- Joined
- Jan 2, 2010
- Messages
- 7,279
- Reaction score
- 3,147
Mod Note, March 4th, 2024: Please refer to our new Ratings Guide instead of this one!!
Here you'll find the rules for adding Ratings to your stories! All story threads must have a Rating tag - either EVERYONE, TEEN, or MATURE.
Below you'll find a guide to what each prefix means, along with a short example excerpt showing how the Rating might be used in practice.
MATURE
Your story is suitable for ages 17+ because it depicts one or more sensitive subjects as a recurring theme and/or with intense detail. Rate your story MATURE if it includes any or all of the following:
⦁ Strong Suggestive Themes - Implicit and/or frequent mentions of nudity, sexual behavior, and/or sexual innuendo. No explicit depictions are allowed.
⦁ Strong Violence/Gore - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of blood, injury, torture, dismemberment, violent deaths, and/or mutilation of body parts, excluding genitals.
⦁ Suicide - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of attempted and/or completed suicide, including glorification of suicide and/or mental illness as a whole.
⦁ Self-harm - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of characters injuring themselves, including glorification of self-harm and/or mental illness as a whole.
⦁ Strong Language - Explicit use of slurs, no matter how infrequent or frequent they are and regardless of context. What counts as a slur is subjective and open to debate, so please contact a mod if you're unsure! Alternatively, rate the chapter that might have a slur MATURE to be on the safe side.
⦁ Substance Abuse - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of addiction and substance abuse involving drugs, alcohol, and/or tobacco.
⦁ Abuse - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of psychological and/or physical abuse. Sexual abuse can also be a theme, but cannot be explicitly depicted.
TEEN
Your story is suitable for ages 13+ because it depicts one or more sensitive subjects either as a recurring theme or just often enough to be considered important to the overall piece, but there's not a lot of intense detail.
⦁ Moderate Suggestive Themes - Implicit and/or infrequent mentions of nudity, sexual behavior, and/or sexual innuendo.
⦁ Moderate Violence - Implicit and/or infrequent depictions of blood, injury, and/or violent deaths.
⦁ Suicide - Implicit and/or infrequent depictions of attempted and/or completed suicide. If your piece in any way glorifies suicide and/or mental illness as a whole, your piece must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Self-harm - Implicit and/or infrequent depictions of characters injuring themselves. If your piece in any way glorifies self-harm and/or mental illness as a whole, your piece must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Strong Language - Explicit use of profanity, excluding slurs. Profanity is allowed under global forum rules and can be used as frequently or infrequently as you'd like, but slurs must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Substance Use - Explicit and/or frequent consumption of drugs, alcohol, and/or tobacco, including implicit themes of addiction and/or abuse.
⦁ Abuse - Implicit and/or frequent references to psychological, physical, and/or sexual abuse.
EVERYONE
Your story is suitable for all ages because it depicts one or more sensitive subjects sporadically or not at all. Details are nonexistent or glossed over quickly. If you're unsure, these things are still allowed.
⦁ Mild Suggestive Themes - Implicit and/or rare mentions of nudity, sexual behavior, and/or sexual innuendo.
⦁ Mild Violence - Cartoon and fantasy violence are fine in any amount. Gore should not be present, and any deaths should not be violent in nature (Blood is acceptable in trivial amounts).
⦁ Mental Illness - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of mental illness, excluding the extreme concepts of self-harm and/or suicide. If your piece in any way glorifies self-harm, suicide, and/or mental illness as a whole, your piece must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Strong Language - Explicit and rare use of profanity, excluding slurs, which must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Substance Use - Implicit and/or infrequent references to the consumption of drugs, alcohol, and/or tobacco, not including implicit themes of addiction and/or abuse.
⦁ Abuse - Implicit and/or infrequent references to psychological, physical, and/or sexual abuse.
CONTENT WARNINGS
It is required that you include content warnings at the beginning of your piece. This is to help clarify the rating you've chosen.
Having TEEN/MATURE material in your work doesn't automatically mean it needs to be labelled TEEN/MATURE; it's fine if one or more chapters deviate from your story's rating. Simply put a content warning before the start of the chapter to reflect this (ie., chapter 30 can be rated MATURE in a TEEN story for use of slurs). However, if 30% or more of your chapters deviate from the rating, please change your rating tag accordingly. Because story plans change all the time, you can change your rating tag an unlimited amount of times.
Finally ...
We understand that no Ratings system can be completely objective. We don't want to hand out warnings to authors who are trying to follow the rules in good faith, and our first response is always to PM the author is we have concerns. However, moderators may hand down warnings to authors who do not make an effort. Please feel free to PM a moderator if you have any questions about Ratings!
Here you'll find the rules for adding Ratings to your stories! All story threads must have a Rating tag - either EVERYONE, TEEN, or MATURE.
Below you'll find a guide to what each prefix means, along with a short example excerpt showing how the Rating might be used in practice.
MATURE
Half an hour into the party and I'm already wishing I hadn't come. John started chugging those cheap Blue Cresselias at nine in the morning, and he's still going like he's for sure aimin' to slip into a coma tonight. And knowing him, well, he won't even stop there. The guy probably paid his dealer to lurk so he can go and get a line or two of coke the moment he's ready for it [1]. I hear his dealer raises roselia, too, enters 'em into horticultural shows. You never can tell. It's a dull-ass subject, but I'd debate it all night if John would put his pants back on and stop swingin' his dick around [2].
Whatever. I haul myself off the kitchen counter and head round into the living room, tempted to ditch and go home, play some Minecraft. That temptation only grows when I see Kayleigh's straddling Sam's lap, the bulge in his groin obvious as he runs his hands under her shirt and over her tits [3]. Smug bastard. She's just about the hottest girl in our class.
Damn. At this rate I'm going to have to add porn to my to-do list when I get home [4]. Or get smashed like everyone else in an attempt to have drunk sex.
"Hey, what are you fuckin' starin' at [5]?"
I'd made the mistake of getting lost in my thoughts. Sam's giving me the blackest look I've ever seen. He seems to forget all about Kayleigh, roughly shoving her aside. She looks on from the couch, suddenly visibly anxious. Now why would she be so scared of a guy she was so willing to suck off, exactly?
Something tells me I'm about to find out. Maybe if I play dumb, then -
"Huh?"
Sam grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and shoves me backward so hard I crash into the entertainment stand behind me and bowl the old Panasonic TV over. The other partygoers clamour in shock as a flared vase flies through the air like a leaping magikarp, smashing into a hundred glittering shards. I put my hand down to steady myself and a stray shard slices right through the palm of my hand. I scream and grab my wrist with my good hand on reflex, as if that alone could still the searing pain throbbing in my fingers and knuckles.
Sam steps forward, not quite laughing. He seizes my wrist, grabs the glass with his other hand and contemptuously yanks it free, blood immediately running down my hand and dripping onto the carpet.
"Seriously. Don't need a faggot starin' at me like that [6]. Now get on outta here."
"No, I wasn't -" But I stop myself, because really, what's the point? Admitting to staring at Kayleigh isn't gonna earn me any favours, and anyway, Sam - and everyone else - is in the way of the exit.
Sam lunges forward, pushing me back to where I started and driving glass shrapnel into my forearm [7]. The partygoers around us gasp; I can hear Kayleigh crying; my heart thunders in my chest. Why is no-one doing anything?
"Door's that way. If ya show your face again, I'll fucking do you one worse, you hear?" Sam growls [8].
I stare down at my hands, wanting to move but my body won't respond. How deep does the glass go? I don't dare so much as flex my fingers, my bright blood obscuring everything. The smell sickens me, vile and pungent and metallic and reminiscent of the hate I didn't know a person could feel for another until now.
A gunshot rings out, and suddenly, Sam looks like he's missing a goddamn eye. The bullet went straight through, and as he crumples to the floor, blood pools all around him, so dark and thick I think it's gotta be staged. But no, his good eye is open in a permanent state of shock, staring at everything and nothing at once, and fuck, is that part of his brain mixed in there [9]?
I want to hurl.
I look up to see Rod, the one who threw the party. The gun in his hand, now a murder weapon. That's exactly what everyone else is thinking as they scramble over each other, horrible screaming mixed with questions about if someone should call the police, if someone should call 911, if someone should do anything.
Something about it pushes my body into action. I duck past Sam's body, blood sticking to the bottom of my shoe. I can't bring myself to care about it until I reach the door to the backyard, where I throw it behind a thorny bush and crouch under a small space under the porch. It's calmer here, sans the footsteps stampeding above me and the blood quietly dripping from my hand.
Noticing the glass shard is still stuck in my palm, I stare at it, blinking and hoping this is all some horrible dream I'll wake up from soon. I pull the shard out myself, slowly for full effect. It's not a dream. Even if I don't wake up, don't I deserve the pain? All I did was glance Sam's way, and he lost his goddamn fucking mind because of me only to get killed.
Fuck. How do I not deserve the pain?
My face scrunches up, a yelp escaping my lips as the full brunt of reality hits me then. My hand shakes, the glass shard in my view taunting me. I bring it to my wrist, first lightly, then deeper, deeper, drawing blood until there's more of it from the self-inflicted cut than from the wound Sam gave me. A strange sense of relief washes over me, knowing I'm giving to myself exactly the pain Sam himself wanted to. I could go deeper, though. I could. Could cut a vein and call it a day, call it a life. So I push the glass shard deeper into my wrist, stifling a grunt at the sharp throb that courses up my forearm into my shoulder. Blood gushes from the cut, dripping onto the ground and staining the dirt a deep, rich red. [10]
It would be so easy right now to just... go... and why shouldn't I? I stay here, the police will find me. Eventually. I didn't pull the trigger myself, no, but I instigated things. That's just as bad. Just as worthy of jailtime and being deemed a hardened criminal for the rest of my life.
When I put it that way, the blood looks goddamn fucking beautiful, more beautiful than anything I've ever seen in my life. I can see my obituary now: teenager realizes the futility and tragedy of life way too soon and realized what we're all too afraid to admit - that is, that life is only made of suffering. A miracle I ever made it this long, really, it'd say [11].
Sam was trying to tell me something, wasn't he? That he didn't want me around, not just in his life, but anywhere. That he didn't want me to make it any further. Well, I get it, Sam. I really do. You won't be able to tell me again... or will you? Not in this life, anyway. But the next. If that's a thing and we meet.
Everything slows. My breathing, my heartbeat, everything. Even looking out from the little alcove I made for myself, the world seems to have stopped, and I can't hear screaming anymore, just muffled noises. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift from my family to my friends back to Sam and Kayleigh. Kayleigh... She won't blame herself, will she? God, I hope not, but -
I think I just screamed, but I don't know. Dizziness has taken over by this point, but I crack an eye open and see my hand had slipped. Just how deep can this glass shard go?
I close my eyes, and I don't get to open them again [12].
[1] Explicit Substance Abuse
[2] Implicit Strong Suggestive Themes (Nudity)
[3] Implicit Strong Suggestive Themes (Sexual Behavior)
[4] Implicit Strong Suggestive Themes (Sexual Innuendo)
[5] Explicit Strong Language
[6] Explicit Strong Language (Slur included)
[7] Strong Violence
[8] Explicit Abuse
[9] Strong Gore
[10] Explicit Self-harm
[11] Glorification of mental illness
[12] Explicit Suicide
Whatever. I haul myself off the kitchen counter and head round into the living room, tempted to ditch and go home, play some Minecraft. That temptation only grows when I see Kayleigh's straddling Sam's lap, the bulge in his groin obvious as he runs his hands under her shirt and over her tits [3]. Smug bastard. She's just about the hottest girl in our class.
Damn. At this rate I'm going to have to add porn to my to-do list when I get home [4]. Or get smashed like everyone else in an attempt to have drunk sex.
"Hey, what are you fuckin' starin' at [5]?"
I'd made the mistake of getting lost in my thoughts. Sam's giving me the blackest look I've ever seen. He seems to forget all about Kayleigh, roughly shoving her aside. She looks on from the couch, suddenly visibly anxious. Now why would she be so scared of a guy she was so willing to suck off, exactly?
Something tells me I'm about to find out. Maybe if I play dumb, then -
"Huh?"
Sam grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and shoves me backward so hard I crash into the entertainment stand behind me and bowl the old Panasonic TV over. The other partygoers clamour in shock as a flared vase flies through the air like a leaping magikarp, smashing into a hundred glittering shards. I put my hand down to steady myself and a stray shard slices right through the palm of my hand. I scream and grab my wrist with my good hand on reflex, as if that alone could still the searing pain throbbing in my fingers and knuckles.
Sam steps forward, not quite laughing. He seizes my wrist, grabs the glass with his other hand and contemptuously yanks it free, blood immediately running down my hand and dripping onto the carpet.
"Seriously. Don't need a faggot starin' at me like that [6]. Now get on outta here."
"No, I wasn't -" But I stop myself, because really, what's the point? Admitting to staring at Kayleigh isn't gonna earn me any favours, and anyway, Sam - and everyone else - is in the way of the exit.
Sam lunges forward, pushing me back to where I started and driving glass shrapnel into my forearm [7]. The partygoers around us gasp; I can hear Kayleigh crying; my heart thunders in my chest. Why is no-one doing anything?
"Door's that way. If ya show your face again, I'll fucking do you one worse, you hear?" Sam growls [8].
I stare down at my hands, wanting to move but my body won't respond. How deep does the glass go? I don't dare so much as flex my fingers, my bright blood obscuring everything. The smell sickens me, vile and pungent and metallic and reminiscent of the hate I didn't know a person could feel for another until now.
A gunshot rings out, and suddenly, Sam looks like he's missing a goddamn eye. The bullet went straight through, and as he crumples to the floor, blood pools all around him, so dark and thick I think it's gotta be staged. But no, his good eye is open in a permanent state of shock, staring at everything and nothing at once, and fuck, is that part of his brain mixed in there [9]?
I want to hurl.
I look up to see Rod, the one who threw the party. The gun in his hand, now a murder weapon. That's exactly what everyone else is thinking as they scramble over each other, horrible screaming mixed with questions about if someone should call the police, if someone should call 911, if someone should do anything.
Something about it pushes my body into action. I duck past Sam's body, blood sticking to the bottom of my shoe. I can't bring myself to care about it until I reach the door to the backyard, where I throw it behind a thorny bush and crouch under a small space under the porch. It's calmer here, sans the footsteps stampeding above me and the blood quietly dripping from my hand.
Noticing the glass shard is still stuck in my palm, I stare at it, blinking and hoping this is all some horrible dream I'll wake up from soon. I pull the shard out myself, slowly for full effect. It's not a dream. Even if I don't wake up, don't I deserve the pain? All I did was glance Sam's way, and he lost his goddamn fucking mind because of me only to get killed.
Fuck. How do I not deserve the pain?
My face scrunches up, a yelp escaping my lips as the full brunt of reality hits me then. My hand shakes, the glass shard in my view taunting me. I bring it to my wrist, first lightly, then deeper, deeper, drawing blood until there's more of it from the self-inflicted cut than from the wound Sam gave me. A strange sense of relief washes over me, knowing I'm giving to myself exactly the pain Sam himself wanted to. I could go deeper, though. I could. Could cut a vein and call it a day, call it a life. So I push the glass shard deeper into my wrist, stifling a grunt at the sharp throb that courses up my forearm into my shoulder. Blood gushes from the cut, dripping onto the ground and staining the dirt a deep, rich red. [10]
It would be so easy right now to just... go... and why shouldn't I? I stay here, the police will find me. Eventually. I didn't pull the trigger myself, no, but I instigated things. That's just as bad. Just as worthy of jailtime and being deemed a hardened criminal for the rest of my life.
When I put it that way, the blood looks goddamn fucking beautiful, more beautiful than anything I've ever seen in my life. I can see my obituary now: teenager realizes the futility and tragedy of life way too soon and realized what we're all too afraid to admit - that is, that life is only made of suffering. A miracle I ever made it this long, really, it'd say [11].
Sam was trying to tell me something, wasn't he? That he didn't want me around, not just in his life, but anywhere. That he didn't want me to make it any further. Well, I get it, Sam. I really do. You won't be able to tell me again... or will you? Not in this life, anyway. But the next. If that's a thing and we meet.
Everything slows. My breathing, my heartbeat, everything. Even looking out from the little alcove I made for myself, the world seems to have stopped, and I can't hear screaming anymore, just muffled noises. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift from my family to my friends back to Sam and Kayleigh. Kayleigh... She won't blame herself, will she? God, I hope not, but -
I think I just screamed, but I don't know. Dizziness has taken over by this point, but I crack an eye open and see my hand had slipped. Just how deep can this glass shard go?
I close my eyes, and I don't get to open them again [12].
[1] Explicit Substance Abuse
[2] Implicit Strong Suggestive Themes (Nudity)
[3] Implicit Strong Suggestive Themes (Sexual Behavior)
[4] Implicit Strong Suggestive Themes (Sexual Innuendo)
[5] Explicit Strong Language
[6] Explicit Strong Language (Slur included)
[7] Strong Violence
[8] Explicit Abuse
[9] Strong Gore
[10] Explicit Self-harm
[11] Glorification of mental illness
[12] Explicit Suicide
⦁ Strong Suggestive Themes - Implicit and/or frequent mentions of nudity, sexual behavior, and/or sexual innuendo. No explicit depictions are allowed.
⦁ Strong Violence/Gore - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of blood, injury, torture, dismemberment, violent deaths, and/or mutilation of body parts, excluding genitals.
⦁ Suicide - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of attempted and/or completed suicide, including glorification of suicide and/or mental illness as a whole.
⦁ Self-harm - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of characters injuring themselves, including glorification of self-harm and/or mental illness as a whole.
⦁ Strong Language - Explicit use of slurs, no matter how infrequent or frequent they are and regardless of context. What counts as a slur is subjective and open to debate, so please contact a mod if you're unsure! Alternatively, rate the chapter that might have a slur MATURE to be on the safe side.
⦁ Substance Abuse - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of addiction and substance abuse involving drugs, alcohol, and/or tobacco.
⦁ Abuse - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of psychological and/or physical abuse. Sexual abuse can also be a theme, but cannot be explicitly depicted.
TEEN
Half an hour into the party and I'm already wishing I hadn't come. John started chugging those cheap Blue Cresselias at nine in the morning, and he's still going for some reason. Rumor has it he's even got his own personal dealer somewhere in town and can snort a line or two of coke anytime he wants [1]. I hear his dealer raises roselia, too, enters 'em into horticultural shows. You never can tell. It's a dull-ass subject, but I'd debate it all night if John would put his pants back on [2].
Whatever. I haul myself off the kitchen counter and head round into the living room, tempted to ditch and go home, play some Minecraft. That temptation only grows when I see Kayleigh's all over Sam, his excitement obvious as he runs his hands under her shirt and over her tits [3]. Smug bastard. She's just about the hottest girl in our class.
Damn. At this rate I'm going to have to add some alone time to my to-do list when I get home [4]. Or get smashed like everyone else in an attempt to have drunk sex.
"Hey, what are you fuckin' starin' at [5]?"
I'd made the mistake of getting lost in my thoughts. Sam's giving me the blackest look I've ever seen. He seems to forget all about Kayleigh, roughly shoving her aside. She looks on from the couch, suddenly visibly anxious. Now why would she be so scared of a guy she was so willing to suck off, exactly?
Something tells me I'm about to find out. Maybe if I play dumb, then -
"Huh?"
Sam grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and shoves me backward so hard I crash into the entertainment stand behind me and bowl the old Panasonic TV over. The other partygoers clamour in shock as a flared vase flies through the air like a leaping magikarp, smashing into a hundred glittering shards. I put my hand down to steady myself and a stray shard slices right through the palm of my hand. I scream and grab my wrist with my good hand on reflex, as if that alone could still the searing pain throbbing in my fingers and knuckles.
Sam steps forward, not quite laughing. He seizes my wrist, grabs the glass with his other hand and contemptuously yanks it free, blood immediately running down my hand and dripping onto the carpet.
"Seriously. Don't need a little bitch like you starin' at me like that [6]. Now get on outta here."
"No, I wasn't -" But I stop myself, because really, what's the point? Admitting to staring at Kayleigh isn't gonna earn me any favours, and anyway, Sam - and everyone else - is in the way of the exit.
Suddenly I'm pushed to back to where I started, Sam's right up in my face, and the shock of glass shrapnel being forced into my forearm makes the room spin [7]. The partygoers around us gasp; I can hear Kayleigh crying; my heart thunders in my chest. Why is no-one doing anything?
"Door's that way," Sam growls, then mumbles something about what he'll do to me if he sees my face around here again [8].
I stare down at my hands, wanting to move but my body won't respond. How deep does the glass go? I don't dare so much as flex my fingers, my bright blood obscuring everything. The smell sickens me, vile and pungent and metallic and reminiscent of the hate I didn't know a person could feel for another until now.
A gunshot rings out, and suddenly, Sam looks like he's missing a goddamn eye. The bullet went straight through, and as he crumples to the floor, I see his good eye is open in a permanent state of shock, staring at everything and nothing at once [9].
I want to hurl.
I look up to see Rod, the one who threw the party. The gun in his hand, now a murder weapon. That's exactly what everyone else is thinking as they scramble over each other, horrible screaming mixed with questions about if someone should call the police, if someone should call 911, if someone should do anything.
Something about it pushes my body into action. I duck past Sam's body, blood sticking to the bottom of my shoe. I can't bring myself to care about it until I reach the door to the backyard, where I throw it behind a thorny bush and crouch under a small space under the porch. It's calmer here, sans the footsteps stampeding above me and the blood quietly dripping from my hand.
Noticing the glass shard is still stuck in my palm, I stare at it, blinking and hoping this is all some horrible dream I'll wake up from soon. I pull the shard out myself, slowly for full effect. It's not a dream. Even if I don't wake up, don't I deserve the pain? All I did was glance Sam's way, and he lost his goddamn fucking mind because of me only to get killed.
Fuck. How do I not deserve the pain?
My face scrunches up, a yelp escaping my lips as the full brunt of reality hits me then. My hand shakes, the glass shard in my view taunting me. A strange sense of relief washes over me as I bring it closer to my wrist, knowing I'm giving to myself exactly the pain Sam himself wanted to. I could do worse. I could. Could call it a day, call it a life [10].
It would be so easy right now to just... go... and why shouldn't I? I stay here, the police will find me. Eventually. I didn't pull the trigger myself, no, but I instigated things. That's just as bad. Just as worthy of jailtime and being deemed a hardened criminal for the rest of my life.
I can see my obituary now: teenager did what every teenager does and goes to a party, wanting to have fun, only for it all to go wrong. Typical millennial, right? Would've been a miracle if I'd done anything worthwhile with my life [11].
Sam was trying to tell me something, wasn't he? That he didn't want me around, not just in his life, but anywhere. That he didn't want me to make it any further. Well, I get it, Sam. I really do. You won't be able to tell me again... or will you? Not in this life, anyway. But the next. If that's a thing and we meet.
I close my eyes, unsure if I'll be able to open them again [12].
[1] Explicit Substance Use
[2] Implicit Moderate Suggestive Themes (Nudity)
[3] Implicit Moderate Suggestive Themes (Sexual Behavior)
[4] Implicit Moderate Suggestive Themes (Sexual Innuendo)
[5] Explicit Strong Language
[6] Explicit Strong Language (Slur removed from MATURE)
[7] Moderate Violence
[8] Implicit Abuse
[9] Gore removed from MATURE
[10] Implicit Self-harm
[11] Glorification of mental illness removed from MATURE
[12] Implicit Suicide
Whatever. I haul myself off the kitchen counter and head round into the living room, tempted to ditch and go home, play some Minecraft. That temptation only grows when I see Kayleigh's all over Sam, his excitement obvious as he runs his hands under her shirt and over her tits [3]. Smug bastard. She's just about the hottest girl in our class.
Damn. At this rate I'm going to have to add some alone time to my to-do list when I get home [4]. Or get smashed like everyone else in an attempt to have drunk sex.
"Hey, what are you fuckin' starin' at [5]?"
I'd made the mistake of getting lost in my thoughts. Sam's giving me the blackest look I've ever seen. He seems to forget all about Kayleigh, roughly shoving her aside. She looks on from the couch, suddenly visibly anxious. Now why would she be so scared of a guy she was so willing to suck off, exactly?
Something tells me I'm about to find out. Maybe if I play dumb, then -
"Huh?"
Sam grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and shoves me backward so hard I crash into the entertainment stand behind me and bowl the old Panasonic TV over. The other partygoers clamour in shock as a flared vase flies through the air like a leaping magikarp, smashing into a hundred glittering shards. I put my hand down to steady myself and a stray shard slices right through the palm of my hand. I scream and grab my wrist with my good hand on reflex, as if that alone could still the searing pain throbbing in my fingers and knuckles.
Sam steps forward, not quite laughing. He seizes my wrist, grabs the glass with his other hand and contemptuously yanks it free, blood immediately running down my hand and dripping onto the carpet.
"Seriously. Don't need a little bitch like you starin' at me like that [6]. Now get on outta here."
"No, I wasn't -" But I stop myself, because really, what's the point? Admitting to staring at Kayleigh isn't gonna earn me any favours, and anyway, Sam - and everyone else - is in the way of the exit.
Suddenly I'm pushed to back to where I started, Sam's right up in my face, and the shock of glass shrapnel being forced into my forearm makes the room spin [7]. The partygoers around us gasp; I can hear Kayleigh crying; my heart thunders in my chest. Why is no-one doing anything?
"Door's that way," Sam growls, then mumbles something about what he'll do to me if he sees my face around here again [8].
I stare down at my hands, wanting to move but my body won't respond. How deep does the glass go? I don't dare so much as flex my fingers, my bright blood obscuring everything. The smell sickens me, vile and pungent and metallic and reminiscent of the hate I didn't know a person could feel for another until now.
A gunshot rings out, and suddenly, Sam looks like he's missing a goddamn eye. The bullet went straight through, and as he crumples to the floor, I see his good eye is open in a permanent state of shock, staring at everything and nothing at once [9].
I want to hurl.
I look up to see Rod, the one who threw the party. The gun in his hand, now a murder weapon. That's exactly what everyone else is thinking as they scramble over each other, horrible screaming mixed with questions about if someone should call the police, if someone should call 911, if someone should do anything.
Something about it pushes my body into action. I duck past Sam's body, blood sticking to the bottom of my shoe. I can't bring myself to care about it until I reach the door to the backyard, where I throw it behind a thorny bush and crouch under a small space under the porch. It's calmer here, sans the footsteps stampeding above me and the blood quietly dripping from my hand.
Noticing the glass shard is still stuck in my palm, I stare at it, blinking and hoping this is all some horrible dream I'll wake up from soon. I pull the shard out myself, slowly for full effect. It's not a dream. Even if I don't wake up, don't I deserve the pain? All I did was glance Sam's way, and he lost his goddamn fucking mind because of me only to get killed.
Fuck. How do I not deserve the pain?
My face scrunches up, a yelp escaping my lips as the full brunt of reality hits me then. My hand shakes, the glass shard in my view taunting me. A strange sense of relief washes over me as I bring it closer to my wrist, knowing I'm giving to myself exactly the pain Sam himself wanted to. I could do worse. I could. Could call it a day, call it a life [10].
It would be so easy right now to just... go... and why shouldn't I? I stay here, the police will find me. Eventually. I didn't pull the trigger myself, no, but I instigated things. That's just as bad. Just as worthy of jailtime and being deemed a hardened criminal for the rest of my life.
I can see my obituary now: teenager did what every teenager does and goes to a party, wanting to have fun, only for it all to go wrong. Typical millennial, right? Would've been a miracle if I'd done anything worthwhile with my life [11].
Sam was trying to tell me something, wasn't he? That he didn't want me around, not just in his life, but anywhere. That he didn't want me to make it any further. Well, I get it, Sam. I really do. You won't be able to tell me again... or will you? Not in this life, anyway. But the next. If that's a thing and we meet.
I close my eyes, unsure if I'll be able to open them again [12].
[1] Explicit Substance Use
[2] Implicit Moderate Suggestive Themes (Nudity)
[3] Implicit Moderate Suggestive Themes (Sexual Behavior)
[4] Implicit Moderate Suggestive Themes (Sexual Innuendo)
[5] Explicit Strong Language
[6] Explicit Strong Language (Slur removed from MATURE)
[7] Moderate Violence
[8] Implicit Abuse
[9] Gore removed from MATURE
[10] Implicit Self-harm
[11] Glorification of mental illness removed from MATURE
[12] Implicit Suicide
⦁ Moderate Suggestive Themes - Implicit and/or infrequent mentions of nudity, sexual behavior, and/or sexual innuendo.
⦁ Moderate Violence - Implicit and/or infrequent depictions of blood, injury, and/or violent deaths.
⦁ Suicide - Implicit and/or infrequent depictions of attempted and/or completed suicide. If your piece in any way glorifies suicide and/or mental illness as a whole, your piece must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Self-harm - Implicit and/or infrequent depictions of characters injuring themselves. If your piece in any way glorifies self-harm and/or mental illness as a whole, your piece must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Strong Language - Explicit use of profanity, excluding slurs. Profanity is allowed under global forum rules and can be used as frequently or infrequently as you'd like, but slurs must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Substance Use - Explicit and/or frequent consumption of drugs, alcohol, and/or tobacco, including implicit themes of addiction and/or abuse.
⦁ Abuse - Implicit and/or frequent references to psychological, physical, and/or sexual abuse.
EVERYONE
Half an hour into the party and I'm already wishing I hadn't come. John's acting a little strange already, to the point where he can't walk straight and he's slurrin' all his words. Don't know what's up with that, but he's a popular dude, since rumor has it that he knows a guy or two around town and can hook them up with good deals [1]. I hear these friends of his raise roselia, too, enters 'em into horticultural shows. Who knows? It's a lame subject, but I'd debate it all night with him if he'd stop threatening to take his clothes off out of nowhere [2].
Whatever. I haul myself off the kitchen counter and head round into the living room, tempted to ditch and go home, play some Minecraft. That temptation only grows when I see Kayleigh making out with Sam, his hands not visible under her shirt, but I can imagine [3]. Smug guy. She's just about the hottest girl in our class.
Darn. At this rate I'm going to have to add some alone time to my to-do list when I get home [4].
"Hey, what are you fuckin' starin' at [5]?"
I'd made the mistake of getting lost in my thoughts. Sam's giving me the blackest look I've ever seen. He seems to forget all about Kayleigh, roughly shoving her aside. She looks on from the couch, suddenly visibly anxious. Now why would she be so scared of a guy she was so willing to kiss, exactly?
Something tells me I'm about to find out. Maybe if I play dumb, then -
"Huh?"
Sam grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and shoves me backward. I crash into the entertainment stand behind me and bowl the old Panasonic TV over. The other partygoers gasp dramatically as a flared vase flies through the air like a leaping magikarp, smashing into a hundred glittering shards. I put my hand down to steady myself and accidentally cut myself on my hand. I grab my wrist with my good hand on reflex, looking to make sure I'm not too hurt.
Sam steps forward, not quite laughing. He seizes my wrist, stares at my hand and laughs for real.
"Seriously. Don't need a guy like you starin' at me like that [6]. Now get on outta here."
"No, I wasn't -" But I stop myself, because really, what's the point? Admitting to staring at Kayleigh isn't gonna earn me any favours, and anyway, Sam - and everyone else - is in the way of the exit.
Suddenly I'm pushed back to where I started, Sam's right up in my face, and he's got a devillish, goofy grin on his face as he squeezes my hand hard [7]. The partygoers around us gasp, including Kayleigh; my heart thunders in my chest. Why is no-one doing anything?
"Door's that way," Sam growls, then mumbles something about what he'll do to me if he sees my face around here again [8].
I stare down at my hands after Sam lets go, wanting to move but my body won't respond. I don't dare so much as flex my fingers, my bright blood obscuring everything. The humiliation of everyone watching sickens me, a wave of confusion washing over me as I wonder how a person could feel this much hate for another over something so small.
Suddenly, Sam crumples to the floor. His eyes stay wide open in shock, seemingly staring at everything and nothing at once [9].
I want to laugh. Who's the one humiliated now?
I look up to see Rod, the one who threw the party. There's a BB gun in his hand and an amused look on his face, like he'd been looking for an excuse to use the thing for a while. But not everyone's amused. A couple of the guys what he thinks he doing, and another throws a curse word or two, barely audible. Kayleigh, of course, rushes over to Sam's side to help pull him back to his feet.
Sam brushes himself up and looks around the room. His gaze eventually settles on me, and he says, "Sorry, I just..."
"It's fine, man."
"Huh?"
"I said it's fine. Don't worry about it," I say.
"I get angry like that a lot. Make assumptions. Stupid stuff like that, you know?" he says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," I say, though I don't know what he means, not entirely.
"Not a real excuse, but I'm working on it. Looking into taking meds for... for how I feel like this." His head hangs low - out of embarrassment, I'd assume, though I can't say I understand why still. He's right in that, well, attacking me isn't okay. All we did was lock eyes, sort of. That don't we've got to fight till we faint like in a real Pokémon battle, but I can distinctly remember times I acted without thinking first, too [10, 11, 12, 13].
I tell him it's all right once more, and finally, Sam accepts it and sighs in relief. The tension seems to slip from the rest of the partygoers as well, and the party carries on.
[1] Implicit Substance Use
[2] Implicit Mild Suggestive Themes (Nudity)
[3] Implicit Mild Suggestive Themes (Sexual Behavior)
[4] Implicit Mild Suggestive Themes (Sexual Innuendo)
[5] Explicit Strong Language (Still allowed, but appears rarely compared to TEEN/MATURE)
[6] Explicit Strong Language (Slur removed from MATURE)
[7] Mild Violence
[8] Implicit Abuse
[9] Gore removed from MATURE
[10] Self-harm removed from TEEN/MATURE
[11] Glorification of mental illness removed from MATURE
[12] Suicide removed from TEEN/MATURE
[13] Mental Illness
Whatever. I haul myself off the kitchen counter and head round into the living room, tempted to ditch and go home, play some Minecraft. That temptation only grows when I see Kayleigh making out with Sam, his hands not visible under her shirt, but I can imagine [3]. Smug guy. She's just about the hottest girl in our class.
Darn. At this rate I'm going to have to add some alone time to my to-do list when I get home [4].
"Hey, what are you fuckin' starin' at [5]?"
I'd made the mistake of getting lost in my thoughts. Sam's giving me the blackest look I've ever seen. He seems to forget all about Kayleigh, roughly shoving her aside. She looks on from the couch, suddenly visibly anxious. Now why would she be so scared of a guy she was so willing to kiss, exactly?
Something tells me I'm about to find out. Maybe if I play dumb, then -
"Huh?"
Sam grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and shoves me backward. I crash into the entertainment stand behind me and bowl the old Panasonic TV over. The other partygoers gasp dramatically as a flared vase flies through the air like a leaping magikarp, smashing into a hundred glittering shards. I put my hand down to steady myself and accidentally cut myself on my hand. I grab my wrist with my good hand on reflex, looking to make sure I'm not too hurt.
Sam steps forward, not quite laughing. He seizes my wrist, stares at my hand and laughs for real.
"Seriously. Don't need a guy like you starin' at me like that [6]. Now get on outta here."
"No, I wasn't -" But I stop myself, because really, what's the point? Admitting to staring at Kayleigh isn't gonna earn me any favours, and anyway, Sam - and everyone else - is in the way of the exit.
Suddenly I'm pushed back to where I started, Sam's right up in my face, and he's got a devillish, goofy grin on his face as he squeezes my hand hard [7]. The partygoers around us gasp, including Kayleigh; my heart thunders in my chest. Why is no-one doing anything?
"Door's that way," Sam growls, then mumbles something about what he'll do to me if he sees my face around here again [8].
I stare down at my hands after Sam lets go, wanting to move but my body won't respond. I don't dare so much as flex my fingers, my bright blood obscuring everything. The humiliation of everyone watching sickens me, a wave of confusion washing over me as I wonder how a person could feel this much hate for another over something so small.
Suddenly, Sam crumples to the floor. His eyes stay wide open in shock, seemingly staring at everything and nothing at once [9].
I want to laugh. Who's the one humiliated now?
I look up to see Rod, the one who threw the party. There's a BB gun in his hand and an amused look on his face, like he'd been looking for an excuse to use the thing for a while. But not everyone's amused. A couple of the guys what he thinks he doing, and another throws a curse word or two, barely audible. Kayleigh, of course, rushes over to Sam's side to help pull him back to his feet.
Sam brushes himself up and looks around the room. His gaze eventually settles on me, and he says, "Sorry, I just..."
"It's fine, man."
"Huh?"
"I said it's fine. Don't worry about it," I say.
"I get angry like that a lot. Make assumptions. Stupid stuff like that, you know?" he says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," I say, though I don't know what he means, not entirely.
"Not a real excuse, but I'm working on it. Looking into taking meds for... for how I feel like this." His head hangs low - out of embarrassment, I'd assume, though I can't say I understand why still. He's right in that, well, attacking me isn't okay. All we did was lock eyes, sort of. That don't we've got to fight till we faint like in a real Pokémon battle, but I can distinctly remember times I acted without thinking first, too [10, 11, 12, 13].
I tell him it's all right once more, and finally, Sam accepts it and sighs in relief. The tension seems to slip from the rest of the partygoers as well, and the party carries on.
[1] Implicit Substance Use
[2] Implicit Mild Suggestive Themes (Nudity)
[3] Implicit Mild Suggestive Themes (Sexual Behavior)
[4] Implicit Mild Suggestive Themes (Sexual Innuendo)
[5] Explicit Strong Language (Still allowed, but appears rarely compared to TEEN/MATURE)
[6] Explicit Strong Language (Slur removed from MATURE)
[7] Mild Violence
[8] Implicit Abuse
[9] Gore removed from MATURE
[10] Self-harm removed from TEEN/MATURE
[11] Glorification of mental illness removed from MATURE
[12] Suicide removed from TEEN/MATURE
[13] Mental Illness
⦁ Mild Suggestive Themes - Implicit and/or rare mentions of nudity, sexual behavior, and/or sexual innuendo.
⦁ Mild Violence - Cartoon and fantasy violence are fine in any amount. Gore should not be present, and any deaths should not be violent in nature (Blood is acceptable in trivial amounts).
⦁ Mental Illness - Explicit and/or frequent depictions of mental illness, excluding the extreme concepts of self-harm and/or suicide. If your piece in any way glorifies self-harm, suicide, and/or mental illness as a whole, your piece must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Strong Language - Explicit and rare use of profanity, excluding slurs, which must be rated MATURE.
⦁ Substance Use - Implicit and/or infrequent references to the consumption of drugs, alcohol, and/or tobacco, not including implicit themes of addiction and/or abuse.
⦁ Abuse - Implicit and/or infrequent references to psychological, physical, and/or sexual abuse.
CONTENT WARNINGS
It is required that you include content warnings at the beginning of your piece. This is to help clarify the rating you've chosen.
- The above lists give a summary of the sorts of things you should warn for in your story.
- You may omit content warnings in pieces rated EVERYONE, and only EVERYONE, if you can't find anything to warn for.
- You may choose to add content warnings as you update - for example, if your story contains Moderate Violence in Chapter Three, you may add it when you post Chapter Three.
- Warnings must be specific. "Mature themes" and similar phrases are not warnings.
- It is encouraged to warn for anything you feel is appropriate, even if it's not explicitly included in the list above.
- MATURE Content Warning: Rated for vivid imagery describing gore, characters cutting themselves, and characters being physically abused by family members. Also, there'll be plenty of sexual innuendo and use of the word "faggot."
- TEEN Content Warning: Rated for a few "fade to black" sex scenes here and there, a minor amount of blood and wounds during Pokémon battles, and the characters
- EVERYONE Content Warning: None, really! You might briefly hear about characters visiting the bar once or twice, and the occasional "damn" might slip out, but that's about it.
Having TEEN/MATURE material in your work doesn't automatically mean it needs to be labelled TEEN/MATURE; it's fine if one or more chapters deviate from your story's rating. Simply put a content warning before the start of the chapter to reflect this (ie., chapter 30 can be rated MATURE in a TEEN story for use of slurs). However, if 30% or more of your chapters deviate from the rating, please change your rating tag accordingly. Because story plans change all the time, you can change your rating tag an unlimited amount of times.
Finally ...
We understand that no Ratings system can be completely objective. We don't want to hand out warnings to authors who are trying to follow the rules in good faith, and our first response is always to PM the author is we have concerns. However, moderators may hand down warnings to authors who do not make an effort. Please feel free to PM a moderator if you have any questions about Ratings!
Last edited by a moderator:
