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merlinssassybeard · 10 months

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'Ex' husband Gojo - The Aftermath- 02

Tags- smut, angst, cheating, TW seizures, bad mental health of reader

Synopsis- The events of the fateful night of Christmas...

The Aftermath- 01 // series masterlist

24th December, 2016

"Hey y/n! Wanna get some drinks on Christmas? If you don't have any plans! Or are you too busy for us 'poor people'! Haha!". Your friends have called and they joked.

You come from a very lower middle class family. Raised by your grandmother and elder sister(by six years) due to your parents being absent.

It was difficult, you grew up watching your grandmother working at an age where she should be enjoying life and your sister when she should be studying. You grew up knowing what's it like to have nothing.

With a decent education, you and your sister started supporting your grandmother with a decent corporate job until your sister got married to her co-worker.

It was just you, helping financially your grandmother with her medical bills while saving up enough for a decent enough wedding dress to follow your sister's path, where you marry an average man like she did, have kids, take care of your children and man and thats it.

An average life.

But you wanted more.

You prayed. Day and night for an extraordinary life, a life memorable and not like your sister's.

You wanted more from life.

And the Gods heard your prayer.

Your whole life changed when you became an essential part of Japan's prolific Aristocratic family.

The news was everywhere. Its a rags to riches, The modern Cinderella story in everyone's eyes.

It was beautiful.

It was memorable, everything you wanted..

Until it wasn't...

"Uh.. yes i am free.", it felt so different, talking to people you worked with after so long. "What's the timing?", you asked.

"25th, 7pm! At the usual place. Also y/n! Could you maybe bring your husband! I mean we would all love to meet Mr Gojo! He's so funny! Only if Mr Gojo is free that is!"

Ah yes. Mr Gojo, the funny, entertaining Mr Gojo. He has met your friends from work enough times to make an image of the grounded but arrogant, funny rich guy.

"Oh! He-he isn't home. He's quite busy. Maybe next time, i will bring him!", you managed as if there will be a next time!

"Oh(disappointed) , nevermind then. Send my regards to Mr Gojo. And you do not forget to come y/n!"

"Yeah".

You wanted to go out, outside and away from this house of memories, with Satoru, that trapped you. You wanted to breath fresh air and move on.

Move on?

How could you move on?

The fact that you were 3 months in your pregnancy after 4 years of marriage. But you failed to carry the child. You failed to maintain the marriage with the person you love. And you're talking about moving on when its just 2 months?

How cruel y/n, how cruel...

25th December, 2016 || 6.45pm

You got dressed up in a simple black turtleneck, jeans, an overcoat and knee high boots with a woolen cap on.

A thick layer of concealer was enough to hide the under eye dark circles. You put on a red lipstick and went out.

The staff stared at you, secretly though, but nonetheless they stared and judged you.

'Is Lady y/n really pregnant?' One said. "She doesn't have a bump though", other quoted. "Come to think of it, her monthly(period) hasn't arrived either. She is pregnant!".

"When's she going to announce?" One servant asked. "Maybe after Lord Satoru arrives?". "Oh! Maybe on the New Year's eve! Seems perfect timing as well.", one replied.

The servants maybe nosy but they know their places. They know, something so sensitive as the pregnancy of the great six eyes sorcerer's wife, its not their place to give the news to the family.

Generally, almost every household's staffs know about anything and everything that goes on in Gojo household. But the word, luckily, doesn't reaches to their employers most of the time.

But this time, it wasn't just some other light news from the Gojo House and the servants of other households started talking to their employers in no time...

It was already past 11.30pm.

Reunion with your office friends and straight up five bottles of your favorite vodka felt so nice that you almost forgot about all and everything that had gone wrong in your life.

You meet up with your co-workers every Christmas for the last 4 years. Sometimes Satoru would company, sometimes he wouldn't.

Talking about politics, sports and who's dating who, both in the office and among celebrities. These were mostly the topics you spent discussing while drinking.

"Hey, its almost going to be 12. I think that's it for the night guys!", one of your girlfriends announced after a slight glance at her silver wrist watch.

"Whaaat?", your speech was slurred and vision blurry after five drinks. "Isss overrr already? Whyyyy? Less get the party started.."

Everyone chuckled. "Ah y/n san had too much to drink! Now we'd have to drop her at her royal palace!", the other girlfriend smiled, a little jealous of your luxurious life.

"Whaaaaat? Less playyy! C'mon ya lot!", you continued babbling frustrated.

"I'll drop y/n. If its okay with everyone."

Out of all the twelve co-workers, one of them stood up and offered to help you reach home.

He knew none are interested in insuring you reach home safely. Everybody was just ignorant and busy to get back home to be on time for work.

He, Kenzo, always have had feelings for you. From the moment you entered the Office to present, when you're married and babbling gibberish while totally drunk.

Everyone agreed to leave you to Kenzo since it was no secret, the feelings he has and someone like him would definitely make sure you reach home safe and secure.

26th December, 2016 || 12.26 am

The group gave their farewells to each other and went on their way.

You, on the other hand, are so drunk that its impossible for you stand up without your legs wobbling and bringing you down.

Kenzo helped you and got you on the passenger seat of his car and started driving towards your 'palace'.

Your head felt heavy with all the drinks you had. You could hear voices in your head, all distorted, words lapsing onto each other.

"You did this y/n!"

"Because of you y/n your baby is dead"

"Satoru will never love you"

"All you've done since marriage is sitting on top of your husband's fortune... living the life you never had"

"Satoru's family....They were right...Everyone was right.."

"You are just a whore"

"Whore for money"

"WHORE"

You let out a scream and started twisting and turning your head and hands to stop all this annoying gibberish in your head. Your eyes closed tight shut.

Kenzo, while driving through almost an empty road, saw this and was absolutely horrified. He thought you're having seizures so he stopped his car in an empty underground parking lot that was luckily near when he saw you.

"Y/n! Y/n! Are you okay?". He grabbed your cheeks to hold you still while his other hand held forcefully onto your shaking arms. "Talk to me y/n. Talk to me!"

"Talk to me y/n"

You heard.

"Talk"

You opened your eyes, slowly letting in the artificial bright lights hit your eyes. Lips trembling. Cheeks red, tears rolling.

You felt a grasp on your cheeks and lowered your gaze to see Kenzo, worried and sweating.

You let out a sigh and without any thoughts hugged Kenzo.

He didn't know what just happened but if hugging him makes you feel better, he's okay with it. He hugged you back. Caressing your back.

All the thoughts had stopped now in your head.

You calmly pulled away from the hug and locked your eyes with Kenzo's.

He is so handsome, same age as you, has beautiful hooded eyes, his nose, his lips.

You gently brought your lips closer to his and he to yours. You both so close but so far. You wanted to kiss him, he wanted to kiss you.

Your lips brushed upon his and he kissed you. You put your tongue in his mouth and fought for dominance. After a few pants for air, you won, a battle you never won with your husband.

Kenzo pulled back though halfway through. You were puzzled. Didn't he want you? But then you saw him looking at your big blue and white diamond wedding ring.

Oh so thats what it is.

You quickly removed the two rings from your left hand and put the expensive rings onto dashboard. One ring being your wedding band and the other ring was an official platinum-diamond band symbolizing that you are the Gojo Clan head's wife.

In a rush you jumped sat on his lap. Fixating yourself just above his crotch, continuously rubbing your clothed groin over his. You both panted.

You unbuckled your jeans and threw them in the backseat and unzipped Kenzo's pants, about to slide in his member in you. You were so in heat he could see right through you if he'd have to be honest.

He held your wrists and stopped you from doing it...

"Y/n, we shouldn't... its not right... you're married-", he protested with his voice low.

"I decide whats right or not... so shut up and do it already", you growled at him in frustration and just put his cock in your unprepared cunt.

You were finally tainted wholly...

It hurt a lot in the beginning, doing the deed all dry, without any foreplay after so long and after your miscarriage but slowly your body adjusted.

'God! he's so small', you thought to yourself while pushing in Kenzo's 5 inches hard cock in you since for the last over 7 years you've gotten used to Gojo's 8 inches.

This lowly act of yours went on for around 2 hours. Doing it anywhere and everywhere inside the car, in all and every position.

26th December, 2016 || 4.50am

The radio was playing 'Lovely Day' by Bill Withers.

Kenzo was driving you to your house.

You were quiet. He was quiet.

The drive to your uphill estate was easy since it was early morning so the streets were traffic free. He drove his car through the beautiful posh Uphills neighborhood of Tokyo. Your house was almost there.

Each house in this posh area are mindfully distanced to provide full privacy and personal space to the owners. That is why Satoru bought his married house here.

You were looking outside the window with a cigarette between your lips and suddenly your heart skipped a beat, eyes widened, forehead sweating when you saw your husband's black Audi sedan parked in the driveway...

You gulped when the car stopped outside the Gojo Estate's premises.

Door opened, left foot out and you got out. Before entering the gates of your premises, you leaned down a little to look at an equally annoyed Kenzo.

You both didn't share any words or any final looks and he just drove his car as soon as you got off.

He knew what he had done was crossing the line and beyond. It was so unethical to sleep with a married woman, doesn't matter if you were his crush once or not.

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh.

"Well technically y/n you are separated and will be divorced soon. So its not cheating. Technically?" Your head convinced you in case when you'd be caught you'll have an argument ready.

You started walking through the cobblestone walkway, a little nervous... Actually, truth be told, you are scared of seeing Satoru. Finding you in your current state at this late hour.

You took one last big puff and then crushed the cigarette with your boots.

You rang the bell once, twice. You started thinking maybe its not Satoru but its Mr Ijichi. Yeah! He's busy anyway.

The door opened just as you were about to ring the third time and all your fears came true...

Satoru Gojo opened the door.

@sindela @dazai-gojo-kinnie @whats-humanity-lol @thewickedofrizz @phantasmia @ghostllyyz @yihona-san06 @Enaaneaen @sweet-almond @Angel_🫶🏻@autumn-slaves @wondermilka @hh0peful @kugisakinobarades @witchbybirth @nineooooo @ssc7514 @Hana-patata @blue_spices @haikyuubiggestsimp @urstepmom69 @hueneve @chayunwoo@waosobii @nadzhaf @yoriichiswife @tiltraumadouspart @kirschtein123 @whoisobsessed @Asala @ashthemadwriter @remnirris @svm666 @voidsatoru @staygoldsquatchling02 @dunnowhy-m @nnasv @violetmatcha @dummyf @Noblog @Littledemoness15 @shaiah @iluv-ace @mmeerraa @angellyah @0bakuzan @waxhers @chanelmalandro @shoutobrainrot @angrydaughter @Screw-aebi@asdfghjkl7things @kodzukenwhore @gabile18 @bollockswhy @pelicanpizza @electro-supremacy @Zatannaswifeblog@spam-and-eggs @guenievresworld @b0scuit@aliventboo @marit332 @ieathairs @hells-escapees @no-name222

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madelynraemunson · 9 months

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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.

#Spotify #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #hellfire club #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson fics

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white-poppie · 10 months

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𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘-𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑

A shrill shout causes you to dart your attention in the direction it came from. You leave all the work you were occupied with and run towards the source of the sound, which was the master bathroom.

You knock on the bathroom door, panicking, where your lover is supposed to be taking a bath. All kinds of scenarios ranging from scalding hot water burning his skin to him slipping and getting a concussion, keep running in your head, "Babe what's wrong?"

You hear hurried, wet footsteps thumping on the marble-tiled floor. He opens the door with a loud bang, making you flinch. He is standing in front of you, wearing nothing but his bath towel around his waist, leaving his torso for you to marvel at.

"What's wrong?" You ask, looking into his restless eyes.

He rests a hand against the doorframe, water dripping down his body and creating a puddle. Whatever the matter was, it was far more critical than drying himself or looking decent.

"Spider," he says breathlessly, "there is a spider in the bathroom."

You blink. Once, twice, thrice and then stare at the man in front of you. You say the S-word again to confirm if you are hearing correctly or if you've turned into a sixty-year-old grandma, "a spider?"

"A spider," he says and nods aggressively, "get it out of there."

You don't know whether to be amused or irritated. Is there a camera anywhere? Is he filming a prank?

"What do you want me to do?" You ask, keeping your hands on your hips.

"Kill it," he says with wide eyes and you can't help but grin a little at this absurd situation of a behemoth of a man being scared of a tiny spider.

"Aren't you the man here?" You muse, playing along a little as he stands there, half-naked.

His brows furrow and he stares at you in offence. "Oh so now patriarchal standards come into play? In this situation? We are in the twenty-first century! And what about 'equality' and this 'willpower' you talk of when I say I'll pay for our dates? However, you either split the bill or make an advanced booking and now I have to make an advanced booking before your advanced booking."

"Okay, Okay I get it." You say exasperatedly and walk into the washroom and ask him to point at the tiny predator, "How big is it?" You say and immediately think of a 'that's what she said' joke, but he is too stressed to notice.

He makes a gap between his index and thumb and implies that the spider is about half an inch big- Wait hold on, that's one huge spider.

Your eyes widen as you finally understand his fear. You remove your slipper and wield it like a weapon and look around, "where is it?"

He stands beside you but sweatdrops as he realizes the spider is nowhere to be found. "It's not there anymore."

You look around the bathroom, panicking from your position and find the spider nowhere.

You then look back at your beloved with a mutual understanding of what to do next, "pack your things we are leaving."

KURAPIKA, Leorio, SHINICHIRO, Benkei, BAJI, GOJO, Getou, MELLO, Matt, Kuroo, BOKUTO, SAKUSA, LEV, OIKAWA, ASAHI, Atsumu,

A/N: But spiders are not that sc- *is shot dead.*

-- Fanfictions

TAGS: @akumicchi, @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp @rintaroubby, @nanaseishiro @cleaningfairylevi, @itoshirinpdf, @renster05, @ratna-the-furball, @buttercupspotify

Request-Rules ﹒ Taglist ﹒

Let me know if the links don't work and you wanna be added to the taglist <3

psst, hey, over here! Uhm hi :) Do you like reading? If so can you please check out my first novel? I am a 15-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! It's okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future. “Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!!

Also Check out: L'appel du vide (✔️) (Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! With no memories of what transpired two days before his death, you team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband? )

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decolonize-the-left · 7 months

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It's really important that terfs and radfems make men out to be the ONLY representatives and perpetrators of patriarchy because if anyone found out that women could aid the patriarchy too, it'd be so obvious that's exactly what TERFs and radfems are doing.

"girls can only be victims" "women need to be protected" "men should know better than to date a 25 year old girl child" "only biology and sex based oppression is real" "being a submissive tradwife is empowering despite what TRAs want you to think" "women are biologically weaker than men" "feminism isn't about womens rights it's about how men treat women" "how is that woman supposed to know better, a man should have helped!"

These are all things my misogynist grandpa would say.

And let's be real a lot of TERFs/radfems are white. And also het. Just like he is.

Which is very, very important because for a lot of them gender based oppression is the ONLY way they're oppressed.

And the way white women are oppressed is Different. White women have organizations and foundations and speakers and get invited to the WH. Look at Amber Heard. A white cishet victim of patriarchy with a new movie coming out and So Many other women supporting her bravery. Let's look at the Karens who use white womanhood to play victim and successfully get black men murdered over it.

They have the privilege of being able to do that while having no knowledge about the Indigenous Women's Network or the Loveland Foundation. And when were either of them ever invited to speak or propose a new bill?

Their feminism doesn't need to be intersectional because white supremacist men are willing to listen to a cishet white girl. She doesn't need us because our shared oppressors listen to her without us.

But where does her victimhood go if she admits that to us?

Their entire belief system is based on the idea that you can't be feminist unless they experience oppression. Which probably has a lot to do with them believing "men aren't allies cuz they're all our abusers" and "women are just victims"

White women victims are afforded a certain amount of power and authority the rest of us are not.

Wouldn't you want to maintain the little power you have?

That's why they're "gender critical" until you actually criticize their ideas on gender. It's why you MUST hate women if you criticize them.

It's the victimhood they benefit from and their need to maintain it.

Like how are they supposed to justify being transphobic pieces of shit if they admit trans women are NOT men? If they can't be victims of trans people that would have to mean they're just victimizing trans people, wouldn't it? If they, as white women, admitted race factored into feminism a Lot wouldn't that just make them racist for telling black women it wasn't?

Wouldn't that make them oppressors?

Because if they're doing that then they are taking part in systematically oppressing people they have power over. Silencing them.

And that's not possible because women are just so weak and helpless right? They can't be oppressors. It's men. Men built this system. Not them. Women were helpless. Just like right now while a wave of anti-trans legislation is sweeping.

If only men didn't have all the power and women could do something to help. If only trans women and men were oppressed. But they don't count and they just wanna steal spotlight from "sex based oppression" so they're actually oppressing women so women should not help them.

Because by fighting for gender discrimination rights and bodily autonomy just like radfems and TERFs, trans ppl are stealing the spotlight from "real" victims apparently. And we all know increasing white woman victimhood automatically makes you evil with no need for nuance or critical thinking about it.

....Even though trans ppl are are fighting for the same exact rights that TERFs and radfems are fighting for.

Do you see the ridiculous stretch they have to make?? How superficial it is?

Convenient the justification for a bunch of white cis women to sit around doing nothing again while their keepers call inhumane shots, isn't it?

I'm telling you, what TERFs and radfems Believe in is not feminism and it won't serve any cis people or even them in the long run.

They don't want equality of the sexes or anyone else.

What they want is an excuse to sit around doing nothing and ensuring their own safety AGAIN at the cost of everyone else's.

Because in truth what they want isn't actually that much different. They're the favorite for a reason.

But again....where would that leave these so-called feminists if they admitted that?

And then you have the queer TERFs and radfems which is just wild to me.

Do you have any idea how many radfems are trans lesbians? Or even just trans? Way more than makes any goddamn sense.

Coincidence?

I think the fuck not, mon frère.

TERFs made victimhood their personality by villainizing men and trans women and you couldn't help yourselves when you saw how they used it to position themselves could you.

Radfems even frame it like they're the good bigots because their ideas of women being lesser than men is trans inclusive. Like they're more "valid" as victims so they're Real feminists.

Don't be fooled.

None of that is progress or feminism. That's just Patriarchy's favorite doing what they do best; parroting the same exact rhetoric then looking away while Patriarchy and White Supremacy pass legislatation against the rest of us.

#TERFs #radfems #gender critical #radical feminism #feminism #misogyny #analysis #patriarchy #reproductive rights

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nonokoko13 · 4 months

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SPOILERS SXF CHAPTER 93 ❗❗❗

So, chapter 93. Starting with Anya scores...

THAT'S MY GIRL!!!! CONGRATULATIONS BABY!!! 🎉🎊🥳

(Let's take a moment to appreciate what a good and supportive friend Becky is too 💖)

As I expected Anya passed classical language (with a huge improvement!) but in the large, tedious walk on Hell that is school not everyone can get exceptional grades in every subject unless you're a Desmond apparently and Anya, as many people who preceded her and will come after her, failed math.

I have seen many people make theories about how certain older student who we shall discuss next could be her tutor. However, my theory is that she will receive help from Bill in the future

It makes more sense: both already know each other, Anya has more chances of Bill accepting or suggesting to help her than the-one-I-shall-name-later and overall Bill seems more communicative and better at socialising and explaining himself. Let's not forget he received a stella in math after all. So for me Bill seems like the most plausible option (maybe we will get jealous Damian with this friendship?)

Back at the Forgers residence the Authens pay a visit to congratulate Anya as well. When I read Sigmund's sentence about how rewarding is to have a payment for your hard work my mind automatically thought "But sometimes no matter how hard you try you don't get a reward. Sometimes the result is just not worth the effort" (I think many people has a canon event that reveals them that, specially when you're in highschool, middle school or college)

And right after thinking that he agreed with me lol. My mind really anticipates things before finishing a panel

Speaking of hard work and grades, I'm taking this chance to give my opinion: a system based on giving stars to those who have the highest grades while those who fail face the possibility of being expelled is awful. Not getting a star and comparing yourself to your peers already make horrors to your self esteem, imagine a child getting expelled for repeatedly fail a exam that may not be adapted to their needs (or getting many tonitrus for things your teachers disapprove of you but you didn't know it was wrong or for something about yourself you cannot control. For example a kid with ADHD unintentionally interrupting someone, disconnecting in the middle of a conversation or making noise with their leg when they stay still for too long. No need to go as far as talking about neurodivergent kids, look at that chapter where Anya got a tonitrus for not having a handkerchief. Who the fuck is punished for that when you're an adult anyway)

Enough of that, back to the chapter. Let's talk about what hyped me the most: Demetrius finally appearing on screen!

We already had crumbs of him before. Given Damian inferiority complex when comparing himself to him when he had talked about school and Twilight noticing his exams barely had any mistakes back in the chapter where Daybreak was welcomed to this world, him being a exceptional student when it comes to academics isn't surprising in the least.

Many say he's ugly and exactly like his father but I disagree. Donovan looks like a goddamn Frankenstein if Frankenstein was ugly, Demetrius take after his dead eyes look but he's pretty like Melinda. Not conventionally pretty like Damian or Melinda but kinda pretty. Like a zombie with sleep deprivation but in an endearing way. It's not his fault he's built like a Tim Burton or Don't Starve Together character... anyway I'm sure his appearance can grow up on you, hopefully (;´ ▾ `)

About the theories regarding this panel

It may be true something's going on, maybe he was really experimented on... But I can't stop thinking he was in that very moment "No thoughts, head empty" mode

I mean, he looks like a walking corpse in dire need of a proper nap, can you blame him if his thoughts are mainly focused on studies when Donovan probably spent time with him only for the sake of producing a good grades, not independent thinking machine as his heir? "He watch him study all the time."

I don't think it was necessary for a tragic incident to change Donovan and made him distant from his family. I suspect he has always been like that, perhaps even before having Demetrius, so it was less a traumatic big event and more the exhausting everyday life Demetrius has been having as far as he remembers of being supervised by his father in order to be the best at school and everything that turned him into the probably burnt out teenager he is.

Same with Melinda, being married to somebody you might not have even loved when you first got together, a man who doesn't try to understand others or seem capable of caring for anyone, a man who is not precisely publicly known for his kindness (remember Millie and Yor's boss when Donovan was brought up?)... Being married to that kind of person for years and then having kids with that person and have to keep being related to them for at least until your kids graduate sound like a miserable life indeed

The Desmond have a common theme going around that is understanding the world around them, or rather the lack of it. I can say for sure that Demetrius feeling overwhelmed simply with a bunch of kids and thinking he can't understand people have its roots in Donovan

• For Donovan is his narrow minded belief that nobody can't understand — therefore neither trust — each other because people is different; and as long as that phrase of "two people can't think the same" lives to the reality it finds itself in reaching a common ground is impossible.

• Donovan influenced Demetrius. Perhaps Demetrius doesn't share his father belief and that's not why he can't understand others, maybe it is because he was possibly deprived of a normal childhood where he could socialise with others of his age without his father expectations onto him.

Many academic gifted children reach a part of their lives where their habit is to think inside the box of "Good grades is all I'm good at or all I should care about; good grades = doing fine; it's all about what you can prove to those who expect something from you, not what you can prove to yourself to make you feel satisfied and happy".

When people who raised you condition you to act, live and think the way they wanted you to do is difficult to break and separate yourself from that. Plus he's going through the middle school phase, from personal experience that makes you x10 times angsty and complicated to understand yourself, much less everyone else.

• With Damian it is less discussed and pointed out because he's been able to have a relatively normal —if anything very neglected — childhood up to this point. He has friends, he acts like a kid of his age, his life doesn't revolve around his grades all the time... But that's the bare minimum of what a good childhood should be like.

It may be because of his age, but he doesn't see the bigger picture of his family. He can't see what is wrong with them (yet) because in his eyes nothing is wrong. Sure, he feels lonely and works hard for his dad to notice him, but that happens in many families right? He's not even in denial, he doesn't phantom the idea that what his family is, how they behave towards each other or towards him, isn't normal.

Don't make me start with how his future plans is following Donovan's footsteps in politics because he's trying that hard to approach him. He works hard at school because in his mind being like Demetrius or how he believes Donovan wants him to be would bring them closer, receive an understanding relationship from his dad when we know there might not be genuine affection between them from Donovan's side to start with.

He's teaching himself that love is conditioned by your "worth" or by whether you get to the expectations your loved ones have. That reminds me of what Sigmund told Anya because it sounds like a foretelling of Damian's life: [...] And one day you'll experience the frustration of realizing that hard work is not always rewarded. He doesn't many things and his age may explain it but it doesn't justify, if he continues thinking like that he'll have his hopes crushed and may turn out like Demetrius.

• As for Melinda, is difficult to talk about the point she stands in the understanding theme. Unlike her family she does seem able to understand people, perhaps because she wasn't raised like her kids have been. She's aware that her husband party made a lot of damage to their country, she seems aware and attentive to what surrounds her.

I don't think she cannot be understanding or perceptive, I think it's the other way around: the people she's surrounded by cannot understand her. Neither Yor, Anya, Damian, surely Demetrius and Donovan neither, her "friends" of the association she's in... Not even us can't understand the reason why she's so conflictive about Damian yet.

In just one appearance Donovan made his belief clear, thus giving us an idea of what type of feelings he has towards Damian. We can get so much of his character as a person with one chapter, but Melinda has appeared more than him and her true self is unknown. Donovan is reserved in a physical way, he isolates himself by not going outside and socialising, but he's not against the idea of explaining a stranger his stance in life. Melinda surrounds herself of people and listens to them but she keeps to herself.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to see more of Demetrius and the Desmonds. Hope we get more screen time of them, unless Endo has decided to drop such episode only to give us a one-shot chapter next and not elaborate further before introducing a complete different arc 💦

Although with what we have I'm already bought and entertained enough. Our favorite family is great but hooray for secondary characters being given depth and spotlight in this manga 🥳

See you next chapter reaction! If I made another one after other 25 full moons. I'm probably forgetting to talk about something...Oh well

#spy x family #sxf #manga spoilers #sxf chapter 93 #sxf spoilers #spy x family spoilers #chapter analysis #anya forger #bill watkins #donovan desmond #demetrius desmond #damian desmond #melinda desmond #becky blackbell #emile elman #ewen egeburg #GOD YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS EMO KID TO ARRIVE #my speculation of his looks was completely wrong and I'm glad it was. He looks prettier with not having a ikemen face #maybe it's just me and my liking for unconventional faces or faces different from the normal face an artist give to their ocs tho #idk. he looks neat to me #reminds me of owls and lemurs ✨#Maybe that's not the compliment I think it is given I also like George face because he gives me Frankenstein vibes #(not the same as Donovan's Frankenstein vibes btw)#♡ — shut up noko #Dementrius does sound like he would listen to MCR if there was MCR equivalent in sxf world. Look what parent issues and 0 naps do to a mf #Donovan let your family have a life without physical or spiritual presence or the consequences of it leaving a mark on them challenge #(impossible)#sigmund authen #almost forgot to tag Einstein looking grandpa #demetrius probably have 0 friends too. poor guy

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Iowa's starvation strategy

I don’t really buy that “the cruelty is the point.” I’m a materialist. Money talks, bullshit walks. When billionaires fund unimaginably cruel policies, I think the cruelty is a tactic, a way to get the turkeys to vote for Christmas. After all, policies that grow the fortune of the 1% at the expense of the rest of us have a natural 99% disapproval rating.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/19/whats-wrong-with-iowa/#replicable-cruelty

So when some monstrous new law or policy comes down the pike, it’s best understood as a way of getting frightened, angry — and often hateful — people to vote for policies that will actively harm them, by claiming that they will harm others — brown and Black people, women, queers, and the “undeserving” poor.

Pro-oligarch policies don’t win democratic support — but policies that inflict harm a ginned-up group of enemies might. Oligarchs need frightened, hateful people to vote for policies that will secure and expand the power of the rich. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the strategy. The point isn’t cruelty, it’s power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/25/roe-v-wade-v-abortion/#no-i-in-uterus

But that doesn’t change the fact that the policies are cruel indeed. Take Iowa, whose billionaire-backed far-right legislature is on a tear, a killing spree that includes active collaboration with rapists, through a law that denies abortion care to survivors of rape and forces them to bear and care for their rapists’ babies:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/16/us/politics/iowa-kamala-harris-abortion.html

The forced birth movement is part of the wider far-right tactic of standing up for imaginary children (e.g. “the unborn,” fictional victims of Hollywood pedo cabals), and utterly abandons real children: poor kids who can’t afford school lunches, kids in cages, kids victimized by youth pastors, kids forced into child labor, etc.

So Iowa isn’t just a forced birth state, it’s a state where children are now to be starved, literally. The state legislature has just authorized an $18m project to kick people off of SNAP (aka food stamps). 270,000 people in Iowa rely on SNAP: elderly people, disabled people, and parents who can’t feed their kids.

Writing in the Washington Post, Kyle Swenson profiles some of these Iowans, like an elderly woman who visited Lisa Spitler’s food pantry for help and said that state officials had told her that she was only eligible for $23/month in assistance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2023/04/16/iowa-snap-restrictions-food-stamps/

That’s because Iowa governor KimReynolds signed a bill cutting the additional SNAP aid — federally funded, and free to the state taxpayers of Iowa — that had been made available during the lockdown. Since then, food pantries have been left to paper over the cracks in the system, as Iowans begin to starve.

Before the pandemic, Spitler’s food pantry saw 30 new families a month. Now it’s 100 — and growing. Many of these families have been kicked off of SNAP because they failed to complete useless and confusing paperwork, or did so but missed the short deadlines now imposed by the state. For example, people with permanent disabilities and elderly people who no longer work must continuously file new paperwork confirming that their income hasn’t changed. Their income never changes.

SNAP recipients often work, borrow from relations, and visit food pantries, and still can’t make ends meet, like Amy Cunningham, a 31 year old mother of four in Charlton. She works at a Subway, has tapped her relatives for all they can afford, and relies on her $594/month in SNAP to keep her kids from going hungry. She missed her notice of an annual review and was kicked off the program. Getting kicked off took an instant. Getting reinstated took a starving eternity.

Iowa has a budget surplus of $1.91B. This doesn’t stop ghouls like Iowa House speaker Pat Grassley (a born-rich nepobaby whose grandpa is Senator Chuck Grassley) from claiming that the cuts were a necessity: “[SNAP is] growing within the budget, and are putting pressure on us being able to fund other priorities.”

Grassley’s caucus passed legislation on Jan 30 to kick people off of SNAP if their combined assets, including their work vehicle, total to more than $15,000. SNAP recipients will be subject to invasive means-testing and verification, which will raise the cost of administering SNAP from $2.2m to $18m. Anyone who gets flagged by the system has 10 days to respond or they’ll be kicked off of SNAP.

The state GOP justifies this by claiming that SNAP has an “error rate” of 11.81%. But that “error rate” includes people who were kicked off SNAP erroneously, a circumstance that is much more common than fraud, which is almost nonexistent in SNAP programs. Iowa’s error rate is in line with the national average.

Iowa’s pro-starvation law was authored by a conservative dark-money “think tank” based in Florida: the Opportunity Solutions Project, the lobbying arm of Foundation For Government Accountability, run by Tarren Bragdon, a Maine politician with a knack for getting money from the Koch Network and the DeVos family for projects that punish, humiliate and kill marginalized people. The Iowa bill mirrors provisions passed in Kentucky, Kansas, Wisconsin and elsewhere — and goes beyond them.

The law was wildly unpopular, but it passed anyway. It’s part of the GOP’s push for massive increases in government spending and bureaucracy — but only when those increases go to punishing poor people, policing poor people, jailing poor people, and spying on poor people. It’s truly amazing that the “party of small government” would increase bureaucratic spending to administer SNAP by 800% — and do it with a straight face.

In his essay “The Utopia of Rules,” David Graeber (Rest in Power) described this pathology: just a couple decades ago, the right told us that our biggest threat was Soviet expansion, which would end the “American way of life” and replace it with a dismal world where you spent endless hours filling in pointless forms, endured hunger and substandard housing, and shopped at identical stores that all carried the same goods:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/02/02/david-graebers-the-utopia-of-rules-on-technology-stupidity-and-the-secret-joys-of-bureaucracy/

A society that can’t feed, house and educate its residents is a failed state. America’s inability to do politics without giving corporations a fat and undeserved share is immiserating an ever-larger share of its people. Federally, SNAP is under huge stress, thanks to the “public-private partnership” at the root of a badly needed “digital overhaul” of the program.

Writing for The American Prospect, Luke Goldstein describes how the USDA changed SNAP rules to let people pay with SNAP for groceries ordered online, as a way to deal with the growing problem of food deserts in poor and rural communities:

https://prospect.org/health/2023-04-19-retail-surveils-food-stamp-users/

It’s a good idea — in theory. But it was sabotaged from the start: first, the proposed rule was altered to ban paying for delivery costs with SNAP, meaning that anyone who ordered food online would have to use scarce cash reserves to pay delivery fees. Then, the USDA declined to negotiate discounts on behalf of the 40 million SNAP users. Finally, the SNAP ecommerce rules don’t include any privacy protections, which will be a bonanza for shadowy data-brokers, who’ll mine SNAP recipients’ data to create marketing lists for scammers, predatory lenders, and other bottom-feeder:

https://www.democraticmedia.org/sites/default/files/field/public-files/2020/cdd_snap_report_ff.pdf

The GOP’s best weapon in this war is statistical illiteracy. While racist, sexist and queerphobic policies mean that marginalized people are more likely than white people to be poor, America’s large population of white people — including elderly white people who are the immovable core of the GOP base — means that policies that target poor people inevitably inflict vast harms on the GOP’s most devoted followers.

Getting these turkeys to vote for Christmas is a sound investment for the ultra-rich, who claim a larger share of the American pie every year. The rich may or may not be racist, or sexist, or queerphobic — some of them surely are — but the reason they pour money into campaigns to stoke divisions among working people isn’t because they get off on hatred. The hatred is a tactic. The cruelty is a tactic. The strategic goal is wealth and power.

Tomorrow (Apr 21), I’m speaking in Chicago at the Stigler Center’s Antitrust and Competition Conference. This weekend (Apr 22/23), I’m at the LA Times Festival of Books.

[Image ID: The Iowa state-house. On the right side of the steps is an engraved drawing of Oliver Twist, holding out his porridge bowl. On the left side is the cook, denying him an extra portion. Peeking out from behind the dome is a business-man in a suit with a dollar-sign-emblazoned money-bag for a head.]

Image: Iqkotze (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Iowa_State_Capitol_April_2010.jpg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

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elysiuminfra · 1 year

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my I Need Money post (AKA, please consider helping me survive my abusive homelife)

Hi! I’m Cecil. I’m a 20 year old transgender artist from Louisiana, and I can make YOU art!

Art is my sole source of income, and I’m in a bit of a pickle. I am an adult now, and I gotta do adult things. like pay off debt. My sibling is 17. We are both victims of abuse and child neglect at the hands of our alcoholic parents. It’s not so great, but I’d like it to get better.

I’m disabled from medical neglect, and have no way to get my driver’s license. I am unable to get a job, as I live too far from anywhere that would hire me, with no way to get there. This is all I got, man! I got two hands and a warrior’s spirit!

My sibling is my pride and joy and I want to see them flourish and thrive because they’re awesome. They struggle with untreated bipolar disorder and a slew of medical problems, and I want to get them treated for it. I also need to take my two cats to the vet. I have debt I have to pay off, and I have to buy myself food to combat my increasingly declining weight. My clothes don’t fit very well anymore. :(

Art and design is my life-long passion, and I’d like to do it for the rest of my life, but I can’t if I can’t get on my feet. If you’d like to view more of my work, you can check some out here, or view some of my more professional work on my commission website here.

If you would like to financially support me, consider commissioning or donating! Even just sharing helps!

https://ckncommission.carrd.co/

https://ko-fi.com/cknelysium

On a serious note, things at home are not great. This is where I talk about what is going on in detail. Details of abuse and neglect beyond this point. Not required reading, but necessary for context. Photos included.

It’s not that I’m just poor, my parents both work full-time jobs, and they manage to pay the bills. I have food and a roof over my head, but I own nothing but debt, and can’t financially support myself. My parents have been neglecting my sibling for years, and neglected me the same. They do nothing to help us.

My sibling is showing signs of health deterioration, likely malnutrition, and they don’t seem to be concerned about it at all. My health is getting worse, too, because my parents have ignored me when I have stated I am getting worse. I haven’t been to the dentist ever since I was a child. I live with disabling chronic pain and intense fatigue, and I don’t even have a diagnosis, since no one will take me to the doctor.

My sibling likely not going to graduate because my parents have not supported them at all with their mental health, education, or support them just in general. They live in total isolation alongside me. My parents are also the reason why I can’t get a job- they won’t teach me how to drive, and won’t provide transportation. I am physically trapped in my own house, and the only people who can drive refuse to take us anywhere. They also will not help clean the house, and they won’t help fix our dryer or washer, which are both broken. They won’t take our pets to the vet. They won’t spare any expenses for things that need to be done. They spend most of their money on alcohol. In my state, we are currently experiencing what one would call abuse and child neglect. This is one of the only times I have ever written, in detail, what my home life is like.

Our washer and dryer, both broken. We don’t have any flooring in that room. The other is part of our living room floor. I am the only person who cleans the house in any capacity, and when I do it never, ever stays clean. The dirt is from my dad alone. I need to cover doctor’s visits, medication, food for my sibling, and vet costs for my pets. I would also maybe like to have a little treat every once in a while. I can’t physically drive, but if I am able to get the money for it, I can force my parents to take care of things. Due to the, er, abuse, I am also isolated from the world at large and have no support system. All things described on my sibling have been happening to me for years, but I’m technically an adult now, so there’s little anyone can do for me. Things aren’t so great, but I think they can get better through blood sweat and tears. Which is why I have to step up and try to do all these things myself! A difficult task, but I want to make art into something I could do as a job. Please lord have mercy, I want to wash my clothes. I can even save up for a car, and teach myself how to drive, so I can finally reach independence. Without financial support, I can’t achieve that at all. I am very stressed about everything. I’m very isolated as a result of not being allowed to go anywhere. I don’t have anyone I can confidently trust with my home-life situation. I have no resources either, as I live in an area with very little support for adult victims of parental abuse. I’ve never made a plea like this before. I just want to be able to live and thrive and survive on my own, and I just can’t do it at this rate. If I can go to the doctor, I can get healthier, and undo all the years of medical neglect and actually hold a full-time job making coffee like I’d like. I’m afraid both me and my sibling will never get anywhere in life, and I don’t want that for them. I don’t want that for me. I want to finally start living. Thank you for reading, and getting to the end.

#pinned #commissions

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cloveroctobers · 6 months

Text

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🦇 — 5. RIO

A/N: had a dream about my man the other night so I guess that was his way of telling me that he misses me? We love delulu!!! Anyways thought this would be fun to actually write something on the line of thriller/spooky this time around. This is me making up for not writing part two’s to my other fall inspired prompt on this man way back when. Hope y’all enjoy this 🧡🫶🏽!!!

PROMPT is from HERE + I’m using: A Begs B to come explore an old house that they believe is haunted. B is hesitant, especially after hearing the scary tales A knows so much about.

*GIF + PHOTO DO NOT BELONG TO ME!

WARNINGS: some France slander, language & hints of sexual content.

<- read my previous October anthology prompt here.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Being in France for the month of October initially wasn’t the plan.

Khadijah and Rio ventured out here for a couple days for Khadijah’s birthday and for Rio to tie up some loose ends for business. What was supposed to be a four day trip turned into a much longer adventure.

“I know y’all done heard they got bed bugs out there, why are your asses staying out there longer?” Khadijah’s mother blurted into the FaceTime call.

Rio chuckled to himself by the mini bar, fixing himself something brown before entering the main living room part of the suite.

“Mom,” Khadijah hissed as she flicked through the channels, “this was a unexpected extended birthday trip.”

“Uh huh, sure it is.” The older woman said not entirely believing that, “Don’t think you can get cute on us and decide not to come back.”

“I’m already cute,” Khadijah modeled with extra shoulder as she sat on the tan couch while her mother brings the camera to show that she’s rolling her eyes.

“Well where do you think you get it from?”

“My father.”

“More like you got his smart mouth.” Khadijah’s mom comments, making her child hold up her finger to interject.

Now she loved her mom dearly but it was no secret that Khadijah was a daddy’s girl and her father’s favorite daughter despite what her two sisters thought. She was one of four children while her youngest sibling happened to be the only boy.

“Aw c’mon, don’t do Mr. Wells like that, especially if he’s not here to defend himself. Where is he anyway? It’s gotta be after 10:30 back home?” Rio came into frame, crouching behind Khadijah, who turned to peck his cheek before facing her phone once more.

The woman sighed, “where else? Working, working, working. I’ve been telling him he needs to slow down, he’s not some twenty year old no more. Lord knows it.”

Mr. Wells had a heart attack last year and had to have a stint put in. Rio’s never seen Khadijah’s so stressed before in his life and although the hardworking man had a good job with good insurance working for the city, they slammed him with some bills that Rio paid off. Which Mr. Wells wouldn’t let slide and already was in the process of paying back.

His choice, not Rio’s.

“He’s close to retirement and he loves supporting his family which is respectable.” Rio starts before joking, “once that happens then the both of you can come with us to Paris next time.”

“Uh uh. I’m never going over there, never had the desire to which is why I want y’all asses to get out of there fast!” Mrs. Wells’ large glasses come into frame now as she holds the phone at not the best angle, “I’d love to see Dubai or St. Lucia with Kayode, your father, and I guess your big headed brother can come too, Deej.”

Khadijah laughs, “yeah and he can bring Eliza too.”

“if I catch him even thinking about it, I’ll click my heels three times and send her bony ass right to hell.”

Laughter bubbles in Khadijah’s throat as she sends a teasing smile to Rio who winked back at his wife, knowing that neither of Khadijah’s parents were fond of their youngest child’s significant other. He was nineteen and found his supposed first love so it was evident that the pair were clingy and so in love with each other. They went to the same high school together, weren’t in the same cliques but ended up at the same community college and decided to give each other a try.

In shorter terms.

“We’ll make it happen,” Rio sighs as he comes around to plop down on the couch next to Khadijah, tossing a hand around the back of the couch, “minus Eliza right?”

“Damn straight,” Mrs. Wells humphed, “she can date somebody else’s son and boss them around for all i care. I just hope it’s over before thanksgiving.”

“Now Mom! Let’s not spread that negative energy for your birthday month, do you need some lavender and Kirk Franklin to keep your blood pressure down?”

The woman with the now bonnet secured around her micro locs fanned her hand, “I already had my session with Mr. Franklin around 7pm so hush! You know that’s what I’m wishing for and hoping you don’t wait around and decide to come back then.”

Khadijah blinks at Rio, who meets her stare. He had no plans of staying here longer than another few days, things got delayed and he offered to send Khadijah back to Detroit if that’s what she wanted but she had some vacation time that she didn’t mind using and she didn’t want to leave Rio behind either.

He’s been busy lately and she just knows as soon as they get back to Detroit, he’ll probably disappear for a little awhile again. So sue the woman if she wanted to be a little selfish and spend more time with her man.

“We’re gonna bring you something much better,” Rio smirks after taking a sip of his liquor, “maybe even a new bundle of joy.”

“WHAT?!” Mrs. Wells yells, “don’t play with me right now. When was your last cycle? I’ve been saying your tatas been looking fuller, ooooh I’ll have to tell your grandmomma.”

“Hey, hey! I’m not pregnant—

“Yet. We’ve been practicing though.” Rio announces, biting down on his bottom lip while Khadijah gasps and shoved at his knee.

Mrs. Wells claps her hands in joy, “y’all keep doing that but don’t bring those bed bugs back with you.”

“We won’t and did our research. If it makes you feel any better, we’re leaving this hotel tonight to stay at this castle for the rest of our trip and then tomorrow we’re gonna go explore this historic house since Rio wanted to have a rest day.” Khadijah informs her mother while Rio slowly nods his head, not knowing of the exploring a house portion but they’d discuss it later.

Mrs. Wells yawns as she sits up in bed now, “sounds fancy but okay then, mom’s tired and ready to knock out. But continue to be safe, the both of you and I’ll see you soon?”

“You sure will, night momma Wells.” Rio gave a two finger salute while Khadijah shared, “I love you’s, talk soon.” Before hanging up the call.

Khadijah leans back against the couch with a sigh, “told you mom’s got serious seperation anxiety all thanks to Kaliyah moving to Toronto with her girlfriend and we’re only traveling!”

“Which is exactly why I tried to smooth over her worries with baby talk, it worked didn’t it?” Rio lifts a thick brow while Khadijah shrugs her shoulders.

Soon she rests her head on Rio’s chest, locking her arms around his waist, “it’ll happen when it’s meant to…and we need to make sure we’re all packed for our new temporary home.”

“Oh I know I am, it’s you you gotta worry about mamas.” Rio presses a kiss to Khadijah’s rosemary scented hair.

Khadijah scoffs, “sorry but I had to buy more for this trip…which I’m not complaining! BUT! Paris’ fashion is really for the petite girlies.”

“They’re forreal missing out on the inclusion and better get on that.” Rio hummed.

“Siobhán is.” Khadijah grins while Rio slowly dips his head at the mention of his old designer friend.

Before Khadijah could get into asking about how she’s been doing, Rio sips from his drink once more and changes the subject, “what’s this about exploring tomorrow?”

“We maybe moving into a castle mansion for a little awhile but there’s no way I’m staying cooped up any longer without seeing what Dordogne has to offer.” Khadijah tells her husband with the perfect pronunciation of the town—or rather department as France calls it.

Rio raises the hand the rests against his wife’s shoulder, “heard you, mamas. No arguing on my part but you know it’s beneficial to have reset days too.”

“Which YouTuber told you that?” Khadijah smirks up at the buzz haired man, figuring that he was probably logged onto her account instead of switching over to his own to watch whatever it is he gets into.

Rio snorts, “don’t try and play me, my aesthetician did.”

“Of course they did.” Khadijah nods believing that since Rio didn’t mess around when it came to his skincare, “and you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with rest days. You’ve been running around x2 compared to me so I get it. You get a nap in and I’ll get the bags ready since we have what? An hour before the service comes and gets us.”

Rio grips Khadijah’s hand as she gets up from the couch, “you sure all an hour is what you need?”

“Shut up, Christopher.” Khadijah laughs, matching Rio’s smile before leaving the man to get his nap on.

With the city life behind the married couple, they settled in Dordogne late last night into the 18th century home. Surprisingly Rio wakes up late the next day, like around eleven am late compared to his seven am timeline. However Khadijah doesn’t mind letting him sleep, snapping a picture of his rest with the camera she brought along for the trip. She watches the clock from time to time, knowing just when to order breakfast to be sent to their room.

Khadijah’s sitting on a olive couch pushed underneath the windows which are half pulled back, sipping on caffe viennese, stomach half full from a classic French breakfast as she stares out into the scenery acting like the main character in a Victorian film.

“Morning, mamas. You starting the day without me?” Rio’s rough morning voice greets the brown skinned woman, who glances over her shoulder at him.

A soft smile meets her full lips, “good morning but someone has to get this party started. But don’t worry, I’ll never not let you in on the thrill. Got you one of these,” she holds the mug up in the air, nodding with her chin on the nightstand next to the man, “and there’s breakfast waiting for you underneath the cloche.”

“Did I mention hearing you speak French is sexy?” Rio states as he slowly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Khadijah smirks, “plenty when you were tipsy on the late night ride here.”

“I regret nothing,” Rio laughs before turning to reach and sip at the warm coffee, “this is delicious.”

Khadijah pops her tongue, “Yeah it is.”

“What we doin’ today? Hold up, what time is it?” Rio turns his eyes into slits, reaching for his phone to let out a low whistle, “damn, haven’t slept that long—

“Since you got shot?”

Rio let’s out a cough, “whoa, that was dark.”

“Sorry,” Khadijah says, “kinda just slipped out.”

“Something you wanna talk about, Dija?” Rio hums, staring at his wife from their temporary shared bed.

Khadijah shakes her head, “nothing I want to get into on this brand new day, no. So!”

She uncurls her feet from underneath her to stand in her floral print lace trim set, placing a smile on her lips as she plops down on the bed. Taking a quick sip of the coffee again, she places it on her side of the nightstand and reaches inside to pull out two slips of paper.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?” Rio suspiciously tries to peek at the papers but Khadijah slaps them right on her chest.

“You asked what we’re gonna do.”

“Didn’t you say exploring some house last night?” Rio frowns, trying to remember.

Khadijah’s little smile to herself seems wicked but as soon as it appeared it vanished while she wiggled a bit on the bed, “that’s tonight’s adventure after dinner. We have at least a few hours before then to do something else so…pick one, anyone.”

The two options were: Château des Milandes OR Canoeing on the Brantôme.

Rio doesn’t wipe the frown off his brows but holds out his thumb and pointer finger while Khadijah holds onto the deck of two pieces. The tatted man makes a show of taking his time debating, just to irritate Khadijah for a little until he smiles picking the paper to the left.

And the winner is…

“Great choice! Now get your butt up and let’s shower, they’ve been open since 9 this morning.”

Chateau des Milandes!

Rio hums as he studies the paper, sipping at his coffee then replies, “can I enjoy my breakfast along with the view first?”

Khadijah dramatically sighs as she flops beside Rio, resting on her elbow to stare back at the ajar windows, “oh fine but I promise you, the one outside is much better.”

“personally I like the one right next to me.”

Khadijah flicks her head back to meet Rio’s brown eyes and she can’t help but to let a smile split over her lips, then puckering them for Rio to peck and lick his own smiling lips afterwards, “you think you’re so smooth.”

“I mean give a guy some credit. How else do you think I got you?” Rio chuckled while Khadijah just nodded her head from side to side mockingly.

“Just eat your food Christopher.”

It was Rio’s turn to mimic his wife.

“Aight, Khadijah.” He said over his shoulder, sitting on his knees and reaching over for the second tray of food.

Chateau Des Milandes was a sight to see and was a wonderful experience. Ugh!!! here Khadijah was sounding like her very emotional Granny Mozella but she never took moments like these with Rio for granted. On the outside it may seem like Rio was only street smart since that’s what he preferred yet he didn’t mind listening in on historical facts from time to time and no he wasn’t really into podcasts—unless it was true crime content—but no one could ever say he wasn’t open to learning new material and translating it into his own life.

He was good at finding purpose in anything.

He also liked draping his arm across Khadijah’s shoulders as they took the tour around the home that used to be owned by the successful Josephine Baker. That was more interesting to Khadijah than the Lords that lived it way before Ms. Baker but nonetheless they took it all in together including the architecture.

No one could deny that France had a way with its design and art.

They explored the garden, which led to a picnic and wine for dinner with the French sunset as the perfect backdrop, then they ended their time at the Chateau with a bird experience, much to Rio’s surprise as Khadijah winked and placed a kiss on the tattoo on his neck, before clenching onto his arm for dear life once the various of birds—specifically the one that was very similar to the one on Rio’s skin started flying around.

Rio found amusement in that, even when they made it back to the rental car.

“If that big ass bird would have crapped on me, we would have been having a whole different type of bird for thanksgiving this year.” Khadijah continuously checked her outfit for any unfamiliar marks, the paranoia getting to her.

Rio couldn’t help but to throw his head back against the headrest laughing. “They’ve been trained, that wasn’t gonna happen. Plus it may just wanted a strand of your hair for warmth, huh? French winters can be brutal so I hear.”

The man went to curl a strand of his wife’s loose curl that framed her face who scoffed at him.

“You’re far from funny, Mr. Montoya.” Khadijah slapped his hand away to fix her pin curl updo in the drop down mirror.

Rio chuckled some more, watching her, “you’re right…I’m hilarious, Mrs. Montoya.”

“Im glad you had fun, baby. I can tell the bird part was your favorite,” Khadijah gave the man a playful side eye, “but now it’s time for my activity.”

Rio glanced at the watch on his wrist, “it’s going on seven…what else you trying to get into besides drinking more wine and eating cheese?”

“Whew! No more cheese for me.” Khadijah flicked the sun visor back up, “so…I have this other place to visit.”

Rio tapped on the GPS, “aight, what’s the address?”

“I don’t think the GPS will fully locate it…just to a certain point.”

Rio thought about this for a second and asked, “what? It’s some underground event or something?”

“Well sure, yeah. Kinda.” Khadijah shrugged her shoulders making Rio sigh and sit back with his hands clasped.

Khadijah was tapping away on her phone for a moment while Rio just studied her. When she realized the car wasn’t moving, Khadijah turned her attention back to Rio who was patiently waiting for her to come right on out with it.

“We’re not going anywhere until you give me the info I need. No shady shit allowed.”

Khadijah turned sideways to face Rio, “Okay so…there’s this house that we should see.”

“You said that already. But Why? To buy?”

“Hell no,” Khadijah was quick to say, further making Rio put his guard up as to what this whole adventure was even about, “I mean no…yeah no that’s exactly what I mean. It wouldn’t be for us to live…just to see.”

Rio pried, “what’s so special about it?”

“It has a colorful story.”

“Which is…?”

“The year was 1666–

“Nah,” Rio immediately said leaning forward to start the engine but Khadijah flew her hand out to stop Rio from switching the gears.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

Rio leans on the console to completely face Khadijah, “by the way you’re dragging this out let’s me know you’re about to tell me some bullshit, that you know I’m not about to let fly.”

“Can’t a bitch add some extra flavor to the tale?” Khadijah scrunches up her face, “Sheesh.”

“Stop playin’ with me, Dija.”

“So hostile,” Khadijah flicked her hair off her shoulder, “alright you want the synopsis? Got it. So this house is special because during the year of 1666 a woman named Blanche lived there with her father, mother, two siblings, and new husband. Allegedly she was later accused of poisoning her family and beheaded her husband after they all suspected she was a witch because of some rumors started at the hospital she volunteered at. Her sickly father was the one to put her down after his wife and other children slowly started to die one by one. They say Blanche still haunts the home and asks when and or if you visit, to leave a ribbon and tea bag’s on their front step as a offering and for her to rid any vengeance in your life.”

Rio caressed his facial hair in thought, “Question for you, mamas? Did that eagle peck at your brain when i wasn’t around or…”

Khadijah sucks her teeth, “it’s spooky season, asshole!”

“I know that,” Rio lifts his shoulders carelessly, “but you’re trying to get into some serious shit and I can tell you one thing: I’m not feelin’ it.”

“Are you scared?” Khadijah leaned into the center console ready to comfort him, “I never said we had to go inside the house. Just see it and leave something for Blanche.”

Rio didn’t miss how Khadijah started to trail her hands over him but he didn’t fold, “Her business ain’t ours.”

It was Khadijah’s turn to laugh now, “you’re definitely scared!”

“No I’m not.” Rio scowled, “I’m just saying you have to be careful what you expose yourself to. I told moms we’d bring her back a baby, not a witch that may latch onto your body.”

Khadijah frowns, “why would you think Blanche would latch onto mine and not yours?”

“Whoever! And I really can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re trying to mess with some spirits.”

Khadijah wasn’t trying to “‘mess with spirits,” she always respected the dead but this sounded better than visiting the catacombs to be honest.

So she challenged, “Hey! It’s something to do.”

“I can find plenty of other things we can get into.” Rio placed his chin into the palm of his hand, “We’re not about to be here much longer anyway.”

Khadijah sighs as she grabs Rio’s hand to place in her lap, “I’ll let you try out our new toy at the same time while you’re inside…”

Rio’s eyes begin to darken as they meet Khadijah’s much lighter ones. This was a promising bargain and this Khadijah knew as Rio trailed his own hand up her stomach, between her breasts, and to grip her chin.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Rio states as he presses their lips together and leads the way with his tongue dancing along hers.

It’s passionate and a little nasty just the way the married couple liked their kisses but brief enough that he leaves Khadijah panting on the passenger side. He smirks to himself, lifting up from the driver’s side to pull out his Glock 17 from his black jeans to rest on the dashboard.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Rio tells Khadijah who shortly follows through, “and not a word of this to my abuelita.”

Khadijah makes a cross my heart motion as Rio puts the car in drive.

The drive to this supposed haunted home was a good half hour north from where they were staying and the decline of the countryside was clear. There seemed to be no livelihood as the skies got even darker. Rio could sense to the left of him that Khadijah seemed to be at unease the deeper they got into the area.

He checks in, “How we doing?”

“Hm? Oh, there it is. Stop.”

Rio turns his attention back to the lack of road up ahead and notices that there’s a tunnel with no lighting. He steps on the breaks, witnessing to the left of the tunnel the narrow road carried upwards to what exactly? That he didn’t know. There was no homes or animals in sight on this drive since they started getting further away from the chateau.

“What’s this?”

“That’s the tunnel that leads to Blanche’s house.” Khadijah is sitting on the edge of the passenger seat now.

Rio tightens his hold on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the scenery with the help of the automatic headlights. If they went through that tunnel, which was surely to be just as narrow as the roads out here in the countryside he wasn’t positive they would make it back. His intuition was telling him since the beginning that this didn’t feel right and being physically here was enough to confirm that for Rio.

Turning his eyes into slits towards the right of the tunnel, Rio can see a decaying headstone with a bunch of colorful ribbons tossed around and possibly some rocks that were most likely teabags scattered below it.

“This is what you came for,” Rio says keeping his eyes on the road.

“Oui-Oui.” Khadijah says suddenly halfhearted and any other time Rio would have laughed but the expression on her face made him aware that the tension was also felt by her as well.

Rio steps on the gas, driving full speed towards the tunnel but stops just at edge, parallel to the headstone, making Khadijah grip the dashboard at the abruptness.

“Get going, sweetheart.” Rio tells Khadijah with a lift of his chin.

Khadijah swallows, prying her eyes away from the tunnel then to the headstone and back to her husband. “W-what? You’re not coming with me?”

“I never said I was going in there. I have sense.” Rio tapped at his temple.

Khadijah glares, “wow. So here’s to trying new things was just another one of your lies then huh?”

“Another? Don’t go there, I’m not doing that with you this evening. You brought this terrible idea to me and I brought you here so go head, show me you’re the one who isn’t scared.” Rio’s hardened stare was now on the fuming woman.

Khadijah didn’t know what the fuck Rio’s problem was and why he thought this energy was okay? Khadijah didn’t like Rio’s tone so she snatched her baguette bag from beside her feet and went to push on the door but remained right inside.

“Are you serious?!”

Rio made a U-Turn and began driving back in the direction they came, “are you forreal thinking I’m about to have our asses messing around with the actual dead? Let alone your indecisive ass? And we don’t even have the full context?”

“I mean…do you not have bodies? You don’t see me questioning you about them.” Khadijah muttered.

Rio snapped his eyes to his wife, “two completely different things and you know that.”

It really wasn’t but okay, if Rio hated her riding the fence then let’s see if he hated it now.

“Whatever.” Khadijah slouched against the seat, “You just wasted our time, like why entertain the fact that you were with it if you’re just gonna try to clown me?”

“I wasn’t letting you do that and you should have known that.” Rio clenched his jaw, “I would never willingly put you in harm’s way and that’s exactly what you were signing up for.”

Khadijah knows Rio wouldn’t and if she wanted to be petty she could but she just mumbles, “You just ruined spooky season in France like?”

“Better throw that ribbon and teabags out the window and get glad. Who knows what would have happened if we went down that dark ass tunnel with only the Glock against a whole spirit mind you, that we don’t even know if she’s still vengeful or not.”

“I mean you make valid arguments…and I don’t even know if the house is still standing. The last update online was from 2021 so I guess I can’t be too pressed about it.” Khadijah explains as she starts to search through her bag, “but you can’t say I was indecisive this time, yet you locked me in here like I’m a child.”

Rio deeply exhales, rubbing at his face in slight aggravation, “yeah we gotta get back to Detroit and quick. I think you need to go back to work and continue spreading peaceful energy at that non-profit instead whatever this is.”

“What?” Khadijah sucked her teeth, “Trying to be on theme?”

“We could easily rent a movie at the spot and call it a day.”

“I wanna be one with nature!”

“As soon as we get far away from Blanche’s murder site, I’ll take the locks off so you can touch some grass.”

“Ohhhh, I cannot stand you!” Khadijah scowled followed by some laughter before ghosting her fingers over the window button, “is this going to work for me or am I still being held hostage?”

Rio just hums to himself, glancing in the rear view spotting a blur of white in the distance along with something that wasn’t tumbleweed rolling right by their feet.

Khadijah doesn’t notice as she cracks the window to toss a pink ribbon and a teabag out on the dirt road.

And when she looks in the rearview, she doesn’t see anything unusual or creepy. So she rolls her window back up and presses her elbow into the arm of the door, resting her cheek along her fingers, watching the night scenery whip by her highlighter eyes.

Soon Rio’s hand reaches for the Glock to rest in the cup holders before sneaking his hand over to bring Khadijah’s hand up to his lips. He knew she was a little sour with him over this and probably a bunch of other built up issues but Khadijah always tried to make the best of it.

Rio was trying to get better at validating her feelings but this shit right here was not it and Khadijah knew that inside. Which is why he had a more safer route up his sleeve to spend the day with Khadijah tomorrow since celebrating Halloween was apparently too american for the French. So he did the best that he could choosing a theme park that would be “on theme” for Khadijah’s spooky cravings.

That would be his gift to her and routine of keeping her best interest at heart, even if she didn’t fully want to see it that way sometimes…

Ah, she’ll be aight.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #Rio good girls #rio x black!reader #rio x reader #october prompts #queued #spooky prompts #good girls nbc #Rio x oc #manny montana

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