Fanfiction and OC art side-blog [34 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.
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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.
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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.
I'm planning a smutty God x reader insert one-shot, and I can't decide who I want to write about. Below is a list of characters. I appreciate the votes. Thank you.
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A headshot of Ashley 'Ash' Hamilton from an upcoming Henry Creel fanfic that I'm working on.
Fun facts:
Lee is the aunt of Roger Ames (though I've also considered writing her as the aunt of Derek instead).
I'm planning to write the story with soulmates in mind. Lee has an energy echo type mark that allows her to share pain with Henry as well as experience the pain of his victims.
Bad Habits [Chapter Three] Final Girl [Billy Loomis]
Warning(s): OC, AU, mentions of death and murder, lore, nostalgia, flirting, trauma, and secrets.
No Minors Allowed!!
By morning, everyone in Lorraine's Rest had heard the news. Jacob Vanover had been murdered.
Eden found out when she woke up to her alarm, having forgotten to silence it, and checked her phone. It was not unusual to see the icon for the chat group she was in with Jodi and Darry, aptly named "True Blue" (the title of a song by Boygenius), but the number of messages took her back. She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and began to back-read.
The moment she read that Jake was found dead, Eden immediately hit the call button at the top of the screen. Jodi was the only one to answer.
"It's about time you got up. I've been spamming the chat all morning. Did you have your phone off?"
"Since six," Eden pointed out. "And to answer your question, I had the notifications turned off."
Her shift at the library usually started at nine. Sundays were her day off. If not for the alarm, she would not have woken up until noon. Eden hated to get up early unless she had to.
"I just...can't wrap my head around this. Who in the hell would want to hurt Jake?"
Jodi hummed. "I don't know. Russell sent me the link when he found out. The police put a post up on their page asking everyone to avoid the East Street area. All I know is that it's being reported as a stabbing."
Eden could not imagine how the family or the band was taking the news. She could hardly believe it. His death just did not feel real.
"Damn."
"Yeah," Jodi uttered. There was a moment of silence between them, and then she continued. "If I hear anything else, I'll message you. In the meantime, I'm gonna take a shower and try to shake off this headache. Love you, hoe. Stay safe."
Eden softly smiled. She herself felt a bit lightheaded, like her brain was swimming.
"Love you too."
Once the call ended, Eden flopped back onto the bed. She lay there, thinking back to the night before when she last saw Jake. He was in such a jovial mood. It was hard to believe that someone in The Rest would outright kill him. For what, though? Something about it did not make sense. She was sad, but there were no tears; she could not cry for him. After a moment of silence, she crawled out of bed and got ready.
Before the news, Eden had planned to spend the day indoors, watching movies, but curiosity got the better of her. She dressed quickly in a pair of black leggings and a Linkin Park band t-shirt, then set her phone to play an all nu-metal playlist. From her apartment in South Lorraine's Rest, she jogged at a comfortable pace across the Red River Bridge to the north side, then continued on toward the court house. The air was thick; the sky, gloomy and gray. Her clothes clung to her skin like wet wool.
At the moment that she neared the courthouse, Eden noticed five police cruisers parked along the curb near East Street. The main shopping and commercial area in downtown spanned roughly 2 to 3 blocks on the right side; East Street being in the middle. Red and yellow tape marked the perimeter, keeping civilians from seeing the crime scene, but that did not keep locals from satiating their morbid curiosity, crowding the sidewalks on either side of main street like a committee of vultures. There was nothing like a murder to get foot traffic. But who was she to judge?
Eden crossed to the right side of the street and wandered into The Jumpstart Cafe. A handful of patrons turned their eyes to her; some went back to whatever task they had been doing before she entered; some continued to stare critically. Her face flushed, and she removed her earbuds, then joined the line. Given the murder, she was not surprised to see how packed it was. The Jumpstart Cafe was the first place Red River Tribute performed when they first started. It was symbolic.
A spontaneous shrine was set up left of the counter on the stage for Jacob. Pictures, letters, and flowers decorated it. The once cozy and warm atmosphere of the cafe, often described by patrons as having a “serious Friends vibe” was now heavy with grief, layered with the aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. It was beautiful, in a tragic sort of way. Eden kept her eyes focused on the brick walls, littered with vibrant construction paper butterflies that contained the hopes and wishes of anyone who wondered in - her own was tapped somewhere among them - avoiding the few eyes that still lingered on her until it was her turn at the counter.
“What can I get for you, hon?” The owner, Blanche Atkinson, asked.
She peered at Eden through thick lens reading glasses, subtly wrinkling the bridge of her nose.
“A tall dark chocolate frappe with caramel cold foam?”
“To-go,” Blanche suggested.
It didn't feel like she was giving Eden much of an option; it never did. The latter nodded, gave her name, and then stepped aside. She occupied her time at the Wish Wall, reading the various notes - random wishes such as freedom and understanding made her chest tighten - until her name was called. Picking up her frappe at the counter, she spared Blanche no look, halting only when she noticed what was written on the plastic cup. Beside a small, simple flame was the name “Fire Bug”.
Eden tightened her jaw. Her sticky band t-shirt felt uncomfortable and warm from the heat that overtook her body; her skin itched. The aroma of vanilla and cinnamon smelt too much like melting plastic and burnt hair. She ignored the temptation to rub the back of her left hand where the skin was tight and waxy, then grounded herself with a sigh. There was no reason to let the nickname overwhelm her. It was the same old song and dance anyhow.
Had it been the first time someone called her “Fire Bug” she would have gone into a panic attack; she did the first time. Now it was pathetic, a broken record some of the residents of The Rest loved to play. Turning, Eden faced Blanche, whose eye she caught, and took a drink, an action she hoped the batista conveyed as “Fuck you”, then she ambled outside.
As much as she would like for the negative comment not to truly bother her, there was a part of Eden that was exhausted by them. She felt like a villain, someone branded by a nickname that she did not want; a killer with a bad alias. Some days it just drained her energy. Sipping on the rich, velvety beverage, she strode up the sidewalk toward East Street with no direction in mind, passing hobby stores and high end boutiques that on her salary, she could not afford.
As she stepped beneath the green awning of the Historic Sterling Hotel, she spotted a familiar drifter in a Wenven jacket leaning over the railing of the upper deck. His keen eyes were focused on the cruisers nearby, watching them closely. Eden was met with nostalgia, following the sharp angle of his jaw. Her thoughts went back to the kiss; the warmth of his lips and the greediness of his touch. A sudden shock trembled through her. What was it about him that appealed to her so much?
“Careful,” Eden warned. Her face flushed once she got his attention. There was something about Billy's smirk that made her feel giddy. “You wouldn't believe how many people have toppled over that railing.”
“And miss a chance at becoming another piece of this town's history. Where's the fun in that?” Billy teased.
Eden chuckled. He must have read the newspaper clippings in the lobby. The town prided itself on the sins of the past; the misery and the corruption.
“You weren't joking about this town being grim,” he added, leaning further out. The railing groaned beneath him.
Allegedly, Billy read, The Rest was a bustling river port with multiple ferry landings, then in the late 80s, a passenger ferry crashed into another, resulting in a mass casualty event that claimed the lives of 12 people, including the founder's wife Lorraine. There was more, much more; drownings, suicides, a fire in 1990; the list went on. It was an odd anthology of history to cling to, but Billy knew more than anyone, every town had its fair share of tragedy.
Incidentally, a man was dead; a beacon of the community. Billy reckoned that in time, his death would be hung up like a keepsake on the walls of the Sterling Hotel just like the others. Averting his eyes toward East Street, he watched a broad shouldered man in a rumpled navy blazer lumber around the police cruisers, shouting at someone on a cell phone. His badge glistened in the sun, clipped onto his belt like a decoration.
“The sheriff seems wound up,” Billy pointed out. He wasn't dressed like the other officers wearing short sleeved polos.
“Graves?” Eden snorted. She took a sip of her frappe; the cold foam had melted, blending into her coffee like a rich, flavored creamer. “He's probably just mad because he had to actually do something today.”
Which made her wonder just how serious Jake's death had affected the community. Richard Graves was a desk bound idiot; a greedy puppet of the McKeehans’ who got his job through political connections rather than merit. For him to be handling the situation personally, Kitty and Wayne must have had a reason for him to.
Eden sighed. What sort of trouble was Jake into to warrant his dead? She reckoned that it wasn't her business to know. Peering up at Billy, who was still focused on Sheriff Graves, she contemplated asking him to join her. He was a stranger, her mind warned; there was not a whole lot about him she knew. Would he even want to waste his time with her after last night? The voices in her head urged her not to ask, but she didn't listen. What was the worst he could say? No.
“I’m gonna be in town for a bit. You can join me, if you like.”
Billy tilted his head and smirked. He was hoping that she'd ask, though perhaps it was better if Eden hadn't have. Lifting a finger as if to say “give me a minute”, he pushed off the railing and went back inside.
Meanwhile, Eden waited. She watched volunteers and community members decorate the yard of the Alder County Courthouse with thick bales of hay, plastic skeletons, and uncarved pumpkins in various shapes and sizes. It was coming a long well despite the unexpected tragedy.
“What's on your mind?” Billy asked, exiting the hotel to see Eden lost in her thoughts.
She glanced at him, smiling briefly, then averted her attention to the yard of the courthouse. Eden was wondering how it was possible for some people, including herself, not to be so deeply affected by the murder. She should be mourning for Jake; she knew him about as much as some of the others she had witnessed grieving, yet she didn't feel heartbroken. Sympathetic, yes, but there were no tears. The world simply went on.
“Nothing important,” Eden lied. She turned to him, deflecting. “What are your plans for Halloween?”
Plans? Billy hadn't really thought about it. He typically stayed less than a week in a new place before moving on. Shrugging, he chuckled as Eden visibly opened her mouth in shock. She clasped his arm softly.
“Then we need to get you a costume. Everyone and their uncle dresses up and attends the celebration at the courthouse on Halloween,” she stated.
“Aren't you a little old for costumes?” Billy teased.
Eden playfully swatted at his arm.
“I like to indulge in escapism like everyone else. Sue me.”
Escape from what, he wondered. Billy wet his lips. He doubted that she was lying. One thing he had learned about Eden was that she was an open book if one knew the right questions to ask.
“What’s your costume then?” Billy asked.
Eden teasingly disregarded his question and led him back down the sidewalk to Treasures and Trinkets, an antique store she liked to browse in from time to time. Displayed in the bay window were family costumes; the Flintstones: Fred, Wilma, Pebbles, and even Dino. The bell above the door chimed as they walked in, and the scent of pumpkin spice and potpourri permeated the air.
“Welcome in,” greeted the bored voice of Ezra Bennett, the teenage grandson of Majorie Whittaker.
Despite her blatant dislike for Eden, Ezra seemed civil with her. He was quiet, sporting tousled bright red hair, and loved to read true crime; he came into the library at least once a week to check out a new book. Once he saw her, he smiled softly and waved; his eyes were intense, staring as though he was trying to connect with her. Eden waved back as she passed the counter.
“There should be– here it is,” she remarked, leading Billy to a rolling garment rack directly in the lobby. “See if there is anything you like. I'll get it for you.”
Billy hummed. “I'd owe you.”
Eden grinned. Releasing his arm, she took a step back.
“Yes you would.”
That was exactly the point. After that, she turned with a smile and ambled further into the store. Aside from the lobby, there were four additional rooms with over 35 different vendor booths. Eden had recently bought a rustic bookshelf in mid-tone brown that would complement the accent table that she had bought last summer. It sat in the furniture and antiques area. She did not have the vehicle to tote it, however, so she asked Ezra to put a hang tag on it until Russell could get his truck fixed and help her move it. There was always something to browse. Checking out the home decor area - a 32 vintage glass set made by Fenton caught her attention - she soon returned to the lobby empty-handed. If it was still there by the time she got paid, then she'd buy it.
Billy was still shifting through the rack of costumes and vintage party wear when Eden approached him.
"Find anything?"
He pulled a red sequin dress shirt from the rack and held it against his chest.
"What do you think? Does it look good on me?"
Eden snorted. "Groovy."
She shook her head, helping him look.
"It might help me if you tell me what you're gonna dress up as," Billy said.
Eden peeked up from the rack and smiled playfully at him as if to say, "Wait and see." Billy faked a pout. She returned to looking.
The majority of the costumes were from the 60s and 70s, but Eden was able to find one that was germane and familiar. She took it from the rack and showed it to him.
"What about this one? Everyone likes a good slasher."
A look of familiarity crossed his features. It did not surprise her much. Everyone knew who Ghostface was. The costume came with a robe and mask, but it was a knockoff from the film.
"The mask is made of plastic, though. Not really authentic," she added.
"I never took you as a Stab fan," Billy remarked.
"I like scary movies in general," Eden clarified.
She did not dislike the Stab franchise, but like all horror movies, she gave it a fair chance. Billy took the costume from her, looked it over with uninterest, and then put it back.
"No one likes a cheap copy."
He winked at Eden, then returned to looking. In the end, to her dismay, he chose nothing.
“We'll find something for you before then,” Eden stated. She nodded briefly in appreciation as Billy opened the door for her, facing him as they stepped out onto the sidewalk again. “I think Russell might have something that will fit you.”
“I get the feeling you're trying to keep me here,” Billy pointed out teasingly.
Eden flushed. Was she? There was no denying that she was drawn to him, though it was purely an attraction. She reckoned that it wouldn't hurt to play along; Billy would be out moving on soon anyway.
“What if I am?”
Was she challenging him? Billy touched her cheek. Her sad almond shaped eyes gleamed with hope; eyes that held the same loneliness as his. He considered kissing her again, but the script was rewritten. The instant he edged closer, the loud and aggressive roar of a Mercedes-AMG tore her away from him.
Eden felt faint. Whether because of the humidity or the nerves, her body was suddenly clammy and uncomfortable. She parted from Billy and glanced over her shoulder. A cherry red sports car, fresh off the line, pulled into the parking spot adjacent to them. Jodi often referred to this as a “The audacity of this bitch” moment.
Kitty McKeehan, blaring Michael Bublé's Crazy Love, turned off the engine and departed. For a woman in her mid-forties, Eden thought she was gorgeous despite her sour expression. Lance certainly got his looks from her; distinctive light colored eyes and a commanding presence that they used to intimidate those deemed beneath them - the entire town of Lorraine's Rest.
For a brief, hopeful moment, Eden thought that she would ignore her. But with a fake smile, Kitty waved.
“Eden, darling. I thought that was you.” Her accent was thick. She sashayed over, heels clicking on the concrete and quickly embraced Eden. “I'm glad to see you. It's been a while since you've been up to the house.”
“I've been busy,” Eden lied.
She was certain that Kitty already knew Lance and her were no longer dating. He told her everything, personal and otherwise. It was one of the many reasons their relationship grew tedious. Eden was tired of hearing Kitty dictate her sex life; a well-fed dog stays home, she'd inculcate.
Kitty scanned Billy and hummed as if to say, “I'm sure”. Her smile faltered.
“Not to change the topic, but I'm sure you heard about Jake, poor soul.” She leaned in so close Eden could smell the nip of gin on her breath; gin that she brought out only when Mister McKeehan stayed over late at the office to ‘catch up on work’. “I heard he was stabbed multiple times; assault with intent to kill.
Graves mentioned that it was quite a mess over yonder. He told me - purely because I look into these sorts of things - that the murder weapon was recovered. The girls at the country club are going to lose their skirts when I tell them about this.”
That was a relief.
“It's only a matter of time then,” Eden muttered.
“I'd certainly hope so,” Kitty remarked. She took a step back. “With something as big as a Buck 120, those idiots out of Nashville should be able to find a finger print or something.”
A Buck 120. A bout of nostalgia washed over Billy. He shivered, averting his eyes to the police cruisers parked along the curb; to Graves lumbering around the scene like a puppet. The Rest had all the potential to be a classic horror movie. He did not favor the heat of the murder billowing down on him, but he craved the thrill of scandal and death; it beckoned him like a moth to flame.
“How are you doing with all this, sweetheart,” Kitty suddenly asked.
Billy turned his eyes to her, then to Eden, whose shoulders were tense and raised.
“Why with your reputation, I don't imagine too well,” Kitty remarked. “Luke is worried about you. People talk in a small town. I just want you to know our door is always open, where you're safe.”
With that she departed. Eden stared in a daze at the spot she stood in; her finger tapped the plastic cup, unintentionally pointing out to Billy the nickname that the town called her. He pulled her from her thoughts, resting a comforting hand on her arm; his curiosity was piqued.
“Inlaws, yeah?”
Eden did not have to say a word. Billy could feel how unnerved she was; her body was trembling. He could not help but think at that moment that if Lorraine's Rest were a horror movie, then Eden could potentially be its “Final Girl”. Weirdly, he liked the idea of that.
Scream Knowledge: Moderate. She likes horror movies as an escape, but doesn't obsess over the rules.
Character Theme: The Change by Evanescence
–
Name: Billy Loomis (Luke Jameson)
Face Claim: Skeet Ulrich
Archetype: The Original Architect
Scream Knowledge: Omniscient. He doesn't just know the rules, he wrote them.
Character Theme: Change (In The House of Flies) by Deftones
–
Name: Daryl (Darry) Crowder
Face Claim: Kyle Gallner
Archetype: The Randy Meeks (The Expert)
Scream Knowledge: Elite. He understands troupes, sequels, and the logic of the killer.
Character Theme: Snuff by Slipknot
–
Name: Jodi Buckner
Face Claim: Leighton Meester
Archetype: The Vibrant Best Friend
Scream Knowledge: Low. She doesn't care much for horror and lives in the moment.
Character Theme: Falling Apart by Trust Company
–
Name: Russell Williams
Face Claim: Luke Mitchell
Archetype: The Moral Compass/Ray of Sunshine
Scream Knowledge: Casual. He'll watch a movie if Jodi wants to, but he's too optimistic to believe that the monster is real until it's standing over him.
Character Theme: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World
–
Name: Lance McKeehan
Face Claim: Dane DeHaan
Archetype: The Golden Boy/Entitled Antagonist
Scream Knowledge: Non-existent. He doesn't watch horror movies. In a world where the rules are law, he believes his family name and money makes him invincible to them.
You (infuriated): That's it. I'm done. I draw the line at this shit.
Leon: We've fought zombies, giant mutated monsters, and parasites, and this is what does it for you.
You: Nowhere in my job description did it say I was expected to ride up the side of a skyscraper on the back of a motorcycle. That was the most insane thing you've ever done.
Leon: More insane than the hallway of lasers on the island in Valdelobos?
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This is for an upcoming Leon Kennedy x Female Reader one-shot. Yes, it will be smutty, and yes, it features a sex pollen concept.
“Come on, hero,” you beg. “Talk to me. I need you to be responsive.”
Leon moans in discomfort, leaning his cheek against the palm of your hand. Nuzzling like a kitten against you, his stubble rubs against your skin. The friction sends a shiver down your spine. You're tempted to caress him; to trace his jawline; his lips, but you have more pressing matters to attend to.
“I need to know what happened. I don't know how to help you otherwise,” you state.
“Pollen…I breathed it in,” Leon utters.
Pollen?
“From a plant?”
Leon hums softly. His eyes open; a sickly pale shade of blue. You've never seen him so unwell. His skin is sweltering. You are concerned that he might pass out from the heat. On top of the mutated virus strain coursing through his veins, you can not imagine how uncomfortable he feels. Whatever this new ailment is, you have to find a way to cure it.
“You're not gonna like this, but I saw a B.S.A.A decontamination shower back at the base,” you bring up.
