Fanfiction and OC art side-blog [35 years old] NO MINORS ALLOWED! I'm open to requests, message me for more details. I write for several fandoms. My main account is @likesugarandcyanide, and you can also find my work on AO3 under the name SugarGlaze (I write on multiple platforms).
Hello readers, and welcome to my multi-fandom blog. My name is Sugar. However, I don’t 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 isn’t working, and I’ll 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 you’re 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 don't 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 don't ask.
Lost in a haze of narcosis, Lee dragged herself awake to the sun on her face. She groaned in discomfort, squeezing her teary eyes shut. A warm red and orange glow seeped through her eyelids.
Lee lay on the firm ground, twirling a smooth blade of grass around her pointer finger until the sudden memory of last night popped into her head. Her eyes snapped open, squinting from the sun's harsh light, and she bolted upright.
A grand, looming Victorian house faced her, cutting off her thoughts.
Where in the hell was she?
Lee grabbed the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut again. She should have been on Bay Tree Street, unconscious on the front porch of the Turnbow house. Her body should have felt heavy from whatever medication she had ingested, but she didn’t feel a thing.
Perhaps it was a dream. Lee felt foolish for even thinking that it was. She was still stuck in the horrendous dress her sister had given her. This had to have been real.
So, what happened?
Lee opened her eyes and scanned the area. She was sitting on a charming little playground with a forest of oak and sycamore trees at her back. The house rested on a pristine lawn across the street. It reminded her of the type of houses on Loch Nora, houses that she could never afford, but out of all the times she had taken Derek there while trick-or-treating, she had never seen this particular house before.
She was drawing a blank.
As luck would have it, Lee did not have to wait long for an answer. The front door of the house opened. A girl with blonde hair pulled into low pigtails stepped out. She stared at Lee for a moment and then waved eagerly.
“Are you Ashley?!” She shouted.
Lee raised a brow. How did she know her name? She stood, yanking the hemline of her dress down.
“Yea–” Lee paused and cleared her throat. Her voice was broken and hoarse. Instead, she nodded.
The girl, who Lee thought seemed a little familiar, hurried down the walkway toward her. The ringlets in her hair bounced with each determined step.
Once the girl stood right in front of her, Lee finally realized who she was.
“You're the girl who was kidnapped.”
Holly Wheeler.
“I wasn't kidnapped,” Holly declared.
That's not what the authorities claimed. Lee read in the paper that someone had broken into the Wheeler house, violently attacked Karen and Ted, and then kidnapped Holly. Was she in a state of denial? Lee had a bad feeling about this. She lowered her tone.
“How did you get here, Holly? Did someone bring you here?”
Her smile returned. “He said that you'd have questions.”
He. Lee swallowed hard. Ahead of her asking who the man was, Holly whirled around; the hemline of her dress brushed around her legs as she walked back to the house. Lee hesitantly followed. She didn't know where else to go or what to do.
Across the narrow street, Lee looked both left and right, but she could not make out anything to help her determine where Holly and she were. There were no street signs or other houses. Were they even in Hawkins?
Holly stepped onto the porch and pulled open an ornate wood-paneled door with a colorful stained glass upper insert. The rose design caught Lee's attention a brief moment before she walked inside to a wide majestic central hallway. It certainly was a gorgeous house.
From the central hallway, Lee could make out a sweeping wooden staircase with handcrafted newel posts. There were numerous pictures scattered across the walls: art and family photos in large gilded frames.
“Whose house is–”
As though it sensed her intrusion, the chime of an old grandfather clock interrupted her. Lee narrowed her eyes. It rang three times, and then fell silent again. She tried again.
“Who lives here?”
“Henry does,” Holly simply answered.
Could Henry have been the one who took Holly? For a victim, she seemed to speak about him as if she were not afraid. Lee was more confused than ever.
“Where is Henry now?”
“He's out. Sometimes, he leaves for most of the day, but he said he'd be back to welcome you once you woke up,” Holly answered. She turned and looked Lee over. “I…I know it isn't easy being here when your family isn't, but Henry promised that he'd bring them here too. We just have to trust him.”
Lee wanted to argue that she shouldn't trust him, but she did not want to turn Holly against her. Children seldom listened to reason. She sighed.
“I trust you.”
Holly smiled and then raised a brow. “Are you really kin to Derek? You seem…kinder.”
Lee snorted. He could definitely be a pain in the ass at times. She nodded.
With a look of sudden realization, Holly widened her eyes.
“I almost forgot.”
She took Lee by the hand and led her from the foyer to the rear of the main floor. The warm scent of melted cocoa and sweet vanilla flooded the air as they walked into the kitchen area. Lee admired the dark wooden cabinetry as Holly grabbed a porcelain plate stacked with chocolate chip pancakes and set them on the counter in front of her.
“I made these for you. Henry said that you and Derek like chocolate chips,” Holly mentioned.
Lee raised a curious brow.
“How does Henry know that?”
“Hunches,” Holly remembered. “He said that he's good at hunches.”
She was not so sure. His hunch was too on point. Lee stared at the plate, fingers twitching in uncertainty. Holly mistook her action and raised her finger. She disappeared into the walk-in pantry connected via a wooden door and then emerged with a bottle of Log Cabin syrup.
“You like syrup, right?” Holly asked.
Lee already knew what Holly would say, but she asked anyway.
“Did Henry tell you that, too?”
Holly smiled, nodding.
Of course, he did.
Lee hesitantly took the bottle from her and drowned the pancakes. The scent welcomed her, sweet and tempting. She cut off a piece, bounced her fork to rid it of the excess syrup, and then popped it into her mouth.
The taste was nostalgic, a blend of warm buttery dough, melted chocolate, and caramelized sugar.
“You made this?” She asked behind her hand.
Holly smiled. “Do you like them?”
Lee hummed.
Holly cooked well for someone so young. Lee wondered if perhaps her parents weren't around as much. Dahlia Hamilton, her own mother, wasn't. At a young age, instead of playing with dolls and being a kid, Lee had to do most of the cooking for her and Cynthia.
“I wish Derek cooked half as good as you.”
“Derek cooks?” Holly raised a skeptical brow.
Lee snorted.
“If you count heating up TV dinners in the microwave as cooking, then all the time.”
Holly laughed softly.
Subsequently, she left Lee to eat as she cleaned up. It was odd to see such an independent twelve year old, but Lee reckoned that it was just the way Holly was brought up. She even offered to help her, but the little girl declined politely.
Lee wiped the sticky syrup clinging to her lips on a napkin that was nearby, then asked.
“Does Henry help you out around the house?”
“He cooks and cleans,” Holly answered. “I don't know how he has much time, but when I wake up, the entire house is back in place. You should see the breakfasts that he makes.”
Henry sounded kind. But what was his motive? If he wasn't the one who kidnapped Holly, then why was he keeping her here?
“What do you know about him?”
Holly leaned against the counter. Her fingers wrapped around a figure that reminded Lee of a miniature, attached to a chain around her neck. It seemed to ground her.
“He's nice…patient. When I was attacked by monsters, he saved me and brought me here.”
A tinge of dread washed over her. It reminded Lee of what Derek had said to her.
"Holly. Is Henry Mr. Whatsit?”
The recognition on her face confirmed Lee’s fear. She sat the fork on the table a bit too loudly. She considered taking Holly by the hand and fleeing from the house. After the unpleasant encounter with Henry Whatsit at the hospital, she knew first hand that he was anything but nice. Or human.
I threw a fucking tray through him.
The blend of confusion and concern on Holly’s face grounded her. Lee took an uneasy breath. How was she going to get her away from him without scaring her? If she insisted on leaving, Holly might retaliate.
“Sorry. I just–” Lee took a deep breath and then forced a smile. “I feel a little overwhelmed. I think I just need some fresh air. Maybe you can show me around the property, if you feel like it.”
Holly agreed happily. “Oh, but we can't go into the woods. It's Henry's only rule.”
What was in the woods?
“Did he say why?”
“There are monsters out there, like the one that attacked my parents.” Holly clutched the miniature attached to her necklace again. “Sometimes I can feel them watching me.”
The air around Lee chilled. She visibly shivered. Derek had mentioned the same thing to her in the car. It could have very well been a lie, but Holly seemed certain that she had seen something. She was terrified.
“We'll steer clear of the woods then, yeah?”
Holly agreed.
After Lee ate, she washed the plate and set it in the drainer. Her stomach was neither full nor empty. It was strange, just like her lack of side effects. Nothing made sense right now. Following Holly through the foyer, she spotted a blurry shadow through the stained glass upper door insert.
“Holly, wait!” Lee commanded.
She scrambled to get in front of her as the door opened and Henry Whatsit strode in. His brows rose as he noticed them, halting in the doorway. Henry tilted his head.
“Where are you off to Holly?”
Lee scowled at him. He knew what he was doing.
“I'm showing Ashley the house,” Holly answered.
“A stay-indoors kind of day,” Henry cautioned. He gently shut the door behind him and then removed his fedora, raking his fingers through his slicked back hair. “It's not safe out, so close to dark.”
It wasn't even close to dark.
Henry closed the distance, his eyes locking onto Holly's. It seemed as though he was ignoring Lee, not even acknowledging her even when she slid her arm out between them. He bent down.
“Besides, we have to prepare the house for the others.”
“They're coming here soon?” Holly asked excitedly.
Henry's smile didn't reach his eyes. He dismissed Holly with a smooth wave and then remained warm and friendly until she withdrew upstairs. The look he shot Lee terrified her. His chameleon-like shifts were truly unsettling.
“Where were you going to go Ashley?”
Somewhere the fuck away from you, she opted not to say.
Lee swallowed hard. She peeked over at the stained glass insert and noted that the sun was out, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the hardwood floor.
“It's in the middle of the day,” she pointed out.
“Is it?” Henry mocked softly.
His eyes closed and the lights in the foyer began to flicker ominously. Lee watched in confusion as the colors on the floor bled into shadows. She sprinted to the door and flung it open, freezing in bewilderment as she peered out into the total murk of night. How? The sun was just out. She hesitantly lifted her hand past the doorframe, feeling the warmth of the day fade into a dense numbing cold.
What in the fuck is he?
A warm hand wrapped around her upper arm. Lee stiffened as a sudden jolt of electricity surged through her, setting her nerves on edge. An unexpected composure took over. The grief and the anger she had known her entire life faded like ink bleeding into water. Her shoulders slackened.
Henry seemed to feel the connection between them as well, like a mass of cords tangled around their hearts, heavy and constricting. The lights that lined the foyer wavered, and an eerie electrical hum filled the stagnant air.
“Go into the parlor.”
Henry led her back, removing his hand, and shut the door.
Against her own will, Lee hungered for his touch. She tightened her jaw and drifted down the hallway on autopilot until she nearly missed the sliding pocket doors of the family room. The first thing she noticed as she walked in was the stiff ambience. It felt more like a museum with its crowded furniture and dark green walls.
Henry came in after her, sliding the door closed. He then sat on a Queen Anne-style sofa with one leg draped over the other as though he had not kidnapped two people.
Lee sighed deeply. Did he seriously want to have one-on-one right now? He motioned to the matching armchair next to him. She reluctantly sat down, grimacing at the feeling of the stiff upholstery against the underside of her legs.
“You have questions,” Henry noted.
A ton, Lee thought. But where to start? She reckoned that she'd better keep them simple. If she bombarded Henry, he might refuse to answer her.
“Where the hell are we? Are we even still in Hawkins?”
“Not exactly,” Henry answered. “It's just as I told Holly, this house is safe. Not only from the monsters but from the decaying miserable world outside.”
Lee opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but Henry interrupted her.
“Don't press it, Ashley.”
She shot him a look.
“Truth outs.” Lee ignored the amused look on his face and continued. “What do you want with Holly and my nephew?”
“Why do you keep looping back to the same questions?” Henry rested his foot on the floor and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “You're hearing me, but you're not listening.”
She didn't buy a single word of this protector bull he was trying to sell. His story had too many holes. He wasn't a savior. Saviors didn't hide behind fake smiles and lies.
“Children are simple-minded, easy to manipulate.” Lee narrowed her eyes. “That's what you said to me in the hospital. Was it a threat?”
Did he not think that she would protect them?
Lee stiffened as Henry stood. She tracked every step he took across the room, bracing for the worst. But it never came. Instead, he slowly rounded her armchair.
"Poor Ashley, so eager to give, to bleed for a world that cares nothing for you,” Henry taunted. His tone was sharp and harsh, dripping poison into her head. “You care about the well-being of everyone else, but you should be more concerned about yourself. Why haven't you asked about us?”
“We're soulmates. It's pretty obvious,” Lee stated.
Back in the hospital, she didn't see it before. But after what she had experienced herself, there was no denying it. She simply did not mention it because it was the last thing on her mind.
“I'm more concerned about the fact that you're supposed to be dead.” She suffered through years of therapy to learn how to live without him. Lee stared at the sofa where Henry had been sitting moments before. “Are you even human?”
“Human?” Henry repeated, a cold amusement in his tone. “No, not anymore. I was cured of that affliction a long time ago. But you… you still dutifully choose to play your part in their pathetic little world.”
Was he referring to humans in such disdain? What happened to him?
“This must be terribly unfortunate for you, bound to a puppet.” Lee couldn't help but smile. “Maybe fate is trying to tell you that you need a little humility in your life.”
A hand gripped her shoulder and yanked her back against the backrest. Lee cussed under her breath. She was getting tired of how her body reacted to his touch. Henry's warm breath fanned across her ear.
“For your nephew's sake, you need to stay out of my business. You have far too much to lose.”
His touch remained a moment longer, as though he had more to add, and then he released her.
Lee watched Henry push open the parlor doors and disappear into the foyer. Her shoulders slackened. It was clear that he did not bring her to his ‘safehouse’ because he liked her. So then why? Was their tether a liability to him?
Is there a way I can use it against him?
She'd need to test it. In the meantime, Lee would behave and play her part. What choice did she honestly have?
(I'm a bit late, I know. The snippet below is from the sequel of Saints and Shadows. I'm incredibly excited to start writing it. For context, the story is a soulmate au in which Henry wins and puts the survivors of Hawkins in a 50s-esque world that he controls like a deity.
Here, he is playing house with his soulmate after altering her memories.)
--
It amused Lee how, even after five years of marriage, she was still too shy to look Henry in the eyes. It felt like her heart was stuck in a permanent honeymoon stage. Some days, she swore that she barely even knew him.
Lee turned her attention to the desk; to Henry's leather briefcase tossed carelessly on top of it.
“How was work?”
“Tedious,” Henry answered. His tone was soft and warm. “It's not worth the time.”
Lee tried to argue that it was, that he never cared to talk about what he did during his long “business trips” away from home, but Henry cut her short.
“Ashley,” he warned. His voice edged up, then lowered again. Henry guided her attention back to him. A sudden wildfire of heat rushed across her cheeks. “I thought you wanted me to dance with you.”
She did. Perhaps her curiosity was merely an excuse. Lee found it hard to focus, even with the airy lullaby guiding them in the background.
“I'm sorry.” Lee let out a breathless laugh, shutting her eyes for a brief moment. “You make me so nervous.”
His gaze was intensely focused on her, an underlying control that Lee mistook for warmth. He locked her in a tight embrace.
Turn Back the Pendulum [Chapter Three] Parallel [Billy Hargrove]
A/n: If you'd like to be tagged for this story, please let me know. Thank you for reading.
Warning(s): OC, alternative universe, time loop/paradox, domestic abuse/child abuse, toxic parenting/verbal degradation, severe anxiety, claustrophobia.
No Minors Allowed!!
Billy regrettably discovered, while skimming a cheap map of Hawkins that he had bought at Melvalds on the way home, that he had no idea where to start. He was searching for the gate that Alice had told him about.
He wished that he would have listened to her more, deeming her stories of monsters and other worlds as nonsense. But she was right, and now that he had the means to stop the Mind Flayer before it entered Hawkins, Billy was at a standstill. He tossed the map onto his bed and flopped down beside it in irritation.
You were a fucking terrible boyfriend, Hargrove, he reminded himself.
Why was he going through so much trouble to stop this thing now? It still possessed him in the summer of 1985. Whatever Alice had claimed they did failed to deter it. But at least they stopped it for a short while.
How did it come back? Billy wasn't sure even Alice knew. If he could stop it, however, then maybe he could be with–
No. He didn't want to give himself hope when there was none. Billy put the thought to the back of his mind and laid down on his side. He needed to think. What should he do now? Use the knowledge he had to help the kids? Or wait for the Mind Flayer to enter Hawkins.
"Who are you trying to kid," he whispered to himself.
Alice would not have wanted him to wait. Or give up.
Billy slid the map across the bed, staring at it from the side. He was thinking too broad, searching for a needle in a haystack. If Alice was out of the picture, then Jim Hopper, the police chief was the key. He was currently investigating a mysterious rotting blight that was destroying local pumpkin patches and crops around Hawkins, Billy recalled. If there was a connection, then he reckoned that he ought to start there. He would figure out how to involve Hopper once he found the Gate.
From his house on Cherry Lane, he traced a straight path to the outskirts of town where the agricultural community was nestled. There were two prominent farms in that area: Wright and McCorkle.
Billy crawled out of bed and searched his nightstand for a pen, but the sudden sharp sound of glass shattering broke his train of thought.
"Goddammit, Maxine!" Neil Hargrove shouted a second later.
Billy sighed. What did his stepsister do now? He left his room and walked into the kitchen, witnessing the reason for Neil's outburst. In her attempt to pull down the tool box from the top of the fridge, Max knocked off a mason jar full of coins. There was broken glass and money scattered all across the floor.
"Clean it up," Neil ordered. "You're about as clumsy as your damn mom."
He always took things too far.
Max glanced at Billy, and then hurried to the pantry to retrieve the broom. She returned, keeping her eyes down as she swept shards of glass, coins, and corn straw tassels that had broken off into a pile. Billy tightened his jaw. She was on edge; he could tell, and his presence seemed to make it worse. Avoiding the mess, he wandered to the drawer on the other side of the sink. Susan often tossed pens and other miscellaneous objects into it when she could not find a home for them.
Billy found a pen relatively easy, but he pretended to keep searching. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to wait around until Max was done. The stepbrother she knew, the one who had not yet apologized for the abuse he caused her, would have wanted to see her struggle. A part of him still couldn't break the habit, but he was trying.
His moment to atone came far too soon.
"The fuck are you doing?" Neil asked.
"I need gloves," Max retorted.
Billy rolled his eyes. She was a glutton for punishment.
"Don't you dare sass me, girl. I might not be your real dad, but I can still tan your hide and believe me–"
"You will," Billy interrupted. His voice was so soft, so broken, he did not think Neil heard him. But he did. His father's stern eyes fell on him. Billy knew the can of worms that he was about to open, but he couldn't stop himself. He deserved the abuse. "You're gonna whip her for doing what you ordered her to do."
Neil turned his anger on Billy. The shock on Max's face was almost worth it.
"You got something you want to say to me, Billy?" Neil asked, pressing his lips into a thin line.
Billy turned to him. Neil met him half way, shoving his finger in Billy's face.
"I'm tired of your shit, boy. You've been a pain in my ass since your momma–"
Billy bucked up, hand tightening around the pen. He couldn't stop himself. "Don't you dare fucking–"
Neil grabbed him by the collar of his denim jacket and shoved him. The drawer dug painfully into his lower back, slamming shut as Billy met the counter. He gritted his teeth, but instead of lashing out, he took the punishment. He asked for it.
"She abandoned you," Neil pointed out sharply. "Don't you forget that, boy. She left you with me, and from here on out, you best be walking on egg shells around me. Do you understand?"
Billy blinked back tears. He tightened his jaw, cut off from reminding Neil that he was the reason his mom left them, as he shoved him again.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?"
Billy nodded shakily. His shoulders slumped as Neil released him and stormed out of the kitchen. He stood there a moment, collecting himself, well aware that Max was still watching. Running a hand down his face, he met her eyes.
"Try not to piss him off again."
Max was too shocked to say anything. Was this really her stepbrother? She found her voice as Billy stormed past.
"Who is Alice Abernathy?"
Billy halted. How did she know her name? He swallowed hard.
"She's no one."
"She's not no one," Max argued. "I've seen the way you act around her. Dustin said that–"
Billy snapped his head toward her.
"You keep her out of whatever shit you and your little friends are up to, do you hear me? She doesn't need to be involved."
Before he returned to his room, he shouted, "And tell Harrington to get a better bat!"
Max was utterly confused. Unbeknownst to her, in the upcoming days, she was about to find out the hard way what he truly meant.
--
Alice Abernathy stood in front of the Cheval floor mirror in her sister's bedroom, shimming her hips as the synth-laced tune of "Voices Carry" played softly on a silver Panasonic boombox sitting on top of the dresser. She paused for a brief moment to glide on a berry-toned gloss, smacked her lips, and then resumed where she left off.
"In the dark, I'd like to read his mind," she sang. Alice repositioned her dark hair with her fingers. "But I'm frightened of the—"
Lorraine stormed in, slamming the door behind her, and then flopped down on her twin-sized bed. The mountain of textured throw pillows, Alice was certain were more for show than for comfort, toppled over, burying her unmade teal and magenta quilted comforter. She had a feeling that she already knew what was on her sister's mind.
"The Dragon?"
Lorraine confirmed. "The bane of my existence."
Alice knew the feeling. "The Dragon" was a nickname that they called Doreen Abernathy, their mother. She was a bitter and controlling woman. One might assume her cruel nature was due to Benjamin Abernathy leaving her, but Aunt Rita would disagree. Doreen had always been a cold-blooded bitch.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Alice asked softly.
Lorraine sat up. Her voluminous teased hair, held back with a thick pink headband bounced.
"I want you to hurry up so we can get out of here. You've been standing in front of that mirror for an hour."
Alice rolled her eyes playfully. It had not been an hour. The clock on the bedside table read four-fifteen. Besides, Lorraine cornered her whenever they got home. She was content with holing up in her bedroom, reading or blowing out the speakers on her boombox, but Lorraine wanted to see a movie.
"It was your idea to dress up," Alice reminded her.
She was not big on dolling up, but Lorraine was. If Alice had worn her school clothes out, then her sister would have had a fit. Lorraine was a lot like Doreen in that matter, a fact that she would never voice out loud. Glancing in the mirror, Alice snorted, catching the heated look that she had been given. The look didn't suit Lorraine, honestly.
She was the polar opposite of Alice; expressive and outgoing with a hint of cynicism. Whenever Lorraine went out, she dressed as though she wanted to be noticed. Today was no exception.
While Alice had put forth the effort to at least look nice, wearing a faded, oversized "The Cure" band tee and high waisted Guess ankle-zipper jeans, Lorraine went above and beyond for an afternoon showing at Hawk Theater. She rocked a matte coral lipstick and massive hoop earrings that matched the acid-washed jeans and neon pink sweatshirt she wore; the sleeves slouched up to her elbows and hung off one shoulder.
"Relax, mom," Alice teased. "I'm almost done."
Lorraine tossed a throw pillow at her, striking Alice in the back. The latter laughed.
A moment later, the volume on the boombox went up, flooding the room.
"He wants me, if he can keep me in line," Alice continued. Lorraine joined her, an octave above. "Hush, hush, keep it down now, voices carry. Oh, oh, oh, hush, hush, shut up now, voices—"
A loud thump vibrated against the floor beneath them. Lorraine quickly turned the volume down in time to hear Doreen shout up from downstairs, striking the floor with what Alice assumed was the broom handle. Lorraine's name was spat with vitriol from her lips.
"You've been summoned."
Lorraine didn't even smile. "Please hurry."
She turned the music off and stormed out of the room, leaving Alice alone with her sympathy.
It took her a couple of minutes to finish up. Alice tossed on her denim jacket and then wandered downstairs. The sound of the phone ringing cut off the muted argument coming from the kitchen. Ignoring it, she hurried to the front door and slid on her black Doc Martens, but her mother's gravelly voice stopped her.
"There's someone on the line for you."
She knitted her brows. Alice wondered if Robin had forgotten something in her car. She walked into the kitchen, nearly knocked over by Lorraine as she exited in a huff. Their eyes met briefly, and Alice swore that she saw tears. She tightened her jaw. What in the hell was "The Dragon" on Lorraine's ass about now?
Doreen met her with a look of scrutiny, examining her. The phone was pressed against her chest so that whoever was on the line could not hear her.
"Where are you goin' dressed like that?"
"To the movies," Alice answered. Her tone was a bit sharp. She lowered it, to avoid a conflict. "I wanted to see The Terminator. Everyone has been talking about it at school."
It was Lorraine's idea, but she lied. Something in her heart told her that she had to. Alice did not want to exacerbate whatever argument was going on between them.
"It must kill you two to stay here for the day," Doreen stated. She lifted the phone out to Alice. "Make it quick, unless you want to pay for this line too."
She didn't. Her babysitting gig barely helped to pay for the shared line she had with her sister. Lorraine had too many friends. Alice took the phone and waited for Doreen to leave before pressing the receiver against her ear.
"Hello."
"Alice dear. It's Claudia Henderson. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Alice hummed in disagreement. Claudia continued.
"Is there any way you might be able to sit Dustin for me for a few hours tomorrow?" She asked. "I know it's sudden, but Mews got out and I'm planning to drive out to Loch Nora and put up posters for her."
"Poor Mews. I hope you find her," Alice said softly, her fingers tightened around the cord of the phone. She liked Mews; she was a sweet cat. "Um...yeah, I think I'm free tomorrow. I can watch him."
Claudia breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, hon. It shouldn't take me too long, but I'll pay you the usual for the trouble."
"It's no trouble, Mrs. Henderson." Alice was not lying. She liked Dustin and he gave her no problems. "Dustin can finish showing me how to play that D&D thing he likes so much."
She honestly did not understand it, but the concept was interesting. The last time she babysat him, Dustin had helped her create a half-elf character named Sariel the Siren with a dual-class build. She didn't know how to use her, but she seemed like a pretty cool character.
Claudia laughed. "I appreciate this. I'll see you tomorrow, dear.”
Alice said her goodbyes and then hung up the phone. As she walked through the foyer, bare of family photos and scrubbed of memories of her father, she paused in the archway for a moment and watched her mother. Ever since Benjamin left, Doreen withdrew from society, burying herself in take out orders from Benny's Burgers, and reruns of “America Justice”. Compared to someone like Claudia Henderson, who loved her son, even though a man broke her heart, Doreen was a terrible mother.
How hard was it for her to love her daughters?
Alice did not blame her, not like Lorraine, but she did pity her.
“Do you want to see the movie with us, mom?”
“I don't care for science fiction,” Doreen declared.
Alice wasted no more of her energy and exited the house.
–
At a quarter past midnight, when the house was eerily silent and the Hargrove-Mayfield family was dead asleep, Billy crept from his bedroom to the living room. The frayed strap of a black gym bag hung on his shoulder, filled with supplies. He was not certain what he would encounter out on the farm, but he wanted to be in some way prepared.
An icy November breeze greeted Billy as he stepped outside. He marched to his Camaro, tossed the bag in the back and then quietly got in. The roar of the engine was far too loud to start near the house. He put the car in neutral and rolled it down the road until he was not at risk of waking up his father. Popping the clutch, the V8 came to life, and Billy took off toward the agricultural outskirts of Hawkins.
A thick, unnatural fog rolled in the closer that Billy drove. A sense of unease washed over him as though the Mind Flayer was already aware of what he was about to do. He cut on the radio, cranking up the volume. “The Cutter” filled the silence, its melancholic rhythm and moody lyrics put him at ease for the time being.
Then a mile from the Wright farm, the broadcast filled with eerie static. Billy turned the station, but the same thing occurred. He knew that he was on the right track.
Billy pulled off the road and hid the Camaro in the untamed foliage near the edge of Merrill Wright's property and then hopped the wooden fence into an open field. Retrieving a Rayovac flashlight from the gym bag, he turned it on to see where he was heading and then relied on the light from the moon to guide him. He was not sure if Merrill or his family were home or not and did not want to risk tipping them off.
Buck shot to the ass did not sound like a fun time.
Up the field a bit, Billy felt his boots sink into something slick and foul. The familiar scent of sulfur and rot filled his nostrils, causing his mouth to fill with saliva. He honestly thought that he might throw up. Taking a deep, uneasy breath, he turned on the flashlight and pointed the beam down. The pumpkins near his feet were a mix of dull brown and black with patches of white on their rinds.
They were not completely infected with the blight yet, but he was close. Billy kicked the mushy orange guts off the toe of his boots and then retrieved a pair of thick leather gloves from the bag. Better safe than sorry. He continued on, following the trail of pulsing dark veins until he got to the center of decay, a pulpy mass of black, decaying matter.
A sudden intense sensation nearly doubled Billy over. Goosebumps littered his arms, spreading to the scruff of his neck. It felt like someone or something had walked over his grave. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them he noticed something strange ahead of him. The ground appeared like it had been dug up, uneven, and cloddy.
Billy carefully walked over to the edge of the depression and shined his light in. There was a mass of pulsing vines in the center and a shovel lying next to it. Someone had been here. Sliding the strap of the bag over his chest, he eased down into the hollow.
The ground was soft beneath his feet. Billy grabbed the shovel and forced it into the mass. The vines squelched in protest. He continued to hack away at it until the hole was clear of the intrusion and then peeked down into the darkness below.
As he did so, thick ashy spores floated into the beam. He knew too well not to breathe them in. This was it, an entrance into the tunnels. But where did it go?
Billy went to retrieve the map that he had bought from Melvalds, but his light caught something in the dark. He leaned down, squinting and made out what looked like a hat. A fur felt Stetson hat, the type Hopper often wore. Was he down there?
“Hey, Chief! Hop!” Billy shouted.
Met with eerie silence, he assumed that perhaps he had been mistaken, but adjusting his height to better look into the cavity, Billy saw him. Hopper was lying on the floor of the tunnel, wrapped in thick vines. He seemed to be unconscious.
Billy cussed beneath his breath. He hastily dug into the bag, yanked out a red bandanna with paisley designs, and secured it around his mouth and nose. He was not certain that it would protect him from the spores, but he did not want to risk losing the key to finding Eleven so soon. Perhaps this was meant to happen; perhaps it wasn't.
Either way, he needed Hopper alive and well for this to work. Billy dangled his legs into the hole, scooted close to the edge, and then dropped down into the tunnel.
Thick, winding vines reclosed the entrance after him.
Here is a brief look into some of the projects that I'm currently working on, or what I hope to start up. If there's anything below you'd like me to put a snippet out on, please let me know. I also do tags as well.
Stranger Things:
Saints and Shadows - I'm working on chapter 3 of this story right now. There are 10 chapters, and then I plan to write a sequel. It follows Lee Hamilton, the aunt of Derek Turnbow, who is the soulmate of Henry Creel.
Untitled Sequel - The sequel will follow Lee after the events of Season 5. Vecna wins and creates a 50s-esque version of Hawkins, where Lee is convinced that she's his wife.
Turn Back the Pendulum - Billy Hargrove gets another shot at correcting his life. He attempts to write his wrongs and save Alice Abernathy, who he is responsible for killing. I'm on chapter 3 of this 8 chapter story.
Untitled Sequel - Billy, Alice, and the kids have to deal with the Mind Flayer, who becomes aware of the alternative timeline. Things happen much differently this time.
Untitled Short Story - I want to eventually write a short for Alice and Henry during his time as Peter Ballard. It might be a soulmate fic or a time paradox. I haven't gone over the details yet.
One-shot:
Untitled Sex Pollen OS - This features Leon Kennedy and a reader insert in Raccoon City during RE9 in which Leon gets hit with sex pollen from a mutated plant.
Untitled Faces of Death OS - I have plans to write a 3 - or 4 - part OS featuring a vlog editor who catches the attention of Arthur Spevak before the events of FoD.
“The shortest road to men's hearts is down their throats,” John Adams wrote.
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 room–an office that she decorated into a spare bedroom for Tina and Derek whenever they would stay over–and 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.
“Good enough?” She asked quietly.
“For now,” Derek answered.
Lee turned and leaned against the sink, grinning. He was a brat.
“Finish up then. I have to get you home before your dad leaves.”
Derek wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his brightly colored knit sweater. The thick syrup clung to the yarn.
“You aren't taking me to school?”
“My shift starts in less than an hour.” Lee glanced at the clock on the wall to make sure, then turned her attention back to Derek. “Or else I would.”
Derek raised a brow.
“But you are picking me up, though, right?”
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.
“I thought you hated me. You barely talked to me last night.”
“It's still early,” Derek retorted.
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.
“Sorry D. My shift doesn't end till three.”
If she didn't have to work doubles or until seven.
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.
Before Derek got out of the car, Lee called out his name. He glanced over his shoulder, bulky body half in the car.
“Don't talk to strangers, okay?”
“Mr. Whatsit isn't a stranger,” Derek argued. “You'll see.”
Lee didn't like that. She tightened her jaw, watching Derek sprint into the house. No. She didn't like it at all.
–
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 if—and I ask this hypothetically—but 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 like—she paused to sigh. “How 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 she’d 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. “Go the fuck away before I have you dragged out.”
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.
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.”
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. “Help! Please help!”
“They can't see me, Ashley,” Henry declared, his voice rich with amusement.
To her absolute horror, he was right.
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.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” one of them asked, his voice heavy with a thick Southern drawl.
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. “This wannabe Mister Rogers freak won't stop harassing my nephew and me.”
“That isn't going to work,” Henry stated flatly. “They're going to think you're out of your mind.”
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. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He was right there.
“I think you need to calm down, miss,” 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.
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.
Lee froze in shock.
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.
–
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.
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.
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.
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.
Lee absolutely loathed herself at that moment. How could she have let this happen?
“Please. I can't—” A violent sob tore from her throat. Lee buried her face in her hands, pulling auburn strands completely loose from her messy bun. “I can't lose this job.”
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.
Fuck him. And fuck her soulmate, too.
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.
God must have had a sick sense of humor, because no sooner had she collapsed onto the couch than the telephone began to ring.
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.
“Mom saw you drive past the house,” Tina mentioned when Lee asked how she even knew she was home. “She wants to know if you'll come over for dinner tonight.”
Lee gently tapped the back of her head against the kitchen wall. Cynthia truly had the worst timing in the world. “I'm not really feeling the best right now, Tina. I… had to leave work early.”
She was absolutely not about to tell her teenage niece that she had suffered a public breakdown and been forced onto administrative leave.
The line went quiet for a moment, and then Tina returned to the receiver. “Mom said that it isn't debatable.”
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.
“What time?”
“Six, I guess. You know how Mom is.”
Sadly, she did.
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.
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.
“Are you seriously wearing that to dinner?”
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.
“Is that Robert Powell's Wagoneer?” Lee asked, completely deflecting the insult.
“Yes, it is,” Cynthia replied proudly. “I ran into him at the store. We exchanged numbers, and I invited him over the moment you agreed to join us.”
Agreed was a humorous understatement.
Lee sighed heavily. “Cynthia, I really don't have the energy for a 'meet the family' dinner right now.”
She opted not to mention that what she and Robert had together wasn't anything serious. She thought about him from time to time—the fleeting dream of what a normal life could be—but Lee wasn't completely invested.
“I know things haven't been easy for you lately, but please, for me, at least try. I want this for you,” Cynthia pleaded. She reached out and gently took Lee by the forearm. “We can start by finding you something a little more suitable to wear.”
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.
“This would look beautiful on you.”
Lee didn't bother hiding her blatant disgust. “I don't wear dresses.”
And that one was hideous.
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.
“Come on. Get changed and take your hair down,” Cynthia ordered, waving a hand dismissively.
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.
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.
“This isn't going to work.”
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. “It works completely fine.”
Lee immediately pulled at the choking lace collar. “I can hardly breathe. This thing is going to rip wide open the moment I try to sit down.”
“Stop being so overly dramatic,” Cynthia chastised. She smoothed out the front of the dress the best she could, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. “A 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.”
Cynthia had absolutely no idea just how much she sounded like their mother, Dahlia Hamilton, in that exact moment. Presentation was everything.
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.
She wasn't even entirely sure she believed what she had seen today.
–
“Speak of the devil.” Ken raised his wine glass as Lee walked into the living room. She was not surprised that he was already drinking.
Cynthia tossed him a pointed look, then softened her eyes as she directed them to her sister.
“You look lovely. Doesn't she, Robert?”
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.
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.
“Gorgeous,” Robert corrected.
He was lying out of his ass.
Lee thanked him softly, resisting the urge to roll up her eyes. She stood awkwardly in the archway until Cynthia cleared her throat.
“Make yourself comfortable, Lee. Have a seat.”
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.
“What?”
Cynthia sighed, pressing her lips into a thin line.
“Are you even here with us?”
“Don't give her a hard time, Cynthia,” Robert pleaded. He rested a hand on Lee’s back. “She had a rough day.”
Lee knitted her brows in suspicion.
“How did you know?”
“It’s in your expression,” Robert answered. His thumb rubbed slow, deep circles in her muscle. “You look troubled is all.”
Her shoulders slowly relaxed, not because his touch comforted her, but because, for a second, Lee thought he knew about her ‘psychotic break’. She sighed.
“I’m fine.”
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.
The shrill ring of the kitchen timer broke the tense silence. Cynthia widened her eyes in elation and sprang from her chair.
“That’s the roast. Help me out in the kitchen, would you Ken?”
“I'm enjoying my drink,” he argued.
Cynthia stared at him unblinking as if to say, “Did you really just say that?” Ken sighed loudly and pulled himself out of his seat, stumbling a bit.
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.
“Are you really doing fine, Ashley? You can talk to me about it, if you want. I understand what you're going through.”
The Deep Void, he meant. Robert lost his wife, he claimed, a few years back to cancer.
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.
“I—can I ask you a personal question?”
Robert nodded his head.
“When your wife was alive, you must have shared echoes with her. What did it look like between the two of you?”
“It's hard to explain,” Robert stated. He sat for a moment in silence and then removed his glasses. “I guess it's like a…phantom pain. She was a clumsy woman, always bumping into things, jamming her fingers or stubbing her toes on the furniture.
“One 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.”
Lee glanced down at her arm, the same one that mirrored the spot Mr. Whatsit twisted on his own wrist. There was no mark.
It was almost the same as Robert had described.
Lee felt a knot tighten in her stomach.
“Do you think it's possible for someone who has lost their soulmate to share an echo with someone else?”
Robert knitted his brows. “Why do you ask?”
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, Cynthia’s loud voice from the kitchen interrupted her.
“Dinner's ready!”
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.
“I want us to continue this conversation when you're ready.”
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.
“Later.”
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 Tina’s 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 Cynthia’s 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.
“Sit down. Sit down.” 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.
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.
“You left the house looking like that?”
Lee tightened her jaw.
“I really hate this dress.”
Robert rested his hand against the nape of her neck.
“You look good, Ashley. Like a doll.”
“Yeah, like Barbie dressed her,” Derek furthered with a snort.
Lee narrowed her eyes.
“You have no idea just how bad I want to hug you until you pop.”
Derek opened his mouth to say something, but Cynthia walked into the room with a bowl of green beans.
“Manners, Derek.” She set the serving dish down on the table. “Grab another chair from the pantry please. Tina's little friend is joining us.”
Derek groaned loudly and stormed out of the room.
Lee had a feeling that the shit had yet to hit the fan.
–
“Oh, you know, I'm so happy you girls made up,” 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. “We've really missed you, Erica, haven't we, dear?”
“Missed the pie, that's for sure,” 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.
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.
“Now, Erica, done something different this time,” Ken pointed out.
“Sorry,” Erica balked. She narrowed her eyes, clutching her red linen napkin close.
Ken pointed to his plate. “Your pie has got a little something extra tonight. A little hint of um–”
“Nutmeg,” Erica interrupted sharply.
“Nutmeg,” Ken repeated with glee. “Of course. Brilliant. Brilliant–”
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.
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.
“I need some air.”
Lee stood and jerked the hemline of her dress down. She seriously hated it.
“Want me to come with you?” Robert was quick to ask.
“Hard no,” Lee retorted sharply.
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.
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.
“How does it feel,” Alice softly sang. Her foot tapped in rhythm to the kick drum of “Blue Monday” on the radio. “to treat me like you do? When you've laid your hands upon me. And told me who you are.”
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.
“What?” She asked with a laugh. Her thin brow raised.
Billy faced the road again. He hid a smile and lied. “Nothing, nerd.”
Why didn't he tell her the truth?
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.
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.
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.
She had to live.
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.
The hate he felt for himself was consuming.
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.
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.
“Max–” Tears burned his eyes. No. He couldn't apologize; he could hardly talk.
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?
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.
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.
“Don't. Just don't.”
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.
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.
The person was a female. Alice Abernathy, Max later learned.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“Dustin?” Max called as she approached.
He peeked over his shoulder, turning upon seeing her. He beamed.
“Max. Hey. How crazy was–”
“Who was that high school girl you were talking to?” She asked, interrupting him.
Dustin hummed. He turned his head to the side as though he didn't hear her.
“High school girl? What girl?”
Max crossed her arms impatiently.
“I saw you talking to a girl with mismatched ear rings. Don't pretend you weren't.”
Dustin sighed. “Alice. She's my babysitter, but-but she's pretty cool.”
Max knitted her brows. He had a babysitter? She turned down the urge to tease him.
“What can you tell me about her?”
“Well, no one can beat her at Ms. Pac-Man,” Dustin began. “She's a big fan of Madonna, but her favorite artist is Cyndi Lauper. Oh, and she–”
Max cut him off, shaking her head. “I meant like…what type of person is she?”
“Witty, sharp-tongued. She isn't snobby. That's all I really know about her. Why?” Dustin knitted his brows, waiting for an answer.
Max shrugged.
“I was curious.”
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.
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.
Perhaps she should let it go. In her heart, though, Max knew that she could not.
–
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.
“Go on, I'm listening,” Robin Buckley stated.
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.
“I 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,” Alice stated lethargically. “She's always on Lorraine’s back about everything.”
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.
“She wants to leave Hawkins and move to Vermont with dad,” she added.
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.
“Do 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.”
Alice snorted. “Am I bumming you out?”
Robin lifted her hand, putting a small space between her thumb and pointer finger, then teasingly said.
“Only a little bit.”
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.
“Don't look now. Dingus two is staring.”
“There’s a dingus one?” Alice asked teasingly.
Robin gave her a look that said, “You already know the answer to that”, 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.
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.
“Ruh-roh!”
“Shunned. He sucks,” Robin added. “How did you say the two of you met?”
Alice leaned against her Volkswagen.
“We met at Tina's Halloween party.” She smirked as Robin made a noise of disgust. “Lorraine nagged me until I agreed to go. We were playing “Blind Man's Bluff” and long story short, I lost and had to kiss him.”
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.
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.
“Maybe he's cranky that I turned him down,” Alice mentioned.
“Case in point why he sucks,” Robin declared. “You definitely shouldn't waste your time on him.”
Alice hummed. Leaving what happened without closure did not suit her. She tapped her nails against the Walkman.
“I'm gonna ask him.”
Robin knitted her brows.
“What? No. That's the opposite of what you need to do.”
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.
“I’ll always be your number one dingus.”
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.
“Hey there,” Alice greeted. “So I was wondering, did I accidentally step on your ego at the party or something?”
Billy swallowed hard.
“Ego.”
“Why else are you giving me the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” 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.
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.
“You don't read the room very well, do you? I'm not interested.”
A tinge of disappointment washed over Alice. She narrowed her eyes, confused.
“That's hilarious because I fondly recall you grabbing me and crying like a little bitch yesterday.”
She had no idea.
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.
“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. And FYI, clingy doesn't look good on you.”
Robin was right. He sucked.
Alice put space between them.
“And a bad attitude doesn't look good on you, sweetheart, but hey, we all have our flaws.”
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.
The middle schooler was more curious than ever. Whoever Alice was, she alone could knock Billy off his high horse.
The new king of Hawkins High, unbeknownst to him, had been tamed.
Ma’am your “dying light” fic is so good and beautifully written cant even find the words to say , i must ask will you be updating the fic? 😅😅 its just too good to be left on cliffhanger💔
And love your writing style it has kept me in edge of my seat !
I'm extremely happy that you like it, hun. And I honestly need to update it. I've been in and out of the series, but I do have the chapters planned out. Maybe soon, hopefully, I'll start up the next chapter.
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 “Lee” 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 soulmate–a man she would a year later come to know as Vecna.
–
The bittersweet and vulnerable tone of “Anyone Who Knows What Love Is” 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 emotions–a 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 experience–both 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 else–I honestly don't know–so 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.
“Is Tina not able to watch him?” 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.
“She's staying with a friend tonight,” Cynthia retorted. Silence fell between them. Lee heard a hushed whisper, as though her sister was talking to someone else, and then she continued. “Please, Lee. You'd be doing us a big favor. Derek has just been…complicated lately.”
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.
“Sure. I'll take him tonight.”
“Thank you so much, Lee,” sighed Cynthia. “I'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.”
Before Lee ended the call, Cynthia stopped her.
“You should come by for dinner tomorrow night. It's been a while since I've seen you.”
Not for the lack of trying. Aside from work, there were days when Lee didn't feel like leaving the house.
“It depends on how I'll feel,” she stated.
Cynthia sighed. “Fingers crossed.”
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.
“She's clear,” 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.
“Derek!?” 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.
“Can I help you with something?” Lee asked.
The man’s eyes widened, and so, too, did Derek's. He tilted his head as though he were confused, then parted his lips.
“This is peculiar. You shouldn't be able to see me.”
This was not the answer that she was expecting.
Lee scoffed. “Well 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.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Derek suddenly asked. He grabbed her arm. “You can't do that.”
A soft, eerie smile pulled at the man’s 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.
“Go to the car, Derek.”
“I don't want–”
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.
“Do I know you?”
“I don't think you do,” he answered. He leaned forward as though he were going to whisper to her, crossing his arms behind his back. “Nor do you want to.”
Lee had a feeling that he meant it as a threat.
“Stay away from my nephew, creep.”
She was done. Lee turned her back to him, walking to the car. His voice halted her.
“We aren't done yet.”
Lee rolled her eyes. Facing him again, she lifted her hand and shot the bird.
“Choke on it.”
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.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?”
“I just kept you from winding up on the back of a milk carton,” Lee answered with a snap. “Which, by the way, we aren't going to tell your mom because she'd have a mental meltdown.”
Or worse. She'd start drinking again.
“No. You screwed me over,” Derek stated. “Mr. Whatsit is trying to save us.”
“Mr. Whatsit? Derek–” 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. “That’s a made-up name.”
“He's imaginary, Lee. And you weren't supposed to see him. No one ever has before,” Derek argued.
How many times had he spoken to Mr. Whatsit? Were his teachers not watching him? Lee growled.
“And now,” 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.
“He isn't gonna save you. He's gonna leave you for the monsters.”
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.
“Derek! Enough! Stop talking for a while.”
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 her–anger that she had spent years in therapy trying to control–but 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.
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).
She isn't sure how much longer she can take. What sanity she has left is slipping.
Vaas: You asked for my help, no?
Liv nods. Regrettably, yes.
Vaas: Then show some fucking initiative.
Liv (sighing): Hola, soy Olivia (hello, I am Olivia). Um…
Carlos: Soy una dramática de mierda (I am a shitty drama queen).
Liv flips him the bird. Vaas tsks, a warning for her to behave.
Liv: Odio a Yara. Estoy muy caliente (I hate Yara. I am highly sexually aroused).
The moment Carlos chuckles is the moment she knows that she had fucked up. A sudden concentrated splash of cool liquid hits her in the face. In this heat it's refreshing, but after five times of being sprayed Liv is starting to grow frustrated.
Liv (pouting): What did I fuck up now?
Vaas: You told me that you are horny, niña mala (bad girl). Have you no shame? Carlos is standing right fucking there.
Carlos: Maybe she will remember better if you take a finger every time she messes up.
Liv (glaring at him): Eat a dick, ass–
Vaas pumps the nozzle and sprays her in the face again. She should never have asked him to teach her Spanish.
Billy Hargrove awoke in a haze. The rhythmic synth intro of “Head Over Heels” 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.
“Shut it down,” he told himself. His voice was broken and hoarsed. “Stop shaking like a terrified little bitch, Hargrove. Do you want people to see you like this?”
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.
“Relax, Goldie.” Her airy, yet raspy voice soothed him. Alice Abernathy smiled, pleased when he listened.
“I am relaxed,” 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.
“Right. Stop lying to yourself. Look at me. Just shut up and listen for once.”
Her hand slid down his arm and traced his knuckles– knuckles that were sore and red from the force he put into the punch that did absolutely nothing to the tree outside his house.
“Relax your muscles,” Alice ordered. “Start with your hands–” she traced his arm “-and work your way up. One by one.”
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 darkness– a miracle he never deserved. If there was one thing in his hate-filled life that had filled the void left by his mother’s 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.
“What the hell is your problem?” Alice snapped. “I don't know how they drive in California, but you sure as hell can't–”
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.
“You're here.” Tears burned his eyes. Billy blinked them away and pressed his nose into her dark untamed hair. “I can't believe you're fucking here.”
“O-kay,” Alice murmured, pushing him back. “Someone had a little too much to smoke this morning.”
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.
“Can we talk?”
“We are talking,” 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.
“What's your problem?”
Alice raised a brow as if to say ‘Are you serious right now’? Lorraine snorted.
“My problem? I think you need to take a chill pill, Goldie, and back the fuck off.”
Goldie. That was the nickname she called him way before they started dating. Why was she—
A sudden overwhelming realization hit him like a truck. Billy tightened his jaw. He wasn't certain, but he needed to know.
“Move…get out the way.”
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.
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.
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 would love to eventually write a story based around the first Mummy movie with an OC, Charlotte "Charlie" Havelock, the daughter of Winston Havelock. She'd be paired with Ardeth Bay.
