Hello readers, and welcome to my multi-fandom blog. My name is Sugar. However, I donât mind being called Disenchanted. To make navigating the content on here better, I decided to put out one large masterlist in hopes that none of the older stories are buried. Let me know if a link isnât working, and Iâll do my best to fix it.
How to navigate the masterlist: each one of the stories will be under a category; video games, anime/manga, movies and TV shows. This should make it easy to locate what youâre looking for. And the masterlist will be posted in two sections; Major and Minor. The Major section will have my current work and the Minor category will feature my other work.
Warning(s): the content below might be mature or explicit, so if you are not 18 and up, then my blog is not for you. Some content may even have dark themes, but I assure you all NSFW material is consensual.
Also, some stories may not be complete. I donât like to abandon fics, so eventually, I do plan to return to them. I occasionally take requests but they take me a terrible amount of time to finish, so if you are impatient, please donât ask.
âThe shortest road to men's hearts is down their throats,â John Adams wrote.Â
He might be right.
At six-twenty in the morning, Lee woke Derek for breakfast. He was still angry with her, she noted, the moment he stumbled from the guest roomâan office that she decorated into a spare bedroom for Tina and Derek whenever they would stay overâand to the bathroom without speaking to her. As he crossed into the kitchen, adjusting the thick-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, he noticed the stack of chocolate chip pancakes sitting on the table. Lee stood over the sink, washing dishes as he silently ate.Â
âGood enough?â She asked quietly.Â
âFor now,â Derek answered.
Lee turned and leaned against the sink, grinning. He was a brat.Â
âFinish up then. I have to get you home before your dad leaves.â
Derek wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his brightly colored knit sweater. The thick syrup clung to the yarn.Â
âYou aren't taking me to school?âÂ
âMy shift starts in less than an hour.â Lee glanced at the clock on the wall to make sure, then turned her attention back to Derek. âOr else I would.âÂ
Derek raised a brow.Â
âBut you are picking me up, though, right?â
Lee nearly snorted. He must not have been on good terms with his parents at the moment. Her house was neutral ground, a safe place for Derek and Tina whenever they felt overwhelmed at home. More often than not, they stayed the night with her.Â
âI thought you hated me. You barely talked to me last night.âÂ
âIt's still early,â Derek retorted.Â
He hadn't completely forgiven her, it seemed. Lee frowned. Who was Mr. Whatsit to him? And what nonsense did he fill his head with? Derek had to think highly of him to get mad at her. She couldn't shake the eerie feeling that his threats were real.Â
âSorry D. My shift doesn't end till three.âÂ
If she didn't have to work doubles or until seven.Â
Derek turned up his eyes. Lee hated to disappoint him, but such was life.
For the next ten minutes, the two sat in silence. Lee quickly got dressed in her White Swan uniform and tied up her auburn hair in a messy high bun. Derek was finished by the time she was done. They piled into the car and drove to the Turnbow residence on Bay Tree Street.Â
Before Derek got out of the car, Lee called out his name. He glanced over his shoulder, bulky body half in the car.Â
âDon't talk to strangers, okay?â
âMr. Whatsit isn't a stranger,â Derek argued. âYou'll see.âÂ
Lee didn't like that. She tightened her jaw, watching Derek sprint into the house. No. She didn't like it at all.
â
Since the involvement of the military, the bustling commerce of the town had strangely quieted.
Lee didn't particularly like it despite valuing the peace. Hawkins was becoming a ghost town. Everyone was a little on edge, fearing that something bad was looming on the horizon. She could feel it, too. The air was stagnant and way too calm, considering everything that had happened in the last few years; it was the lull before the storm.
And what bothered Lee the most about it was that the military seemed to think that everyone was just going to ignore their sudden intrusion and continue on like they did not have the entire town on lockdown. But why? An earthquake was not an excuse to monitor the ins and outs of a hospital in her opinion.
Case in point: the armed guards posted near the entrance.
Lee had hustled past them several times since she arrived at Hawkins Memorial, rushing gurneys down the hall and wearing herself ragged. The fluorescent lights were worsening her headache, and to make matters worse, the guards were useless. Old Mr. Ragland had gotten out of bed an hour into her shift, screaming about the rifts outside his window glowing. She and two orderlies had to calm him down and return him to his room, even after he tried to escape. The guards didn't even budge.
At around noon, they were still there.
Lee stood at the nurse's station, prepping metal trays filled with small paper cups of pills when a candy striper with short, choppy red hair approached. Her white flats squeaked on the linoleum floor.
"Mrs. Mars has been flicking her call light for the past ten minutes." Vickie Dunne leaned her arms on the table top.
Lee sighed, rubbing her temples. She could see the red light above room 102 flickering on and off like a frantic Morse code message.
"I already told her three times that it wasn't time for her medicine yet, but she's persistent."
Annoyingly so.
Vickie smiled softly. She had been rather optimistic since the 'earthquake'. Lee wondered if perhaps she had found her soulmate. A sense of elation overcame those who did, she was told. She could not help but feel a bit envious of her.
"Hey, so⊠can I ask you something?" Vickie suddenly blurted out. There was a look of quiet desperation in her blue eyes. Lee tilted her head, curious. "What ifâand I ask this hypotheticallyâbut what if your soulmate isn't someone you are meant to be with?"
Lee knitted her brows. "Like how?"
An air of nervousness washed over her. Lee had heard of those in relationships that were a bit unorthodox before, but nothing that was considered taboo.
"It's not illegal," Vickie claimed. She took an uneasy breath. "Just...looked at differently."
A sudden realization overcame her. Lee softened her expression. She was capable of sympathy, even if it was hard to show sometimes. Gauging her expression, Vickie seemed to grow tense.
"I mean likeâshe paused to sigh. âHow do you know if what you're feeling is right?"
She didn't know, Lee reckoned. Or else Vickie would have asked someone else. Her chest felt heavy with grief. Lee clenched her hands into a fist, then slowly released them, aware that her coworker had seen.
"I wouldn't know. Mine passed on before I met them."
Vickie narrowed her eyes in sympathy. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Lee quickly interrupted her.
"Please don't. It's fine."
It truly was. While every day was different, Lee could honestly say that she was faring better than others in her shoes. She had a job that she worked hard for and a family that she cared for. Some people simply weren't given happy endings; she had long since come to terms with that.
The red light above room 102 flickered on again, abruptly interrupting the tragic thought. Lee glanced at the clock on the wall above the station and let out a heavy sigh. "It's time to give Mrs. Mars her medicine."
For the sudden distraction, she was entirely thankful.
"I can take it to her," Vickie offered gently.
With far more on her plate than sheâd like to admit, Lee appreciatively agreed. She handed Vickie a medicine cup clearly marked with the room's number and a small cup of water. Before the younger girl hurried off, Lee called out to her.
"If it's meant to be, it'll be. Social norms be damned."
Vickie smiled warmly, then turned and left Lee to her thoughts.
Lee pinched the bridge of her nose; the pounding pressure in her head faded for a brief moment, then slowly returned. She honestly needed a break. Picking back up where she had left off, she filled each of the remaining cups and set the tray aside. Vickie would be back soon to collect them.
A sudden, violent flicker of the light above room 102 caught her attention. Lee narrowed her sore eyes. Why was Mrs. Mars hitting the call button again? Vickie was still in there with her. She stepped around to the side of the nursing desk and halted dead in the walkway. The moment she did, the low hum of the fluorescent tubes above her grew ominously louder. Room 102's door light flared on again, then snapped off, followed immediately by the red bulb over room 103.
One by one, each of them consecutively flickered, chasing one another like twisted Christmas lights down the length of the hall. Lee stood there frozen. What on earth was going on?
The sound of heavy footsteps averted her attention to someone standing directly behind her. Lee initially thought it might be one of the useless military guards approaching to see what the commotion was, but to her absolute shock, it was the man from the schoolyard. Mr. Whatsit. Her stomach tightened into a knot, and an intense rush of familiarity washed over her.
"What are you doing here?"
Henry Creel tilted his head slightly to the side, watching the lights overhead. They seemed to pulse in sync with him, as if he were the central orbit they were drawn to. When his striking blue eyes finally met hers, he ignored her question entirely.
"I was curious. You see, I made it so that the adults here couldn't see or hear me. Children are... simple-minded. Easy to manipulate. But then there's you, Ashley."
How did he know her name? Did Derek tell him?
Lee took a cautious, trembling step back. Up close, she noticed just how tall he was, looming over her. A brown fedora sat atop his neatly combed blond hair. Crossing his arms behind his back, he raised a single brow.
"How are you doing it?" Henry looked her up and down, evaluating her. "Are you like me?"
Like him. Lee narrowed her eyes, keeping her guard up. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I thought so," Henry replied with a soft, disappointed sigh.
He reached out as though he were going to touch her, but Lee instinctively recoiled. The sudden defensive movement caused her to smack her elbow hard against the sharp metal edge of the nurse's station desk. A dull, throbbing pain shot directly up her arm; she hissed in sharp protest. But the physical sensation was instantly forgotten once she noticed that Henry, strangely, had done the exact same thing.
His blue eyes widened in sudden, profound realization. "I should have sensed you," he muttered to himself.
She was genuinely freaked out. âGo the fuck away before I have you dragged out.âÂ
Henry watched her intently as he grabbed his own wrist and twisted hard. The exact same sharp burn she imagined he felt afflicted her own wrist the moment he squeezed. What was this? Lee tightened her jaw. This felt exactly like an injury echo. But it couldn't be.Â
Henry only seemed deeply irritated by the revelation. His eyes narrowed. The pleasant, polite façade he had worn on the playground twisted into something far more natural. Something purely evil.
"I don't have time for something like this.âÂ
He wasn't making any sense to her. Panicking, Lee hurried around to the front of the desk and waved down the guards at the end of the hall. âHelp! Please help!â
âThey can't see me, Ashley,â Henry declared, his voice rich with amusement.Â
To her absolute horror, he was right.Â
The guards came running, weapons drawn as though they were itching for a shootout, but they could neither see nor hear Henry. The latter of whom stood perfectly still by the desk, watching the chaotic interaction unfold.Â
âMaâam, are you alright?â one of them asked, his voice heavy with a thick Southern drawl.Â
Lee shook her head frantically, shoving her finger directly at the space where Henry stood. She refused to believe that no one else could see a grown man standing right there. âThis wannabe Mister Rogers freak won't stop harassing my nephew and me.â
âThat isn't going to work,â Henry stated flatly. âThey're going to think you're out of your mind.â
No. No, they wouldn't. Lee glanced between the two soldiers for any sign of recognition, but both of them just looked entirely bewildered. Lee's stomach dropped. âAre you fucking kidding me?âÂ
He was right there.Â
âI think you need to calm down, miss,â the other guard suggested, his tone considerably more aggressive.
Calm down. She had every right to be upset, yet she was being painted as a total lunatic. Frantic and desperate to prove his existence, Lee quickly averted her eyes to the desk and grabbed the first weapon she could get her hands on. Paper cups and prescription pills scattered wildly across the linoleum floor as she hurled the metal tray directly at Mr. Whatsit.Â
The moment it passed clean through his torso, smacking the opposite wall with a loud, echoing clang, his body scattered like ash in the wind and evaporated into thin air.Â
Lee froze in shock.Â
She didn't even put up a fight when the aggressive guard stepped forward and seized her by the arms. Derek had been right all along.
â
The long walk to her Camry left Lee utterly exhausted and humiliated. Her face burned with embarrassment, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. There was no way to avoid it; she was on the verge of a complete breakdown.Â
By the time she reached her car, struggling with trembling hands to unlock the door, the tears finally began to fall. Lee collapsed into the driver's seat and sobbed.Â
After her disastrous encounter with Mr. Whatsit, the armed guards had marched her to a secure room and questioned her for over an hour. Lee had desperately maintained her story, insisting that her nephew's imaginary friend was real and terrorizing her for some reason. But then, the truth about her traumatic history with her soulmate surfaced, and her frantic claims were instantly written off as a stress-induced psychotic break. She was let off without an immediate psychiatric evaluation, but that was the absolute least of her worries.Â
The Unit Director, Mr. Higgins, had placed her on mandatory, unpaid leave until she was formally cleared by a state-appointed psychiatrist. He had pointed out, in a condescending voice that made Lee feel an inch tall, that the hospital legally could not keep her on the floor after she tossed a heavy metal tray and scattered prescription pills in front of armed guards. Her badge was confiscated, and she was quickly escorted out the door.Â
Lee absolutely loathed herself at that moment. How could she have let this happen?
âPlease. I can'tââ A violent sob tore from her throat. Lee buried her face in her hands, pulling auburn strands completely loose from her messy bun. âI can't lose this job.â
Without it, what would she even have? All her hard-won progress would relapse. Lee would be right back to square one, battling the vicious demons in her own head. And it was all because of a charming, horrific figment of her imagination.Â
Fuck him. And fuck her soulmate, too.Â
Lee aggressively wiped the tears from her tired eyes, blew her runny nose on a spare napkin from Benny's Burgers, and tore out of the lot. She pulled into her driveway on Sycamore at a quarter to four and stumbled inside, slamming the heavy front door behind her.Â
God must have had a sick sense of humor, because no sooner had she collapsed onto the couch than the telephone began to ring.Â
It rang a few more times, cut to silence, and then started up again a minute later. Lee was fully prepared to rain absolute hell on whoever was on the other end of the line, but the moment she heard Tina's voice, her defensive walls began to collapse. It was almost unfair.Â
âMom saw you drive past the house,â Tina mentioned when Lee asked how she even knew she was home. âShe wants to know if you'll come over for dinner tonight.â
Lee gently tapped the back of her head against the kitchen wall. Cynthia truly had the worst timing in the world. âI'm not really feeling the best right now, Tina. I⊠had to leave work early.âÂ
She was absolutely not about to tell her teenage niece that she had suffered a public breakdown and been forced onto administrative leave.Â
The line went quiet for a moment, and then Tina returned to the receiver. âMom said that it isn't debatable.â
Lee rolled her eyes. She was in absolutely no mood to entertain Cynthia and Ken. On the other hand, if she were left completely alone with her own thoughts for the rest of the afternoon, she wasn't sure what state of mind she would end up in. She was genuinely terrified of the demons in her head right now. At her lowest points, they were vicious.
âWhat time?âÂ
âSix, I guess. You know how Mom is.âÂ
Sadly, she did.Â
For the next few hours, Lee aimlessly got ready, attempting to patch over her raw nerves for whatever nonsense the evening had in store. She had absolutely no idea what she had just agreed to.Â
When she finally arrived at the Turnbow residence on Bay Tree Street, Lee instantly noticed a Jeep Grand Wagoneer with faded blue paint sitting in the driveway. Her stomach twisted into a tight, agonizing knot. Robert Powell drove a vehicle identical to that; she had seen him leave in it several times after their support group meetings. But what on earth were the chances?
As Lee approached the front porch, Cynthia stepped outside with a frantic, pep in her step. The moment her eyes landed on Lee, her smile twisted into a look of profound disgust.Â
âAre you seriously wearing that to dinner?âÂ
Lee rolled her eyes. She certainly hadn't dressed to impress her sister. Her top was an oversized men's flannel shirt she had grabbed from a donation bin down at the church, and her denim bottoms were slightly frayed and worn at the hems, but she was comfortable. After the harrowing day she had just endured, she refused to feel stiff and confined.Â
âIs that Robert Powell's Wagoneer?â Lee asked, completely deflecting the insult.
âYes, it is,â Cynthia replied proudly. âI ran into him at the store. We exchanged numbers, and I invited him over the moment you agreed to join us.âÂ
Agreed was a humorous understatement.
Lee sighed heavily. âCynthia, I really don't have the energy for a 'meet the family' dinner right now.âÂ
She opted not to mention that what she and Robert had together wasn't anything serious. She thought about him from time to timeâthe fleeting dream of what a normal life could beâbut Lee wasn't completely invested.Â
âI know things haven't been easy for you lately, but please, for me, at least try. I want this for you,â Cynthia pleaded. She reached out and gently took Lee by the forearm. âWe can start by finding you something a little more suitable to wear.âÂ
She did not allow Lee any room to argue. Cynthia determinedly led her into the house and ushered her straight into the master bedroom. Lee hovered by the door, contemplating a quick escape while Cynthia searched frantically through her wardrobe. Her sister emerged, looking entirely too eager, holding a high-necked, long-sleeved midi dress in a shade of dusty rose.
âThis would look beautiful on you.âÂ
Lee didn't bother hiding her blatant disgust. âI don't wear dresses.â
And that one was hideous.Â
Cynthia completely disregarded her statement and tossed the dress into her arms. The material was uncomfortably stiff, feeling scratchy against her skin. Lee could tell just by looking at it that the proportions were going to be a disaster.Â
âCome on. Get changed and take your hair down,â Cynthia ordered, waving a hand dismissively.Â
Lee let out a defeated sigh and tossed the dress onto the bed. While Cynthia continued to rummage around in the bottom of her closet, Lee reluctantly pulled the dress on. She immediately hated it. The rigid fabric offered absolutely no stretch, forcing her posture into a stiff, uncomfortable line. On her sister, who was nearly six inches shorter than her, the dress probably fit like a glove. But on Lee's taller frame, the fit was entirely wrong.Â
The hemline pulled up awkwardly past her knees, and the sleeves stopped short at her mid-forearms, forcing the overly puffy shoulders to ride up and bunch tightly against her neck. Lee stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked like an oversized doll.Â
âThis isn't going to work.â
Cynthia sighed, tossing a pair of pinchy, nude low-heeled pumps onto the bed before stepping up behind her. Without warning, she yanked the cinched belt tightly around Lee's ribcage. âIt works completely fine.âÂ
Lee immediately pulled at the choking lace collar. âI can hardly breathe. This thing is going to rip wide open the moment I try to sit down.âÂ
âStop being so overly dramatic,â Cynthia chastised. She smoothed out the front of the dress the best she could, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. âA little lipstick will give your face some color. There should be a nice, bright coral-pink in my makeup bag. Make sure you brush out your hair and put on the shoes I tossed on the bed.âÂ
Cynthia had absolutely no idea just how much she sounded like their mother, Dahlia Hamilton, in that exact moment. Presentation was everything.Â
Leaving her with those final orders, Cynthia slipped out of the room to finish prepping dinner. Lee reluctantly brushed out her auburn waves, stepped into the agonizing pumps, and began walking stiffly down the hallway. As she passed Derek's partially open bedroom door, she hesitated. She considered telling him about the sudden, traumatic visit she had received from Mr. Whatsit at the hospital, but she ultimately opted against it.Â
She wasn't even entirely sure she believed what she had seen today.
â
âSpeak of the devil.â Ken raised his wine glass as Lee walked into the living room. She was not surprised that he was already drinking.Â
Cynthia tossed him a pointed look, then softened her eyes as she directed them to her sister.Â
âYou look lovely. Doesn't she, Robert?â
Robert Powell, who had been conversing with Ken, turned to look her over through gold-rimmed glasses. Lee subconsciously pulled on the hemline of her dress to cover up her legs. Despite her lack of interest in dating him, she admittedly agreed that he was a handsome man.Â
Unlike her, he went above and beyond to look presentable dressed in a crisp navy blazer over a pressed blue dress shirt. His sandy brown hair was meticulously blown out in layers that Lee imagined would be soft between her fingers.Â
âGorgeous,â Robert corrected.Â
He was lying out of his ass.Â
Lee thanked him softly, resisting the urge to roll up her eyes. She stood awkwardly in the archway until Cynthia cleared her throat.Â
âMake yourself comfortable, Lee. Have a seat.â
She wasn't funny.
Lee forced a smile and sat on the couch next to Robert. The dress tightened around her body like a vice. She finally understood exactly how a burrito felt. The fear of the fabric tearing loomed in her mind as she pretended to listen to whatever boring topic Ken and Robert were discussing. She did not even hear him ask her a question until she noticed that all eyes were on her.
âWhat?â
Cynthia sighed, pressing her lips into a thin line.
âAre you even here with us?â
âDon't give her a hard time, Cynthia,â Robert pleaded. He rested a hand on Leeâs back. âShe had a rough day.âÂ
Lee knitted her brows in suspicion.
âHow did you know?âÂ
âItâs in your expression,â Robert answered. His thumb rubbed slow, deep circles in her muscle. âYou look troubled is all.âÂ
Her shoulders slowly relaxed, not because his touch comforted her, but because, for a second, Lee thought he knew about her âpsychotic breakâ. She sighed.Â
âIâm fine.â
Lee had no interest in furthering the conversation. What happened to her today was not something one would openly admit. She certainly did not want anyone to think that she had relapsed and send her back to Central State Hospital in Indianapolis. Luckily, no one pressed her.Â
The shrill ring of the kitchen timer broke the tense silence. Cynthia widened her eyes in elation and sprang from her chair.
âThatâs the roast. Help me out in the kitchen, would you Ken?â
âI'm enjoying my drink,â he argued.
Cynthia stared at him unblinking as if to say, âDid you really just say that?â Ken sighed loudly and pulled himself out of his seat, stumbling a bit.Â
He and Cynthia walked into the kitchen, leaving an uneasy Lee alone with Hawkins' own devoted repairman. They sat in awkward silence for a moment before Robert broke it by clearing his throat.
âAre you really doing fine, Ashley? You can talk to me about it, if you want. I understand what you're going through.âÂ
The Deep Void, he meant. Robert lost his wife, he claimed, a few years back to cancer.Â
Lee thought back to what happened today. She did not want to tell him about Mr. Whatsit, but the strange injury echo-like pain they shared was still in her thoughts.Â
âIâcan I ask you a personal question?âÂ
Robert nodded his head.Â
âWhen your wife was alive, you must have shared echoes with her. What did it look like between the two of you?â
âIt's hard to explain,â Robert stated. He sat for a moment in silence and then removed his glasses. âI guess it's like aâŠphantom pain. She was a clumsy woman, always bumping into things, jamming her fingers or stubbing her toes on the furniture.
âOne time I saw her run into the corner of the couch and strike her hip. Bruised it pretty badly. Immediately I felt a sharp pain in the exact same spot. It's weird, but it's just a feeling; there are no physical marks.âÂ
Lee glanced down at her arm, the same one that mirrored the spot Mr. Whatsit twisted on his own wrist. There was no mark.Â
It was almost the same as Robert had described.
Lee felt a knot tighten in her stomach.Â
âDo you think it's possible for someone who has lost their soulmate to share an echo with someone else?â
Robert knitted his brows. âWhy do you ask?âÂ
Lee intended to lie. Even if she told Robert about Mr. Whatsit, there was the undeniable fact that he wasn't real. She should not have shared an echo with him. Opening her mouth to answer his question, Cynthiaâs loud voice from the kitchen interrupted her.
âDinner's ready!âÂ
Lee sighed. She was more than eager to get this night over with. She stood up rigidly and waited for Robert to do the same. He took her by the arm, halting her before she got too far ahead of him.
âI want us to continue this conversation when you're ready.âÂ
Lee tightened her jaw. She honestly didn't want to, but on the other hand, it might be easier to talk to someone about what she was experiencing.Â
âLater.â
Robert smiled softly and nodded.
His hand slid to her middle back, leading her to the dining room. She passed Tina near the kitchen, noting the look of teenage disgust on her face as she briefly witnessed Lee in the monstrosity that Cynthia had forced her into.
She shared Tinaâs embarrassment.
Ken Turnbow was seated at the dinner table when Lee and Robert walked in. The savory blend of caramelized beef and earthy vegetables hung heavy in the air. Lee did not realize how hungry she was until she was overwhelmed by the scent of Cynthiaâs cooking. She might have been the more modest of the two, but Lee could not cook to save her life. Living alone with a demanding profession, she relied on convenience food as her salvation.Â
âSit down. Sit down.â Ken motioned to the chairs that were set out around the table.
Lee sat at the end closest to Ken. Robert took the seat beside her, resting his arm on the back of her chair, an act of dominance that she both enjoyed and disliked.Â
Just breathe. Why can't you just suck it up?
Robert seemed to handle the transition of moving on better than her. Lee was jealous. Why was it so hard for her to do the same?
Mulling over her insecurities in silence, she heard Derek lumbering through the house before she saw him. He emerged from the hall and paused in the archway. When his eyes met hers, he crinkled his nose in disgust.Â
âYou left the house looking like that?âÂ
Lee tightened her jaw.Â
âI really hate this dress.â
Robert rested his hand against the nape of her neck.Â
âYou look good, Ashley. Like a doll.âÂ
âYeah, like Barbie dressed her,â Derek furthered with a snort.Â
Lee narrowed her eyes.
âYou have no idea just how bad I want to hug you until you pop.âÂ
Derek opened his mouth to say something, but Cynthia walked into the room with a bowl of green beans.Â
âManners, Derek.â She set the serving dish down on the table. âGrab another chair from the pantry please. Tina's little friend is joining us.âÂ
Derek groaned loudly and stormed out of the room.Â
Lee had a feeling that the shit had yet to hit the fan.Â
â
âOh, you know, I'm so happy you girls made up,â Cynthia stated with a smile. She glanced between Tina and her friend, Erica Sinclair, a neighborhood kid Lee had seen around from time to time. âWe've really missed you, Erica, haven't we, dear?â
âMissed the pie, that's for sure,â Ken retorted. He shoved another forkful into his mouth, an Indiana staple: Sugar Cream Pie
Erica had brought it for Tina as an apology gift. Lee wasn't sure the reason, but the latter hadn't even touched a single bite, not like Derek who had already eaten two pieces.Â
Lee ate half a piece and gave Robert the rest. It was much too rich in her opinion. A subtle bitterness, however, lingered on her tongue.Â
âNow, Erica, done something different this time,â Ken pointed out.Â
âSorry,â Erica balked. She narrowed her eyes, clutching her red linen napkin close.Â
Ken pointed to his plate. âYour pie has got a little something extra tonight. A little hint of umââ
âNutmeg,â Erica interrupted sharply.Â
âNutmeg,â Ken repeated with glee. âOf course. Brilliant. Brilliantââ
Lee rolled her eyes, trying her best to tune him out. It was painfully obvious that he had drunk too much, and his know-it-all tone was irritating her more than she would like to admit. Though perhaps her feelings were misplaced. The clammy hand on her knee, climbing her exposed leg, was causing her skin to crawl.Â
Why the sudden handsiness? Lee jerked her leg in warning, clumsily striking the underside of the table. Embarrassment washed over her like a tide as she drew the curious attention of everyone at the table.Â
âI need some air.âÂ
Lee stood and jerked the hemline of her dress down. She seriously hated it.Â
âWant me to come with you?â Robert was quick to ask.
âHard no,â Lee retorted sharply.Â
She staggered to the front door and by the time she stepped outside into the cool night air, she felt woozy and unbalanced. Concerned that she might faint and smack her head, Lee sat down on the stoop. Something was wrong.
The longer she sat there the more exhausted she became. Her body grew heavier and a strange fogginess took control of her brain. Lee knew this feeling. She was all too familiar with the effects of sedatives. Central State Hospital had pumped her full of them she first relapsed. But how did they get into her system?
Before she could think back to the moment the side effects began, she heard Tina scream in fright. Lee tried to get up but her body sagged and she collapsed onto her side on the porch.Â
A WIP of chapter 2 of Saints and Shadows. Lee has a brief one on one talk with Henry as Mr. Whatsit. This chapter should be out in the next few days, hopefully tomorrow. It's going on 4k words, and I still have one more scene to write.
âHow does it feel,â Alice softly sang. Her foot tapped in rhythm to the kick drum of âBlue Mondayâ on the radio. âto treat me like you do? When you've laid your hands upon me. And told me who you are.âÂ
Billy briefly turned his attention to her sitting shotgun beside him. Their eyes met, and playfully, Alice stuck out her tongue and then continued singing. A verse into the chorus, she caught him staring again and turned down the radio.Â
âWhat?â She asked with a laugh. Her thin brow raised.Â
Billy faced the road again. He hid a smile and lied. âNothing, nerd.â
Why didn't he tell her the truth?Â
Billy liked when she would sing, even the times when she was terribly off-key. Her eyes were radiant, a striking blue that sparkled when a song she knew came on. It didn't matter the genre. If she could sing to it, she'd listen to it. He should have told her the truth.Â
In the end, unfortunately, it did not matter. He was back to square one, albeit he knew more than he knew now. He was alive, and more importantly, Alice was alive too, which is why he wasn't going to let her get involved this time. He was going to avoid her at all costs.Â
Harder than it looked, he regrettably admitted. Alice Abernathy haunted his thoughts like a ghost. Billy dreamed about her, asleep and awake. Every memory they shared played on repeat, begging him to make them real. He was not sure if he could ignore her, but for her sake, he had to.Â
She had to live.Â
Billy couldn't be the reason she died again. He couldn't take it. Her eyes, dead and opaque, tortured him. And every time the need to be near her arose, so too did the memory of her death.Â
The hate he felt for himself was consuming.Â
Lost in his head, so far gone, his body slacked. The engine was a roar above the radio as it sped past the stop sign on Old Cherry Road. Billy did not even know the Camaro had reached over 60 miles per hour until he heard Max shout out his name. He slammed on the breaks, coming to a screeching stop; the car jerked forward violently.Â
Billy's heart was racing. It took a moment for him to ground himself, unclutching the wheel. The expression on Max's face, terror-stricken, made his stomach churn. He forgave her, didn't he? There was no anger left when he looked at her, but he wished that there was. Anger was easier than swallowing his pride.Â
âMaxââ Tears burned his eyes. No. He couldn't apologize; he could hardly talk.Â
Billy swallowed hard, then came off the break. He drove slower, more alert, unaware of the can of worms he had opened.
Max knew for certain now that Billy was not himself. He never called her Max, always Maxine to annoy her. And before they left the house, he didn't even argue back when her stepfather, Neil, ordered him to drive her to and from school. What had happened?Â
The curiosity was eating her alive. Consequences be damned. Glancing between Billy and the radio, Max quickly leaned forward and turned up the volume. She did not recognize the song, but it honestly didn't matter. The radio was his, and like usual, he should snap at her. But he didn't.Â
Billy remained silent, focused on the road. Max was shocked. She thought that perhaps he did not notice, so she switched the station. He finally reacted, but not in the way she expected. He sighed deeply.
âDon't. Just don't.âÂ
Where was the real Billy Hargrove?
Max pressed herself against the door's leather interior. He was scaring her. She watched him closely, tensing at every movement he made. The drive to the school was the longest she had ever been on. The tension was maddening.Â
Parked in the lot between Hawkins High and Hawkins Middle, Max noted that Billy was searching for something or someone. His glossy blue eyes darted around until they settled on someone outside the entrance, talking to Dustin Henderson. He stared at them intently.Â
The person was a female. Alice Abernathy, Max later learned.Â
Alice was dressed in a denim jacket with dangling silver earrings, one a cross and the other a star. She talked with her hands, a sassy way that made her think that Alice was extroverted. Did Billy like her? The sad longing in his eyes made Max think so. She didn't seem his type, though.Â
But what confused her more was the fact that Billy seemed reluctant to talk to her. Who was she? He continued to stare at Alice until she ended the conversation with Dustin and walked into the high school. Max didn't wait for him to say anything. She got out of the car and hurried to the middle school entrance.Â
One way or the other, she was going to find out who the female was.
Max strode into the school, searching the crowd of middle schoolers for Dustin. He was at his locker, luckily alone. She did not mind the others hearing what she was about to ask him, but it was much easier to deal with one of them at a time.Â
Mike was still cold to her for some reason. Will did not seem to care if she hung around them; he had his own issues, she reckoned. And Lucas and Dustin were, well, odd around her. They wanted her to join their group a little too much.Â
âDustin?â Max called as she approached.
He peeked over his shoulder, turning upon seeing her. He beamed.Â
âMax. Hey. How crazy wasââ
âWho was that high school girl you were talking to?â She asked, interrupting him.
Dustin hummed. He turned his head to the side as though he didn't hear her.
âHigh school girl? What girl?â
Max crossed her arms impatiently.Â
âI saw you talking to a girl with mismatched ear rings. Don't pretend you weren't.âÂ
Dustin sighed. âAlice. She's my babysitter, but-but she's pretty cool.âÂ
Max knitted her brows. He had a babysitter? She turned down the urge to tease him.Â
âWhat can you tell me about her?â
âWell, no one can beat her at Ms. Pac-Man,â Dustin began. âShe's a big fan of Madonna, but her favorite artist is Cyndi Lauper. Oh, and sheââÂ
Max cut him off, shaking her head. âI meant likeâŠwhat type of person is she?âÂ
âWitty, sharp-tongued. She isn't snobby. That's all I really know about her. Why?â Dustin knitted his brows, waiting for an answer.
Max shrugged.
âI was curious.âÂ
Alice did not sound like the type of girl Billy would like. He couldn't manipulate her. So, then why did he act like he wanted to be close to her? Like he missed her.Â
Max sighed. She had hoped that Dustin would clear up the mystery as to why her freak stepbrother was acting out of character all of a sudden, but she was now further from the truth than before.Â
Perhaps she should let it go. In her heart, though, Max knew that she could not.
â
Alice Abernathy's heart sank at the thought of heading home; it was the worst part of the day.
Home should have been a reprieve, a break from the social norm. To many, it was, but to Alice and Lorraine, home was hell.Â
âGo on, I'm listening,â Robin Buckley stated.Â
She was the first to notice Alice's shift in mood. They had been friends since middle school, bonding over badly dubbed foreign films. The moment her outgoing demeanor slipped, Robin knew. It was not hard to figure out why, either. Her mother, Doreen, was the bane of her existence.Â
âI just don't know how she can be so bitter to someone she's supposed to love. Ever since dad left, all she's done is belittle us. It's getting so much worse,â Alice stated lethargically. âShe's always on Lorraineâs back about everything.â
To the point that Lorraine can no longer tolerate it, she opted not to mention. After Halloween, she went off the deep end, calling Lorraine names and making herself out to be a victim.Â
âShe wants to leave Hawkins and move to Vermont with dad,â she added.Â
Alice considered it too, but a part of her did not want to start over. She didn't know what she would do without Lorraine. The lockers ahead of her blurred as her eyes filled with warm stinging tears. Robin, noticing, frowned in pity and leaned against her locker.Â
âDo you want to talk about it more? Because I am so up for that, but I'm also up for changing the topic if you want.â
Alice snorted. âAm I bumming you out?âÂ
Robin lifted her hand, putting a small space between her thumb and pointer finger, then teasingly said.Â
âOnly a little bit.âÂ
Her face softened into a warm smile. Walking beside Robin into the parking lot, Alice popped the trunk of her Volkswagen Rabbit, then rummaged through her school bag for her Walkman. She didn't even know that someone had their eyes on her until Robin brought it up.Â
âDon't look now. Dingus two is staring.â
âThereâs a dingus one?â Alice asked teasingly.
Robin gave her a look that said, âYou already know the answer to thatâ, then motioned with her head to someone behind Alice. The teen tossed her bag into the trunk - it hit the floor with a muffled thump - then she peered over her shoulder.Â
Billy stood at the back of his Camaro across from them. When their eyes met, Alice grinned and slowly waved her fingers at him. He quickly averted his eyes.Â
âRuh-roh!â
âShunned. He sucks,â Robin added. âHow did you say the two of you met?â
Alice leaned against her Volkswagen.Â
âWe met at Tina's Halloween party.â She smirked as Robin made a noise of disgust. âLorraine nagged me until I agreed to go. We were playing âBlind Man's Bluffâ and long story short, I lost and had to kiss him.â
The kiss was not even that special. Alice pecked him on the lips. At the time, he seemed into it, trying to coax her into another, but she gave him a rain check. Then, on the day they returned to school, Billy freaked out on her.Â
Alice still remembered the way he held her, like he was afraid that she would vanish. It left a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach.Â
âMaybe he's cranky that I turned him down,â Alice mentioned.Â
âCase in point why he sucks,â Robin declared. âYou definitely shouldn't waste your time on him.âÂ
Alice hummed. Leaving what happened without closure did not suit her. She tapped her nails against the Walkman.
âI'm gonna ask him.â
Robin knitted her brows.
âWhat? No. That's the opposite of what you need to do.âÂ
When Alice made up her mind about something, there was no point trying to stop her. She smiled and brought her hands up into the shape of a heart.Â
âIâll always be your number one dingus.â
She quickly strode across the lot with confidence, questions racing through her head.
Billy tensed as tight as a bow string. What was she doing? Was she seriously going to talk to him? His heart hammered in his chest; the smile on her face completely derailed him.
âHey there,â Alice greeted. âSo I was wondering, did I accidentally step on your ego at the party or something?âÂ
Billy swallowed hard.Â
âEgo.âÂ
âWhy else are you giving me the cold shoulder all of a sudden?â She asked.
This snapped him out of his stupor. It was not about ego or pride. He didn't care that she gave him a rain check. That one promise spurred him to see her again; their whole relationship was created on that promise.Â
No. Billy did not want to be the reason she would die.
It was going to haunt him forever, but he needed her to stay far away from him.
âYou don't read the room very well, do you? I'm not interested.âÂ
A tinge of disappointment washed over Alice. She narrowed her eyes, confused.Â
âThat's hilarious because I fondly recall you grabbing me and crying like a little bitch yesterday.âÂ
She had no idea.Â
Apart from that, Billy forgot that when she was mad, the gloves came off. He smirked. Her fiestyness was a bit of a turn on for him. Crossing his arms, he stepped forward, leaning close.
âDon't flatter yourself, sweetheart. And FYI, clingy doesn't look good on you.â
Robin was right. He sucked.Â
Alice put space between them.Â
âAnd a bad attitude doesn't look good on you, sweetheart, but hey, we all have our flaws.âÂ
She smiled mockingly, and then flipped him the bird. Turning on her heel, Alice stormed back to her Volkswagen, briefly meeting eyes with Max Mayfield as she passed.Â
The middle schooler was more curious than ever. Whoever Alice was, she alone could knock Billy off his high horse.Â
The new king of Hawkins High, unbeknownst to him, had been tamed.Â
Send me a number (or a few) and a character name, and I'll answer about the OCs I've created. Feel free to reblog and play along. You can tag me if you like, I'd love to hear about your OCs.
Creation and Inspiration
1. What was the exact spark (song, image, prompt) that created them?
2. How much have they changed from your very first draft?
3. Why did you choose their specific faceclaim or voiceclaim?
4. What is the visual element or fashion style you gave them? Does it match your own?
Love and Relationships
5. Who is the one person they would do absolutely anything to protect?
6. What is the first thing they notice when looking at someone?
7. If they sent an anonymous letter to their first love, what would it say?
8. What does it look like when this character falls in love?
Trauma and Ghosts
9. Do they spill outward in chaos or freeze during a breakdown?
10. What toxic habit did they develop solely to survive the past?
11. What specific sound or smell triggers their worst memory?
12. Do they feel they deserve the bad things that happened to them?
Colors and Aesthetics
13. If their soul was painted in three colors, what would they be?
14. If your character was a physical space or setting (like a rainy concrete alley, a decaying greenhouse, an opulent ballroom), what would they look like?
Canon Connections
15. Which canon character brings out their absolute worst side?
16. How did their very first interaction shift the original storyline?
17. What is a secret about a canon character that only your character knows, and how did they find out?
18. If your character could give the main canon protagonist one piece of blunt advice, what would it be?
19. What is a past event in the canon lore that your character was quietly involved in, even if the main cast never noticed them?
Lyric Echoes
20. Drop a song lyric that best captures your OC.
21. Name 3 songs that remind you of your character.
22. Name 3 songs that remind you of the relationship between your character and a canon character.
Toxic Traits and Vice
23. How does their emotional distance accidentally hurt loved ones?
24. What toxic behavior do they tolerate just to avoid being alone?
25. When everything goes completely wrong, what specific vice (addiction, reckless behavior, isolation) do they immediately sprint toward?
Toxic Love and Obsession
26. What acts of cruelty or manipulation would they forgive in a partner?
27. Have they ever confused intense trauma-bonding for genuine romance?
28. Do they fall in love with the actual person, or do they build an idealized, impossible version of them in their head and force them to match it?
Life and Identity
29. What is the difference between their public mask and private self?
30. If they saw their life five years from now, how would they react?
31. What is the one mundane, everyday setting where this character feels completely safe and at peace?
32. When this character eventually dies, what is the specific way they want to be remembered by the world?
Wildcard
33. Create a mood board that represents your OC (explain the aesthetics).
34. Write a snippet for your OC (with or without canon cast or love interest).
Saints and Shadows [Chapter One] [Henry Creel/Vecna]
Author Notes: I'll be bouncing back and forth between this story and another Stranger Things story that I'm working on, so hopefully, I'll have a chapter a week done. Please be patient with me. I have no official banner for this story yet, but I'll make one soon.
Warning(s): OC, AU - soul mates, trauma, injury echoes, dark romance, season 5 lore, Derek's aunt, anxiety.
No Minors Allowed!!
Fate was a fickle bitch. Ashley âLeeâ Hamilton was seven, a spirited child with a promising future, when she learned this self-evident truth. It hit her like a bolt from the blue, sudden and excruciating, one summer day in Hawkins; the day she realized that she was entirely at the mercy of someone else.
The bolt, Lee in time learned, was the result of a gunshot wound; an injury echo from her soul mate that altered both of their lives. Daliah Hamilton, her mother, a staple of the community, called the phenomenon, Mirrored Souls, a term for two people who shared a profound, predestined connection. She was not special. Everyone was spiritually bound to someone else in one form or fashion. No. She was cursed.
Looking back, there was no unbridled happiness, nor was there an interest to identify who the person she was destined to was. There was only dread; an unrelenting feeling that only grew when the string of murders began.
The start of them transpired in 1959, early in Lee's teenage years. She assumed the tragic deaths of local's Virginia and Alice Creel to be a tragic coincidence to the injury echo that simultaneously fell upon her like a shadow one dark night. It was as though she were possessed by something demonic. Slipping into a violent seizure, Lee clearly recalled how she felt in that brief moment; as though her bones had snapped under an invisible force.
Still in all, the feeling could not hold a candle to what came next.
For a short time, the echoes ceased. Lee took up a part time job at Hawkins Memorial straight out of high school, a candy striper while she worked on a three-year traditional diploma to become a technical nurse. A decade of peace passed before the second round of murders began; murders that the Hawkins Post did not write about. But she knew. She could feel it in her bones; an ache that was engraved in her memory.
Then, in 1979, came what doctors called the Deep Void. Her soul mate had suddenly died, though Lee did not know how, and while she was content that the echoes had completely stopped, heartache would not spare her. She spent seventeen years in grief counseling and support groups searching for validation; to find reprieve from her sorrow, but the weight on her shoulders would not lift. Withdrawn and terribly exhausted, she was desensitized to the tragic, unexpected deaths of 1986, in which unbeknownst to her, marked the return of her soulmateâa man she would a year later come to know as Vecna.
â
The bittersweet and vulnerable tone of âAnyone Who Knows What Love Isâ drifted from the speakers of an old Garrard 301, consuming Lee Hamilton like a dark, rising tide. She was engrossed in the lyrics to such an extent that she did not hear the shrill ring of the house phone until the record ended. Thank heavens whoever was trying to call was persistent; she sighed to herself in annoyance. Trudging across the living room, whose baby blue wall to wall carpet had seen better days, she entered the kitchen and plucked the receiver from the hook.
"Hello," Lee greeted, lethargically.
"Hey, it's me," retorted the voice on the other end. Cynthia Turnbow, her sister; there was no one else who replied to Lee in such a way. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."
An exaggerated lie. Lee hummed, peering up at the goose themed wall clock over the trash can. It was almost three in the afternoon. She rolled out of bed at one-fifteen, showered, then put on an album to vent her emotionsâa suggestion her therapist made. Not once did she hear the phone go off until now.
"I was...occupied," Lee uttered.
Cynthia teased her, chafing.
"Occupied as in what? You couldn't answer the phone because a handsome repairman would not let you out of bed?"
Lee rolled her eyes. She was referring to Robert Powell, a blue-collar employee at Hawkins Power and Light who had taken an interest in her. They shared a common experienceâboth of their soul mates were dead. While he was handsome, tall, and slender with dark layered hair that reminded her of angel wings, she could not bring herself to court him. There was no passion left in her, sapped out by a person she had never met.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Lee deflected.
"Oh, yeah. I wanted to know if you'd do me a favor," Cynthia replied. "Ken and I are working late tonight, and normally we'd call the babysitter, but she's busy with something elseâI honestly don't knowâso we were wondering if you would sit Derek."
Her nephew, Derek. He was a handful, albeit capable of taking care of himself. However, after the recent disappearance of his classmate, Holly Wheeler, Lee was not surprised that his parents did not want to leave him alone.
âIs Tina not able to watch him?â Lee asked.
It wasn't like she didn't want to sit Derek. Lee worked in the morning, an eight hour shift with the possibility of twelve hours to fill schedule gaps. There weren't many nurses left in Hawkins since the earthquake.
âShe's staying with a friend tonight,â Cynthia retorted. Silence fell between them. Lee heard a hushed whisper, as though her sister was talking to someone else, and then she continued. âPlease, Lee. You'd be doing us a big favor. Derek has just beenâŠcomplicated lately.â
Complicated. Lee was not the type to judge someone based on rumors, but she heard that their real estate company, Turnbow Land Development & Realty, was corrupt. Then, there was the apparent substance abuse. Derek was not being complicated; he was acting out because he was spoiled. She tapped her foot in annoyance and then tightened her jaw.
âSure. I'll take him tonight.â
âThank you so much, Lee,â sighed Cynthia. âI'll make it up to you. School lets out soon, so you'll have to pick him up. You should still be on the list.â
Before Lee ended the call, Cynthia stopped her.
âYou should come by for dinner tomorrow night. It's been a while since I've seen you.â
Not for the lack of trying. Aside from work, there were days when Lee didn't feel like leaving the house.
âIt depends on how I'll feel,â she stated.
Cynthia sighed. âFingers crossed.â
Lee loved her sister, but she didn't understand. Even with therapy sessions, it was not easy to manage her emotions. They were always changing like the weather.
The death of a soulmate was an abyss of torment. There was a reason it was called the Deep Void.
At ten till three, Lee left her house on Sycamore, putting her modest single story in the rearview mirror. The mechanical thrum of her Toyota Camry filled the silence as she drove past the Turnbow residence on Bay Tree Street, then down to Hawkins Elementary School.
The nearer she approached, the more stress she felt. There were more vehicles on the road than usual; military trucks and armored convoys traveling to and from the base nearby. Ever since the earthquake last year that nearly tore the town apart, the military had strangely taken an interest in Hawkins. It reminded Lee of Red Dawn. There were so many similarities that it was uncanny.
Was it even an earthquake?
Old Mr. Raglan, at the hospital, who served in the Cold War, claimed that it was a conspiracy. That the government was trying to cover up the truth about monsters. He swore he even saw one outside his hospital room window, and while his claims were ridiculous, Lee did believe that there was more to the story than the military was willing to share.
Why was Hawkins on lockdown? Why was there a curfew? And what happened to little Holly Wheeler? These questions slid to the back of her mind the moment Lee pulled into the line at the checkpoint.
When it was her turn, she took out her license and handed it through the window to a guard armed with an automatic rifle. He took one brief look at it, then announced her name on a walkie-talkie that he carried. A moment of silence fell between them. Lee tapped her finger on the wheel.
âShe's clear,â a voice confirmed.
The guard motioned her through, and Lee proceeded. Parking in the gravel lot in front of the elementary school entrance in a sea of station wagons and oldsmobiles, she cut the engine of her Camry and slid out of the driver's seat, leaning her forearms on the heated hood as she waited. Some of the parents remained in their cars, while some stood beneath the flag pole in the yard. She had no interest in joining them.
At exactly three o'clock, the doors opened, and a mass of unruly children spilled out like a swarm of bees, leaving a hive. Lee darted her eyes around the school yard, searching the crowd for her nephew, but she didn't see him. She waited, but still, he did not show.
It was not like Derek not to be one of the first kids out of the door.
Lee groaned. He had better not be tormenting someone or in trouble. She walked around the front of the car, but before she got to the yard, she spotted him near the end of the building at the edge of the chain link fence bordering the woods. He was talking to someone, a tall, slender man. She froze in fear.
Was he with the staff?
Lee doubted so. He was standing on the opposite side of the fence as though he walked out of the woods.
âDerek!?â Lee shouted. The dry dead leaves crunched beneath her shoes as she strode over to them.
It seemed rather strange to Lee that the man did not flee. He didn't even flinch, studying her with striking deep blue eyes that made her feel vulnerable. An intense, inexplicable rush of familiarity washed over her.
Did she know him? No. She was certain that she didn't.
âCan I help you with something?â Lee asked.
The manâs eyes widened, and so, too, did Derek's. He tilted his head as though he were confused, then parted his lips.
âThis is peculiar. You shouldn't be able to see me.â
This was not the answer that she was expecting.
Lee scoffed. âWell I can. As plain as day. And I can also see how weird this looks. So, I think it's best that you move along before I involve the police.â
âAre you out of your mind?â Derek suddenly asked. He grabbed her arm. âYou can't do that.â
A soft, eerie smile pulled at the manâs lips. Lee felt uneasy around him, but there was also something comforting about him, too. Perhaps it was his voice, soft and hypnotic like a lullaby. Or perhaps it was the outfit he wore; the dapper warm-brown suit that made him appear a little too friendly.
Either way, she did not want to be around him long.
âGo to the car, Derek.â
âI don't wantââ
Lee cut him off, shooting him a pointed look. He knew better than to argue with her; she was just as stubborn as he was. Derek groaned loudly and stormed off, grumbling about how he didn't even know where she had parked. She met eyes with the man, and the odd sense of familiarity washed over her again.
âDo I know you?â
âI don't think you do,â he answered. He leaned forward as though he were going to whisper to her, crossing his arms behind his back. âNor do you want to.â
Lee had a feeling that he meant it as a threat.
âStay away from my nephew, creep.â
She was done. Lee turned her back to him, walking to the car. His voice halted her.
âWe aren't done yet.â
Lee rolled her eyes. Facing him again, she lifted her hand and shot the bird.
âChoke on it.â
The man simply smiled. He stood there well after Lee returned to her car. She watched him for a moment in annoyance, then started the car and tore out of the lot. Derek waited until they were on the main road before harping on her, crossing his arms.
âDo you have any idea what you just did?â
âI just kept you from winding up on the back of a milk carton,â Lee answered with a snap. âWhich, by the way, we aren't going to tell your mom because she'd have a mental meltdown.â
Or worse. She'd start drinking again.
âNo. You screwed me over,â Derek stated. âMr. Whatsit is trying to save us.â
âMr. Whatsit? Derekââ Lee paused, evading a deep crack in the road that the military did not care to patch up. They didn't care to fix the town either, covering the deeper, steaming tears with steel sheets. âThatâs a made-up name.â
âHe's imaginary, Lee. And you weren't supposed to see him. No one ever has before,â Derek argued.
How many times had he spoken to Mr. Whatsit? Were his teachers not watching him? Lee growled.
âAnd now,â Derek continued.
Lee tried to cut him off, but a sudden loud honk from the car behind her halted her annoyance. She glanced back into the rearview mirror. An armored truck was nearly on her bumper.
âHe isn't gonna save you. He's gonna leave you for the monsters.â
The stress was rising, muddling her thoughts. Lee could hardly focus. The truck honked again, then again, bullying her to go faster. She sped up a bit, ten over the speed limit, but the driver kept on her tail. Then, to make matters worse, Derek wouldn't stop with his nonsense. Lee didn't mean to, but she snapped.
âDerek! Enough! Stop talking for a while.â
The silence that followed was deafening.
The truck pulled off at the end of the road. Lee took a deep breath. The anxiety remained, but the guilt felt much worse. She considered apologizing to him, admitting that she let her anger blind herâanger that she had spent years in therapy trying to controlâbut she was worn out. Maybe in the morning, with chocolate chip pancakes, she'd make it up to him.
Derek did not say a word to her when they reached her house on Sycamore. As soon as she pulled into the driveway and parked her Camry, he leaped out of the passenger seat and stormed into the house.
Lee sighed, resting her head against the wheel. Tangles of her vibrant red hair curtained her face. It wasn't fair. She didn't ask for any of this, and she hoped, even in death, her soulmate was suffering just as much as she was.
Billy Hargrove awoke in a haze. The rhythmic synth intro of âHead Over Heelsâ cut through his mind like a lighthouse beam through heavy fog, its familiar melody vibrating through the metal chassis of his blue Camaro. Chest tight and body heavy with fatigue, he blinked away unbidden tears, staring wildly around the cabin to ground himself.
Through the windshield, the blocky letters of Hawkins High School loomed over the crowded parking lot. Billy felt uneasy. He had no recollection of driving there. More concerning, he was absolutely certain that he had just died.
The last thing he remembered was when the Mind Flayer - a name the kids dubbed it - killed him. It was a creature straight from his nightmares, one made of the melted chemical-gorged corpses of possessed humans that he fed it. Locked inside his mind, it puppeted his body, using his trauma as a tool to keep him tethered. And the moment he was free, the Mind Flayer disposed of him.
So then why was he alive? Billy thought that perhaps it was a dream, but the phantom pain in his chest would not quell, the same horrendous pain that he felt when the Mind Flayer ran its muscle-like tentacles into him. The memories were all there, playing in his head on repeat; the good and the bad. Nothing made sense to him. An intense bout of dizziness overtook his body. He could hardly breathe.
Billy peeled his clammy hands from the steering wheel and clutched them tightly. A tingling sensation coursed through his fingers to his wrists like electricity. He was almost certain that he was having a panic attack. The fear of losing control of himself was rearing its ugly head.
âShut it down,â he told himself. His voice was broken and hoarsed. âStop shaking like a terrified little bitch, Hargrove. Do you want people to see you like this?â
He never was any good with pep talks. How was he supposed to take his own advice if he couldn't clear his mind? Billy slammed his hands against the steering wheel; he could feel the anger rising. Then a memory reined him back; a memory of a beautiful girl with intense clear blue eyes.
âRelax, Goldie.â Her airy, yet raspy voice soothed him. Alice Abernathy smiled, pleased when he listened.
âI am relaxed,â Billy retorted. He wasn't, he remembered. He and Neil had gone around about Max and he was clearly fuming.
Alice snorted. She linked her arm with his, sitting close to him in the Camaro.
âRight. Stop lying to yourself. Look at me. Just shut up and listen for once.â
Her hand slid down his arm and traced his knucklesâ knuckles that were sore and red from the force he put into the punch that did absolutely nothing to the tree outside his house.
âRelax your muscles,â Alice ordered. âStart with your handsââ she traced his arm â-and work your way up. One by one.â
One by one. Billy clenched his hands again, then slowly released them. He could almost feel Alice's fingers on his skin, guiding him. Once he reached his shoulders, the tightness in his chest finally began to ease. He could breathe. But with that sudden clarity came a crushing weight.
Alice.
She had been the light in his darknessâ a miracle he never deserved. If there was one thing in his hate-filled life that had filled the void left by his motherâs death, it was her. But she was gone.
He had killed her.
The air fled his lungs all over again, and Billy choked on a sob.
He looked down at his trembling hands, the very hands that took her life. Billy could remember everything. He could hear the desperate thumping of her hands beating against him as he crushed her windpipe. The painful sensation of her nails in his skin and the confusion in her tear stained eyes when he would not let her go. It tore him apart, and worst of all, he couldn't do anything to stop himself. The creature in possession of his body would not allow him to. A wave of nausea washed over him, so strong he nearly vomited. What had he done?
Oh God he left her there. Her body was in a shallow grave behind his house.
The Mind Flayer, unlike the others, did not want her; he was not sure why. Perhaps it wanted Billy to suffer more, having killed the one person that could drive away the darkness in his heart. For her sake, he needed to exhume her, to take her home to her bitch of a mother and absent father. He needed to turn himself in.
Billy reached for the keys and with a shaky hand, started the car. The Camaro let out a deep throaty burble, then settled into a slightly rough, looping idol. He yanked back the gear shift and started in reverse, nearly bumping into two girls who out of nowhere stepped into his path. Slamming on the breaks, the Camaro jerked to a stop. He glanced into the rearview mirror and froze in shock.
It was her. Alice. She shouted something at him in anger that he could not understand over the sound of the radio. Her older sister Lorraine watched in amusement.
Billy could not believe it. She was alive. A rush of warmth washed over him, and he felt as light as air. He shifted into park, then impulsively sprung from the Camaro. Alice intensely locked eyes with him, tracking his hands and shoulders.
âWhat the hell is your problem?â Alice snapped. âI don't know how they drive in California, but you sure as hell can'tââ
Billy drew nearer and cut her off, pulling Alice into a close embrace. Her body tensed as tight as a bow string. The warm sensual scent of sandalwood and rich musk invaded his senses, a loud and hypnotic perfume that aligned with her. He didn't want to turn her loose; he was too overcome with emotions.
âYou're here.â Tears burned his eyes. Billy blinked them away and pressed his nose into her dark untamed hair. âI can't believe you're fucking here.â
âO-kay,â Alice murmured, pushing him back. âSomeone had a little too much to smoke this morning.â
As much as Billy liked her sense of humor, he wasn't in the mood. He glanced at Lorraine, who was watching him curiously, then turned his attention back to Alice.
âCan we talk?â
âWe are talking,â she pointed out.
Billy sighed. Did he do something to make her mad? She was acting strangely toward him, as though they never even dated. After everything, the memories and the trauma, he was starting to feel the anger in him bubble to the surface.
âWhat's your problem?â
Alice raised a brow as if to say âAre you serious right nowâ? Lorraine snorted.
âMy problem? I think you need to take a chill pill, Goldie, and back the fuck off.â
Goldie. That was the nickname she called him way before they started dating. Why was sheâ
A sudden overwhelming realization hit him like a truck. Billy tightened his jaw. He wasn't certain, but he needed to know.
âMoveâŠget out the way.â
Billy ignored whatever offhanded comment Lorraine made - something about him being a freakazoid - and returned to his car. He slammed the door shut and yanked the gear shift back. Lorraine and Alice moved out of his way. Before he tore out of the parking lot, he glanced at Alice one last time. She was just as he remembered, but something stood out to him. Her expression was hyper-vigalant. She was exhausted. He remembered her eyes appearing much colder, more guarded. It was as though she was a different person.
He had a theory as to why.
The Camaro roared down the blacktop toward the highway. Billy did not care that he was speeding. All the street signs and the store fronts were a blur to him. When he arrived at Old Highway 77, he turned into lot 4281 and slammed the breaks. The car jerked in protest, stirring dust in its wake. He angled his head, peering over the dashboard.
The sound of ongoing construction in the background was a whisper above the radio. A sign next to a chain link fence read: The Starcourt Mall. Coming soon.
Billy felt ill. It was much worse than he had imagined. He truly died in the summer of 1985, but somehow, he had woken up back in 1984. Gone but still there.
Summary: She was Vanilla Charlotte: logistical warlord, Cake Karate black belt, certified sugar hater, and walking migraine to Big Mom herself.
She may have also, allegedly, tossed on a tablecloth and fake-giggled her way through impersonating her runaway sister, Lola (who fled the country), in a royal bait-and-switch of historic proportions.
But hey. It was all done with the best of intentions. Mostly. Sort of. Look, no one died. Yet.
She had lived her life blissfully marriage-free. No booming declarations of love, no boulder-sized engagement gifts, no pastries hurled across national borders.
And then she made the terrible mistake of escaping with the Straw Hats.
Apparently there's a rash of this ask being sent to people tonight.
Maybe it's some sort of AI ploy, or just some bored little gnat with no better plans for a Saturday, but I wanted to bring some awareness to it, because I know that it can feel big and scary and hurtful.
And no one deserves that.
The ask in question is below the cut if you don't want to click the link, but people, if you get this in your inbox, just block them - you can click the three dots off to the right of the ask before you answer it, anon or not, and block people that way.
While there isn't much I can say about it at the moment, I'm planning a Stranger Things AU short where a time paradox sends Billy Hargrove back to 1984 to right his wrongs and save the life of girl whom he falls for from himself as well as save his own life.
This year has been tough with my health and the passing of family members and now someone who I thought was my friend has served me a 30 day eviction notice.
At 10.30pm today [April 15th 2026], without conversation or reason my housemate served me a 30 day eviction notice. This person knows I have no friends I can move in with. I can't work because I am disabled and I have no savings due to cost of living and debt from a family emergency years ago that has still affected me to this day.
The last member of my family died a week ago and her house belongs to the bank. I have nowhere to go and no one to help. I have emotional support animals that I can't be parted with and many rental places that are low enough to take me wont allow pets.
The local council has been contacted but the wait times in my town are very high due to how poor the people here are. Not many places will rent to me because I am in debt and disabled and do not work.
I'm Franky and I'm a disabled transgender man who is on his last legs and probably won't survive this. I need help and I am begging for anyone's love and support so I can at least find a place that can take my pets and me and having some money for food when forced to move.
The housemate has said they will take legal action if we have not moved in 30 days.
Another quick piece of Senna based on a scene from a story I need to finish. In the scene, Senna is using her charms to persuade Glorio to let the group stay at a hotel for the night instead of camping. She's sometimes a little high maintenance.
I'm planning a smutty God x reader insert one-shot, and I can't decide who I want to write about. Below is a list of characters. I appreciate the votes. Thank you.
Bad Habits [Chapter Three] Final Girl [Billy Loomis]
Warning(s): OC, AU, mentions of death and murder, lore, nostalgia, flirting, trauma, and secrets.
No Minors Allowed!!
By morning, everyone in Lorraine's Rest had heard the news. Jacob Vanover had been murdered.
Eden found out when she woke up to her alarm, having forgotten to silence it, and checked her phone. It was not unusual to see the icon for the chat group she was in with Jodi and Darry, aptly named "True Blue" (the title of a song by Boygenius), but the number of messages took her back. She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and began to back-read.
The moment she read that Jake was found dead, Eden immediately hit the call button at the top of the screen. Jodi was the only one to answer.
"It's about time you got up. I've been spamming the chat all morning. Did you have your phone off?"
"Since six," Eden pointed out. "And to answer your question, I had the notifications turned off."
Her shift at the library usually started at nine. Sundays were her day off. If not for the alarm, she would not have woken up until noon. Eden hated to get up early unless she had to.
"I just...can't wrap my head around this. Who in the hell would want to hurt Jake?"
Jodi hummed. "I don't know. Russell sent me the link when he found out. The police put a post up on their page asking everyone to avoid the East Street area. All I know is that it's being reported as a stabbing."
Eden could not imagine how the family or the band was taking the news. She could hardly believe it. His death just did not feel real.
"Damn."
"Yeah," Jodi uttered. There was a moment of silence between them, and then she continued. "If I hear anything else, I'll message you. In the meantime, I'm gonna take a shower and try to shake off this headache. Love you, hoe. Stay safe."
Eden softly smiled. She herself felt a bit lightheaded, like her brain was swimming.
"Love you too."
Once the call ended, Eden flopped back onto the bed. She lay there, thinking back to the night before when she last saw Jake. He was in such a jovial mood. It was hard to believe that someone in The Rest would outright kill him. For what, though? Something about it did not make sense. She was sad, but there were no tears; she could not cry for him. After a moment of silence, she crawled out of bed and got ready.
Before the news, Eden had planned to spend the day indoors, watching movies, but curiosity got the better of her. She dressed quickly in a pair of black leggings and a Linkin Park band t-shirt, then set her phone to play an all nu-metal playlist. From her apartment in South Lorraine's Rest, she jogged at a comfortable pace across the Red River Bridge to the north side, then continued on toward the court house. The air was thick; the sky, gloomy and gray. Her clothes clung to her skin like wet wool.
At the moment that she neared the courthouse, Eden noticed five police cruisers parked along the curb near East Street. The main shopping and commercial area in downtown spanned roughly 2 to 3 blocks on the right side; East Street being in the middle. Red and yellow tape marked the perimeter, keeping civilians from seeing the crime scene, but that did not keep locals from satiating their morbid curiosity, crowding the sidewalks on either side of main street like a committee of vultures. There was nothing like a murder to get foot traffic. But who was she to judge?
Eden crossed to the right side of the street and wandered into The Jumpstart Cafe. A handful of patrons turned their eyes to her; some went back to whatever task they had been doing before she entered; some continued to stare critically. Her face flushed, and she removed her earbuds, then joined the line. Given the murder, she was not surprised to see how packed it was. The Jumpstart Cafe was the first place Red River Tribute performed when they first started. It was symbolic.
A spontaneous shrine was set up left of the counter on the stage for Jacob. Pictures, letters, and flowers decorated it. The once cozy and warm atmosphere of the cafe, often described by patrons as having a âserious Friends vibeâ was now heavy with grief, layered with the aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. It was beautiful, in a tragic sort of way. Eden kept her eyes focused on the brick walls, littered with vibrant construction paper butterflies that contained the hopes and wishes of anyone who wondered in - her own was tapped somewhere among them - avoiding the few eyes that still lingered on her until it was her turn at the counter.
âWhat can I get for you, hon?â The owner, Blanche Atkinson, asked.
She peered at Eden through thick lens reading glasses, subtly wrinkling the bridge of her nose.
âA tall dark chocolate frappe with caramel cold foam?â
âTo-go,â Blanche suggested.
It didn't feel like she was giving Eden much of an option; it never did. The latter nodded, gave her name, and then stepped aside. She occupied her time at the Wish Wall, reading the various notes - random wishes such as freedom and understanding made her chest tighten - until her name was called. Picking up her frappe at the counter, she spared Blanche no look, halting only when she noticed what was written on the plastic cup. Beside a small, simple flame was the name âFire Bugâ.
Eden tightened her jaw. Her sticky band t-shirt felt uncomfortable and warm from the heat that overtook her body; her skin itched. The aroma of vanilla and cinnamon smelt too much like melting plastic and burnt hair. She ignored the temptation to rub the back of her left hand where the skin was tight and waxy, then grounded herself with a sigh. There was no reason to let the nickname overwhelm her. It was the same old song and dance anyhow.
Had it been the first time someone called her âFire Bugâ she would have gone into a panic attack; she did the first time. Now it was pathetic, a broken record some of the residents of The Rest loved to play. Turning, Eden faced Blanche, whose eye she caught, and took a drink, an action she hoped the batista conveyed as âFuck youâ, then she ambled outside.
As much as she would like for the negative comment not to truly bother her, there was a part of Eden that was exhausted by them. She felt like a villain, someone branded by a nickname that she did not want; a killer with a bad alias. Some days it just drained her energy. Sipping on the rich, velvety beverage, she strode up the sidewalk toward East Street with no direction in mind, passing hobby stores and high end boutiques that on her salary, she could not afford.
As she stepped beneath the green awning of the Historic Sterling Hotel, she spotted a familiar drifter in a Wenven jacket leaning over the railing of the upper deck. His keen eyes were focused on the cruisers nearby, watching them closely. Eden was met with nostalgia, following the sharp angle of his jaw. Her thoughts went back to the kiss; the warmth of his lips and the greediness of his touch. A sudden shock trembled through her. What was it about him that appealed to her so much?
âCareful,â Eden warned. Her face flushed once she got his attention. There was something about Billy's smirk that made her feel giddy. âYou wouldn't believe how many people have toppled over that railing.â
âAnd miss a chance at becoming another piece of this town's history. Where's the fun in that?â Billy teased.
Eden chuckled. He must have read the newspaper clippings in the lobby. The town prided itself on the sins of the past; the misery and the corruption.
âYou weren't joking about this town being grim,â he added, leaning further out. The railing groaned beneath him.
Allegedly, Billy read, The Rest was a bustling river port with multiple ferry landings, then in the late 80s, a passenger ferry crashed into another, resulting in a mass casualty event that claimed the lives of 12 people, including the founder's wife Lorraine. There was more, much more; drownings, suicides, a fire in 1990; the list went on. It was an odd anthology of history to cling to, but Billy knew more than anyone, every town had its fair share of tragedy.
Incidentally, a man was dead; a beacon of the community. Billy reckoned that in time, his death would be hung up like a keepsake on the walls of the Sterling Hotel just like the others. Averting his eyes toward East Street, he watched a broad shouldered man in a rumpled navy blazer lumber around the police cruisers, shouting at someone on a cell phone. His badge glistened in the sun, clipped onto his belt like a decoration.
âThe sheriff seems wound up,â Billy pointed out. He wasn't dressed like the other officers wearing short sleeved polos.
âGraves?â Eden snorted. She took a sip of her frappe; the cold foam had melted, blending into her coffee like a rich, flavored creamer. âHe's probably just mad because he had to actually do something today.â
Which made her wonder just how serious Jake's death had affected the community. Richard Graves was a desk bound idiot; a greedy puppet of the McKeehansâ who got his job through political connections rather than merit. For him to be handling the situation personally, Kitty and Wayne must have had a reason for him to.
Eden sighed. What sort of trouble was Jake into to warrant his dead? She reckoned that it wasn't her business to know. Peering up at Billy, who was still focused on Sheriff Graves, she contemplated asking him to join her. He was a stranger, her mind warned; there was not a whole lot about him she knew. Would he even want to waste his time with her after last night? The voices in her head urged her not to ask, but she didn't listen. What was the worst he could say? No.
âIâm gonna be in town for a bit. You can join me, if you like.â
Billy tilted his head and smirked. He was hoping that she'd ask, though perhaps it was better if Eden hadn't have. Lifting a finger as if to say âgive me a minuteâ, he pushed off the railing and went back inside.
Meanwhile, Eden waited. She watched volunteers and community members decorate the yard of the Alder County Courthouse with thick bales of hay, plastic skeletons, and uncarved pumpkins in various shapes and sizes. It was coming a long well despite the unexpected tragedy.
âWhat's on your mind?â Billy asked, exiting the hotel to see Eden lost in her thoughts.
She glanced at him, smiling briefly, then averted her attention to the yard of the courthouse. Eden was wondering how it was possible for some people, including herself, not to be so deeply affected by the murder. She should be mourning for Jake; she knew him about as much as some of the others she had witnessed grieving, yet she didn't feel heartbroken. Sympathetic, yes, but there were no tears. The world simply went on.
âNothing important,â Eden lied. She turned to him, deflecting. âWhat are your plans for Halloween?â
Plans? Billy hadn't really thought about it. He typically stayed less than a week in a new place before moving on. Shrugging, he chuckled as Eden visibly opened her mouth in shock. She clasped his arm softly.
âThen we need to get you a costume. Everyone and their uncle dresses up and attends the celebration at the courthouse on Halloween,â she stated.
âAren't you a little old for costumes?â Billy teased.
Eden playfully swatted at his arm.
âI like to indulge in escapism like everyone else. Sue me.â
Escape from what, he wondered. Billy wet his lips. He doubted that she was lying. One thing he had learned about Eden was that she was an open book if one knew the right questions to ask.
âWhatâs your costume then?â Billy asked.
Eden teasingly disregarded his question and led him back down the sidewalk to Treasures and Trinkets, an antique store she liked to browse in from time to time. Displayed in the bay window were family costumes; the Flintstones: Fred, Wilma, Pebbles, and even Dino. The bell above the door chimed as they walked in, and the scent of pumpkin spice and potpourri permeated the air.
âWelcome in,â greeted the bored voice of Ezra Bennett, the teenage grandson of Majorie Whittaker.
Despite her blatant dislike for Eden, Ezra seemed civil with her. He was quiet, sporting tousled bright red hair, and loved to read true crime; he came into the library at least once a week to check out a new book. Once he saw her, he smiled softly and waved; his eyes were intense, staring as though he was trying to connect with her. Eden waved back as she passed the counter.
âThere should beâ here it is,â she remarked, leading Billy to a rolling garment rack directly in the lobby. âSee if there is anything you like. I'll get it for you.â
Billy hummed. âI'd owe you.â
Eden grinned. Releasing his arm, she took a step back.
âYes you would.â
That was exactly the point. After that, she turned with a smile and ambled further into the store. Aside from the lobby, there were four additional rooms with over 35 different vendor booths. Eden had recently bought a rustic bookshelf in mid-tone brown that would complement the accent table that she had bought last summer. It sat in the furniture and antiques area. She did not have the vehicle to tote it, however, so she asked Ezra to put a hang tag on it until Russell could get his truck fixed and help her move it. There was always something to browse. Checking out the home decor area - a 32 vintage glass set made by Fenton caught her attention - she soon returned to the lobby empty-handed. If it was still there by the time she got paid, then she'd buy it.
Billy was still shifting through the rack of costumes and vintage party wear when Eden approached him.
"Find anything?"
He pulled a red sequin dress shirt from the rack and held it against his chest.
"What do you think? Does it look good on me?"
Eden snorted. "Groovy."
She shook her head, helping him look.
"It might help me if you tell me what you're gonna dress up as," Billy said.
Eden peeked up from the rack and smiled playfully at him as if to say, "Wait and see." Billy faked a pout. She returned to looking.
The majority of the costumes were from the 60s and 70s, but Eden was able to find one that was germane and familiar. She took it from the rack and showed it to him.
"What about this one? Everyone likes a good slasher."
A look of familiarity crossed his features. It did not surprise her much. Everyone knew who Ghostface was. The costume came with a robe and mask, but it was a knockoff from the film.
"The mask is made of plastic, though. Not really authentic," she added.
"I never took you as a Stab fan," Billy remarked.
"I like scary movies in general," Eden clarified.
She did not dislike the Stab franchise, but like all horror movies, she gave it a fair chance. Billy took the costume from her, looked it over with uninterest, and then put it back.
"No one likes a cheap copy."
He winked at Eden, then returned to looking. In the end, to her dismay, he chose nothing.
âWe'll find something for you before then,â Eden stated. She nodded briefly in appreciation as Billy opened the door for her, facing him as they stepped out onto the sidewalk again. âI think Russell might have something that will fit you.â
âI get the feeling you're trying to keep me here,â Billy pointed out teasingly.
Eden flushed. Was she? There was no denying that she was drawn to him, though it was purely an attraction. She reckoned that it wouldn't hurt to play along; Billy would be out moving on soon anyway.
âWhat if I am?â
Was she challenging him? Billy touched her cheek. Her sad almond shaped eyes gleamed with hope; eyes that held the same loneliness as his. He considered kissing her again, but the script was rewritten. The instant he edged closer, the loud and aggressive roar of a Mercedes-AMG tore her away from him.
Eden felt faint. Whether because of the humidity or the nerves, her body was suddenly clammy and uncomfortable. She parted from Billy and glanced over her shoulder. A cherry red sports car, fresh off the line, pulled into the parking spot adjacent to them. Jodi often referred to this as a âThe audacity of this bitchâ moment.
For a brief, hopeful moment, Eden thought that she would ignore her. But with a fake smile, Kitty waved.
âEden, darling. I thought that was you.â Her accent was thick. She sashayed over, heels clicking on the concrete and quickly embraced Eden. âI'm glad to see you. It's been a while since you've been up to the house.â
âI've been busy,â Eden lied.
She was certain that Kitty already knew Lance and her were no longer dating. He told her everything, personal and otherwise. It was one of the many reasons their relationship grew tedious. Eden was tired of hearing Kitty dictate her sex life; a well-fed dog stays home, she'd inculcate.
Kitty scanned Billy and hummed as if to say, âI'm sureâ. Her smile faltered.
âNot to change the topic, but I'm sure you heard about Jake, poor soul.â She leaned in so close Eden could smell the nip of gin on her breath; gin that she brought out only when Mister McKeehan stayed over late at the office to âcatch up on workâ. âI heard he was stabbed multiple times; assault with intent to kill.
Graves mentioned that it was quite a mess over yonder. He told me - purely because I look into these sorts of things - that the murder weapon was recovered. The girls at the country club are going to lose their skirts when I tell them about this.â
That was a relief.
âIt's only a matter of time then,â Eden muttered.
âI'd certainly hope so,â Kitty remarked. She took a step back. âWith something as big as a Buck 120, those idiots out of Nashville should be able to find a finger print or something.â
A Buck 120. A bout of nostalgia washed over Billy. He shivered, averting his eyes to the police cruisers parked along the curb; to Graves lumbering around the scene like a puppet. The Rest had all the potential to be a classic horror movie. He did not favor the heat of the murder billowing down on him, but he craved the thrill of scandal and death; it beckoned him like a moth to flame.
âHow are you doing with all this, sweetheart,â Kitty suddenly asked.
Billy turned his eyes to her, then to Eden, whose shoulders were tense and raised.
âWhy with your reputation, I don't imagine too well,â Kitty remarked. âLuke is worried about you. People talk in a small town. I just want you to know our door is always open, where you're safe.â
With that she departed. Eden stared in a daze at the spot she stood in; her finger tapped the plastic cup, unintentionally pointing out to Billy the nickname that the town called her. He pulled her from her thoughts, resting a comforting hand on her arm; his curiosity was piqued.
âInlaws, yeah?â
Eden did not have to say a word. Billy could feel how unnerved she was; her body was trembling. He could not help but think at that moment that if Lorraine's Rest were a horror movie, then Eden could potentially be its âFinal Girlâ. Weirdly, he liked the idea of that.
Goodbye Halcyon Days. @likesugarandcyanide - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
