#task 001 –– inside & out

[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.

[spicyspiders]

Can I please request jealous making out/smut with 001? Like another/a new orderly makes subtle advances towards Peter’s secret bf (standing close to them, trying to touch their hands, getting paired up with them for tasks, leaning close and whispering) and bf is just trying to be polite and not get in trouble (if Brenner thought they were ‘getting close’ to another orderly it would be bad) but is kinda uncomfortable. Peter is just fuming about it tho, pulls bf into a closet or boiler room for passionate steamy time while bf is like ‘thank god’ cuz he was worried he’d be angry at him/missed him cuz usually they’re the ones doing those things together. Afterwards Peter makes it clear to the orderly to leave his bf alone or he’d get him in trouble with Brenner or something. Thank you!

I think this is a little different from what you asked, but I hope you still enjoy!

Hawkins wasn’t normal. It might look that way from the outside, but what the inside of the walls actually held was definitely not normal. There were little moments that made working there feel normal, like when a new orderly would start working at Hawkins.

It took a lot of effort to take your attention away from Peter or the patients when you were assigned to them, but this new orderly definitely did. They began soon after the new orderly started. 

Being in close quarters with the people you saw while you were on the clock wasn’t something that really bothering you that much, it’s the way the orderly would combine that with accidental touches that very quickly didn’t feel accidental. 

“Good morning,” the orderly whispered in your ear after walking up close to you. His voice made you shiver, but not in the way Peter’s did when he would greet you in the morning and his voice still held hints of roughness that it did after he woke. 

“Morning,” you greeted, just trying to be nice. You hoped he wouldn’t try and keep a conversation going, Dr. Brenner didn’t like that. If the conversation wasn’t work related, he didn’t want to hear it at all. 

“How are you?” 

You glanced over at the man, at least he wasn’t taking his eyes off the patients he was monitoring while he was trying to talk to you. “Fine,” you gritted out, looking back over at the kids. The Rainbow Room was one of the most calm rooms in the facility, but it still annoyed you that the man was trying to speak to you in here while you both worked.

From behind you, the door opened, and you soon heard the sound of several sets of feet entering the room. As a few of the kids entered from behind you, a few of them left, likely going to have their daily tests run. You could see from your peripheral as the orderly that brought the kids to the room stepped up beside you.

It was Peter. Usually, his very presence was enough to calm you down, but the idea of being in the same space as this new orderly and Peter made you nervous. You weren’t really sure who you were nervous for, but you were. There weren’t many secrets that could be kept in the walls at Hawkins, they would always be found out, so when you and Peter had begun secretly dating, Dr. Brenner agreed to letting you both stay together if it meant he could keep his first experiment happy. You never pushed it though, so you always kept your relationship a secret from the others (if they didn’t already know like Dr. Brenner).

If anything was going to happen, you didn’t want to be in the middle of it. Literally. Peter was on one side, the new orderly on the other, and the tension between the three of you felt uncomfortably tense. 

Luckily, your watch decided then to act as the knife that cut and broke the tension, “time for my break,” you said when you heard your watch beep. You didn’t look at the two men that surrounded you, only turned to rush out of the room. 

You then learned that Peter followed you out of the room. You jumped when he grabbed you, but when you realized it was him, a small part of you relaxed. “What’re you-” you tried to ask, but Peter wordlessly pulled you down the hallway to a cramped utility closet. 

Peter flicked on a light and you were met with his angry face. You tried to open your mouth to question him, but he swooped down to claim your lips in a rough kiss. Peter had never kissed you like this, and the surprise of it made you gasp, and soon Peter’s tongue had pushed its way into your mouth. 

“Mine,” Peter’s voice was a rough growl. 

“Yours,” you gasped out. If Peter was trying to get you caught, him ducking down to place hot kisses on your neck likely would. You had to quickly cover your mouth to try and muffle your moan as a place a particulalry harsh bite into the delicate column of your neck. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Peter said after he finished sucking a bruise into your neck. 

“Peter,” you whined, “we need to stop,” you gasped into the space between your bodies when Peter pressed his hips foward. 

Peter let out a dark chuckle, “liar,” he whispered into your ear and grinded forward again. He was right, you didn’t want to leave, but you did need to stop, you didn’t want to walk to the break room with a boner. 

You had to put two hands on his shoulders and press him back to finally get him off. Peter let out a loud whine that filled up the space of the small closet. The noise almost made you want to get right back into what you were just doing seconds ago. 

You had to reach down to adjust yourself in your pants, Peter watching you the whole time. “I’ll see you later,” you pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, trying to kiss his pout away. “Please don’t kill him,” you whispered. 

“Only for you,” Peter said back, he placed a hand around one side of your neck, the side the bruise he made on. His fingers pressed into the bruise, making you flinch and knock his hand away. You left quickly after that, trying to calm your heart as you walked to the break room. 

-

“Why’re you making that face?” You asked when you saw Peter later that day in your bedroom. 

Peter stepped up to you slowly, a smug smile on his face. He placed two hands on your hips, his fingers felt warm, even through the ugly white outfits all the orderlies were required to wear. “He won’t bother you anymore.”

“What’d you do?” You were still suspicious, but a small grin now lined your lips. 

“Just know he won’t be bothering you anymore,” you were still wary of what Peter had done, but gave in when his lips pressed to yours.

[discar]

HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 40 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

SilverVixen: I assure you, I am almost ready.

FlameHairSavior: Almost as in minutes, hours, or days?

SilverVixen: Days.

FlameHairSavior: Fine.

Icarus: MY part is ready. And if we had gone with my plan, we would be done by now.

ADMIN [Zo]: Please stop bringing that up.

Icarus: Just because you are too immature to accept necessary sacrifices does not change the truth.

ADMIN [Zo]: This isn't even about your actual plan any more, you're just being annoying.

HIMBO: YEAH, WHO'S IMMATURE NOW?

FlameHairSavior: Still you, Erend.

DIVINER: Aloy, what are you doing right now? I thought you had more things to do?

FlameHairSavior: I'm almost done exploring a Cauldron. I didn't want to start something else again if we're ready to go.

ADMIN [Zo]: Which Cauldron?

FlameHairSavior: Iota.

ADMIN [Zo]: I don't have that on my map.

[FlameHairSavior] has sent a [MAP LINK] to ADMIN [Zo]

ADMIN [Zo]: Thank you.

FlameHairSavior: It was tricky to get in. The main entrance didn't have anything I could override. Had to find a crevice entrance.

DIVINER: Why wouldn't it have an override??

HIMBO: YOU KNOW, NOW THAT I THINK OF IT, WHY DO ANY OF THEM HAVE OVERRIDES? GAIA NEVER INTENDED THESE THINGS TO BE USED BY HUMANS.

DIVINER: ...huh. You know, that's actually a good point!

HIMBO: WHAT DO YOU MEAN ACTUALLY?

Icarus: It's an insult.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Do you have anything productive to contribute at this point, or are you just going to continue sniping at everyone?

Icarus: Unlike some of you, I can multi-task.

SilverVixen: I notice that Alva isn't denying it being an insult.

DIVINER: I'm not what?

DIVINER: But anyway, I'm still curious about Erend's question! I wish GAIA was still here!

ADMIN [Zo]: Actually, I did speak to her about this a little.

MARSHAL Kotallo: I don't recall seeing anything like that in the chat.

ADMIN [Zo]: It was in person, not in the chat.

ADMIN [Zo]: Anyway, the Cauldrons are at least generally human-traversible and human-safe due to the fact that humans have wandered inside before. GAIA also anticipated the possibility of humans needing to come in to help with maintenance one day, or perhaps to shut down a malfunctioning Cauldron.

DIVINER: Which I guess is basically what's happening!

ADMIN [Zo]: Exactly. She also said something about the "barest minimum of oasha's safety protocols," whatever that meant.

SilverVixen: Do you mean OSHA?

ADMIN [Zo]: Possibly. This was an actual conversation, not a text, I don't know how to spell it.

SilverVixen: OSHA was the American safety regulation and administration board. They made sure factories were as safe as possible. Warning signs around dangerous machinery, clear lanes of passage, and plenty of safety railings. That sort of thing.

FlameHairSavior: Well, the Cauldrons got the clear lanes of passage right, but they forgot about everything else. This one is damaged from an earthquake or something, but none of the others have been much better.

SilverVixen: I have never actually read OSHA regulations, so I don't know which parts GAIA would be able to ignore or circumvent.

HIMBO: REALLY? I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT YOU'D LOVE READING A BUNCH OF DRY REGULATIONS. ISN'T THAT WHAT YOU DO ALL DAY?

SilverVixen: What do you think I do for fun?

HIMBO: YOU STARE AT REALLY OLD PAINTINGS AND RAMBLE ABOUT THEIR HISTORY WHILE DRINKING WINE.

SilverVixen: ...

SilverVixen: I scanned you when I first entered the Base.

HIMBO: OKAY?

SilverVixen: Judging by your current alcohol consumption, I can tell the exact day your liver is going to give out.

SilverVixen: But I'm not going to tell you.

HIMBO: THAT'S JUST PLAIN UNNECESSARY ALL AROUND.

FlameHairSavior: ANYWAY, Zo, did GAIA say why the Cauldrons have override points for humans?

ADMIN [Zo]: Hm? Oh, that's simple: She didn't. The overrides were intended as emergency access for her own machines, if a Cauldron was cut off from the network or otherwise failing to listen to commands. GAIA could directly control a machine designed for maintenance and have it open the way.

HIMBO: YEAH, THAT MAKES SENSE. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES I'VE SEEN A TINKER MAKE SOME GUN THAT SHOOTS LIGHTNING OR WHATEVER, BUT THEN IT OVERHEATS AFTER THE FIRST SHOT AND THEY CAN'T EVEN GET THE CASE OPEN TO FIX IT.

FlameHairSavior: Huh, Tallneck.

DIVINER: What does that have to do with anything??

FlameHairSavior: Sorry, still in the Cauldron. Looks like it was building a Tallneck and got interrupted by an earthquake. You don't see these being made a lot.

ADMIN [Zo]: Looking at the map, that explains why there isn't one in the area.

FlameHairSavior: Uh oh.

ADMIN [Zo]: What is it?

FlameHairSavior: Rollerback.

SilverVixen: I have not heard of that one.

MARSHAL Kotallo: It is a machine based on a pangolin.

SilverVixen: You know what pangolins are? I don't know if they were part of the basic terraforming package, but they shouldn't be native to this region.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Sylens directed me towards some nature documentaries.

HIMBO: REALLY?

Icarus: I'm rarely interested in them myself, but they can be quite fascinating.

DIVINER: Um, should we really be bothering Aloy while she's fighting a rolling death machine??

FlameHairSavior: It's fine, I killed it.

SilverVixen: Rolling death machine? Pangolins are tiny.

FlameHairSavior: Well, rollerbacks are huge.

FlameHairSavior: I just have to finish up this Cauldron. One or two more overrides should do it.

HIMBO: YOU KNOW, THAT THING ABOUT THE OVERRIDES EXPLAINS WHY ALOY DOESN'T GAIN FULL CONTROL OF THE CAULDRON AND CAN'T JUST HAVE IT SEND OUT AN ARMY UNDER HER COMMAND.

ADMIN [Zo]: Correct. It's a maintenance function, not enslaving the entire Cauldron.

HIMBO: TOO BAD.

Icarus: I will admit I was hoping for a personal Cauldron the first time I used an override on one. Many of my plans would have been much simpler.

MARSHAL Kotallo: I am curious, would you have ignored Regalla and the Tenakth entirely, or would you have given Regalla more weapons?

Icarus: It would have depended on several factors. I almost certainly would have needed human support somewhere along the way.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Of course. I should have known.

DIVINER: Aloy! Not that I'm trying to change the subject or anything, but are you out of the Cauldron yet?

FlameHairSavior: Uh, no. Things got weird. It's broken, remember?

ADMIN [Zo]: If you're texting while fighting again...

FlameHairSavior: No, no, the normal exit was blocked so I have to go under the Cauldron and follow a weird path. Bunch of moving parts and things.

FlameHairSavior: And now I'm above the chamber. Guess I have to fix it.

SilverVixen: Do you really believe you can fix a broken factory made by an ancient AI, which hasn't been able to solve the problem in however many years it has been since the earthquake?

HIMBO: NAH, SHE DOES THIS SORT OF THING ALL THE TIME.

MARSHAL Kotallo: In the Grove, she literally brought the lost Visions back to life.

Icarus: I watched her fight a state-of-the-art war machine and come out on top. Note that this was after she fought through about a dozen of those war machines that were already heavily damaged by wear and time.

DIVINER: She's a saint in at least two religions!

ADMIN [Zo]: Maybe three.

DIVINER: Oh? The Utaru are that grateful for what she did with the land-gods?

ADMIN [Zo]: There's been some discussion.

SilverVixen: What exactly do you expect her to do?

FlameHairSavior: Maybe they expect me to ride the Tallneck head along the conveyer belt, shooting hostile machines that try to stop me, let the head reattach, detach a construction arm, and then ride the completed Tallneck up the elevator and into open air?

SilverVixen: ...

SilverVixen: Please tell me you recorded all of that.

DIVINER: I'm already making a compilation video!

Chapter 40 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

[galaxirin]

001 for holyvicar for you too mhm~

Link to questions

001 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

When I started shipping it if I did:

I started shipping it when I started reading fics of it on AO3. It was legit the first fic I saw so I decided “why not” and went in blind… yeah I got a religious experience there. (Thank you subzero for petal veined devourer.)

My thoughts:

The perfect tragic couple. Meant to be but wrong place, wrong time, and fated to be separated no matter what they do. It’s so poetic that it hurts and it makes me want to scream and cry for days. I even made a Playlist and I’m listening to it right now for the ✨vibes✨

What makes me happy about them:

The prospect of them finding happiness even through the suffering around them. The little things that make them appreciate life to the fullest 🥹 and even through the suffering they give each other they still yearn for each other’s affections… ough….

What makes me sad about them:

That the moment they met, they were fated to die alone and in the peak of beasthood. No matter what they did to try and change things their fate will forever stay the same. One will die in the hands of the other and the one left alone will be taken over by grief and guilt to the point of madness. It’s so good… but it makes me want to cry sometimes.

Things done in fanfic that annoys me:

When they make Laurence the “uwu be gentle 🥺🥺” twink bottoms. That is a grown man. I really don’t like the heterosexualisation of the ship. And also making Ludwig this super macho extreme top “I will protect you” character. Make him shy!!! Awkward!!! A gentle giant!!! And how some fics are repetitive??? Especially when it comes to the more mature fics

Things I look for in fanfic:

Character analyzations. Top Laurence. And also them actually bonding over normal tasks such as having tea, walking through a park, etc. I just love love dialogue heavy fics for holyvicar. Especially if it’s through the perspective of Laurence, there needs to be more fics in his perspective since he’s such a complicated and 3 dimensional character that it needs to be in his perspective to get his entire character.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

Laurence it’s definitely Gehrman! Moon divorce is up there with my ships and their canon interactions feed me for weeks on end.

Ludwig maybe Simon!! The tragedy of the whole ship is what keeps me going. Also bc I Read fics on It and they’re so so good.

My happily ever after for them:

Farm arc farm arc. Ludwig raising the horses and other animals in the farm, helping with the more taxing chores while Laurence teaches children and helps him sometimes… really just them growing old together and their 19372872 horse children…

Who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Laurence is the big spoon. He wants to hug Ludwig like a koala. But when they started this Ludwig was so shy he couldn’t sleep and ended up being sleep deprived out of his embarrassment for being the little spoon lol

What is their favourite activity:

Tea time while talking about whatever topic that interests them in a pleasant afternoon,,, maybe laughing about an inside joke and teasing the other for their specific tastes in snacks. Like Laurence liking more neutral snacks like bread and sandwiches while Ludwig is an extreme sweet tooth (13 sugar cubes in his tea) and loves cakes.

[brutclhonesty]

HILLZHQ TASK 001.

well i hope you're proud of your big decision. i hope it's all that you want and more. now you're free from the agonizing life you were living before.

father: charles meyers mother: rachel franklin step-mother: lucy murray-meyers

her parents were two kids from crappy homes who found love and freedom in each other. they ran away together when they were sixteen, but then found out they were expecting a baby. while avett’s father wanted to become a big name in the music industry, he was forced to take whatever jobs he could find, leaving his girlfriend home with their newborn daughter.

after a few years of scraping and saving, it seemed like charles was going to make it big, & he began to be home even less, auditioning and playing gigs around the city when he wasn’t working. rachel had once dreamed of becoming an actress, but those dreams were lost in the reality of caring for avett, although the young woman began to resent her significant other for prioritizing his dreams over hers.

it wasn’t until avett was seven years old that her mother vanished one morning, taking everything except her guitar and a note apologizing to her daughter. from then on, it was just charles & avett, and the man very quickly realized he barely knew his own kid.

instead of taking that opportunity to get to know the bright, beautiful daughter he had, he hired a nanny and threw himself into work; rationalizing that he was doing it to provide for her, when in reality, all avett wanted was her father after losing her mother.

when avett became a teenager, it was clear her father never had any intention of being an involved, loving parent, and he enrolled her in a performing arts high school in new york. with a whole country between them, they grew further apart, until avett was only coming home for summers. christmas’ were spent at rockefeller center and seeing off-broadway shows, exchanging gifts with her friends and ignoring the ache inside of her when they left to see their families.

imagine her surprise when she returned home one summer to find her father had remarried- to a woman who was only a few years older than she was. as if that wasn’t a shock to the poor teenager, her new step mother was expecting a baby. avett decided then and there that when she graduated, she was moving to los angeles to become an actress and wanted nothing to do with her father’s do-over family.

[manikax]

TASK 001: HOME

✳  🎀  𝑀𝒶𝒿𝒶'𝓈 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉  🎀  ✳

Maja Lim has resided in the same Seoul apartment for over two decades. In direct contrast to the univocally beautiful Lim, the exterior of the complex is unremarkable in almost every way. The innocuous tan building, built in the 1990s and located in the lively Jongno-gu district among antique markets and art studios, does not reflect the playful nature of the surrounding neighborhood.

A different story is told inside Lim's tenth-floor apartment. At first, it can be challenging to tell the difference between her sun-kissed living room and a pastel paradise. Lim, of course, is one of South Korea's most popular streamers, but a quick glance at her Insadong residence reveals that she could've easily worked as an interior designer for kawaii cafes in Harajuku, Tokyo; she has an eye for all things cute and pink. 

A common thread in Lim's home is a blending of soft and sweet with bite and edge, which she's applied to her career as an online personality. Lim is a collector and a maximalist, and there’s seldom an empty wall or corner. A travel souvenir (a Greek coin that has been out of circulation since the 1980s) here, a trinket (a waving sakura lucky cat from Japan) there; a photograph in a wavy handmade frame (designed by a local Insadong artist), a Sanrio plushie. Or two. Or Three. In fact, there are an inordinate amount of plushies in the Lim household. “It’s a bit of a self-soothing mechanism,” Lim admits with a laugh. “When I’m in a sour mood, I buy a plushie. Or go shopping.”

Despite the maximalism of Lim's apartment, it never feels congested... until you reach the closet. She has done her best to accommodate her vast wardrobe, attempting to keep it enclosed to the bedroom, but it has nonetheless splashed out into the rest of her apartment. A metal clothing wrack in the living room holds a few notable items (most of which are pink), but the garments themselves are exquisite enough to function as an art piece.

When asked what clothing she chooses to hang on the living room rack, Lim says, "I want to say it’s whatever I'm wearing most, but the truth is it's usually what I want to dress my friends in. I love having my girl friends over and dressing them up. I'm really into sleepovers. Painting each other's nails, doing each each other's hair, that sort of thing. It makes me feel like I'm finally getting to experience the girlhood — the teenhood — I never had.”

Lim's house has an air of permanence, of established roots, but she admits that she wasn't always a settler. She had never committed to creating a personal space for herself until she moved to Seoul. As her career blossomed and popularity grew, she considered relocating to a larger apartment in a more affluent neighborhood. “I’ll never follow through," she says. “I have a very personal relationship with this place. This neighborhood. I know all the staff at the local businesses and they know me. I feel very...” she pauses, searching for the appropriate word, “held here. It’s a nice community.”

It would be difficult to discuss Lim without mentioning her streaming setup. She does not, contrary to popular belief, have a separate room for gaming. A corner of Lim's bedroom is taken up by her desk, which is outfitted with multiple monitors, neon lights, and numerous trinkets from her favorite gaming franchises. "[Now that I'm famous], people assume I have a crazy complicated setup. That I must stream from a converted home office or a corporate warehouse. Manika Incorporated!" She laughs. "But, no, everything is still very homegrown, and I have no intention of changing anytime soon." As the adage goes: don’t fix what ain’t broke. 

The Filipina streamer hails from Manila, and those with a keen eye will notice design references to her motherland. A large Pamaypay hangs above the bar area, a wooden Karabow guards a bowl of keys in the foyer, and many antique pieces are paneled in stunning white capiz, a natural material abundant in the Philippines.

“My apartment is an extension of myself,” says Lim. “It’s everything that I am, everything that I was, and likely everything I’m going to be in the future. It’s all right here.” 

[morrisxn02]

-– task 001: initial sit downs

september, 2022.

When the police knocked on the door labeled 205C, they were met with a jagged and weak figure. The Edward Morrison that roamed the halls of Ogden that September was a ghost of the man everyone knew. A slender, feeble creature that only had one thing in his mind. Greer. The NYPD had already interrogated him but since this was a cross-jurisdiction case, he had been oriented by the Morrisons' attorney that he might need to talk to the New Hampshire police once again. He did not want to waste much time, so he just let them into the compulsively organized lair that was his bedroom, clean and cataloged like a hospital. "You can have the chairs if you wish." He told the officer. His answers had been practically pre-scripted; pre-approved by the family attorney, albeit sincere. So he knew that would not take long. But it would be just as confusing as hurtful as the first time. (...) In retrospect, to honestly answer the policewoman’s question he would have to admit that he might not know Greer at all. But then again, who the hell did?

“When did you last speak to Greer?”

“July 3rd.” His answer doesn’t take a heartbeat. He had texted her again the following day, but there was no reply on her side – something awfully unusual when it came to their chat. They wouldn’t take too long to reply to each other because they were each other’s emergency contact, and it was a sort of unspoken rule between the two that a text ignored for too long should prompt some preoccupation. “About 11 pm.” He unlocked his phone and handed it to the police officer. He knew cops in Manhattan already had that information, but he knew nothing about how jurisdictions worked, so he figured he would just rephrase the answers he had given the NYPD when they interrogated his family. He had nothing to be afraid of, anyway.

“When did you last actually see Greer?”

“The day before. July 2nd. I was driving down to our beach house that day to spend the 4th with a couple of friends. I asked her if she wanted to tag along, and she said no.” He refrained from elaborating because he had already told that story a thousand times, and then replayed it in his head another thousand just to find a loophole, something he could’ve done differently.

“How well did you know Greer?”

Dumbfounded, he says nothing for a second. Sure, this must be a procedural question like all the other ones, but it seems redundant and absurd and it’s almost offensive. “I like to think I know her very well.” He responds on autopilot, though when he stops to think about it, he notices how vague that answer really is. “I mean, we grew up together, we have a lot of the same friends, we are fairly close…” The blandness of his answer reflects his own relationship with Greer. They worked well together, like two birds of the same feather. But their siblinghood was very… complicated to say the least. Yes, they enjoy each other’s company, have their own inside jokes, and even talk about the people they go out with, but there is so much he hides from her. So much he hides from everyone. And he knows Greer is very much like him. There is so much she hides from everyone. Especially from him. So, although he loves and cares for her, and she might even feel the same, he never trusted her. It could even be said that their relationship sometimes borders sort of a transaction. A favor for a favor. A lie for a lie. A secret for a secret. Greer has been a cobweb of favors and lies and secrets since she was born. And to honestly answer the policewoman’s question he would have to admit that he might not know Greer at all. But then again, who the hell did?

“What was your relationship with Greer like?”

Well, that was an easier question. One he had a prompted answer for. “We are close. We hang out with somewhat similar crowds and just generally hang out with each other. We get along.”

“Have you heard or seen anything about where she was this summer?”

“Not at all. As I said, we were supposed to spend the 4th together but she just– disappeared.” He had a hard time talking about it still. No matter how objective and pragmatic he was, talking about your missing sister probably gives everyone, even the most rational person alive, a hard time.    

The officer thanks him as she gets up, trying to sound understanding, almost as if her pity would do him any good. He thanks her in return, again on autopilot – though he cannot wait to be alone again – and closes the door after she walks out. Yet again he finds himself wondering if there was something else he could have said. Something that could have helped her. Or himself. Because, at this point, everyone was a suspect, and he was well aware.

[defavorise]

IC TASK #001  — TIME CAPSULE @ogdencollegerp​

For all intents and purposes, a time capsule for Ogden University was cliche and superficial and every other negative term Sloane could think of. Surely whoever had organized it peaked in high school or college. What would four measly years of her life even mean if she's going to be in her seventies by the time the video would be released? It was stupid. A waste of her time. It was something she wouldn't even remember doing and whatever email gets sent out to her she'll ask her future assistant to promptly delete. 

That being said she was still a woman of her craft.

Sloane pulls out her camera, her good camera which cost about the same as tuition for one year at Ogden and sets it in front of her. The idea of using anything else (especially her cellphone, ugh) seemed insulting. If she was going to do this, it would be good quality. She'd add shots from her films and other projects in the beginning to add time to the video. Some piano music wouldn't hurt either, something light but melancholic. 

"You seem to be waiting for something, rather than someone." The camera pans to Sloane. "I'm sure whoever's watching this has never even heard of Cleo a Cinq de Sept. You little shits probably don’t even know who Agnès Varda is. Unless you’re, like, a real nerd.” She fidgets in her seat, always more comfortable behind the camera rather than in front of it. “My point is, Ogden is where your dreams go to die and if you’re currently enrolled in their film program you should drop out. I know it’s me, and hopefully you know I am, but seriously it’ll eat you from the inside out. So don’t wait.” 

She hadn’t planned on saying much else but she felt unsatisfied even if she had meant what she said. “Ogden is...what you make of it. It’s a rich school full of fake assholes so if your expectations aren’t already in Hell, lower them. If you choose not to care about what those people think though it’s more than tolerable. This is the perfect time in your life to really focus on what’s important. Also to create. Just— make fucking art while you’re here. Make good art. Make bad art. Don’t wait for anything or anyone to tell you. That ball you're waiting to drop? It's not going to happen. Don’t make excuses. Don’t take anyone’s shit, especially not from some privileged future Wall Street dickhead. College is hard enough without all the extra noise.” 

“Also, don’t disappear without a trace and leave a bunch of cryptic notes for your peers to find. It’s dramatic and fucking weird and it’s already been done.” 

[pitymisskitty]

TASK 001: Be Careful of the Curse - A Kitty Hensley Playlist

As someone who was road tripping across the country for several months, Kitty has spent a lot of time cultivating different road trip playlists. Most of them are kept on her phone that she has an AUX cord gerryrigged for, though she likes Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill enough to keep the cassette in the player. Kitty listens to anything and everything, and every playlist she’s ever made for herself or another person captures the elements of chaos in her personality.

The typical kind of mixtape that you make for your friend is, for the most part, equal parts songs that you like and songs that remind you of them. Sometimes, it doesn’t make sense, and that’s okay; there’s always some element of cohesion, if it’s only the fact that it was compiled by you. Kitty’s “mixtape” is equal parts a collection of songs that she’d pick for the hell of it (humor, enjoyment, vibes) and songs that are about her in some way. Sometimes upbeat, sometimes silly, sometimes moody, this playlists is truly a mix of who Kitty is as a person, and perhaps a look at what’s to come.

Listen here. Songs detailed more below the cut.

A Kitty Pryde Hensley Mixtape 

Mama Tried by Merle Haggard | Not knowin' where I'm bound / And no one could change my mind but Mama tried / One and only rebel child / From a family, meek and mild.

It Will Come Back by Hozier | Honey, don't feed me, I will come back / It can't be unlearned / I've known the warmth of your doorways / Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you.

Ironic by Alanis Morissette | Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you / When you think everything's okay and everything's going right / And life has a funny way of helping you out when / You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up / In your face.

Howl by Florence and the Machine | Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers / Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters / A man who is pure at heart and says his prayers by night / May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright.

Trouble Finds You by Juliet Simms | Tonight darkness finds you / Right behind you / Say your prayers / Tonight trouble finds you / It's inside you.

Meet Me in the Woods by Lord Huron | Follow me into the endless night / I can bring your fears to life / Show me yours and I'll show you mine / Meet me in the woods tonight.

Pit Stop

Hungry Like the Wolf by Duran Duran | In touch with the ground / I'm on the hunt, I'm after you / Smell like I sound, I'm lost in a crowd / And I'm hungry like the wolf.

Press Play

Rivers and Roads by The Head and The Heart | And I guess it's just as well / But I miss your face like hell / Been talkin' 'bout the way things change / And my family lives in a different state.

Wolf Song by Caamp | Pack the bags / This time I am heading North / Left the racks / Won't need those where I'm going.

Ain’t It Fun by Paramore | Ain't it fun, ain't it fun? / Baby, now you're one of us / Ain't it fun, ain't it fun? / Ain't it fun?

Raise Hell by Dorothy | Young blood, came to start a riot / Don't care what your old man say / Young blood, heaven hate a sinner / But we gonna raise hell anyway.

Neon Moon (with Kacey Musgraves) by Brooks & Dun | Come watch your broken dreams / Dance in and out of the beams / Of a neon moon.

The One That Got Away by The Civil Wars | Oh, if I could go back in time / When you only held me in my mind / Just a longing, gone without a trace / Oh, I wish I never ever seen your face.

For Parker

seven by Taylor Swift | Please picture me / In the weeds / Before I learned civility / I used to scream ferociously / Any time I wanted.

[caoimhinnn]

TASK 001 - CHARACTER ARC & DEVELOPMENT

What does your character want (their goal or challenge)?

To overcome the grief of his fiance dying, to finish his degree, to have his own place, to find love, and have a family. To do all of that he has to overcome his anxiety and inner demons from his childhood.

What are their external needs/desires?

He needs to go to therapy and properly process the loss of Emma. This will also then help him with his undiagnosed anxiety, which has led to panic attacks recently. Caoimhín needs to learn that how he coped with his childhood trauma doesn't work anymore and that all the repression is breaking him. He can't just smile the bad stuff away. He also needs to not fear love and falling in love again, but anyone he has ever loved has either abandoned him or died, so he struggles to let himself go there, as it's only led to pain. So, he needs to listen to his friends more and stop acting like everything is okay.

What or who stands in their way and could stop them?

Himself.

What will they do about it?

At the minute, nothing. It won't be until he breaks and is at rock bottom emotionally that he will listen, as he'll feel so alone and scared that he knows he's not okay anymore. In time, he will listen to his close friends and go to therapy, and then hopefully find a healthier balance in life.

What happens if they fail? 

He will continue this cycle of self-harm with alcohol and loneliness. He will push everyone he loves away and will live a life of always walking the line. His mental health is fragile and if he fails it will only worsen.

What sacrifices might they have to make?

His pride. He feels ashamed to admit he needs help and that he's struggling and has been struggling all of his life. The fact he made it out of Dublin by himself is all he has to be proud of, so to fail now would hurt him. He can't admit that is weak and that all of his life he has felt alone and vulnerable. The little kid didn't need anyone, so adult Caoimhín can never need anyone.

What motivates them inwardly and why?

His friends. Caoimhín has never really had a family and the people he has met in Salt Flats are his family, so they are what get him out of bed in the morning. He is afraid to love again, but it is love that is keeping him alive.

What is their internal struggle?

Self-doubt, anxiety, failure, death, and loneliness.

What are their flaws? How do their flaws play into their internal struggle?

Masking, Drinking, Smoking, Partying, Insomnia, Fragility. They all hide from the world that he is struggling with. The smiles, the friendly hugs, the partying, the ever-present persona that people can rely on for a good time. The last person you would expect to be suffering. He makes everyone feel good and smiles follow him, led by his own, but inside he's in pain.

What fundamental changes do you want to see in your character?

I want him to process his grief and mental health struggles. I would then like him to resume his degree and show everyone the potential he has been hiding behind the fun time barman. He has brains and could really be something one day if he tried. I also want him to move on from Emma and find love again, but slowly. To find his confidence and belief in himself.

What heroic qualities must emerge for them to succeed?

Confidence, Bravery, Acceptance, Patience, Love

[enrax]

TASK 001 - HOME

The apartment in Osaka needed to be maintained. Although no one had bestowed the obligation upon the seven-year-old Junji Okada, it fell on his child’s shoulders nonetheless. Maintain, maintain, maintain, or it would crumble. His childhood home was the place he remembered most vividly. Most terribly. As an adult, he could close his eyes and visualize the layout in painstaking detail; the father-shaped viscousness, the mother-shaped loneliness. His familiarity was a byproduct of his meticulous nature, his need, the oppressive barometric pressure of his compulsion. He checked every nook and cranny, the hidden and not so hidden, for the disaster he was certain would come. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he remained steadfast that whatever was going to get him would come from the outside. It would, like a spider, a shadow, a bad dream, creep under a crack in the door if he wasn’t watchful; if he wasn’t careful. Junji had been careful. But it didn't matter how many times he swept the floor or rearranged the cutlery, cleared the cobwebs or made the beds. This house was coming down. The disaster was inside. The cracks were structural. Inherited.

The Australia home was bright and spacious. He recalls feeling as if he’d suddenly fallen heir to a large family when he previously had none, even though they were tan and blonde and looked nothing like him. (They made a point of bringing this up at every opportunity.) Everyone was impressed by his English, despite the fact that he'd been speaking it since he was a baby, and his accent was identical to theirs. He began to have doubts about himself, about who he was, about the foundation of his identity. He looked for cracks and found them.

The Swedish dorm was often freezing and cramped and grey. He shared the room with a boy with whom he would share a myriad of teenaged firsts: kiss, bed, body. While the academy sculpted his moldable frame into the shape of a refined young man with manners, etiquette, and class, the small dorm taught him that, despite the continual challenge it presented, personal freedom was possible. 

Another small dorm, this time in Oxford, but it would not be occupied for long. He and Charlie would split their time in England between an ancient brownstone near their university and a lush flat in London. Nine years later, Junji is rendered incapable of recalling details, his memory of these homes disengaged from his mind like an amputated limb. Though he couldn’t see, he could still feel: the weight of Charlie's fist against his cheek, the agony of seeing someone he loved spiral into a drug-induced rage. He'd lived in that London flat for a considerable chunk of his existence, but he could no longer remember something as simple as whether it had two bedrooms or one. He, however, recalled with perfect clarity that his second and final flat in London had only one bedroom. And when he recalls that bedroom, it is swashed in blood.

South Korea. His first flat a hollow shell. Junji was a minimalist at heart, but this place was ascetic. Austere. Self-denying. Self-effacing. He'd built himself a grave, and it wasn't until the appearance of a certain orange feline that he'd been able to dig himself out of it. When he moved to his present apartment, he consciously tried making it a home, although it never would be. He knew this all too well. He'd never had a place to call home. 

All these places and not one to call his own. 

And then along came Soa and, as espoused by the romantic poets of yore and twenty-first century rom-coms alike, he fell in love and everything changed. He began to realize, with no small shock to the system, that his flat felt like a home when she was in it. Comfort — compounded with the looseness of being, the delight of being seen and understood, to be met on one’s own level — existed within her. 

But then comes that niggling fear of childhood, a creature in hibernation stirring in a dark den, rubbing the sleep from its nocturnal eyes. A whisper on the wind: Junji and Soa need to be maintained. Maintain, maintain, maintain, or it will crumble. 

[theoxthesis]

[ PROFILING SESSION RECORD: SUBJECT α-001 ]

A Classified Dissertation File Compiled by Doctoral Candidate Althea Elizabeth Rosi for Brakebills South Research Institution of The Librarian’s Consortium of Higher Magical Theory, Narrative Preservation, & Knowledge Procurement

#1 of ?

The first thought that Theo had when she woke up that morning was that it was fucking cold in Antarctica.

But that was really nothing new; she’d been settling into her accommodations at the remote Brakebills South Research Institution, one of Lib-Con’s many hidden research facilities, for about a month, and still Theo had this same thought every morning.

The Librarians were obsessively secretive about many of the finer details of their operations and studies, but Theo had pieced together enough to know that because Brakebills South was located near one of the Earth’s poles, there was a large amount of ambient magic floating around the area that wasn’t being siphoned by any resident hedge witch covens. So Lib-Con was filtering it through a magical generator, of sorts, and using that to power the facility, cafeteria and dorm-style lodging.

So Theo knew all of that, she acknowledged its veracity. But in her educated opinion, it didn’t really matter that Brakebills South was being heated via magic. They were still in Antarctica, and it was still fucking cold.

The second thought that Theo had when she woke up that morning was that today was the day. She’d been waiting for this day for years; she’d studied and planned, strategized and prepped, and then she’d studied and planned some more.

But there was only so far strategy and plans could get her, in the end, and today was the day all her education and knowledge and hard work were finally going to be put to the test.

Today, Theo was going to meet him.

She was bound to be thrown some surprises going into a day like today, so it was extra important for Theo to stick to her daily morning routine; she got out of bed in the modest but manageable dorm room, and neatly made the bed. She put on a pot of strong coffee to brew, and then she did thirty minutes of yoga while listening to Laura Branigan’s 1982 power ballad “Gloria”—which Theo had been listening to every single morning since she lived in Canada, to the chagrin of her adoptive family when she moved back to New York and her college roommates at Waheela (though it could be argued that this was one of Theo’s less alarming quirks, and more just a minor inconvenience for those who shared space with her and preferred to sleep in).

She put on a cleansing face mask for precisely ten minutes while she drank her coffee (black), which was by that time at the optimal temperature. Then she scrubbed her face and took a hot shower for fifteen minutes, dried and styled her hair with magic for another five, and then dressed for the day—lots of layered thermals, in this climate.

Theo chatted cordially with a few of the researchers who were in the cafeteria while she picked at some breakfast, but she couldn’t stomach much—not with the task ahead of her at the forefront of her thoughts, not with her nerves thrumming in her belly.

So she ended up meeting the Librarians who were set to escort her to the other facility early, and they were on their way before the top of the hour.

The quote-unquote Containment Facility into which Theo was escorted looked less like a prison than it did the fucking ice castle from Frozen, Theo observed; the glittering fortress shimmered like it was made of glass against the blazing abyss of white that was a typical Antarctic day. It made the utilitarian academic lodgings wherein she’d been staying look positively drab, by comparison.

But it wasn’t ice, or glass, Theo discovered as she left her escorts to be searched at the facility doors and was debriefed inside; the entire structure had been built from a crystalline alloy that was only sustainable down here at the edge of the world.

And every inch of it was infused with cold-forged iron.

There were other precautions, too. They cloaked Theo head-to-toe in thick custom-warded clothing and gloves, all lined with a synthetic iron, and her face they covered with a mask made of multicolored glass, the explanation of which even Theo could barely follow when she asked about its purpose—something about auto-empathic aura reactivity theory, whatever that meant.

Honestly, it all seemed like overkill for one conversation, with one man. Even if that man was the most dangerous Veela in known history.

The room Theo was led into was empty, save for a table and two chairs on opposite sides. If would have been cold, probably, if she hadn’t been draped in so much heavy shit.

She set her recording device on the corner of the table, and turned it on. She opened up her notebook to a clean, white page, and took out a marker with a rounded tip—they’d warned Theo, in no uncertain terms, that sharp objects were strictly forbidden within the facility. Including quills and pens, apparently.

The wall opposite Theo made some sudden, mechanical sounds from the inside—like cogs turning within a clock. A portion of the wall slid open, and standing in that opening was a man.

Andries de Wit, infamous Veelan cult leader. Assumed dead by everyone outside these walls.

He was led to the chair opposite Theo by some wix who were covered in a similar fashion as Theo was, all standing a considerable distance away with wands pointed at his back. He had heavy iron handcuffs around his wrists, and these attached themselves to the table when he sat down.

For a man that was over a thousand years old—one of the oldest Veela in recorded history—Theo thought he looked pretty good. Like, she wasn’t usually attracted to men, in that way, but—she could understand the aesthetic appeal, if you were into that kind of thing. Andries de Wit was tall and broad, chiseled beneath the plain white jumpsuit he was wearing, and despite the fact that he probably rarely saw the sun in the castle-prison that contained him, his skin gave off a bronze, almost ethereal glow, like some Herculean god. And despite his age, he could have easily been mistaken by a No-Maj for a man in his mid-thirties.

He just stared at Theo for several long minutes with an absolutely blank, unreadable expression on his face—barely moving, barely even seeming to breathe. Theo squirmed in her seat in discomfort, feeling too hot in all these heavy clothes.

Finally, she said, “Cool, okay, so…I guess I should just get started, then? This is doctoral candidate Althea Elizabeth Rosi, and this is profiling session A1 with research subject Alpha-Zero-Zero-One, also known as Andries de Wit…” Theo said all of this to her recording device, but maintained eye contact with the man in front of her the whole time; he didn’t move, didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.

“Mister de Wit, could you talk to me a bit about the circumstances that brought you here?”

Nothing. Silence.

“How about The De Wit Group? Your involvement with that?”

Still as a statue; she might as well have been interviewing a brick wall.

“Can you tell me anything, Mister de Wit, or should I just pack it up and head home?”

And there—the tiniest twitch, at the corner of his mouth. Blink and you would have missed it.

That was something Theo could work with, at least. She knew this type of narcissist, and knew what it would take to get him talking. Or at least, she suspected she did.

Here’s hoping my hunch is right.

“Excuse me,” Theo said to the wix who were standing guard, “Can we have the room, please?” The guards looked at each other, and before they could protest Theo insisted, “I know what I’m doing, alright? And if he kills me it’s my own dumbass fault.”

They didn’t look convinced, at all, but Theo had been granted higher-level clearance for this, so there was nothing they could do to stop her, either.

And then it was just Theo and Andries de Wit, alone in a room.

She studied the man for a minute, and then removed the mask that was covering her face. She shook her head, her ponytail swishing behind her, and she said, “Whew, god, that’s better. I couldn’t breathe in that thing…”

The Veela watched Theo, his eyes never straying from the gaze that seemed to bore holes right through her. But he did relax, just a little—the slightest untensing of his shoulders, shifting fractionally into his seat.

Which, hey; it was progress.

Theo smiled, picked up her marker and started, “So, why don’t you tell me about—”

But Andries de Wit spoke right over her as he said, “Have you ever heard the story of the Cat and the Mouse?” His voice was deep and resonant, smooth like a note on a cello.

“The…the what?” Theo said, furrowing her brow and then pushing her glasses up her nose.

“The Cat, and the Mouse,” the Veela repeated, unhurried, accentuating each word, “Who decided to share a house for the winter—“

“Nice try, Hannibal Lecter. But this isn’t that kind of movie, and I’m not here to solve your little riddles.”

A smile spread across his face—slow, so maddeningly slow. A thousand years old and he had all the time in the world, and nothing better to do but wait.

And despite all her layers, it sent a chill rattling deep through Theo’s bones.

“Is that all you have to say?” said Theo, and the man just leaned back, arching a brow at her. Theo sighed. “Fine, then, I guess we’re doing this the hard way…” Her wand had been tucked up in her sleeve, hidden by the gloves. Theo angled her upturned palm at Andries de Wit and said, “Legilimens.”

But he was ready for her.

The second Theo entered his mind, it was like she’d dropped into an air raid. Blaring sirens, strobing lights—the sensory onslaught made it impossible to navigate his consciousness at all.

And not only that—the trap he’d laid for her in his mind was so disorienting that a few seconds too long and Theo risked getting trapped inside this man’s mind, losing herself completely—

She scrambled out of his head, gasping for air, tears streaming down her face. Andries de Wit’s facial expression hadn’t changed one bit. “Fuck you, you psychopath! I hope you rot in here…” Theo shoved up from the table and marched toward the wall she’d come in from, which whirred with those mechanical sounds as it made to open and release her. Not fucking fast enough.

And to her back, Theo heard Andries de Wit’s low voice, calm and thrumming, say, “Come back and see me soon, Little Mouse. It’s going to be a long, long winter—and I think you’re going to want to hear this story…”

[nam-daeeun]

NIGHTREST :: TASK 001

on the record | nam dae-eun

The Basics

brand of phone & color:

samsung s23, silver.

case:

clear case with a (slightly sun-bleached) polaroid of him and his sister tucked inside. the corners are slightly bent since it's a bit too big.

locked or unlocked?:

always locked with a fingerprint lock. there's a backup pin instituted, but it's rarely used. (for the record, though, it's the address of his childhood home: 1422.)

lockscreen & wallpaper:

Usage

screen time:

probably uses it about 4-5 hours a day, depending on the day.

five most used apps:

spotify, messenger, chrome, news, twitter.

web tabs:

generally has no more than 7-10 tabs open at any given time. 5-6 of them are articles he swears he's going to go back and read. 1 of them is a forgotten search tab that he won't remember to close for another day or so. 2 of them are the nightrest news network, permanently open since the murders started. the other 1-2 tabs are interchangeable, and he generally cycles through these for most of his general internet browsing.

google:

last seen doing research, so it was “nightrest news.”

last text messages:

any one of a couple he sent to various friends throughout nightrest, checking up after the fires. prior to that, it was his messages to jieun.

voicemail:

an annoyed message from @jieunparks, calling to say she'd found out he was here in nightrest and that they needed to meet up. he left it there to remember to text her later...and then forgot to delete it. (he's been a bit distracted.) other than that, it's empty—he makes sure to go through it frequently in case any important calls come through.

Social Media

handle:

@namdae on all platforms. he's a basic man. (plus, it's professional.)

instagram:

[ feat. @kattcalled, @kyleyangs ]

snapchat:

he has an account, but doesn't post, just uses it to keep up with others.

tinder/bumble/hinge/grindr/etc:

doesn't have an account on any of these. never did. never will. he's wary of them.

spotify:

top three songs of 2022: heather by conan gray, runaway by aurora, and cold by corbyn, in no particular order. last played song: youth by kihyun. he was looking for something else, but ended up there somehow, and he wasn't mad about it.

tiktok:

doesn't use it, but will watch videos if others send them to him.

facebook:

he uses it, but only when forced to. barely touches his own account, just has it for family updates.

others:

has a youtube account, but never uploads. his email is primarily used for professional correspondence. uses twitter religiously. someone pull this man away from the bird app. please.

extra:

doesn't often save his contacts with funny names because it makes it hard to find the ones he needs—although he will use nicknames sometimes. uses primarily emoticons while texting rather than emojis because, honestly, he's just too lazy to switch the keyboard. keeps his apps all stuffed into four folders so that he can actually see his background—he hates those people who cover their screens with so much crap that you can't see the picture; why even bother setting one? always forgets to turn off unnecessary app notifications so he generally accumulates a lot of nonsense stuff throughout the day that he just swipes away. doesn't use a screen protector—he just doesn't drop it.

bonus: an additional edit that i spent a ton of time making before i realized there was no room for it. enjoy this article from the future.

[lilysortega]

task 005 - walkman

001 - Fernando by ABBA ( images of meeting Elias, dancing, laughing, talking all night, moving in together, inside jokes calling them Fernando, finding out they were going to have a baby )

002 - Dancing Queen by ABBA ( images of being pregnant with Natalia and her kicking to the song, her dancing away any time the song would play, her little voice singing at the top of her lungs )

003 - Jailhouse Rock by Elvis Presley ( images of her childhood home, her brothers letting her listen to their favorite music so it became her own )

click play for more

notes:

a playlist of some of the songs that came out in 1987 or before. all songs that once upon a time, anyone could’ve caught lily humming to herself or playing around the house with a mix of songs that remind her of people she loves the most.

while time after time by cyndi lauper has been her favorite song as of late, these three songs above would be the ones that could save her from vecna if by chance he went after her as they give off some of the happiest times of her life.

[smitebound]

TASK 001: THE MUTANT PROBLEM

what is your character’s ability?

corruption manipulation.

what is your character’s government-assigned classification level?

level four.

what can your character do?

control and manipulate the forces of corruption, particularly of the moral variety. this allows him to take control of the minds and hearts of others ( with certain limitations ), destroy bonds, adaptively regenerate from damage, augment/corrupt other’s abilities, and more.

what can’t they do?

fully control/turn off many aspects of his ability. social magnetism is always on to some degree, whether he wants it or not. he can’t control others for long periods of time, or from great distances. ( people in particular are much more difficult than less-complex beings. ) phase-morphing is hit-or-miss and often results in embarrassing situations. fallen physiology can’t always be controlled and usually ends up with the loss of ( if any ) reasonable conscience.

what are their weaknesses?

the use of his powers comes at a heavy cost—corruption sickness. too little use will cause weakness, too much causes an overload which will physically corrupt him until he can expel the excess corruptive energy. he can’t control people or objects for long periods of time or at long range. he is extremely susceptible to any abilities having to do with purification, and his offensive powers are useless against those with corruption immunity.

how did they first come to the realization that they were a mutant?

differences were always apparent in his appearance, so he was aware of his status since birth. however, the full extent of ezra’s abilities set in around the usual time—adolescence. the first developed application was darkside view, or the power to see the corruption in others.

if given the choice, would they remain a mutant? why or why not?

absolutely. at this point in time, ezra has no love for humankind and fully sees mutants as their future overlords. he would rather die quickly and painlessly than to be rendered one of them.

what do they hope to see change in the future, with respect to the current strife over mutant acceptance? short-term? long-term?

ezra hopes to see the world burn from the inside out, knowing that from those ashes there will be only one victor—mutantkind. short-term, he hopes to make life as miserable as possible for the humans in ( and out of ) power. long-term? eradication seems more appropriate. 

[strxngth-of-1000-mxn]

task 001: combat room

“number one. report to the combat room at your earliest convenience. thank you.”

They should have known that this was going to happen. It was the reason why they were all gathered here in the mansion anyways. But still, it was a sobering reality from the couple days they had to just be with each other and get to know each other. Ryder’s lips pursed as he sat in his chair, wondering what they would want from him. It was the first time they were being summoned for anything. Given that he was considered the first of the group though, there was no one else who would have any idea until he went through it.

The large man moved to the combat room carefully, hand hovering the door handle. Whatever was inside would likely mark the beginning of whatever program Paragon had in mind for them. And since he didn’t have enough time to determine whether or not he trusted the group fully, Ryder had no choice but to go along with it. Steadying himself, he opened the door. It was better to face the problem head-on.

Breathing in deeply as he entered the room, he was unsure of what to expect when he stepped inside. Blue eyes traced over the training dummies set up, simulation chambers all about the place. His gaze landed on M.O.M. and the mysterious man on screen, directing him in terms of what he should be doing. The large man furrowed his brows at the rather vague instruction. Show what he was capable of? What did that even mean?

He walked up to one of the chambers, eyeing the display of weapons before him and the blinking button indicating the start of the program. Ryder wasn’t exactly trained in any sort of combat, enough that he would have felt comfortable using any of the ones set out in front of him. The blonde man picked up the heaviest looking object in his opinion, a hefty club that looked like it needed dual handling. But it was comfortable enough for him to hold in one hand and swing about with ease. It was easy, but not exactly something he wanted to use in something that was meant to showcase his abilities. 

Ryder shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he set the weapon down. He was thinking too much. In situations like these, it was always better to be as direct as possible. He wasn’t sure what the man was looking for, but what better way to show off what he was capable of than with his two hands? He wasn’t a professional boxer, but the large blonde wasn’t unfamiliar with fights. He was scrappier than he let on, and Ryder found that some people settled things easier with a fistfight than honest words.

Starting off the simulation, he watched as several figures appeared out of thin air. Fancy technology, for sure. He would have spent more time amazed at the feat if they weren’t all approaching him, much like a swarming mob of angry rivals. Ryder planted his feet down firmly, clenching his jaw as he plowed forward like a raging bull. The first figure took a broad shoulder to the chest, followed by a swift punch to the stomach. The second got a swift kick to his body and an uppercut to the jaw. After that, the simulation began in its fullest.

By now, he was in a rhythm. Figures came out from nowhere, and he dealt as many punches as he could to them before they could hit him. Of course, his fighting style wasn’t perfect, and Ryder had his fair share of blows from the program, but it was enough to get the job done. Caught up in the moment, Ryder reached out to grab two of the figures by their heads, only grunting as he tried to stop their approach. But a firm grasp and the heads exploded in his hands, the simulated bodies falling without their heads before disintegrating into nothingness. The beeping sound that filled the quiet hall indicated that the simulation was complete, but Ryder could only stare at his hands. It didn’t feel like anything to him, and that was the scary part.

He didn’t say anything, nor did he look at M.O.M. or the mysterious man. Ryder just gathered himself, wiped the sweat from his brow, and left without another word. That was enough showcasing for today. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like if it wasn’t simulated.