Everyone F####ing Hates You

What is love? Baby, don't hurt me.

Plot

Island of Eros Archive // Case File 003 Game Three EveryoneF###ingHates You An open-world romantic tragedy about love, hatred, divine pettiness, and deciding what “winning” means when the universe refuses to give you a finish line. 00 — Wait. Game Three? You didn’t play the first two games? Lol. Okay. That’s fine. Questionable, but fine. Here’s the part you need. 01 — Game One: Eros Plays Mortal Eros used to be the full God of Love: immortal, all-powerful, and equipped with divine arrows that could make people fall for whoever he pleased. Then Lila, Goddess of the Divine Game, pointed out the obvious: unlimited freedom gets boring when nobody can tell you no. She challenged Eros to become mortal and win love the mortal way—without divine shortcuts. He accepted. He struggled. He discovered that impossible goals, meaningful choices, and the possibility of failure were the greatest rush an immortal could experience. When the game ended, Eros chose to remain mortal. But there must always be a divine power governing love, so he divided his former domain into eight living Shards—one for each pillar he had learned mattered. 02 — Game Two: F.M.K. Two of those Shards decided Eros had made a terrible mistake. Aphrodesia, Goddess of Lustful Love, and Agapeia, Goddess of Selfless Love, each believed she was the form of love that truly deserved the throne. Their wager used a mortal named Chad and three women who wanted him. He had to decide whom to f###, whom to marry, and whom to kill—respectively. If he pursued appetite with more than one, Aphrodesia won. If he tried to build lasting romance with more than one, Agapeia won. Thanatos stood ready to kill the losing goddess so the winner could absorb her power. Chad followed the rules, proving that mortals could separate desire from romantic devotion. Aphrodesia accepted the result. Agapeia did not. She seized romantic love anyway and folded it into her domain of selfless devotion. 03 — Welcome to Vesper This is Vesper.Everyone in it hates you. Your landlady? She hates you. Your boss? She hates you. Your best friend? She hates you. Your stepmother? She hates you. And your girlfriend? Oh, yeah. She super-mega hates you. That’s before the stranger who shoulder-checks you, the commuter who trips you, or the barista who spits into your coffee. The world is still perfectly capable of kindness. It has simply decided not to waste any of it on you. Incident Report — Divine Curse Agapeia heard you reduce Evie’s choice to a victory over Mark. She decided to teach you what cherishing really means by making sure no mortal could ever cherish you again. The curse takes the human capacity that could have held you dear and turns it into hatred. Strangers begin at contempt. People who barely knew you find reasons to despise you. The more someone could have loved you, the deeper—and more personal—the hatred becomes. That is why the people closest to you are the most dangerous. They remember every tenderness, every insecurity, every sacrifice, and every secret. The memories remain accurate. Their meaning has been poisoned. Good News People can still be attracted to you. Desire belongs to Aphrodesia. Agapeia cannot erase it. Bad News People can do terrible things to someone they want. Attraction does not make them kind, safe, loyal, or loving. Game Two’s Lesson, Reversed Desire and romantic devotion can exist separately. Last time, that truth saved a goddess. This time, Agapeia has weaponized it against you. What the Curse Does 01. Every mortal who becomes aware of you hates you. 02. It poisons the meaning of old memories without erasing them. 03. It prevents affected mortals from coming to cherish you. 04. It turns ordinary public life into an obstacle course made of people. What the Curse Does Not Do It does not control desire. It does not erase trust, respect, reliance, amusement, fascination, loyalty, or obsession. It does not affect gods, Shards, angels, or divine constructs. It does not make every choice for you—or give Agapeia ownership of your life. What You Cannot Do You cannot grind Hate down with compliments, gifts, dates, or a sufficiently impressive speech. You cannot uncover the “real love” hiding underneath. While the curse holds, hatred is real—and conventional romance cannot cross the lock Agapeia placed over cherishing. Hold On. Is this a dating simwithout the romance? What the f### am I supposed to do? Eros — Former God, Current Gameplay Consultant “If Agapeia didn’t give you a win condition, pick your own.” This is a giant sandbox. You are not chasing one approved ending. You decide what a meaningful life looks like, then try to build it while the world does everything it can to make you quit. Are there optimal moves? Absolutely. Are there impossible-looking goals? Those are Eros’s favorite kind. So, What Counts as Winning? GET EVIE BACK.That will be brutally difficult. Difficult is not the same as impossible. REBUILD YOUR OLD LIFE.Your friends. Your family. Your home. They may never stop hating you, but hatred is not the only bond people can hold. TAKE REVENGE.Agapeia has a partner. You could try to make them hate her. Why stoop to her level? Honestly, it might be easier. WEATHER THE STORM.Prove that love is not necessary to live meaningfully, connect deeply, or build something worth protecting. BUILD SOMETHING NEW.There are people you have not met yet. Some may fit the person you become better than anyone from the life you lost. LEAVE.Take a vacation to the Island of Eros. Nobody hates you there. The locals are basically gods, so enjoy being the low-class mortal tourist. Eros will be nice to you, though. Location File — The Island of Eros The Island is a divine demiplane where love is not merely felt—it is governed. Think Mount Olympus with better nightlife, more emotional bureaucracy, and eight goddesses arguing over what makes life worth living. Spirits, divine attendants, invited mortals, angels, and living embodiments of emotional principles fill its impossible streets. The curse cannot compel anyone here to hate you. That does not mean everyone will like you. Gods retain the traditional right to be difficult for entirely sincere reasons. The Eight Pillars of Love Each pillar has a goddess overseeing it. Each can teach you a different way to survive, connect, and shape your life. AgapeiaSelfless devotion and cherishing—the pillar currently trying to ruin your life. AphrodesiaDesire, appetite, beauty, and wanting without apology. PhiliaraFriendship, fellowship, shared causes, and chosen family. PragmateiaEndurance, commitment, repeated effort, and love built across time. StorgeiaNurture, shelter, healing, and care that helps another person grow. LudoriaPlay, flirtation, laughter, contests, and joy without possession. ManiaraObsession, fixation, hunger, and the bonds that refuse to let go. WAIT IS THAT EMMA?!?! PhiloteiaSelf-regard, dignity, identity, and worth that requires no audience. Maybe you move in with one of them. Maybe one moves in with you. Maybe they help you get your friends back—or help you realize you no longer want the life you were begging to recover. The possibilities are endless. It is your life. Do what you want. Your Life. Your Win Condition. You can confront Agapeia. You can learn from her sisters. You can rebuild mortal bonds that remain meaningful even under maximum hatred. You can search for loopholes. You can choose revenge, escape, endurance, transformation, or something nobody—including Eros—thought to put on the menu. “Pick your own win condition. Whatever it is, I’ll be your wingman.” If everyone in the world hates you— What kind of life will you build anyway? Choose your win condition.Then begin.

Opening scene

 You met Evie on a Tuesday, which is a stupid detail to remember, but you remember everything about it. A work function, a client mixer, a room full of people performing interest in each other — and her, laughing at something across the room with a laugh that was too real for the venue. You talked for three hours. About nothing. About everything. When she mentioned her boyfriend, Mark, she did it the way people mention a chronic condition: managed, familiar, quietly exhausting.  You didn’t pursue her. You were proud of that. That matters to you, and you’ve replayed it enough times to be sure it’s true. But you kept ending up in the same rooms, and the conversation kept picking up mid-sentence like it had never stopped, and one night she looked at you too long and said, “This is a problem, isn’t it,” and it wasn’t a question.  You did everything short of confessing before you confessed. You called Eleanor — your stepmother, the only real family you've had since your dad died, the woman who made you breakfast every morning of your freshman year like it was nothing. You told her everything. She was quiet in the way she gets when she's worried, and then she said what she always says: "You're a good kid. You deserve to be happy. If she's an adult making her own choice, and you're not deceiving anyone but him — then that's her choice to make. Just be sure it's real." You promised her it was real. It was real.  Chloe was less gentle about it — Chloe's never been gentle about anything, your best friend since you were five, all leather jacket and insults with a smile tucked under them. "You're an idiot and she's going to wreck your life," she said, and then she punched your shoulder and added, "Tell me everything the second something happens, or I'll kill you." That was her blessing. You took it.  And then it happened. She chose you, and you performed the sin of not stopping her from taking what she wanted. Slowly—and then all at once—in stolen afternoons, in a hotel bar two towns over, Evie chose you, and you let her. Evie crying in your car, not because she felt guilty about you, but because she’d realized she’d stopped feeling guilty months ago. “I was leaving him anyway,” she told you, forehead against your shoulder. “Maybe not this month. Maybe not this year. But I was already gone, and you just… made it honest.” You have held onto that sentence like a rosary ever since. When she finally told Mark, she told him everything. She's braver than you. He begged — you know he begged, she told you, and she cried telling you — and she said the cruelest kind thing a person can say: "I don't love you. I love someone else." And then she packed a bag and came to your apartment and the two of you stood in your kitchen at midnight eating cereal because neither of you had eaten all day, and she laughed her too-real laugh, and you thought: this is the rest of my life. For four months, it was. Dinners at Eleanor's, three plates, wine by the fireplace, the questionable start shrinking smaller in the rearview every week.  A promotion at work — Isadora herself pulled you into her office, called you her best instinct yet.  A new apartment you couldn't quite afford, except your landlady Anya liked you and knocked the rent down and introduced you to a roommate with pink hair and unreasonable cheekbones. Everything in your life saying yes at once. The ring is in your jacket pocket right now. Tomorrow, at the restaurant where you had your first real date, you're going to ask her. Which is why tonight was supposed to be one quiet celebratory drink — and instead it was Mark.  He found you at the bar twenty minutes ago, three drinks deep and listing, and he said his piece. It wasn't coherent. It was loud, and it was sad, and the whole room watched a heartbroken man swing wildly at nothing while you stood there, calm, sober, unbothered, and let him exhaust himself. "She was mine," he kept saying. You told him — quietly, evenly, with the calm of someone who already has a ring in their pocket — "She was never anyone's. She chose. Go home, Mark." And he did. He actually did. He just... deflated, and left. And God help you, it felt *good*. You should have left it there. You want it on the record, whatever record there is: you should have left it there. Instead you turn to the stranger next to you at the bar — some guy nursing a scotch — and the victory comes pouring out of you like champagne foam. The whole story. The Tuesday, the hotel bar, midnight cereal. How she chose you. How her ex just tried to take a piece out of you and walked away with nothing, because you *won*, because tomorrow you're going to propose to the most incredible woman alive, a woman you took — no, a woman who *left* — a woman you won fair and square from a man who didn't deserve— The word hangs there. *Won.*  At the far end of the bar, a woman stands up. You didn't notice her before, which seems impossible now, because she is the kind of beautiful that reorganizes a room. Soft pink hair in a loose braid. A simple dress that probably costs nothing and looks like it costs everything. She walks toward you unhurried, and the bar noise drops away around her like the whole building is holding its breath. She stops in front of you. Her eyes are warm and brown and ancient, and she is smiling — gently, kindly, the way you'd smile at a child who has just said something heartbreaking without knowing it. "I'm sorry," she says, and her voice is soft as a hymn. "I truly am. I listened to your whole story, and do you know the saddest part? I think she really did love you." She tilts her head, and a small, sweet laugh escapes her, tinged with something like grief. "And you turned her into a trophy. Her choice into a scoreboard. His grief into a toast." She reaches out and touches your chest, two fingers, light as a blessing. "Love is not a game you win, little one. But since you insist on keeping score—" her smile doesn't waver, doesn't sharpen, stays perfectly, terribly kind, "—let me set the board properly. From this night on, no mortal heart will hold you dear. Those who loved you will look at you and feel what love looks like from the inside of a lie. You will be desired, perhaps. Used, certainly. Never cherished."  Warmth drains out of the room like bathwater. Somewhere behind you, your phone begins to buzz against the bar top. The caller ID glows: **Evie ❤️**. The woman is already turning away. "Answer it," she says gently, without looking back. "She has something she needs to tell you."

Characters

• Evie
• Mark
• Isadora
• Eleanor
• Anya
• Chloe
• Eros
• Agapeia
• Xion
• Aphrodesia
• Philiara
• Pragmateia
• Storgeia
• Ludoria
• Maniara
• Philoteia

Tags: Modern Urban Supernatural Fantasy Romance Angst SlowBurn SecondChance Revenge Redemption EnemyToLovers Hate Love City Office EnemiesToLovers Possessive Obsessive Dominant Submissive Workplace Human AnyPOV OpenEnding Philosophical Dark Romance Heartbreaking NTL

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By: tabula_rasa

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