What I WILL / Will NOT Write

what i WILL / will NOT write

THINGS I WILL NOT WRITE

smut (i hope this didnt let anyone down, i just am not good at writing it and im also uncomfortable writing it.)

intense gore

intense blood / injury mentions

rape

detailed abuse

torture (unless its a scene from a film such as the deathly hallows pt 2)

non consensual acts

suicide or selfharm

incest (including step family members)

THINGS I WILL WRITE

kissing

relationships

fights / beating up

arguments

angst angst angst

literally anything apart from whats on the list above or if its really strange

masterlist

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

instagram soft launch ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ chris sturniolo

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unpopular opinion i'm getting bored of smut they all sound the same

“its bullshit.” part 1.

jonathan byers x reader

contains: swearing, fluff, alcohol, reader being drunk, angst, break up, suggestive

(a longer fic than usual)

after being invited to a party, you get drunk to get rid of the stress of losing your bestfriend. little did you know, your drunk truths would lead you to losing someone else too, and becoming closer to someone else in the meantime.

you hop out of steve’s car, and head inside the party. the music is so loud, it practically bounces off the walls, aching in your ears, as steve pulls you into the crowd. after a bit of dancing, you feel someone’s presence behind you two. its billy hargrove. he seems to have a massive grudge against steve, and you scowl at him.

“we got ourselves a new keg king, harrington.” sneers one of steve’s old friends.

“yeah, eat it harrington!”

steve takes his sunglasses off, staring billy down. not wanting to be involved, you briskly walk to the kitchen, wanting to get some “fruit” punch. sweeping past the couples making out against the counter, you approach a guy whos chugging the drink out of a classic red cup.

“whats in this?” you ask curiously, peering down at what seems to be fruit punch.

“PURE FUEL! PURE FUEL!” the peculiar guy yells, slapping his chest and burping.

grimacing at him, you take a cup and fill it to the brim, downing it. at some point, steve had arrived next to you, and is urging you to take it easy.

“hey.. whoa, whoa! hey.. whoa, whoa, whoa! take it easy. take it easy, y/n, y/n!” he lays a hand on your shoulder, comfortingly.

you shove his shoulder off, annoyed at how protective hes being. after all, its a party, right??

“we’re just being stupid teenagers for the night. wasnt that the deal?” you say, frustrated, dipping the cup in again and taking a gulp. you wipe off a bit of punch that got on your cheek and head off into the crowd, away from steve.

your temper calms down after a bit, the drink getting to your head and making you feel lightheaded and fuzzy. you’re giddily dancing with steve. you dont notice the familiar face entering the party, as you’re lost in a (drunk) trance.

you wobble over to the punch bowl, almost dipping the cup in again, when steve grabs your arm and shoves the cup away.

“no, no, no.” he says, firmly.

“get offffffff…!” you slur your words, pissed off, as you struggle against his grip.

“no, you’ve had enough, okay?”

“screw you!” you shout, heading back to the bowl. you dip the cup in the punch again, filling it up to the top. steve grabs you again, making you even more angry.

“stop, y/n, im serious!” he says again, struggling to take the cup from your tight grip.

“put it down.”

“no!” you scream.

“put it down!” he says again, trying to grab the cup from your grasp.

“steve, stop!”

steve accidentally lets go, and the red cup goes flying and lands splat on your white blouse. you gasp in horror and embarrassment as you step back, staring down at your now-ruined outfit. everyone exclaims as they watch the scene unfold.

“what the hell??” you say, running off to the bathroom. you ignore steve running after you.

wetting a towel, you desperately try to wipe off the red mess that the drink made.

“y/n, im sorry. its not coming off, y/n.” says steve.

“its… coming..” you trip over your words in your drunken state, helplessly dabbing at your blouse.

“let me just take you home, okay? come here.” begs steve, knowing this has turned into a nightmare.

“you-you wanted thisss.” you say, angrily, pushing him away from you.

“no i didnt want this, i told you to stop drinking.” steve sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“its bullshit. BULLSHIT.”

“no, its not bullshit, y/n.”

“no, youuuu. youre.. bullshit!” you exclaim.

“wh-what?” steve stammers.

“youre pretending like.. like everythings.. okay. you know, like we didnt… like we didnt kill barb.” you spit out, glaring at him.

“like, like, its great. like we’re in love.. and we’re partying.” you carry on.

“yeah, lets party huh? party. we’re partying…”

“this is bullshit.” you say, a look of disgust forming on your face, as you stare up at steve’s hurt expression.

“ ‘like we’re in love?’ “ steve utters, his voice eerily quiet. he reaches out and touches your face, as you mutter out again.

“its bullshit.”

steve shakes his head in disbelief. “y-you dont love me?”

“its bullshit.” you say, one last time. steve swiftly opens the door, and leaves, slamming it behind him without another word. you mindlessly stare at the counter, trying to dab the red liquid off of you again, not knowing what to think.

after hearing jonathan took you home, in a heated conversation the next day with steve, you head to the carpark. you have the worst hangover, you’re heads throbbing and you can barely think straight.

“so.. steve asked you to take me home?” you inquire.

“yeah.” jonathan says simply. maybe you’re imagining it, but he seemed a little hesitant, almost like he was trying to convince himself it was true, too.

“yeah, yeah he was upset. he was really upset. but he was still worried about you.”

“hey, hey. you need to cut yourself some slack. people say shitty things when theyre wasted. y’know, things they dont mean.” jonathan says softly, trying to reassure you.

“yeah but thats the thing. what if i did mean it? all this time, ive been trying so hard to pretend like everything’s fine, but.. its not.” you burst out, before you can stop yourself.

“i.. i feel like theres this, i dont know like this..-“

“like theres this weight youre carring around, all the time.” jonathan finishes the sentence for you, as he stares deep into your eyes.

“i feel it too.”

“yeah but its different for you. will came home.” you remind him.

“he did, but hes not the same. i try to be there for him, to help him. but.. i dont know.” he sighs, and you watch him.

“maybe things just cant go back to the way they were.” jonathan finishes.

“doesnt that make you mad?” frustrated, you ask him. i mean, how couldnt it? you knew it certainly did for you..

“i mean, the people who did this, who- who ruined so many lives, just.. get away with it!” you huff out, breathlessly.

“the people responsible for this, theyre dead.” says jonathan.

you dont believe it for one second, however. it’s been on your mind a lot, and you had a hunch.

you lean in closer. “do you really believe that?” you ask intensely.

you watch a kid in the distance blast music out of his walkman, as he tucks into a burger.

“your mom’s boyfriend. he works at radio shack right?” you ask, an idea quickly forming in your head.

“yeah. but why??” jonathan seems extremely confused.

you look to the side, zoning out as he speaks up again.

“what are you thinking..?”

“do you wanna skip fourth period?”

you both creep into your house, trying to get past your mom. unfortunately, she looks around as she hears the door open.

“jonathan?” she asks.

“miss wheeler, hi.” stutters jonathan, looking at you, unsure of what to say.

“uh, we-we have a test tomorrow.” he mutters out. miss wheeler exclaims out ‘ohhh.’

“did you go shopping?” she asks you, staring down at the radio shack bag you carry in your hand

“oh, uh- yeah. my walkman broke!” you say.

“aw.”

“bummer..” jonathan adds on.

“anyway, we should go. its a- its a really big test.” you say quickly, running upstairs with jonathan.

in the safety of your room, you flop on the bed, trying to ignore the fact you’ve invited another guy in there.

“okay, are you sure about this?” he asks.

“no.” you mutter, looking at the ground.

you turn to your bedside table, picking up your pastel blue telephone, and picking up the phone, before dialing barbara’s mom’s number.

“miss holland, hi, its y/n.” you say.

“i need to tell you something. it’s about nancy, i havent.. uh, been honest with you.” you stutter out, your stomach churning.

“b-but i cant tell you here on the phone. meet me tomorrow, forrest hills park, at 9 am. dont tell anyone, and dont call me back here, its dangerous.”

“nancy, what is this?” barbs mom asks, extremely confused.

“i just need you to trust me. please.” you say, desperately, before hanging up the phone.

“hey mom, i was thinking about staying the night at stacy’s tonight? we’re gonna have a girls night.” you ask at breakfast. you know your mom would say yes, she’s always easy-going like that, so you use it to the best of your ability a lot of times.

“romantic comedies, do our nails, gossip…”

“sure, sounds like fun!” she says, as you sit down.

mike looks at you weirdly, and you ignore him.

“toast? no?” you ask holly.

you quickly walk to jonathans car, making sure no-one sees you, and get in, telling him good morning.

“did you see your mom?”

“no, she was sleeping. i left a note.” he replies.

“you dont have to do this, you know.” i say, stopping and looking into his hazel eyes for a moment.

“stop saying that.” he says, smiling comfortingly at me. my lips curve upwards and i smile back. we stay like that for a few seconds, before he clears his throat, nodding at me, and starting the car.

“its 15 past.” you’re sitting on a bench with jonathan, looking around the park, leg shaking.

“give them time.” he replies, always keeping his cool.

you notice a guy reading a paper under some shelter.

“him, there.” you point him out.

“what?”

“he just.. talked to himself.” maybe you were being paranoid, but you didnt want to risk it.

as if on cue, he looks up from his paper, his eyes narrowing as he makes eyecontact with you both. you start noticing other people. a random old man throwing seeds onto the soil, moms watching their kids play, two women doing yoga. and they all start looking at us, eerily. a man with a briefcase walks past.

“i think we should go.” you both head back to the car, on high alert.

in the safety of jonathans car, you slam the door shut, as he turns the key in the hole. but the car wont start. he tries again and again, when someone knocks on the window and i jump, gasping.

“having trouble with your car? i can give you two a lift if you’d like.” he gives an encouraging smile. suddenly, everyone you’d noticed swarms the car.

“jonathan..” your voice is no louder than a whisper.

the man knocks again.

“sure you dont need that ride?”

A/N: this took forever oh my god. im sorry its so long i expect its really boring, but it’ll get juicer as time goes on. there will only be one more part coming out. i hope you enjoyed! btw its not proofread yet so im sorry for mistakes 🤍

literally its disgusting.. lyle is not agressive or extremely sweary at all and family members and friends confirmed it

I can confidently say Lyle Menendez is one of the bravest men in the entire world, and I am so fucking aggravated with how the show has portrayed him.

Imagine you spent all your life trying to protect your baby brother from the abuse you suffered from, just for it to happen anyways.

And all this time you try so hard to put aside your pain and be strong for him, knowing he looks up to you, and knowing you are the only person in the world who can protect him from the two monsters in your life. Two monsters who happen to be the two people you’re supposed to trust the most.

And you are losing your hair from stress, and losing your brother due to your father, and losing your feelings of safety because your parents are a ticking time bomb that have been ready to go off your whole life.

So you do the one thing you think is the best option, and you and your brother shoot them dead.

And later on, you are put in a court room, having to discuss and relive all the terrible things that have ever happened to you in front of all these strangers and media cameras staring at you.

And your brother is there. Your brother who’ve you tried to hide the pain from for so long is across from you as you have to recount the vile things that have happened to you. And you have to watch him cry while you’re trying to keep yourself together.

Then later on, you guys get sentenced to life for trying to make sure you both get to live another day. And you’re forced to spend your mid 20s, to 30s, to 40s, and now 50s in prison, not getting to see your brother for decades until 2018.

And you know what you get out of it? You know what your payment is for suffering your entire life? For carrying the world on your shoulders for years ever since you were a kid?

You get portrayed as a psychopathic, egotistic, idiotic asshole in a show made by the creator of glee. You are constantly made fun of for your hair loss and the fact you have to wear a toupee, and you’re written as a completely devoid of empathy and unfeeling monster, who treats his brother like shit and only cares about himself. You are also being sexualized to death, and with your own brother as well.

Oh, and not to mention: the show basically says you FAKED your emotions and tears in court. Yeah, that time you were at your most vulnerable and bravely telling your abuse story even when you knew a lot of people wouldn’t understand? Fake! Totally and utterly fake. Apparently you were the actor in your family all along…

Lyle has been treated like shit his entire life. He was a child, a BABY when his parents started violating him. He didn’t even know how to ride a bike yet when it started. He barely had the chance for life yet. Please, media, leave this man and his brother alone. I NEVER wanna see this portrayal of Lyle again.

Unless I talk about how I finished the Netflix show, one last time: Fuck you Ryan Murphy. And stop doing this to victims. Stop disrespecting them.