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estrellami-1 · 5 months

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If I Should Stay

Trigger warning: period-typical homophobia and associated slurs

Part 1 | . . . | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39

Allison smiles at Eddie as they listen to Steve bicker with Dustin. Eddie glances at her, sees her smiling, and looks… disgusted. “God,” he says with a sneer, “you thought we were serious? That we’re some fags? You thought you could have your picture-perfect little dream life, didn’t you?”

Allison feels fear tingle down her spine. She gets off the counter and makes her way around the island, angling it between her and Eddie, letting her get close to the sliding doors that lead to the backyard.

Just then Steve comes back in, and Allison pleads with her eyes. “Steve? Bubba?”

“Sorry, Allison,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry. “You thought we’d accept you being a dyke?”

He and Eddie begin to laugh, and as tears prick at her eyelids, she feels behind herself for the door, throws it open, and steps outside.

Except she’s not outside. She can feel herself calming down slightly as she recognizes the hallway: it’s the one on the way to Cassidy’s room. “Cass?” She calls timidly, wiping her eyes. “Cassie?” She opens the oh-so-familiar door and freezes in the entryway. It’s not Cassidy’s room; it’s a room she’s never seen before. It looks like a meeting room. Her father is at one end of a long table, her mother just to his right. Steve’s to his left, with Eddie to his left, and Cassidy is on her mother’s right. The rest of the table is filled with friends and acquaintances from school, all staring at her, judging her.

She takes a step back. “Daddy?” She asks, like she’s five years old again.

Richard Harrington sighs. “Honestly, Allison, I thought we raised you better than this. Your mother and I didn’t raise you to throw your life away like a prostitute.”

“Dad, I love her,” she pleads.

Cassidy scoffs. “Do you? When you forgot my birthday? When you got me earrings for our anniversary? When you keep dragging your feet about everything?”

Allison gapes. “I- I didn’t- we celebrated later,” she tries weakly. “You said you loved the earrings. And I’m- I’m not trying to drag my feet-”

“Allison,” Cynthia Harrington says, spreading her hands. “We just want what’s best for you, darling. Come with us.”

The rest of the table starts murmuring, with us, come, come with us, and Allison’s heart kickstarts in her chest before she runs out of the room.

She ends up on a cursed-looking landscape, with dead earth and red sky, sticky vines and prehistoric-looking beasts.

She sees a clump of dead trees and sprints towards them, hiding in between them as best she can.

“Allison?” She hears, and her heart thumps in her chest, but how can she be sure?

“Alli? Baby?”

She turns around to see Cassidy trapped under a fallen tree, and she gasps. “How’d you get here?”

“Please,” Cassidy groans, tears tracing down her cheeks. “Please help me, baby, it’s on my ankle, I think it’s broken-”

“Cassie,” Alli sobs, falling to her knees next to her. “I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.” She does her best to lift one end of the log off of Cassidy, enough so Cassidy can wiggle out. When she’s out, Allison drops the log and wraps Cassidy in a hug. “Baby,” she whispers. “Baby, I’m so scared.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Cassidy says, but it’s not Cassidy, and Allison steps back and looks up with a gasp.

“W-what- who- who are you?”

His face contorts into a sickly grin. “I have many names,” he says, raising his arms as if to embrace her again. She eyes him distrustfully. “None of them will make any difference to you, though, since you’ll be dead before you can use them.”

She pivots on her heel and runs, ignores everything she can that isn’t her feet pounding on the dead earth. She suddenly hears a bit of music, which is so unlike anything she’d experienced in this place that she instinctively turns to it. It sounds almost like Steve.

“Darling, you got to let me know,” the voice sings, “should I stay or should I go? If you say that you are mine, I’ll be here till the end of time. So you got to let me know, should I stay or should I go?” Then the voice starts speaking. “C’mon, Al,” it murmurs. “You gotta fight, please. I just got you back, c’mon, I can’t lose you again. Not this soon. I won’t let him have you, Al, but you’ve gotta fight too.”

He starts the next line, and she suddenly sees something like a portal in front of her. As she gets closer, she can see herself, floating off the ground, eyes rolled back in her head. Steve’s standing on the counter, trying to reach her ear to speak. “Bubba,” she murmurs, running as fast as she can. Something tells her to look behind her, but she knows it’ll cost her speed, so she doesn’t, just runs to the portal and jumps through, back into her body.

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #Allison Harrington #vecna #henry creel #fix it fic #time travel #time travel fix it #period-typical homophobia #tw: queer slurs #someone help me tag this correctly please #starambles

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dasolution-ns · 4 years

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The Culling of Cara Delevingne and Ashley Benson

A Cara Delevingne and Ashley Benson slam fic.

Part of This Bloody Island series

After sending those three bi-slut losers of Love Island to their graves, I got wind that a famous model and girlfriend was nearby in London. Since I was on This Bloody Island, I figured that I will pay a visit to someone I wanted to get rid of for a long, long, time.

I was able to break into Cara’s house easily because as the late, great George Harrison could have attested to you, British home security ain’t worth shit. A dead giveaway that I was in Cara’s house what that I saw a Chelsea Football Club flag in there. Cara is a Chelsea fan, and it’s perfect because that fake plastic club attracts a lot of fake people, such as Cara. As soon as I got int the house, I saw Cara and Ashley, in the kitchen, eating pork pies with chicken and apricots. Well, at least they weren’t porking each other, or sucking on someone’s chicken.

I walked up to the kitchen and said, “Enjoying your pork pie with chicken? Because this is the last time you two bi-sluts are going to enjoy pork and chicken at the same time.” Of course it’s true. I have to keep my motto going: If it’s a bi, then it must die.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! Bloody hell, it’s him!” Cara scream.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” Ashley screamed back.

“That’s right, bi-slut bitch. I’m gonna send your pendulum-swinging ass to a bloodied hell.”

Cara, thinking that she was the “man” in the relationship, thought she could take me on. She was wrong, very wrong. She tried to swing at me, but I blocked it and give her a few shot to the ribs followed a left to the face. She stumbled back to the wall. Then I went right after Ashley, gave her a straight right to her face. Hey, if she wants to BE LIKE A MAN, she should be allowed to take a BEATING LIKE A MAN!

Ashley tried to escape like a coward, leaving her supposed “love of her life” behind, but I closelined her and she fell on her flat ass. I grabbed Ashley by the throat and said to her. “Look her, you stupid-ass bi-slut bitch, I’m gonna show you what real bi-bashing is all about. It’s the same one that Katie Hill experienced, and so will you!”

“Please, please! I don’t wanna go out like Afrika Bambaataa did!”

I had to correct her on that one. “That was gay-bashing what I did to that sick-ass pedo-fag. Have you mess with anybody younger than 18 after you turned 20?”

“No.”

“Then at least you’re not as sick as that pedo-fag was. Still, I’m gonna show you what real bi-bashing is all about.” I got to my bag and brought out The Rock, a slightly-larger-than-hand-sized rock capable of laying the smackdown on those bi-slut candy asses such as Ashley and Cara. That’s what they get for rocking the three colours (the bisexual flag colour).

I proceed to introduce The Rock to Ashley’s face a couple of times, screaming at her nasty bi-slut ass at the same time.

“FUCK-YOU-BI-SLUT! FUCK-YOU-BI-SLUT!”

Next, I layed the Smackdown on Ms. Bad Eybrows.

“DIE-YOU-BI-SLUT! DIE-YOU-BI-SLUT!”

Those damn eyebrows were starting to get to me. So I got some facial wax strips from my bag and rip off those damn ugly-ass eyebrows of hers.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH” she screamed in pain, as her eyebrows and a good amount of her flesh were on the strip.

Ashley was clearly upset over this. “You maniac! You homophobic and biphobic bastard! You… SMACK.”

“Shut da fuck up, bitch! I’m not done yet with torturing you two!”

I had to give the bitch the John McEnroe Special, a left-handed backhand slap across the face.

Now I despise threesomes, a ritual for flaky bi-sluts, but I always make it an exception when it comes to the only bisexual I can stand. The Solution. A modified cricket bat used for straightening out swing-sets like Cara and Ashley. It has a titanium core with a crossed-out flag of the fags and a crossed-out flag of the dykes on one side. On the other-side is a crossed-out flag of the bi-sluts and a crossed-out flag of the transmutants.

As soon as I pulled it out of my bag, fear struck on their face.

“Oh bloody hell, it’s Da Solution.”

“Bloody hell indeed, you sodding bitch! Let’s make it threesome, shall we?”

I quickly grabbed Ashley and told her this as I smack the shit outta her with The Solution.

“This is for being bland and boring! CRACK!” “And this is for appearing in that sorry-ass show Pretty Little Liars! CRACK!” “And this is for eating Cara’s English Muffin, you nasty, ugly, bi-slut whore! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!”

Now it’s Cara’s turn to swing with The Solution.

“This is for having those ugly-ass eyebrows of yours! CRACK!” “And this is for being a Chelsea fan. A money-made team with no history! CRACK! CRACK!” “And this is for being a nasty, disgusting, filthy, sodding bi-slut bitch! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

However, I wasn’t done yet.

“Nobody can say your bi-slut gay-asses! Not Cindy Crawford, not Kate Moss, not Gisele Bundchen, not Tyra Banks, not Gigi Hadid, not Kate Upton and her big-ass titties, something you don’t have Cara, not even Adriana Lima’s ugly-ass. Not the fake plastic Chelsea Football team, who you probably slept with every member of, not Paris Jackson, and especially not Michelle Rodriguez, because I killed that bitch!”

“YOU DID WHAT??!!” She screamed.

“You heard me! I killed that bitch. I found her at a place in California and proceed to torture the shit outta her before finishing her off!”

After that, she started to cry, but I could care less. Then I changed my focus to Ashley Benson.

“And nobdy can save your bi-slut ass. Not Troian Bellisario, not Sasha Pieterse, not Shay Mitchell, not Janel Parrish, not Holy Marie Combs, and absolutely, positively not me! Nor George Benson, nor Lloyd Benson, nor Uncle Ben, and not even Benson from the old TV show can save your gay-ass.”

Then I pull out my Glock 17, to put and end of their sickness. After all, only a bullet in the head can cure those people. First was Ashley Benson.

“I don’t wanna die!” The bitch said while crying.

“Well, tough. You gonna die now!” I pulled the trigger and that was it for Ashley. Now Cara started to cry immensely.

“You heartless, bigoted bastard!”

“Thanks for the complement, Cara. I just killed two of your exes, do you know how that feels? Wonderful!” So I put the gun right at her forehead and told her, “I will take great pleasure in killing your wilderbeast-eyebrows-having bi-slut ass!” Then I pulled the trigger. Both bitches are now dead.

Now that’s what I call a good day. Cleaning out those people from the gene pool. Now, where should I go next? Why not continue on and make this island a lot bloodier?

THE BLOODY END.

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