified of being abandoned, terrified of being alone, terrified of being unlovable. You had already started convincing me that it was all my fault. We talked about my past. We talked about the shit I dated before you. We talked about what I went through years and years ago. I guess there was improvement. I told myself it was because you were being so supportive, you cared enough to force me to do this!

But you didn’t. It was for selfish reasons, of course. You wanted me to get better so I’d be better at pleasing you. When I didn’t heal fast enough for you, anger consumed you yet again. Names flew. The foulest language I’ve ever heard. “Stupid cunt. Lying whore. Fat bitch. Pig-faced couch slug.” Any of the gains I had made were from and for my own self. I had found an iota of self-love and was trying so hard to nurture it and help it to grow. You saw that didn’t you? Couldn’t have that, could we? Because that would mean that the focus would be off of you. My attention would be on me, exactly where it didn’t belong.

The Doctor knew. He saw your anger from a mile away.

He warned me: “He’s dangerous. Please be careful.”

“But Doc, if you only knew how he’s such a hurt soul, he just needs some TLC, he’s never been loved before!” I echoed your own words back to him.

That voice was scratching at the inside of my skull again, but I had gotten so used to hushing it at this point that I barely paid it any notice. That was the last I knew of the Doc. I was forbidden to see him anymore, because, obviously, he was trying to turn me against you. And that just wouldn’t do. I tried to get you to return the favor. I wanted you to find help too, my broken old soul. Two sessions. You caught a scent of the threat to remove your crutches and abandoned ship. No, I’d just have to deal with you the way you were. It wasn’t your fault. Ever.

But I lived with you. I had to go home to you. Home was where you were, wasn’t it? I was out of the Doctor’s harmful influence so you thought it safe to resume. You stopped going to school. You started to undo all the building up of you I worked so hard on. You found your old demons; gambling, drugs, and shitty people. You turned our home into a house of horrors; a dirty crack den filled with disgusting things and disturbing rabble. I tried to keep up with your messes, physical and emotional, but it was too overwhelming. I stopped trying. I lived in the squalor. I tried to live like you to make it easier. I tried to really be what you wanted me to be, to lower my standards, or “relax,” as you called it.

“Relax.” You’d pressure me into all sorts of substances. I usually agreed just to appease you. Just to avoid the conflict. I hated being altered. I hated it even more because I was around you and I knew you were using it to subconsciously manipulate me. But what choice did I have? Vomiting from an overdose, awake for days on end. Do you love me yet? Am I good enough yet? Work became my reprieve. I couldn’t wait to go every day. I didn’t want to go home. Home is where the heartbreak is. Home is where the hurt is.

That voice was coming back louder than ever. It was screaming. I couldn’t sleep right, I couldn’t dream right. I still can’t. And I realized I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t be like you. And you knew it. I tried to end it then and there, halfway through a lease in the place I now called home. And you saw your chance and took it. If I thought things were bad now… you would show me I had no idea how bad they could get.

You invited strangers over. They ruined our things, they damaged the memories. You it did on purpose to hurt me because I said I “wasn’t sure if we should be together anymore” after years of hurt, confusion, and abuse. You showed me that things would be worse if we weren’t. And when my family tried to step in and help when you finally crossed the line with them… it was the first time you were actually scared, wasn’t it? You weren’t scared of my dad’s wrath… no, you were far too cocky and stubborn to bow to that. You weren’t scared of the financial woes… no, you couldn’t give a rat’s ass about ever having to file for bankruptcy or earning an eviction to your good name.

You were scared of losing control over me.

That’s when you kicked it into overdrive. The theatrics were quite spectacular, really; the hysterics of it all. Man, you really laid it all out there, didn’t you? Called me crying, “I’ll just get in my car and drive away… just… take care of the cat…” “There’s no point in living without you!” “I’m so sorry, I don’t deserve you.”

You tried to drown yourself with rum, you brought razor blades to the bed, and put a gun to your head.

You knew just what to do, didn’t you? Me, and my stupid heart. I couldn’t have your suicide on my conscience. I’d be guilty forever. I’d take it to my own grave. “What if I had only given you a second chance…” “What if…” would be my new mantra had I let that happen. You knew it would reel me back in. And you played every “normal[ish] relationship make-up” card you had in your deck.

You made me dinner, which was only special because you never did before. You bought me flowers, which was only special because it was the one time I didn’t have to ask you to first. You cleaned the house, which was only special because it had been unlivable for so long. None of these things should have made a difference in my original feelings and actions in leaving you.

But they did.

I was so used to the lowest of standards, of scraping the absolute bottom of the barrel with you, that these crumbs of dirt appeared as if mountains. I was hoping you had hit rock bottom and seen the sky above and were ready to climb back out. I could be there with the rope… with the ladder… with the helping hand… I could be that special someone once again… I’m I good enough yet? Do you love me yet?

It wasn’t rock bottom you hit though, you were simply digging the pit for another trap.

You sucked me into the abyss so fast I might as well have fallen into a black hole. You had me begging you for forgiveness for YOUR sins. You spun them back on me. It was my fault you dropped out of college, it was my fault you were late for work, it was my fault we were eating shit every night, it was my fault the house was a mess, it was my fault we had no money, it was my fault you were anxious, it was my fault my family hated you, it was my fault you didn’t trust me ever, it was my fault you were unhappy. And it was my responsibility to fix all of it.

Dear God I tried. I tried to complete this Sisyphean task.

I did whatever I could to make you feel better: It’s okay, hit me. Use my body as an ashtray. Spend my paycheck. Track my phone GPS. Spit on me. Keep me locked away at home. Force me to write apologies. Break my credit limits. Paint the makeup on over the scratches and bruises. Make me stay awake for days. Gaslight, gaslight, gaslight. All over time. Days, weeks, months. Break me down, break me down, break me down to those puzzle pieces. Please, please… Do you love me yet? (Shut up, annoying little voice telling me this is wrong.) Who would come and put me back together now? (Shush, you stupid fucking voice! I’ve been in this for 5 years now, there’s no going back!) Who would be my torch, my helper, the keen eye to help me in my blindness?

You of course. That’s what you planned. You classic narcissist, you!

That’s the goal of any self-respecting narcissist. Tear your muse to shreds, rip them soul from being, destroy their very essence. Then, and only then, can you reassemble them to your exact specifications. Then, and only then, can you reprogram their code to worship you and only you.

“You’re my #1, dear. You matter most. I’m here for you and only you.”

I was almost perfect. I was almost the puddle of nothingness that the narcissist desires to mold their perfect specimen. A useless mass of self-loathing and pain. Completely isolated, completely lost, and completely insane.

But in your enthusiasm, and insanity, and love of all things chaotic, you miscalculated.

The perfect was too perfect; your paranoia got the best of you. That was the thread that unraveled it all. The longing for control and the need to play God that makes a narcissist what he is, is what cost you me. Because you couldn’t even control yourself anymore. Your ideas of grandeur, of martyrdom, carried you from your original intent.

And the story spun thus: I had loved someone else on a trip to a far away place… in my car… even though I flew. But it was back in summer, even though the trip was in January. And suddenly I’d cheated on you a thousand times before! I must have been doing it all along! It explained everything now! Yes, yes, let’s pull apart every bit of data on my phone… on my tablet… on my PC… Search the house, search the car… there’s evidence somewhere. You knew you’d find it… and on and on you went.

Eventually you had yourself convinced. No evidence necessary. You know it with every fiber of your being. How could you, oh genius, oh magnificence, oh holier-than-thou, be wrong? You forced me to watch you do all of this… I didn’t sleep for days. I called out of work. We ran out of oil in the dead of winter and froze. I was exhausted and apathetic. If there’s one thing a narcissist can’t stand, it’s a lack of reaction.

And it led to this:

“Who did you cheat on me with? I know you did! Just say who!”

“I didn’t.”

“TELL ME. YOU AT LEAST OWE ME THAT!”

“[insert random man’s name here, so that I could just deescalate the situation and get you off my back, so that I could escape.]”

“PROVE IT.”

How can I prove I didn’t do something?

How can I prove something I didn’t do?

That’s when you lunged for me. Your rage was insatiable that day.

The day you slapped my face.

The day you punched me.

The day you threw me into the dresser.

The day you took a lighter to my hair and skin.

The day you crushed me, scratched me, and held me down.

The day your hands wrapped around my neck and closed over my mouth.

The day you said you’d kill me.

The day I escaped through the window.

The day I jumped from the roof.

The day I called 911.

The day I went home limping and bruised.

The best day of my life.

You tried to contact me.

You wanted to apologize.

You wanted to work things out.

You wanted to forgive me.

You forgot you had already freed me.

The best day of my life.

In that moment when your grip was so tight I couldn’t breathe, I saw the light. In that action of throwing myself out the window, I knew. In that call where I took control back into my own hands after months of letting you manipulate my life, I decided.

My life was worth SO much more than yours. Of all the things I was willing to be and do for you, that so many people would NEVER ask of me, HAD never asked of me… dead, was not one of them.

It took me a few days to convince myself that it was okay to turn you in, but I spoke to that nice policeman for 2 hours trying to relay everything that happened. There are still details I recall now that I missed then. Bits of ash floating back into the window of my mind like a ghost, settling on the clean swept floor.

And you were still texting me trying to reconcile. Walls of texts from different numbers for hours and hours, days and days. A narcissist’s desperate attempt at a lost cause. You claimed you were poisoned by your own drugs, illegal and otherwise. Incoherent ramblings of a mad man. That you hadn’t slept, you weren’t in a right state of mind.

You were never in a right state of mind.

You could never see that I didn’t cheat on you, you fool. I never could. Though I suppose it was never about me, right? It was only ever about you. Take and take. The narcissist’s game. Despite all the horrific things you called me, all the godawful things you did, all the feelings you denied me, I’m a Leo through and through. I am loyal, generous, and devoted to a fault.

But you didn’t even steal that from me, in all the vile destruction and chaos you caused. I will still be just those things. Because that’s who I am. And despite all the damage you tried to do, I love who I am. I have found determination and strength I never knew I had. You stripped away everything I didn’t need to be anymore, until only my bent, broken, and tarnished core remained. In your efforts to destroy me, you made it possible for me to come back stronger than I ever was. I am filled with perfectly messy and limitless emotions. I am naturally radiant with joy, humor, and kindness. And I am, and always have been, capable of loving and being loved. And I will be.

You didn’t hit rock bottom. But I did. My friends and family are here. I finally realized they were here all along. God, I love them so fucking much. They help with understanding, compassion, and unconditional love. Things you’ll never know or understand.

These people helping me back up are the true loves of my life.

And you, dear narcissist, are nothing but an evanescing memory.

#domestic violence #abuse #emotional abuse #narcissism #narcissistic abuse #narcissist #borderline personality disorder #survivor

0 notes