#╰ › tasks﹕ 017.

[peridcthalliwell]

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[julietahernandcz]

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[farrahfields]

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[adrianaferreyra]

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[riverwclker]

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[riverwclker2]

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[lynnbrcwning]

Merrock Task 017 - Everything related to spring.

first things first: do you like spring? "I would say that I am more of a summer person. Spring is still a little too cold for me. I like the sun and the heat that brings it. The spring still brings too much rain."

what is your favorite thing about spring? "Every thing seems to be coming alive a bit more, it seems. The birds start chirping again, the sun comes out more and more. It sheds a more lively vibe over town."

what is your least favorite thing about spring? "The weather that is so unpredictable. Is it going to rain today? Nothing in the predicitions. One hour later it is just pouring. I don't like it at all."

do you have a vegetable / produce / fruit garden? "Not for the lack of trying. I wish I had but instead I go to the market once a week to get the fresh produce in."

how about flower beds, or things planted in the house? "Those I do. But mostly when Theo comes home with a bouquet of flowers for me. I don't get anything for myself."

regardless of what you do or do not plant, are you good at growing plants? have a green thumb? "I do NOT have a green thumb. Everything seems to die on me, every plant I own. So no, I don't have one."

what’s your favorite flower or plant? "Call it cliche, but I just love roses. Those light pink ones in particular."

what’s your favorite scent that you associate with spring? "The smell of the many different flowers that are growing I would say."

is there a sound that you associate with spring time? "The chirping of birds."

do you prefer sunny mornings or rainy afternoons? "In case you couldn't have guessed yet... Definitely sunny mornings."

favorite thing to do on a sunny, warm spring day? "Get outside with the children, without risking having to clean all the mud after them. I enjoy them enjoying the day the most."

favorite thing to do on a rainy, chilly spring day? "I prefer to stay inside then. Try to read a good book if I don't get interrupted by the kids."

do you celebrate Easter? any traditions you follow for it? "Ever since the children were old enough, our tradition became painting eggs together in the morning and then after a lunch they would've been dry. Theo and I would then hide them in the garden and the kids would search for them. We are running out of hiding spots by now."

regardless of if you do or don’t: favorite Easter candy? "Chocolate eggs. You could bury me in them."

what other springtime holidays do you observe? "None that I can think of this quickly."

favorite place in Merrock to visit in the springtime? "Definitely the woods."

the spring bugs are coming out: do you rescue them and let them out of the house, or grab the nearest shoe? "I'm actually the rescuer. I have a paper cup and a piece of cardboard laying around in spring. Cup over the bug, cardboard being glided under it. Bring it outside. Push over the cup and run while I can."

are you a big spring cleaner? "I wouldn't say a big one, but I do prefer to use the time to sort through clothes that aren't being worn anymore. Or any other items."

do you switch over your wardrobe from cold weather to warm weather clothes? "Yes, warm weather clothes are coming out of storage!"

how about the house: does your decor change for the spring season? do you rearrange furniture? "Oh no, that is not the matter at all. That only happens when I get really, really bored. And that has happened only once or twice so far while living with Theo."

what color makes you think ’spring’? "A soft yellow."

describe your perfect spring outfit: "I think you would say it's a complete mum outfit but... I prefer a white cotton shirt with a denim overall and my sneakers in spring. And if it is too cold, a jacket on top of it."

most adorable looking baby animal that you ever did see? "Up until this day, it is going to be a baby chicken. Chicks are such adorable animals."

what’s a drink that makes you think of spring? "Home made ice tea."

how about a snack? "Pieces of fruit. I love berries."

[tomahachi12]

What's the story behind your drone-sona? Since she has the Cabin Fever tag, I was curious what's the story behind her.

BUCKLE UP, IT'S A LONG ONE (some of this is headcanon crap, so not all info would be show accurate)

Toma (012) was a just regular worker drone working within the offices of the JCJenson Mining Facility.

The area of the offices she worked in had drones split into small groups to complete larger projects. She was part of the group which included Nori (002), Yeva (048) and Alice (017) (I LOVE THEM LEAVE ME ALONE).

She was usually tasked with taking paperwork back and forth between her group to turn in or for them to work on, something she was.. pretty bad at.

Because of Nori's shenanigans, their group often got in trouble with the humans.

At some point, Drones began to be selected from a lottery pool to be transferred to the lower levels of the facility. At first, the Humans would play this off as a "promotion" of sorts in order to keep the drones from becoming suspicious of their intentions and keep their minds at ease.

As time went on, the humans dropped the façade and the drones began to fear these selections, given that the chosen drones were never seen or heard from again after being selected.

Eventually, Toma's ID was drawn as the next to go. (she was chosen first out of their group, next was Alice, then Yeva and Nori was the last)

Toma was taken down the Cabin Fever Labs to be used in the "Solver" experiments.

When she was infected with the Solver Program, it took her over instantly. She was quickly given an early version of the patch (1.5.8) before causing too much damage.

The effect of the Solver's code on her body left her lethargic and forgetful. Since she was patched early, she cannot use the solver, but still suffers from it's effects; occasional possession, the need to consume oil, ect..

Not being able to provide much information for their research, the humans mostly kept her bound in her locker. Sometimes they even forgot she was in there.

Before the core collapse, she was able to escape her chains and wondered around the mines for a minute before the eventual implosion.

She was blown out the facility and somehow managed to survive, not only the blast, but even the crash back down to the planet. Though it knocked her offline for a time, causing anyone that found her to think she was dead.

RIP Toma lol

After she eventually woke up, she stayed put for a few months, hiding out in the outer buildings of the facility until she was found by another worker drone.

This drone invited Toma to join his colony, Outpost 9. She agreed and followed him to the base (wow Toma, ever heard of stranger danger gdamn..)

Toma was welcomed in this colony and she lived there for several years, learning how to live a life free from human-control. She was even able to pick up an old hobby she was never allowed to do back at the offices, drawing.

The nightmares gave her plenty to draw anyway.

Eventually, it all went to shit when the Murder Drones showed up, popped that base open like a soda can, and killed everyone inside.

Toma's solver kept her hidden long enough her to escape unnoticed. She needed somewhere to go and began to make her way toward the city she saw in the distance.

( oh hi, Y )

It took a while but she made it to the City only to find, you guessed it, more Murder Drones. She somehow managed to dodge them as well and found her way to some very large doors that resembled the ones back at her old colony. She frantically banged on the doors, shouting for help as she Murder Drones closed in on her.

The doors suddenly cracked open and a hand reached out, grabbing hold of Toma's coat and pulled her inside before slamming shut again.

She was met by a group of drones all sitting around a table, seemingly playing cards. The drone that pulled her in helped her up to her feet. After checking if she was alright, he introduced himself as "Khan" the apparent leader of this colony. Outpost 3.

She was welcomed in` just as warmly as she was in her last colony, and settled in easily, but soon found this colony was quite.. different from her old one. There were.. "kids" running around, and "babies" and... "teenagers".. Some drones were even married.

She also found out that every adult drones had to contribute to their society as well, unless they were raising children. Everyone had a job, and Toma was expected to have one as well.

She decided to join the Worker Defense Force, mostly as "watchman". She was tasked with doing patrols around the colony, looking out for any potential problems or weak points that could cause a breach.

She was pretty bad at it since she kept falling asleep while on patrol or forgetting where she was suppose to be.

The others were very forgiving toward her, though, but they figured she needed a different job.

After taking note of her interest in art, she was given the job as the new Art Teacher for the school.

Now if only she could stop falling asleep in class..

TL;DR/I only looked at the pretty pictures:

Toma was part of the Solver Experiments and now lives at Outpost 3 as the resident dumbass Art Teacher.

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series (completed)

* loosely inspired by Sara Cate’s “Salacious Players Club” series

🔥 EXTRA CONTENT HERE 🔥

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016** , 017, 018, 019, 020*

* = somewhat smutty chapters , ** = smut chapters

Summary: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. After getting kicked out by your brother, you have no other choice but to take off your big girl pants and add stripper to your resume. Desperate to pay the bills and support your little sister, are you willing to accept the risks that come with such a perilous profession? With the stage name ‘Shy Girl’, you take the leap of faith, weaponizing your divine femininity to steal the hearts of all the bachelors in Hawkins — including Eddie Munson’s, the owner of Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, eventual smut (a lot of it), voyeurism, mutual pining, sexual tension, jealousy, drug/alcohol, profanities, sexual harassment, domestic violence

Welcome to Hellfire.

theme song: meet you in hell by jade lemac “Look me in my eyes. I know that you’re scared. You see yourself and you cry for help. Look me in my eyes. Tell me it’s not fair. If you taught me well, I’ll meet you in hell.”

Chapter 001: Wolves

The Hargroves are cursed. Generationally, that is. One night Billy takes it too far, costing him the only thing he had left... his sisters.

TW — abuse, domestic violence, blood, profanities, implications of infidelity, death

word count: 8.5k words

author's note: there are four different acts to this introductory chapter :) so much foundation to lay down and i spent forever on this to craft it perfectly for you guys. thank you for being as excited about this fanfic as I am releasing it. i hope you all enjoy! -madelyn

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

"Once I ran to you. Now I run from you."

♡

Duality of man. Mom was always a firm believer in that notion. In fact, she always used to say, "Inside of you, there are two wolves: a good one and a bad one. Depending on which mouth you feed, one will triumph the other.”

It became more evident when she died.

“YOU FUCKING SLUT. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GO.”

Once identical in every aspect, the differences between you and your brother slowly began to unravel over time.

Being ‘good wolf’ was impossible while living under the same roof as Billy. So you settled for neutral wolf instead. Meanwhile, the big, bad wolf possessed him at age 15, when he realized hitting your father back would get him to back off.

It was 2010, post-homecoming game.

Dad nearly flung Billy into another dimension when he came home. The preferred alternative would have been attempting to reason with one another, but it just wasn’t something that was normalized in the Hargrove household. Communicating with words was a daunting task; but not nearly as daunting as accountability.

“I’M DONE WITH YOU, BILLY. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m a literal minor, you can’t do this, Dad!” Billy wailed. "PLEASE!"

Over a football game.

The Friday Night Lights were a staple of Vista Palms High School. That and all of its nacho-eating, pot-smoking, LMFAO-playing, neon-filled goodness.

"C’mon V-P, c’mon, let’s beat S-D!” For weeks Billy had been chanting that mantra. There was no clearer indication that it’s where he would be the night of the championship game. He didn’t communicate it, of course, but it was implied. But still, it didn’t cross Dad’s mind.

Any parent who thought their child was coming home on time — and sober — that night was a foolish one. Especially if their kid was a sophomore with senior status.

“You sure as hell don't act like one,” Dad spat. “Coming home, acting all grown." Little did Dad know Billy was there for community service. Billy was a good student. More than anything he wanted a full ride to a UC, mainly to get away from home. Either that or military. Maybe then, walking on eggshells and being accused of something he didn't do — like drinking and doing drugs — would be a seasonal occurence instead of daily. "ACTING LIKE YOU PAY THE BILLS. YOU DON'T. YOUR MOM AND I DO.”

Dad knew he hit a nerve. It was his signature move aside from alienating his victims to establish control. While the feeling of getting your wings clipped really did you in, reactive abuse was Billy's top trigger, especially when Mom was mentioned. After all, Billy was the one who found Her.

Through glassy eyes and gritted teeth, Billy closed up his fists before mustering up the courage to say, “I’m…not…calling Sue... the operative word.”

Dad snarled. “Like there’s anyone else physically here you’ve reserved that title for?”

Oh.

"This tainted love you've given-"

Billy took the bait, lunging forward to grab Dad. As if on cue, Dad winded up his arm, assuming his usual position. You managed to assert yourself between in hopes of stopping them. Suddenly the back of Dad's hand collided with your cheek, sprawling you onto the couch. Billy watched horrified while you fought to keep your eyes open, growing anxious when all you could hear was the room pulsating around you at the highest frequency you had ever heard in your 15 long years of life. Enough was enough.

One punch. Bridge of the nose. Game over. The control Dad had over you both had ceased.

Billy rushed to your aid while Dad took a few moments to gather himself. It was then his beat-in, throbbing eyes realized that the little boy he mercilessly pushed around was no longer there. His own little Frankenstein had taken his place.

"I gave you all a boy could give you"

"Oh my god, Sissy," Billy cried, crouching down to run a soothing hand through your hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you sniff, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I'm fine, Billy. I promise."

"I'm not gonna let that son of a bitch hurt you ever again," he vowed. "I'm gonna fuck him up and anyone else who tries."

"I love you, Brother."

"I love you, Sissy." The magnitude of power that surged through Billy melted into every neuron in his body, the warmth of its adrenaline imitating a tender — long overdue — embrace. He became fully enveloped in what was like an electric current, its tide higher than any wave he's ever surfed. It became more exhilarating than cruising down the I-5 in his Camaro at 130 MPH, and more intoxicating than any keg of beer he's ever swigged at a Wanna-be Project X Party.

It was the rush Billy had been searching for his whole life.

Every high Billy ever pursued before that rapidly declined in value. He would trade in anything for the static that had encoded itself into him. He felt untouchable, a luxury your father couldn’t afford his wife and children.

"YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER AGAIN, YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

From that day forward, feeling respected was a freedom Billy was not willing to sacrifice, ever.

"Take my tears and that's not nearly all-"

But now Billy is the abuser, something you never imagined happening given his innately soft personality.

"Oh, tainted love. Don't touch me! Please.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking each other out. Pulling each other’s hair. Calling each other names. Spitting. Throwing things. Who would’ve thought the Hargrove twins were capable of the same horrors as their parents?

Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Billy’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, clawed at your brain in agonizing intervals.

“That’s all Max is. A pathetic little liar.”

“She will do anything for any bit of attention…even whore herself out to all the men in Del Mar.”

“You can get out. And stay out. Since you wanna act so grown all the damn time.”

He became the very thing — or person rather — he sought to destroy. The very person who indirectly, but explicably killed your mother.

And deep down you feared that if you and your stepsister Max don’t get out of that house, you’d both suffer that same fate.

“It's fucking JULY and 90 degrees out!” your sister retaliated. “What do you want me to wear to the beach? Fucking sweats?"

Max was out with friends the night prior. They hosted a birthday bonfire for her at the beach. She broke curfew and got a ride home from a friend. A guy friend. Billy wasn’t having it.

Max always got the short end of the stick. She was an easy target for Billy’s antics. Being the literal carbon copy of the woman he hates the most didn’t make it any better, and neither did taking the bait whenever Billy dealt it to “keep the peace”. Max believes being and acting helpless would get Billy to back down. It was far from the truth. In reality, she was feeding him his supply.

And what a volatile supply it is.

Mom also had another saying: "Anger is just grief with nowhere to go".

So you watched Billy and Max go back and forth with their pickleball tournament-o-insults, shouting at one another to their lungs’ capacity, their dead, black pupils strangling each other mentally while they gathered the physical strength to do so as well. You kept an arm halfway up and torso slightly turned in case you needed to butt in.

“I do this because I love you, Maxine,” Billy insisted. “So just SHUT UP and stop being a little cunt. Okay?”

“You stop being a presumptuous asshole first,” Max fired back. “We’re fighting again — why? Because someone with a penis drove me home? And we broke curfew by 10 minutes? I don’t control traffi-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he dismissed her. “Just say you wanted some dick and call it a night.”

Classic slut-shaming, as if Billy’s Instagram following wasn’t all models, strippers, and OnlyFans girls.

Before you could even process what was happening, the blurbs of their argument skidded to a halt when Max finally broke. Billy watched in subtle amusement as she screamed, her fist meeting the wall repeatedly out of frustration.

Reactive abuse is Billy’s favorite abuse tactic.

“Someone who’s not guilty wouldn’t react like this,” Billy quipped in a sing-song voice, eyeing the new hole in the dry wall that Max had created.

There was no sense in backtracking if Billy already got what he wanted. Max just needed the last word. Before any of you could process it, an acrylic storage box soared through the air, hitting Billy right in the groin. He roared in agony while Max attempted to collect herself off to the side. She still saw red.

That’s when the knife came out.

One slice to the brow and it was over. To ensure the last word was his to keep, Billy ended up chucking a knife at your sister.

“OHMYGOD!” Max shrieked repeatedly, entering the ‘freeze’ stage of her shock. “OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, I’M BLEEDING! I’M BLEEDING, THERE’S BLOOD!”

It was then you realized, the little boy you vowed to protect and refused to leave behind was long gone. Dad’s essence had taken his place now.

“You just don’t know when to FUCKING STOP, do you?” you exclaimed, putting pressure on Max’s eyebrow with a washcloth as she wailed. Suddenly it was Dad you were talking to. They had the same apathetic, dead look in their eyes. “I don’t care who said or did what, throwing a fucking KNIFE?”

“Me?” Billy tutted. “You wanna call me crazy, who did that?” He was referring to the hole in the wall. “And who was the one to throw shit first? EXACTLY. EXACTLY.”

While Billy was technically correct, he would never admit to what he did to provoke you two.

“So you can both get out if you’d like. Be my fucking guests.”

You and Max exchanged one look. The look. It was time. You both were ready and now had the green light. Now was the chance to bolt without immediate consequences.

So you and your sister spent several minutes rummaging through your pre-packed belongings while Billy continued to shit-talk aimlessly around the rental you shared. The place soon reeked of cheap bud and gas station gin. Trash bags were soon filled with your favorite clothes and you shoved them into as many of your childhood suitcases as possible. Struggling to see past your tear-coated eyes, you reached for your books, the ones you've hollowed out 300 pages deep to pocket all the tips from your waitressing job, and shoved the loose bills into your crossbody. You’d sort through them later. Lastly, you popped the cap off the bottom of your salt lamp. There was a pre-paid Visa you bought several months beforehand waiting for you. With trembling hands, you grasped it and whispered a gratitude to the Universe before tucking it neatly into the back pocket of your Levi’s.

When it was all said and done and everything was loaded into your car, you focus on the hole in the dry wall one last time.

Never again.

Billy was complacent throughout the entirety of the event. You glared at him while he continued to soothe himself with drugs and alcohol, refusing to own up to the irreversible damage he caused your little family.

“SIS,” Max boomed from outside. “LET’S GO!”

A part of you used to pity Billy, but now his destructive behavior took away any ounce of guilt you felt for leaving him.

You never fought back until you had no other choice. Similarly, and tragically, Billy shared that very sentiment.

Who the villain is in the narrative relied solely on whose lens you are looking through.

It took you by surprise all the time. How could identical twins, who grew up in the same environment, end up so different from one another?

“I love you, though you hurt me so. Now I’m gonna pack my things and go." - Tainted Love by Soft Cell

There are two wolves inside of everyone.

——————————𓇼——————--------

"Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? I'm just so scared you're who I'll be. When I erupt just like you do, they look at me like I look at you" - DNA by Lia Marie Johnson

The heart-wrenching ballad by Lia Marie Johnson dissolves as you crank the dial to the left. Music is always depressing when Max has the aux chord.

"Did you hear what I said?" you question her.

Max abruptly sits up and reorients herself, attempting to shrug off the trance “DNA” had put her in for a few minutes.

"No, sorry. What'd you say again?"

"Do you need a bathroom break?"

"I'll go at the airport.”

"Okay, but if you change your mind and decide to take a leak one last time, I'll be happy to oblige.”

Swami’s is also an exit away and you’re just fixing for a hot meal before takeoff. But you don’t directly say that. Besides, Max loses her appetite when she’s upset and may only have room for shitty airplane food.

“I’ll just eat on the plane.”

Stale pretzels and flat soda it is.

Despite the decrease in appetite, Max is holding up well. As well as anyone-who-was-nearly-stabbed-by-her-brother-and-is-now-moving-states-away-from-everything-she’s-ever-known-with-her-sister could be.

It wasn’t your first choice to leave California. In fact, you did everything you could to avoid it. But nonetheless, anyone with a conscious and only $4,000 to their name would make the wise decision to move away to somewhere more affordable.

Enter your online friend, Robin.

Working ungodly hours six days a week to pay the bills took up so much of your time that you had no friends in San Diego — albeit high school friends who would have never guessed how you and Billy turned out. Those friends had happy families anyway. They couldn’t hold space for you. Your online friend Robin, who you met on an art forum, however knew your family dynamic and was there for everything. But she lived in Indiana with her partner and was never able to offer you any physical comfort.

You entertained Robin’s idea of moving to where she lives, a small town in Indiana called Hawkins just 20 minutes southeast of the city. Living under the radar to get your ducks in a row seemed like such a perfect plan, but you didn’t want to do so at the expense of Max losing her only support system she had outside of you.

Moving would’ve also meant pulling her out of school, which wouldn’t be possible because Billy was her legal guardian. Now that she’s graduated high school, and today is her 18th birthday, the game has changed completely.

“Donovan texted me happy birthday,” Max reports, finally disclosing a fragment of her inner conscience. “Thought it was sweet.”

You can’t help but smile. "You thought he wouldn’t?”

She refrains from rolling her eyes and shifts them towards the rocky beach cliffs outside her window.

“You know,” you add. “I really think you two could make long distance work. I’ve never seen so much chemistry between two people before.”

Max scoffs. "Yeah right. Long distance with a guy going to Santa Barbara for college?” She fiddles with the strings of the knit poncho resting atop her lap. “I'd be breaking my own heart."

You bite your lip to stop the waterworks. Max doesn’t deserve any of this. She deserves to enjoy bonfires with her skater friends, surf all the tubular waves, and go on all the nature hikes without worrying about her stepbrother’s codependent-fits-of-rage waiting for her when she comes home. She deserves to eat fried funnel cake at the county fair and share a kiss with the boy of her dreams atop a Ferris wheel on the 4th of July. She deserves a San Diego summer, not a summer spent in hiding from her abuser in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

Max decides to change the subject.

“So what’s Robin like? Your online friend.”

“She’s very sweet,” you breathe. “Been, uh, telling her about Billy for a long time now. Her arms have been open since day one.”

“And her girlfriend?”

“Vicky’s the best,” you insist. “A match made in heaven for sure. It’s like they’re the same person, just different font.”

You get a giggle out of Max. Her laughter during such a turbulent time is like music to your ears. The non-depressing kind.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t get you a gift this year.”

She side eyes you.

“What are you talking about? You quite literally gave me the best gift of all.”

“Did I? What did I give you?”

“You gave me safety.”

And with that, you give yourself a mental pat on the back, confident you made the right choice despite how foreign everything currently felt. The conversation dies down while you and Max ride on, driving further and further away from the Park and Ride you spent the night at, off Coast Highway, and onto the I-5 one last time.

Boarding the plane is a swift process. Your plane is a two-seater, so Max gets the window and you get the aisle. After receiving your snacks and drinks, you decide to play white noise and dissociate for the next five hours. It’s safe to do so, anyways. Liminal spaces were not something you took for granted.

Meanwhile, Max looks out the window, watching as the world she has come to know her whole life shrinks right before her eyes, before disappearing underneath a quilt of soft white cumulus clouds.

“This is 18.”

Goodbye, San Diego.

—————— ✈︎ ———————

Hello, Hawkins.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Robin incites, trudging through the miscellaneous projects that sit at her feet. “As if we weren’t DIY freaks enough, the pandemic really just amplified that.”

The pandemic was a hard time for everyone. You lost your fine dining gig and abruptly switched to UberEats to adjust to the flow of takeout. Billy couldn’t go to the gym, his happy place, and it took a toll on him mentally. Max broke quarantine multiple times to see Donovan, which didn’t sit well with your brother. He of course lashed out on her and also proclaimed that people like her were the reason why America hadn’t opened up yet.

“And I get no time at the gym!” Billy screamed. “So now I have to do this—”

You learned that a decent lamp costed $70 that night.

That wasn’t your first rodeo though. You and Billy grew up replacing furniture all the time. You two would gather up your money and spend it on replacing whatever needed replacing for Mom’s birthday. She always wanted to make your house feel like a home. Feel lived in. You and Billy thought you were heroes doing it, but it dawns on you now that you two were just babies.

“Oh!” Vicky interrupts. “Before we forget…”

You and Max watch her as she scrambles around, looking for something that she seemed ecstatic about.

“Happy birthday, Max!”

“No way, Kate Bush!” Max exclaims as she accepts the gift, an original Kate Bush vinyl record of her album Hounds of Love.

"Wow," you beam, rubbing your sister’s back. “Way to fuel her 80's hyperfixation, huh?"

“We found this at the thrift store,” Vicky boasted. “Knew we had to get it for ya.”

“It’s the real deal too," Robin adds. "Look, printed 1985.”

“It’s perfect,” Max gushes. “Can’t wait to play it on my Crosley.”

She thanks them both and hugs them before running back to the living room to get the rest of your belongings. You listen as she hums some of Kate Bush’s discography along the way.

You then observe Max as she unpacks her things one by one, slightly peppered with remnants of the California sand and the snobby fee it took to ship it all here via cargo. She then proceeds to sit on the new bed to check the springing quality, testing its bounce factor and comparing it to that of her old bed.

You let out a bittersweet sigh.

Suddenly you're eight years old, doing the same thing at the local motel Mom managed to snag a couple nights from when Dad trashed the house.

You turn to look in the mirror atop your new dresser.

Suddenly, you're Mom. Quite literally. You both have the same wavy blonde hair, scattered freckles across your nose that Billy used to call “stardust”, and the same tsunami blue eyes. It makes it no wonder why you and Dad never got along. You are Mom’s spitting image — and Billy is Dad’s.

Funny how life turns out.

You graze the crows feet at the outer corner of your eyes, realizing now how many years have silently passed you by, and then take note of the stress-defined scars in the form of eye baggage from all the sleepless nights that came as a souvenir.

You’ve put up with so much. For so long. The trauma is starting to manifest itself physically.

Robin snaps you back into present day. "So I was thinking we go to Applebee's for dinner, walk around Old Town, get you guys settled and unpacked when we return, Jenga at night, and then-"

She stops when she sees the horrified expression on your face.

“Hey…” the pitch in her comforting, raspy voice heightens. “What’s the matter?”

Your voice breaks. “It’s…” you manage. “It’s been a lot.”

Robin pats your back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Without looking, Robin snags a few tissues from a box laying around and gives them to you. You blot the tears away, careful not to mess up the makeup you had on with the intention to make you look less…dead.

“Sue didn’t even call and wish her happy birthday. Her own mother.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin repeats.

“Every day I watch Max store her trauma in the box... and just shove it into the corner where it gathers dust,” you continue. “If she doesn't unpack it..."

You didn’t even want to think of the collateral damage you and your brother caused her. A part of you wants to think Maxine has remained untouched from that side of you, but the dry blood on her outer brow was a reminder that it was far too late to shelter her from that.

"You see yourself in her."

"And my mom in myself,” you admit. “Now more than ever.”

You rub your eyes.

“I’m rambling, I know. It’s just… SO aggravating. Max deserves better.”

“She’s handling it really well.”

“We don’t know that. I know Max. She’s a pro at hiding her feelings.”

“She’s being strong for you, like you are for her. It’s very endearing, whether you both admit it to each other or not.”

She rubs your arm.

“For as long as Vicky and I are here, you and Maxine have a soft place to land. We are here for you. Y’all are safe.”

You two glance over at Max, who is now unpacking your Zen Basics Himalayan salt lamp. She sets it on top your new bedside table, a reupholstered one whose old wood was painted over by an earthy olive green, the old hardware replaced by eccentric shaped, neutral-toned knobs. Her Crosley sits on your floor, now playing a track off Kate Bush's vinyl while she stares out the window. Your new view for the foreseeable future.

Can't you see where memories are kept bright?

Tripping on the water like a laughing girl

Time in her eyes is spawning past life

One with the ocean and the woman unfurled

Holding all the love that waits for you here

Catch us now for I am your future

A kiss on the wind and we'll make the land.

Dinnertime comes fast, but you blame it on the time zone difference. You call shotgun and ride with Robin in the passenger seat, catching up with your best friend while Vicky and Max watch YouTube shorts in the backseat.

Robin gives you a backstory of everything you pass on the way to Applebees, from the schools to churches to family-owned gas stations. She and Vicky seem to know everyone by a first-name basis, naming random people off and knowing exactly who that is every so often. You try to stay engaged, but the only thing on your mind is where you’re going to apply for a job.

Robin drives into a plaza next.

"This used to be a mall, but now it's completely empty," Robin continues pointing to an empty building with remnants of a star symbol etched on it. "E-commerce really turned this strip into a ghost town."

"So basically, if I wanted a job, it would have to be any of these food places, an office of sorts, or an off-brand Blockbuster store?"

"Family Video is closing too," Vicky chimes in. "It's sad. But I guess Hawkins needs yet another overpriced coffee shop."

"You could always work at the gentlemen's club," Max jokes, pointing off to the side.

You turn to where she’s pointing and take note of the matte black rectangular building by the Sizzler’s. It didn’t seem out of place, but the silhouette of an exotic dancer with devil horns gave the sinister establishment away. You couldn’t read the name of the club, but a part of you tries to.

Robin slightly turns and nods in that direction. "Oh yeah. I heard the girls there make bank in tips."

“I made bank in La Jolla doing fine dining,” you point out. “Maybe I can do the same thing here. But at a similar establishment.”

“Fanciest restaurant you’ll get here is Benny’s,” Vicky says. “You’re gonna have to go to the city for fine dining. I don’t think the commute is worth.”

“Guess stripper is your best option,” Max nudges you.

You shoot a glare her way. “Very funny.”

"I know, I was joking," she scoffs. "Billy would kill you anyways."

Billy would literally go insane if you dared to work at a strip club. The slut-shaming would never end. Not that he never slut-shamed you anyway. There was always something for him to be misogynistic and hypocritical about.

Then it hits you. Billy isn't here. And you really need the money since in this day and age, $4,000 meant nothing. You peer over at the gentlemen's club one last time as it shrinks out of view the further Robin drives.

HELLFIRE.

-----------𓆩♡𓆪------------

Dungeons & Dragons.

Of course one of the very few strip clubs in Hawkins has to be the dorkiest.

But you understand the vision. Beyond the cobblestone entrance, the veil between real life and fantasy thins.

As you near the club with nothing but a purse and car keys in hand, you notice that there’s already security by the door. You’re surprised to see a leaner guy, tall and slender with soft blonde hair and a soft grin to match. He catches sight of you and greets you with a nod.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” you nod. You reach for your wallet and give him your ID. Typical screening process. “Yourself?”

“Not too shabby,” he replies.

He examines your ID card. You notice his surprise when his eyes slightly widen before retracting shortly after. You guess that he was wondering why you are here out of all places. You peer over at his name tag while he concludes his screening. Henry.

Upon verification of your identity, the friendly security guard returns your card to you.

“Let me give you a wrist band.”

He motions for you to hold an arm out. You extend your right arm to him and watch as he gracefully pulls a paper wristband out of his pocket, clasping it into place with the side that read “21+” facing upwards.

You take the time to admire the gentleness of this man. The softness of his face. His dreamy gaze.

“Any weapons on you?”

“Uh…” you stammer. “Just pepper spray?”

A laugh escapes from his nostrils. “That’s fine, my dear.”

“I hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. Under my watch, you won’t.”

Henry gently strokes your hand before motioning you inside.

“Enjoy the show.”

“Thanks,” you smile politely.

It’s a slow afternoon, but granted no one goes to a strip club at 2 PM. The Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club was comprehensively laced with playful innuendos. The accent wall by the entrance showcases an array of chains and handcuffs. Kukris, nun-chucks, and flails all of different variants and sizes are displayed on the walls, the point of balance being a vintage pulp print of a metal puppeteer. On the print, "OBEY YOUR MASTER" is written in edgy bubble letters.

Kinky.

And there’s a bonus of this themed club: the ladies are dressed in cloaks. You watch as beautiful women from all walks of life strut around the joint, leaving the clients with only their imagination to guess what’s underneath the tantalizing, medieval velvet.

There are LED signs that lit up corners of the space, indicating what they were for. KAS’ KORNER: GRAB A BITE, DRAGON'S BREATH: HOOKAH LOUNGE, and POTIONS — the bar.

You catch a glimpse of the private show rooms, or at least what you think are the private show rooms.

The LED sign to those rooms read, "I PUT A SPELL ON YOU AND NOW YOU'RE MINE."

The general seating area for the main event reads VECNA’S LAIR.

The Dungeon Master of this joint thought of every possible detail he could and ironed it into perfection.

Surely, someone who truly plays would adore every aspect of all the details, but it was evident that everyone came here for the same reason:

Girls, girls, girls.

You walk over to the bar to see two men conversing behind it.

One looked to be in his late 20s, with scruffy chestnut brown hair, some tired eyes, peach fuzz, and a patterned shirt decorated in a kaleidoscope of colors — a shirt meticulously calculated by quite possibly a girlfriend.

The other looked like he had another year left before being allowed to be behind that counter... of course judging by the “Hawkins High School class of 2021” on his insulated water bottle in his hand, a cracked iPhone in the other, and Beats with a small basketball sticker on it.

When you appear in their periphery, the conversation between the two gradually comes to a stop.

“Whoa,” the younger man hums. “New face. Welcome.”

“Hi. What do you recommend?”

“In terms of what?” the younger man questions slyly. There’s a timidness to the young man’s spirit, making his flirtatious demeanor somewhat dorky. The age appropriate bartender nudges him.

“Drinks, hotshot,” you refrain from chuckling. “Drinks.”

“Depends what you’re into,” the younger man replies, the slyness continuing. “If you’re into light liquors, Jonathan can make you a mean Cîroc with pineapple juice. But if you’re more into the dark stuff…”

He gestures up and down on himself.

“Then look no further.”

“That was very painful to listen to,” the older one who you assume is Jonathan cringes. “Can you get anymore corny?”

“Ta-ha!” the younger one tsks. “He said could I get any more corny. Can you get any more bitchless?”

“I have a girlfriend, Lucas.”

“Emphasis on the singular sense.”

“Nance is all I need.”

"Nancy is all you can pull," Lucas chuckles. "With that goofy ass shirt, man. Stop playing with me."

So you weren’t the only one who thought the shirt was absolutely ridiculous. It had "Bad Bitch Repellant" written all over it.

Jonathan whacks Lucas with the cloth that was sitting atop his shoulder. You request a double Tito’s straight on the rocks from Jonathan to which he automatically starts to make. Lucas continues to interrogate you.

“As you heard, my name is Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.” He extends his hands to you. “But my favorite ladies call me 'Dark Chocolate'. You can call me, 'The Man of Your Dreams' though.”

You take the youngster’s hand in yours and shake it. His heavy locker room cologne makes your nose swell, an uneven mix of what you believe is Axe and — is that Dior?

You tell Lucas your name then hit him with a, “But you can call me ‘When You’re Thirty’.”

Lucas laughs at your joke, beaming up at you as he does so. Then he nods to communicate a gracious fair enough. The flirting, you could sense, was in good nature, playful.

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs. “Do you have a younger sister by any chance?”

“Oh in your dreams, mister.”

Jonathan chuckles and rubs Lucas’s back.

"That’s enough man, can you go buss that table over there?"

Lucas gives a thumbs up before putting his Beats on and walking away. You divert your attention back to Jonathan who is now done with making your drink.

“Alright… I got a Tito’s double shot — straight — on the rocks,” Jonathan announces as he slides your vice on over. He studies you as you take the drink and request to keep the tab open. “I’m inclined to ask. Are you okay?”

When you’re not around Billy, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to trauma dump on a stranger. Especially one who asked.

“Pretty far from okay,” you answer before chugging it. “Can’t you tell? It’s 2PM and I’m consoling…” You slosh the drink around in your hand. “…my man Tito.”

“I see that.”

“It’s been a long day,” you continue. “It’s my second day in Hawkins so I thought I’d scope this place out. Dilly dally for a bit.”

“Second day?” Jonathan questions. “As in…ever?”

“Yeah, just moved here.”

The bartender looks around as if he’s missed something. “But…why?”

It’s a fair reaction. If the welcome sign is correct, Hawkins only has a population of 1,314 people. 1,316 now including you and Maxine.

“My friend lives here and convinced me to make the move,” is what you explain, though it only seems to make Jonathan more confused. “Couldn’t take the heat Cali was dishing out. Hawkins seemed like the perfect place to slow down.”

“Oh man,” Jonathan mutters. “California to here, what a change.”

“You lived here long?”

“Lived here my whole life,” he answers as a matter of factly.

“What made you get a job at Hellfire?”

Jonathan didn’t have to think. “I love booze.”

You laugh together, raising your half-empty class to clink his invisible one.

“I hate 9-5s,” Jonathan draws on. “Working from home ‘bout damn near drove me insane, don’t know how my mom does it with such ease. My boss here smokes me out on occasion and my friends make me nachos.” He smiles. “Can’t think of anything better.”

“There we go.”

"I’ve also just been looking out for women my whole life," he adds. "Bout time I get some financial compensation for it, no?"

“Amen to that,” You chug the last of your drink. “Thanks for your service.”

"Pleasure is mine. Anything else I can do for ya?"

You think. "Hm, probably not you, but maybe the hiring manager can do something for me."

"You're looking to work here?" he clarifies as you nod. "Oh sweet, you're going to wanna talk to Eddie. He's the owner."

"And a dweeb," says a significantly younger looking fellow as he slides into the conversation.

“Here we go.”

In front of you now is a gentleman around Lucas’s age with wild curly brown hair. You watch as he helps himself to a club soda, dunking three large wedges of lemon into his cup as well.

The guy offers you a playful, pearly white grin. “Eddie may own a nice club with some smokin' hot babes, but he's got no game whatsoever."

“Hey Dustin.”

“Sup, man.”

“You think so?" you challenge him.

"I know so,” the boy who you now know as Dustin insists. “Can't talk up a chick to save his life."

"Yeah," Jonathan says, half-jokingly. "He's the bitchless one."

Dustin glances between you both, slightly puzzled.

You shake your head. "No way."

"I wouldn't say he's that bad," Dustin says. "I actually think he's seeing someone casually. But in general, dude's got zero rizz."

"Projecting are we?" Jonathan nudges him.

“HELL. NO.” Dustin booms. You attempt to refrain from laughing. “My game is what got me the baddest gal at science camp. Eddie? Clumsy as hell, stutters on his words, he's got the anxiety level of someone who drinks cold brew on an empty stomach… Now that I say it out loud, I think he does drink cold brew on an empty stomach. Some chicks dig it though, which is good for him.”

Curly was fun to observe. Once he’s done talking down on the club owner, Dustin politely walks over and shakes your hand, bowing to you like you’re a princess of sorts. You later find it that like Lucas, Dustin works as a bus boy and server, and his girlfriend makes sure that he remains in Kas’ Korner at all times. Dustin has about two years left before legally being permitted behind the POTIONS bar, but that doesn’t stop him from using it as his own storage shed.

You watch as he grabs some deodorant and hair pomade from an old shoe box under the counter.

“Anyways, later,” Dustin holds up a peace sign, starting towards the door. “I'm not on today, I'm just hitting the gym with Steve."

“Later, man!” Jonathan calls after him.

“Deuces. Say hello to Dark Chocolate for me.”

Before he could get any further, the loud swinging of a door closeby causes him to halt in place.

“ALRIGHT!” a loud, gruff voice booms from that direction. “Which one of you shitheads forgot to take inventory on the 10th?!”

You can’t help but turn your body towards the ruckus. And to your own pleasant surprise, you don’t regret it. Emerging from the door comes the possible shift lead, a tall and broad man with medium length wavy brown hair, chocolate-colored, youthful doe eyes that contradicted the deep lines on his face, bleach white Chuck Taylor’s, ripped black jeans, and a Hellfire Club baseball tee with the logo smack-dab in the middle.

The man looked to be in his mid to late 20s, with an assertiveness in his stride. His lips, a perfectly formed bow with a smirk-like undertone. The cool rings that rest upon his fingers look icy as they sway at his side, shining in contrast to his dark clothing.

The man is too tunnel-visioned to see where he was going. But that doesn’t stop Dustin from looking absolutely mortified.

“The 10th and the 11th,” the man clarifies. “So for all we know, we might need new kegs and ground chili, which is one more thing I have to d-”

Finally he looks up, with you being the first thing he sees. Proximity taking him aback, he snaps out of his stress-induced trance and softens up at the sight of you. You meet his eyes, big and beautiful with long wispy lashes and you can’t help but mimic the flutter in your heart in the form of a smile.

“Whoa.” He says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Whoa, indeed.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s Eddie’s first day back, he tends to get a little in the zone,” Dustin explains.

Eddie.

Does that mean…

“Are you the hiring manager?”

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the man in front of you. He must be proud of himself, having such a successful business so early in the game.

Eddie gathers himself quickly.

“Dungeon Master, hiring manager, manager, owner, sanitations, re-stocker,” Mr. Jack-of-all-trades confirms. “I do it all.” He grimaces at Dustin. "Since you know, some people don't wanna work."

"You said I can have off!" Dustin exclaims defensively. "I worked for you before the weekend already and I wasn’t even on the 10th and 11th, fuck outta here."

All it takes is a scowl his way from the boss and Dustin is radio silent. The look on Eddie's face definitely said "Watch your tone". Eyes are all on you once more soon after.

Eddie’s gaze softens when he looks at you.

“Were you…looking to apply?”

“Yeah,” you reply sheepishly. “As a dancer. I’d like to perform here.”

“You don’t sound too confident.”

“Some guys like shy girls,” you shrug.

He laughs, a dark honey kind of laugh that just oozed from the back of his throat. “That they do.” His voice deepens drastically. Eddie studies you. “Any dancing experience?”

“Dancing, yes.”

“Stripping experience?”

“None.”

“Hm,” Eddie says. “What do you have experience in?”

“I danced for a bit…I have good core strength,” you explain vaguely. “And I’ve worked in the restaurant industry so I’d say customer service is my superpower.”

Eddie soaks in the information.

“I know how to talk to people,” you continue. “I know the right things to say. Favorite pass time is upselling drinks. And dessert…”

You wait for Eddie to take the low hanging fruit. He doesn’t.

"Any experience with the pole?”

Your cheeks grow hot. You decide to lie.

"No.”

“Kinda essential for this profession, sweetheart.”

"I know," you respond humbly. "I wouldn’t doubt it for a second..." you scan the room. “So uh, do I need a permit to perform here?”

“Nah, Hawkins is a lawless wasteland pretty much,” he sighs placing his hands on his hips. “And my club does things a little different anyways. The ladies also don’t pay to perform, we pay them to.”

Shit. Strippers pay to perform at venues?

“The dining experience is what brings the base revenue in,” Lucas explains, returning from wherever he had been. “The ladies are a luxury.”

“And should be treated as such,” Jonathan chimes in.

“I take it you don’t work at any other clubs?” Eddie questions judging by your wide eyes attempting to take in every bit of information that has been dumped on you. The man sees right through your mask.

“No, but I-”

“I personally like to give everyone a chance,” Eddie says. “So don’t worry babe, you’re good. Even though you don’t have any experience, your energy tells me that you have potential. Wanna show us what you can do?”

Your heart sinks. The handsome club owner called you babe. And you’re also being asked to perform with the little experience you have — in front of girls who had tons of experience.

“Here? Now?”

Eddie nods.

You weren’t prepared to dance today. But with your sister and the mountain of debt on your mind, you are willing to do anything. So you walk over to Jonathan and tell him what song you feel most comfortable performing to and stretch as he takes the time to find it. When all is said and done, you make your way to the icy pillar made of chrome steel that was calling for your attention.

You exhale deeply.

Back to the old stomping grounds. The last time you worked with a pole you were wearing Heeley’s and light up sneakers. Of course in place of the horny spectators there were playground supervisors, and the only “bars” there were monkey bars. Oh, and you were 8, not 28.

The slut-shaming still existed, though. One time a boy told you that you were acting like a ‘hoe’ for trying to do a trick upside down. To Billy’s retaliation though. Before you knew it, the same boy was being shoved down and dragged across the wood chips, acquiring a series of splinters along the way. Admin phoned home. You and Billy got spanked. But, of course, Billy had no regrets. While you both cooled off together, you remember him grazing your hand, telling you he’d beat that kid up “a gajillion times over”.

He kept that promise. Except as you two grew older, it was you he was doing it to. A gajillion times over.

You laugh at the bittersweet nostalgia.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” Eddie says.

You give Jonathan a thumbs up to play your song selection. Soon, Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club is filled with the catchy, seductive tune that is Layla by Eric Clapton.

You start with a small stroll around the pole. Then a dramatic dip to flaunt your bouncy golden locks. Soon, the women of Hellfire gather around with the men following soon after to watch you work your magic in Vecna’s crowded Lair.

If muscle memory is in your favor, they are in for a good show.

What will you do when you get lonely

No one waiting by your side?

You've been running, hiding much too long

You know it's just your foolish pride

Eddie claims a seat at a throne directly in front of the pole. He studies your technique, your movements, your facial expressions. You aren’t sure if reality is projecting onto you or if you’re dizzy from all the spinning, but you almost see a slight smile spread across the club owner’s face. It prompts you to keep going.

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

It’s a lot harder, your techniques and tricks. Most likely since you weigh more than 50 pounds now and had to exert more energy to keep yourself balanced an aligned. But nonetheless, you persist.

Tried to give you consolation

Your old man had let you down

Like a fool, I fell in love with you

You turned my whole world upside down

You buck your hips upward from you back arch to go into an upside down position. It earns you some hooting and cheering from the crowd.

“You better work, mamas!” a dancer cheers.

“I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT!”

“YOU GO GIRL!”

“YAAAS!”

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, I'm begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

Eddie watches intently, leaning backwards with his hands clasped forward. You feel his eyes burn through you, from the top of your head down to your toes. You feel as if he’s mentally scoring you like you’re at a competition, but the sisterhood that cheers you on makes you feel slightly less intimidated.

“SHE’S SO GOOD!” comes a high-pitched voice in the crowd. “I FREAKING LOVE HER!”

You turn to look at your own personal cheerleader, a bright-eyed cute little redhead with pigtails with an outfit that looks like an ode to Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time”. She has cherry hair ties that hold her two pigtails at the bottom.

You watch her clap and jump up and down, cheering you on with a beam in her eyes that made you feel like your souls have been friends for decades.

Motivated to attempt more risqué moves, you jump into the splits before kicking your legs around to end on your knees.

Clapping and whistling erupts from the lair. Once it dies down, Eddie stands up, offering you a delighted series of slow claps as he makes his way towards you.

"That was really good, Shy Girl. I like how you finished your set."

“Aw, thanks Eddie.”

He walks around you.

"Go like this?" Eddie does a stretching motion, lifting his hand up.

You imitate him and reach up.

"Okay, and... turn like this? Then pop your ass out a bit more."

The word rolled off the club owner's tongue like it was nothing. It was done in a way that was professional, a hint of respect in his tone with no sort of ulterior motive.

You swallow hard, attempting to internally tame the goosebumps on rising upon your skin. He’s just giving feedback, he’s just giving feedback. This is a professional line of work.

You do as he says as he circles around you, fingers grazing on the cool floor of the stage just inches away from your thighs. He taps them in thought.

"For a beginner you’re pretty damn good,” he says.

“Yeah?” you look up at him and smile.

“Yeah,” his voice deepens. “You’re a natural. All that shyness just went away.”

Well, it’s about to return, you think to yourself.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Not in this specific setting.”

There’s a slight shift in his eyes as his imagination wanders. The dimples at the side of his mouth concave slightly.

“I gotcha.”

Eddie clears his throat. “So uh, when can you start?”

Today is Wednesday. You have tomorrow, Friday, and the weekend to settle you and Max in and make any last minute stops. Then the appointment with the other loan officer and DMV appointment on Monday. Tuesday afternoons are dry — everywhere so that left the earliest you can start as

"Next Tuesday? In the evening?"

A soft snort escapes from the club owner’s nose.

"Driest night of the week," he comments, looking around his club.

He turns back to you.

"But a good time for orientation. Works for me, Shy Girl. Can I call you that?”

You smirk. “So I got the job?”

He nods.

“Then you can call me what you want,” you smile shaking his hand. “In this case I’m Shy Girl Hargrove.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles. He knows you’re flirting. Eddie accepts your hand and shakes it firmly.

“Eddie. Pleased to formally meet you. And welcome to Hellfire.”

You two exchange contact information for professional purposes before he leaves. You study Eddie as he sees himself out, planting a firm, teasing smack on Lucas’s stomach on his way and whispering something to Jonathan as well.

Your cheerleader from the crowd excitedly makes her way over.

“I know a dancer slash gymnast when I see one,” she chirps. “I’m Chrissy. Stage name is Cherry.”

You two shake hands and exchange further compliments with one another. Your heart swells when you realize you’re slowly starting to find community.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Others come and say hello, but you’ve tuned out all the faces because all you can think about is Eddie. His demeanor. The way he carries himself. His presence alone was something so intoxicating that it lingered around the place in his absence.

Your heart flutters.

“Oh, Hargrove!” Jonathan says. “Before you go I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about the drink.”

“Oh?” you respond. “No?”

“Eddie says it’s on the house.”

You smile and Jonathan returns the favor, making sure you see him when he voids your entire tab. As you wave bye to all your spectators, you release a grateful sigh. You felt very humbled about this new, yet unexpected beginning.

The happiness soon wears off when the events that just unfolded dawn on you. Suddenly, the flutter in your heart moves to your stomach, settling in a way that feels eerie. The unknown is pestering you again. Wrong, but oh so right and necessary.

You take in the area around you. You have a place to call home. You’re a stripper now. Your boss just bought your drink. You’re going to have money coming in. Oh, and YOU’RE A STRIPPER NOW.

Then it dawns on you. You need to go shopping.

[stergeon]

ACT 1: BREAKFAST.

As you make your way through the PALACE to the DINING HALL for BREAKFAST, you, HUBERT VON VESTRA, and your SORT-OF-BOYFRIEND, FERDINAND VON AEGIR, are both fully clothed and presentable. This is not unusual, but worth celebrating nonetheless. You would really prefer to WARP down to the DINING HALL. You would WARP everywhere if you could. WARPING is fast and WARPING is fun and WARPING is an excellent tool of SUBTERFUGE, as well as for surprising people, which is one of your favorite hobbies. But alas. FERDINAND gets warpsick, so you are stuck using your stupid, antiquated legs instead of your wonderful, wonderful MAGIC. It is not so bad, you suppose, as it affords you more time to hear FERDINAND prattle on about whatever it is he's talking about. HORSES, probably, or TEA. He so loves to go on about such things, and although his tastes are insipid and his interests inane, he does have a very nice voice.

At one point, FERDINAND finally stops talking about HORSES and informs you of the various tasks ahead of him in his own perfectly normal day:

(See the more legible version in your JOURNAL.)

He comments how amusing it is that you have the same number of tasks on your TO-DO LISTS for once. Unfortunately, despite your lighter-than-usual load, your schedule conflicts mean he will not be able to spend much of the day with you. You concentrate on humming very scornfully and deflecting very hard so that you do not look disappointed. Still, you will see him again during the PUBLIC AUDIENCE at 12 o'clock and, should you choose to take LUNCH after it, can share your midday meal with him as well. You will need to be mindful of your other TASKS to accomplish this, but you believe it will be feasible.

It has occurred to you that you have not said anything constructive for too long a period of time (beyond, of course, the odd "hm," well-placed "oh my," and the oft-appreciated lie, "that's rather interesting"). If you do not engage soon, you will lose the conversation, and you simply cannot abide such a thing.

#017 | << | <-|| | <- | -> | JOURNAL | HOW TO PLAY | ALL POSTS

[maurawrites]

Tanaya Beatty GIF pack [‘Crimes of the Future’]

In this here gif pack you’ll find 48 gifs of Tanaya in ‘Crimes of the Future’. All these gifs were made by me, so please don’t claim as your own. Do NOT put into other gif hunts.  If credit is given, you may use/edit them as sidebars, crackships, etc, just please ( @ ) me in your creations!

Made for @tasksweekly​​ tasks #15: INDIGENOUS PEOPLE OF THE AMERICAS, #291: MIXED INDIGENOUS AMERICAN AND ASIAN (Tanya is Da’naxda’xw and Himalayan, please respect this when using her!), and #017: SCIENCE FICTION

Trigger warnings for: nudity (which will not be under the cut but can be found in the download below), violence, blood, death (not hers)

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FIND MORE GIFS OF TANAYA HERE

DOWNLOAD CAN BE FOUND HERE OR IN SOURCE LINK

[gwiazdowe]

Do you guys want to read another bundle of headcanons about Pantora / Cirz's biological parents (I'm writing a second one-shot to focus on his sister and then cultural differences between her and Cirz bc i need more laypeople POV on jedi and clone war alwayssss :'))

014. Sometimes the word has a curious ability to spread like a poison. Like blood coloring the water, like spilled oil. In this way the neighbors of Rzam and Luciola soon all know the same news. The young couple had a son and now they don't. The child was there one morning and by noon, he was gone. In polite Pantoran society it is frowned upon to ask about the tragedy of a family. They have to speak up first. Thus no one brings up the fabricated rumors to the mother nor the pressing questions to the father. But rumors there are nonetheless, for this is the nature of people to fill in the blanks with fiction.

015. The Jedi Master who visited the young couple warned them about the reaction they may receive, and warned them about revealing the truth freely. Even the connection to a Jedi may put a risk on the family – he explained such in the eerily calm manner – yet it falls to the parents to decide what they wish to disclose. In the end, Rzam and Luciola decide, only the family gets to find out about the story on how a Jedi Master visited their home, and how he took their firstborn away into the broad galaxy. To the rest, Cirz only becomes known as the boy moved offworld for private matters. Heath issues perhaps, for the parents never speak of when he may return.

016. Rzam's friend, Penril, lives in the apartment a floor under Rzam, which means Rzam sees her daily going about the tasks of life. In the elevator Penril muses on the lack of the son, and the conversations that she had with Rzam in the past. — He is one of the gifted isn't he – she asks one time, fully believing Rzam this time. She admits Rzam's stories were always strange, making her wonder whether she made them up. Penril now knows Rzam didn't make them up after all. Rzam tells her then that she wishes she did.

017. This is your sign to get a divorce. Rzam's mother hasn’t forgotten what bothered her about Luciola, nor about the generations long dispute about wealth. He let your son go with the monks, Rzam’s mother cries, who does such a thing, what parent, what father. —  No matter the amount of times Rzam explains to her that it was a decision that was made together (Rzam too, decided to let her child go, she let her child go, she let a stranger take him towards a future she may never know. Did she make a mistake? Does it make her a bad person? A bad mother? She still worries every night as she falls asleep.) Such explanations don’t seem to convince her family. In their eyes, they have been robbed. And it hurts, oh, how it hurts.

018. If explaining the situation during a family gathering was hard, then checking up with the legal systems is much worse, for as it turns out there is no procedure for when your child is a mind power wielding prodigy who gets spirited away to the Core Worlds for a lifetime, or as it turns out a week later, there exists a procedure, but it was out of use for so long that someone forgot to include it in the new documentation index. The last registration of a Jedi learner, according to the clerk on the other side of the comlink, happened some two hundred years ago, standard time. Rzam is not sure what she expected, but a wave of loneliness overtakes her upon hearing the numbers. She realizes there may not even be a single other person on the planet who shares her experience.

019. Cirzpibog Shio-Imiela, born 971 PRR, now permanent resident of Coruscant – Corusca subsector in The Core Worlds, and Pantora – Sujimis sector in The Outer Rim, receives an updated small note in his documentation. Henceforth his legal guardians become The Jedi Masters of the Jedi Order on Coruscant, with the encrypted signature of both of the parents and one from the Grandmaster Of The Order appearing in the file several days later, the child’s enrollment in The Temple is complete.

020. Weeks come and go before life truly seems to go back to how it was, but then again, it won’t ever be the same. Luciola’s troubled thoughts remain unspoken, he promises to himself not to bring up Cirzpibog into the conversation unless Rzam does it first. That seems to gradually make things better for them. There is less time spent lingering on the subject of the child, and more planning about what to do next. These plans only briefly encompass divorce or moving out of the city like Rzam’s parents want, which makes Luciola relieved.

 021. Weeks come and go, and in Luciola’s workshop the amount of ceramic statuettes personifying the deity of time (or unions, or luck, or work, or money, or fate, depending which city you ask in) increases to the point he runs out of space. This all begins one evening as he is cleaning his work space and finds a box of broken cups along with pieces of a statuette Cirz broke. Now he is certain it was something to do with the Force, though at that time he didn’t know what it meant. Luciola spends the rest of that evening putting the statuette back together with golden glue, and the next evening, and the next creating stylish idols adorned in Pantoran Gold. In his defense, Luciola says, every artist is a slave to his inspiration.

022. The folklore of Pantora has certain outside enthusiasts, mainly scholars within specialized fields such as history and culture sciences who are predicting the local beliefs will disappear in the next four centuries. This means Luciola only has luck selling the statuettes on Pantoran market and it means he struggles to rid the house of the excessive idols. He never cared to have a shrine in the apartment or anything like it, he frankly thinks it is an outdated, dust-gathering decoration, but as one part of his work space becomes overtaken by the statuettes, he resigns to treating them with respect the tradition requires. In the morning before starting his work he pours fresh water into one of his cups, “offering nourishment” to “his guests” then the process repeats in the evening, for other things are believed to come into one’s house at day and at night. Even though nobody ever drinks this water Luciola can’t help himself from checking from time to time. His grandfather would laugh. 

023. Rzam absolutely hates these statues, especially the fact they are placed on her eye level. She quietly rearranges the display one day, and caught in the act she is hurriedly shooed out of the room. At this point, Rzam decides her husband is becoming sick from inhaling ceramic glue. She books them a three day trip to a Mid Rim resort on a planet with a sea that is warm as a soup. The change of environment seems to help.

024.What if this happens again? Wonders Luciola, he always wonders, every day for ten months. What would they do if another offspring of theirs is not normal? Luciola doesn’t think he can survive that again. But Rzam, as strange as it may seem, says it is different, although when Luciola asks her, she is not sure how to make it sound rational in any way. The feeling is a different one, and right now she feels so certain that her child will stay on Pantora, will grow up healthily, will follow family trade. It may as well be an entire future stretching out in her mind each time she thinks about it. And if it isn't she will make sure it will be.

025. In the evening the freezing lakes of Pantora crack singing a low peaceful song. In the morning Lyr Shio-Imiela is born during the first melting of the snows. Spring.

[salmontheking]

Flying wing

The B-017 Bioran low-observable strategic bomber. Notoriously unstable, it is known for having never been succesfully shot down but having crashed multiple times due to poor weather and bad luck, and requiring four pilots flying in shifts to complete its ridiculous missions. Despite pilots cursing the nerve-wracking flight performance, the top brass of World Liberation Airforce find it a fair price for the ability to encircle the world thrice in one flight and threaten the existence of every state along the way.

Aside from a country's worth of nukes, hypersonic cruise missiles, precision bunker-busters, treaty-lawyering cluster munitions and whatever else the task requires; it also carries a small kitchen and some remarkably soft seats.

The name Biorân (Sib.: Бёра̄н [bʲoɾäꜜn]), Sibirigo for cliffside, continues the tradition of naming bombers after mountains, since a cliff is the closest thing to a flat mountain. Also note the outdated orthography in the picture.

[theautisticdoctor]

Entry #017

Planning and organisation

Living with autism can bring unique when it comes to planning and organization. For many on the ASD spectrum the structure is not just there to help, it's rather essential to us being able to function. Planning and organizing for me seems like it comes as a second nature to others, but for me it can be a true monster task. Not surprisingly, our brains process information differently, and this can make executive functioning, which is our ability to manage time, tasks, and decision-making, particularly tricky.

It is so difficult due to multiple factors, for example I suffer from sensory overload, executive dysfunction, hyper-attention to detail, memory issues and rigidity. Sensory overload makes it very difficult for me to focus on tasks when the environment is overwhelming, this can be the internal or the external environment. I need certain conditions to be able to focus or I will have trouble focusing or will be extremely quickly exhausted. Having hyperattention to detail can be a strength, it can also mean getting caught up in minor details and losing sight of the bigger picture. I can get caught up for hours fixing the borders of a document to one pixel, making it look perfect. Even though I get told that others won’t even notice it, I do, and it will get all my attention and give me anxiety if I don’t fix it. Keeping track of multiple tasks and deadlines can be difficult, I can think and ruminate about a certain task, but completely forget about another one. Even though I have nothing wrong with my memory, it’s partly because of the hyperattention to detail and knowing what is important and what is not. Knowing what is important and what isn’t, is part of the executive dysfunction.

Executive dysfunction is also managing time and tasks / goals, initiating and persevering tasks, flexibility in planning and multitasking. I have huge problems with time management, I honestly cannot estimate how long a task might take, because they most of the time are overestimated and on some tasks they are completely underestimated. Prioritising plans is also not my strong suit, I am keen to do the least important tasks first. Plus I am quite bad at initiating tasks and when I’m overwhelmed I have zero perseverance. Adjusting plans when something unexpected happens can throw me completely off, on a bad day it can throw me right into a breakdown.

I have developed certain strategies to manage my planning and organisation dysfunction. I’m not going to advertise that it fixes everything, because it’s always a work in progress kind of process and it’s different for everybody. But it all starts with self compassion, beating myself up for something my brain is just not wired to do isn’t going to help anyone. It’s okay if you are no planning guru. It’s okay if you can’t stick to your plan for a full week. Perfection isn't the goal here, you can’t live a perfect life and life is beautiful because of its imperfections. Celebrate the small successes. Because it’s amazing you pulled those small successes off. Applications are not my thing, I get overwhelmed by notifications and will be completely blindsided, they just don’t work for me. Maybe they do for you, then that’s great, but if you don’t see any progress or improvement after app #5, you can say it’s not for me and that’s okay. New apps that advertise with “get our premium subscription because we..”, I’d advise don’t and safe yourself from the disappointment. For me visual aids are a game-changer. Things like a whiteboard planner, wall-calendars, and bureau to-do lists can provide a visual representation of what needs to be done and when. They stay in your visual periphery and you will be reminded of it every time you walk by. Extra tools like color-coded schedules and charts can break tasks down tasks into smaller, more digestible pieces. Because breaking tasks into smaller steps can make them feel more achievable. Instead of writing "Clean the house," try breaking it down into "Vacuum the living room," "Dust the shelves," etc. This not only makes tasks seem less overwhelming but also gives a sense of accomplishment as each step is completed. Be aware that you don’t break them up too small, because then you might get overwhelmed by the task again. Also, you’re allowed to change your planning after you’ve started it, it’s not a fixed schedule.

Additionally, it could help to figure out what your natural routine is, because having a consistent routine can reduce anxiety and create a sense of order. Establishing daily habits can make the process of planning and organizing less daunting, reduce the cognitive load of decision-making and free up mental space for other tasks. Although, again, don’t put too much pressure on yourself here, it’s okay if you deviate from your routine. I’m also using timers to allocate specific periods for tasks can help with time management and help me remember specific tasks. It’s just a simple alarm that I also use to wake up, like a little nudge to remind me to cook dinner or start my bedtime routine. I also use The Pomodoro Technique, which involves working for a set period. Most of the time I use the formula 25 minutes work + 5 min rest and for each additional 5 minutes I take a minute longer rest and then taking a short break, this boosts my productivity. After four cycles I take a half hour break, or when I deviated from the 25 + 5 rest, I take the total work + rest as a break (so after four cycles of 35 + 7, I get 42 min rest).

Another thing that is really helpful, but I’m extremely bad at asking for is the support of others. It could be in the form of creating accountability, body doubling, literally helping with the task at hand, helping with creating order or helping with creating a planning. Figure out what your needs are, how you can find support from others, from who and dare to ask for help, support or advice. Most people are willing to help you. Also, connecting with others who understand can be incredibly supportive. Whether it's through support groups, online forums, or friends and family, sharing experiences and tips can provide both practical advice and emotional encouragement.

Remember, it's about finding what works best for you and taking it one step at a time. Everyone’s journey is different. What works for one person might not work for another, and that's okay. Patience and understanding, both from ourselves and those around us, are vital. It's important to celebrate the small victories and all progress, no matter how minor they may seem.

[lgcxjasper]

♛ - q2 plot call & tracker ❕

hi hi, it's bb, mun of jasper and mimi (@lgcxmimi) so excited for this new quarter! so many things to do, so little time. i'd love to write with all of you, whether it's angst, fun, or trainee related. as usual, if you want to chat for plotting, headcanons, or just to make a friend(me!), feel free to hit me up on discord(dm), twitter, or tumblr chats!

like emi, i'll be dropping very old threads, but will be keeping some. if you want to keep our thread just let me know!

profile. plots.

for jasper, nothing much has changed, except his clothing sizes. thanks to the gym he's grown quite a bit(think hot sauce era), and he's eating quite a bit more, haha. he's also platinum now in the strands, so he looks a bit different and he's got an undercut. his singing, modeling, and dancing skills have all improved quite a bit. he also auditioned for new kid, new dreams(got it, sort of- yay!) and also has an amazing workshop opportunity. as far as his personal life... well he keeps his cards close to his chest.

tracker and plot call under the cut! i'll be updating with non-event threads soon so be on the lookout. if you'd like to plot something new or anything, just like and i'll pop into your dms!

WORKSHOP OPPORTUNITY 002(due july 6th) (with mentor @lgchyejoo & @lgchxneul) PROMPT #1: w/ @lgchxneul [ x ] PROMPT #2: w/ lgchyejoo [ x ] PROMPT #3: #3 ( 0% complete ) @lgchyejoo - in progress NEW KIDS NEW DREAMS 002(due july 6th) (w/ the NKND crew!) INTERVIEWER for @lgchxneul [ x ] INTERVIEWED by @lgcminki [ x ] thread w/ @lgcbk open for threads TRAINEE MISSION 017 not eligible MONTHLY TASKS april sns april activity may sns may activity june sns june activity OTHER EVENT THREADS featured on- what a childish cheory! w/ @cherrylgc [ x ] NON-EVENT THREADS/PLOT DEVELOPMENT flew the nest w/ @lgcxmax [ x ] waiting for tonight w/ @lgchyuk [ x ] set fire to the rain w/ @lgcmilan [ x ] i have a famous parent w/ @lgcsori [ x ] gym time w/ @lgcjinyoung [ x ] OPEN FOR THREADS

[lgcxmimi]

❥ - q2 plot call and tracker ❕

another quarter, another plot call. it's bb, aka jasper( @lgcxjasper) and mimi's mun, back at it again. can't wait to see what this new semester has in store! for mimi, her pages have been updated, with plots still open. as far as threads go, i'll be dropping most older ones, but feel free to hit me up so we can have new ones and/or see how things have progressed!

profile. plots.

for a little update, emi is still living her best life and having a ball. she had an amazing time as a guest for lgc girls japan, which she's forever grateful for. unfortunately, a few people she was close to have left, so she's a bit sad about that but, she'll prevail like always. now, she's working on honing her craft, including have a workshop to be a triple threat and trainee mission 017.

i'd love to also cultivate some deeper plots and connections for her, so if you'd like to plot for event or nonevent, leave a like and i'll slide in those dms. alternatively, if you just want a random starter, leave a color reply to this post, and i'll write you a little starter!

tracker under the cut!

WORKSHOP OPPORTUNITY 002(due july 6th) PROMPT #1: solo eval ( 0% complete ) PROMPT #2: w/ @lgcmax [ x ] PROMPT #3: solo #5 ( 0% complete ) OTHER: w/ @lgcbk [ x ] TRAINEE MISSION 017(due july 6th) PREP THREAD- w/ @lgczoe [ x ] PERFORMANCE- solo( 0% complete ) REVIEW- solo ( 0% complete ) BONUS THREAD(someone I've not written with before!): @lgcmaylin -- preplotting @lgcsehun -- preplotting MONTHLY TASKS april sns april activity may sns may activity june sns june activity NON-EVENT THREADS/PLOT DEVELOPMENT long time no see w/ @lgcseojin [ x ] the stars above w/ @cherrylgc [ x ] curiosity killed the cat w/ @rowonlgc [ x ] another time w/ @lgcparker [ x ] glowing w/ @seyoonlgc [ x ] round of applause w/ @shxlgc [ x ]