#so I apologize is she's ooc

[frownyalfred]

all of the anons who told me, entirely unprompted, that I was a horrible fucking racist and I should kill myself because I’d never written a fic with Duke Thomas as the main character have been MIGHTY quiet since eye in the sky got published. just saying.

(this is your reminder that what people like to read/write doesn’t make them bad people irl. and just because someone hasn’t written a certain character does NOT mean they hate that character’s background or identity. I can’t believe I have to say that on here again, but here we are)

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 17 - Edging

pairing: ethan hunt x f!reader

cw: fwb to lovers?, mentions of drinking, drunk sex (kind of), brief description of injuries, imf agent!reader, edging, nipple licking, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetration, overstimulation, crying, cum marking

word count: 1613

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

–

Ethan was not typically one to tease. It was nice sometimes, but for the most part, he just liked to please you. There was nothing more satisfying than to see you unravel for him from start to finish.

It was different tonight, however, after a few drinks with the team for a well-deserved post-mission celebration. Ethan’s body was aching; he’d taken the hardest hits, as he usually does. The difference about this particular mission, though, was that it was you by his side. Until the very end. You’d limped back to the safe house together, arms around one another, blood still dripping from the various cuts and lashes on your bodies. None of it mattered anymore, though. None of the cuts and bruises and aching pains could take away from the fondness between you and Ethan, the way your relationship—which had started as just a simple dancing among your feelings for one another—blossomed immediately after you helped him save the fucking world. 

You’d been sleeping with one another. Not frequently; the nature of your jobs did not allow that, but at any chance you both had. You kissed, too. Passionately, fervently, like lovers do. But there wasn’t any sort of label, nothing to go by in terms of what you were to one another. You guess you could still just call him your co-worker, who you substantially had feelings for and occasionally made love to. 

Tonight, though, as you fall into bed together, tipsy and giggly, there’s something very different. You’re not quite sure what it is. 

Ethan’s hands aren’t as gentle as usual, his touch eager and almost demanding. His mouth is sweet from the alcohol you’d been drinking, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. 

“Can I try something?” he husks in between kisses.

“Mhm,” is all you mumble against his lips, entranced by the alcohol in your system, his mouth on yours, and his warmth.

He pulls apart, grins, an excited little glint in his eyes. He momentarily looks around, and then visibly gets an idea.

“Can you hang onto the headboard?” he asks softly, guiding you up the mattress. 

You scoot up the best you can until your head hits the pillows, relaxing your body as Ethan settles above you. His hands immediately roam, reaching for your clothes. You aid him in taking them off, and then eagerly reach for his own when you’re completely stripped. He stops you, moves your hands away with a small smile, and takes them off himself. Slips off his jacket, his t-shirt, and then wriggles out of his jeans. 

You giggle, amused, and do your part in holding onto the headboard instead. You’re wondering what it is he’ll do, the uncertainty thrilling. Sex with Ethan was always the same stupor of hot, hungry passion. Lips numbing, tiring each other out. Usually not many words exchanged. It’s different tonight. Your connection to one another feels deeper, more trustful.

Ethan has always respected you. Even the first time you had sex, it was always about you and what you needed. It wasn’t just a need to blow off some steam, to finally give in to the tension; it was his infatuation with you. He was instantly obsessed with pleasing you, and it remained that way every time you had sex. He wasn’t gentle by any means, but he wasn’t rough, either. It was the perfect passionate pace every time. It was like making love. 

The way his arms wrap around your legs to pull you to him is not at all like the usual. You squeal in surprise at his strength, and watch as he brings your core to his middle. Your legs momentarily wrap around his waist as he leans down above you, mouth closing around one of your hardened nipples. He kisses and sucks, eliciting a high pitched moan out of you. One hand comes off the headboard to cup the back of his head as he sloppily kisses at your chest, moving onto your other breast, to your sternum, and back and forth.

You relish in the pleasure that courses through your body, eyes closed, a little smile on your face. Even more so when Ethan’s hand slips in between your bodies to touch your slick center. 

“Ethan,” you gasp out, the thickness of his fingers slipping through your folds.

The pleasure builds up quicker than you can process, your breathing getting heavier against the top of his head as his tongue swirls against your nipple. You squirm when his thumb swipes over your clit, body jerking at the sudden contact, eyes widening. 

It continues to build, your body tensing more and more, and you’re sure you’re seconds away from cumming when Ethan suddenly pulls back. Mouth off, hand off. 

“Fuck,” you whine breathlessly, lifting your head in surprise as he backs away just enough so that your legs untangle from his waist. “I was just about to—what’s wrong?”

He grins, hands still lingering on your legs. “What do you mean?” 

The pleasure floats around in your body, diminishing. Ethan settles on his stomach, spreading your legs apart to face your dripping cunt. You gasp as he places soft, tender kisses to your inner thighs, traveling as close to your center as he can and then trailing them the other way, teasing. 

You realize what he’s doing. 

It’s almost dizzying. Just the thought of getting to do this with him. 

When his mouth slots against you, your entire body goes slack. You try not to thrust against his face, but the orgasm you almost had just a minute ago is still lingering, still on the verge of spilling. Your grip on the headboard tightens. 

Ethan’s mouth is gentle, but you can feel the tip of his finger prodding at your hole. When it slips inside just a little, he pulls back, lips shiny and parted. “Can you hold it for me? Just a little?”

Fuck. 

“H-hold it?” you repeat, feeling him stretch you on his finger. “What do you mean?”

“Try not to cum. Can you do that?” he asks tenderly.

Just his request almost sends you over the edge, but you nod. You grimace when he leans in to swipe his tongue over your clit, the feeling almost too much to hold onto. 

The good thing about having had sex with Ethan multiple times before, is that he grew incredibly accustomed to your body, what reactions he could get out of you, when you were close to cumming. That’s why, when he feels your body tense, and you’re sure you’re really not gonna make it, he pulls back again. 

A frustrated cry comes out of you, loud and whiny. Your fingers slide into his hair, pulling slightly in impatience. 

“First time you do this to me,” you pant, your breathing erratic.

“Just wanted to try something new,” he murmurs against your inner thigh. He presses a firm kiss there, and then sits up. 

Your hand returns to the headboard again, and you watch with hungry eyes as Ethan grasps himself in his fist, cheeks flushed. It’s earth-shattering when he leans in and pushes inside of you. You feel your legs shake, your toes curl, as he sinks in with ease. 

Ethan doesn’t prolong it. He gets right to it; languid strokes at first, and then he increases his pace the more your expression calls for it. It’s still a challenge to hold on but you do it just because he asked. Above you, Ethan admires the pleasure painted on your face. He looks dazed, too, enthralled by how tight you feel around him. 

Your cries get louder as it gets harder and harder to hang on, mixed with the sharp sounds of skin on skin. Ethan suddenly pulls out the moment he feels you clench around him, getting a sob out of you.

Tears well in your eyes. “Ethan—fuck—please,” you plead, sniffling.

He cups your face, leans in to kiss you sweetly. He distracts you for a minute, mouth moving yours gently, and then slips inside of you again. 

It happens a few more times. You lose count after the second time, too intoxicated and overwhelmed with pleasure to even grasp anything but the sudden loss; how you get right to your breaking point and he knows exactly when to pull back. It’s so unlike him. It kind of makes this whole thing hotter, if you didn’t have the very sickening, very urgent need to cum once and for all. In the moment, you’re sure you’ve never needed anything more.

You nearly scream out when it finally tips over the edge. The pleasure crashes against you like a wave, wringing your body against the mattress. Ethan holds onto you, lets you thrash underneath him. He presses kisses to your face as you feel it, his thrusts momentarily slowing to let you breathe. He’s chasing his own high, however, and soon enough resumes his movement. He fucks you through your orgasm, sloppy and untamed, sensitivity immediately clouding your senses. Tears slip down your cheeks as his pace quickens, until it soon crashes for him too. 

He pulls out instantly, spilling his cum all over your abdomen, and his fist. 

Tired and sore, he immediately slumps beside you, trying to catch his breath. Your head rolls over onto his shoulder. 

He glances at you, floating in his high. His brows furrow; he touches your face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

You wipe at your cheeks. Waves of pleasure continue to swim through you, your body glowing in ecstasy. “No.. that was great, actually.” 

He breathes out, smiling.

You lean your head back against him, sighing happily. “Where did that come from, though?”

[iyuray]

Additional lore for my Blank Scripts AU ocs :)

Blank Scripts AU is by @blackkatdraws

[fure-dcmk]

You mean art request, right..? 💦 Is Hondou Eisuke ok? 🙏 No worries if not, pls draw what makes you happy 💕 I love seeing your art very much! ^^

Congrats on your followers also~! 🎉🎉

silly failguy!!!!

[venomgaia]

kitty

licorice belongs to @clockwork-phantasm

[bloodiedbiotic]

I’m awake and sober after last night’s birthday pre-gaming but here’s a better look at my hair!

[r3dblccd]

TOON ME! (A) & (B) | mun vs. muse

practically snatched from @caelcstis

mun | minsung mrithun | nao (in the angel verse) yongsun | ubon

[tvrningout]

will y’all still love me if i’m not active tonight 🥺

[lunaetis]

me to any of my mutuals interacting with eden for the first time : she bites.

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 14)

getting back to the grove of writing and updating this on a reg. And look at that - an update in 2024! (jesus where did time go)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 next: Part 15 | ao3

After startling himself awake for the third time in a row, Jeff groans in defeat as he kicks the blankets off him and makes his quiet way downstairs. He pauses once at the front of his parents’ bedroom door, wondering if he could sneak in under their covers like he used to do when he was little. Instead, he listens to his dad’s soft snores for a bit before continuing on.

The kitchen is quiet. Usually, the liminal solace eases him. This time however, it makes Jeff hyper aware of every sound in the house. Any tap on the window and back door spikes his heartbeat up to eleven. The darkest corners where he can’t see manifest the faintest shapes of teeth. His mind is starting to convince him that the monster is hiding right behind the kitchen island.

He quickly flicks the light switch on and the shadows retreat to their abyssal homes. Jeff does a swift lap around the island, sighing in relief when he finds nothing.

Jeff goes over to sink and fills up a glass of water. He drinks, drinks, and drinks.

After his throat feels no longer dry, Jeff places the glass down, a finger tapping on the rim. He’s too worked up to go back to bed and sleep. Thank god it’s the weekend. He can’t imagine trying to trudge his way to class and lunch while every empty seat that should have Eddie in it continues to haunt him.

“Fuck.” Jeff huffs, rubbing the side of his temple. Because right. While he had just found out alternate dimensions with man-eating monsters exist, Eddie’s still incognito.

He just wanted to find his best friend. How did Jeff’s life come to this?

Another realization strikes him. If Eddie doesn’t come back, then what will happen to the Hellfire Club? Neither Jeff or the other members are as great at DM’ing as Eddie. There’s also no chance of someone else in the high school with the same skills to bother joining. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be the same with Eddie’s love for dramatics and methods of setting the scene to further engage them. A club without their leader wouldn’t last long even with the members still onboard.

Hellfire would be gutted out of Hawkins High. Every brick made of Eddie’s blood, sweat, and tears would be smashed into dust and swept into the dumpster. It would be like Eddie had never existed at all.

Jeff buries his face into his hands, leaning over the counter. He breathes in and out as slow as possible. He is not having this breakdown at whatever-o’clock at night-

The floorboards creak behind him. Jeff spins around, his hand about to throw the glass at the noise. He manages to stop himself at the last second when he sees it’s just his grandmother.

“Jeffery?” She squints at him, her accent more clear with her apparent sleepiness. “Why, why are you up? You should na koimásai, óchi?”

Jeff chuckles, wiping his eyes in case a few tears welled up. He walks over to her, gently holding her arms. “Kala, Gigi. I was just thirsty.”

His grandma studies his face briefly before she tutted, “Trouble sleeping. Óchi kala.” She waves him off as she starts heading over to the cabinets, the kettle already set to boil. “Tea would make you better.”

Jeff’s not sure if his grandma’s famous dandelion-honey tea will be enough to erase the shadowy monsters and existential dread from his mind. But hey, what not?

—

El wakes up to the sun. It’s nice and warm on her face. She sits up from the ground, keeping her head up to have the sun still shining on her. But a cold breeze hits her and the nice warmth is gone. She shivers, sinking her head further into her jacket.

The pretty blonde hair gets into her nose and mouth. She spits it out but now it sticks to her cheek.

El stands up and walks over to the large water, close to where she had slept. She looks down and sees the same Pretty Girl. Except that her eyes are puffy-red and her face is dirty.

El takes off the hair and Pretty Girl does the same. Now she looks just like Eleven. A monster. Papa’s failure.

El’s face twists, remembering how scared she was the night before when Mike and Lucas started yelling at each other before Mike hurt him. While they had all ran into Mike’s house after she Felt Will and Eddie, she had ran away from them.

She doesn’t want to hurt them anymore. Staying with them will bring Papa to them. Or turn Mike into someone like that boy Troy.

She still has the walkie radio in her hands. She hasn’t turned it on in case Mike starts calling her. But she hasn’t checked in with Will and Eddie either yet. She’s scared of hearing the monster again.

Something dark and hazy flashes in her mind. For a moment, she’s at the Room and someone - not Papa - leers down at her. Eleven, what have you done?

Somehow, it terrifies El to her entire body that she screams. The water parts away in a rush as if it’s scared of her too.

—

The first thing Nancy does after waking up is flicking her eyes to the bedside lamp. She expects it to turn on and off by itself like some sort of morning alarm. But nothing happens. Nancy shuffles over and twists the tiny knob to the side, but still nothing. Seems that the power is still out.

Nancy looks down at Jonathan. He’s still sleeping where he lies on the floor next to the bed, a thick duvet over him with his jacket as a pillow.

After the combination of the Poltergeist-esque communication with his brother (the reality of that situation is now hitting her wow) and the hectic post-blackout assistance (which involved many candles and hurried transport of food in the fridge), Jonathan had been drained enough that he had just dropped to the floor like a stone. Her mom had only allowed him to sleep in Nancy’s room because he literally couldn’t budge. 

Nancy watches him for a moment while his shoulders rises gently up and down. It gives her deja vu, bringing her back to that morning in Steve’s bedroom. 

Oh god, Steve. Nancy didn’t mean to say any of that to him. It was just supposed to be a way to convince him to leave so Steve wouldn’t see Jonathan and get the wrong idea. But she got too stressed by his questions that her emotions got the best of her. 

Now, after seeing Steve’s crestfallen expression, Nancy will know better than to hurt him again. 

She rolls over to her back and stares up at the ceiling. Her mind buzzes with the renewal of every emotion from the past twelve hours. Fear. Curiosity. Irritation. Regret. All of them fill up the new hole in her chest.

But none of it is enough to drown her worries for Barb.

Tears sting her eyes again. Nancy quickly rubs them away, not wanting to dissolve into a sobbing mess again. It hurts when she demands herself not to think about Barb for a minute. She needs to distract herself. Preferably something safe. Like, like-

Checking on Mike.

Nancy slips out of bed, tiptoeing past Jonathan and into the sunrise-lit hallway. Mike’s door is closed but she hears a faint rustling sound on the other side. When Nancy lightly knocks, it stops.

“Mike?” She calls, quiet enough to not wake up Holly or her parents.  

She hears her brother groaning. Nancy rolls her eyes and lets herself in, expecting Mike to yell at her as usual. Instead, she’s taken aback by his silence as he stuffs his backpack with something that looks like an extra set of clothes.

“Mike?” When he doesn’t look up at her, Nancy steps closer. Mike’s hunched over and the corner of his eyes look red. Either from last night’s craziness or his emotional outburst. Maybe both. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Totally not because I can’t find Will.” Mike snaps with a swift zip of his backpack. His tone sounds too tired for a twelve year old. And something his answer confuses Nancy. Can’t find Will?

She thinks about to last night when the flashing lights in her room expanded to the rest of the house. Nancy had been terrified and too focused on Jonathan holding her that she’d barely missed Mike’s frantic calls. At first, she thought he was calling for their parents, but then she had heard him shout out Will’s name. After all the lights blew out, Nancy had nearly forgotten it.

Now that she thinks about it, she wonders if Mike had also found a way to talk to Will too. That might explain the behaviour of him and his friends from the past few days.

“Hey, if there’s any-” But just as Nancy sits on the bed next to him, Mike hops off. That’s when she notices that he’s already changed out of his pyjamas. 

“Wait a second. Mike, where are you going?” 

Her brother stops at the door’s threshold. He turns around and says seriously, “I’ve become the fugitive of the state. Tell Mom I love her.” 

“Wh- Mike!” Nancy jumps up to her feet but Mike’s already dashing down to the stairs. Frankly, she’s too taken aback about the sudden scene of normalcy to chase after him. 

She groans in exasperation as she returns back to her bedroom. This time, Jonathan is awake, rubbing his eyes and asking, “Whatz th’ time?”

“Morning, that’s what we know.” Nancy drops back on her bed. Her hand coincidentally lands on her notebook, left alone on the corner. She picks it up and flips back to the pages where she had transcribed Jonathan’s conversation with Will and Munson.

J: Munson? How are you here? EM: TAKEN TOO. DEMOGORGON. SCARY MOTHERFUCKER.

(At that, Nancy couldn’t help but laugh. That’s one way to describe the monster she and Jeff had fled from.)

J: Okay, did the demogorgon took you too, Will? WB: YES. J: When? WB: BIKING BACK HOME EM: IT HIT MY VAN

“What should we do now?”

Nancy glances up. Jonathan’s still sitting, picking at the skin around his thumb, not looking at her. “I mean, we know Will’s somewhere that’s not really here and Eddie Munson’s with him. But something happened-” he gestures to the nonfunctional lights, “-and now we can’t talk to them and find out.”

Nancy bites her lip. She doesn’t like this either, but it would be laughable to go to the police. Because what would they really do, even if they somehow believe the story? Shoot the monster and bring those two boys back? Yeah, very unlikely.

Thumbing through the pages with last night’s conversation, Nancy tears them out of the notebook. She hands them over to Jonathan, who finally looks up and slowly takes them. “Your mom is probably the only person who knows what’s going on. Give those to her. She’ll believe us.”

“And then what?” Jonathan mutters, staring down at the pages. “Knowing my brother’s alive is not enough.” He pauses, “Does Munson’s parents know about him?”

Nancy blanks. She doesn’t know Eddie Munson that much, save for his habit of walking on lunch tables and shouting at the popular students. Nancy used to find it funny, but eventually it turned into background noise.

Shaking her head, she asks, “Don’t you know Munson better?”

Jonathan sighs, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. “Just because we’re both freaks at school doesn’t mean I’m friends with him. I know nothing about Munson other than he lives in Forest Hills trailer park. I don’t think he even has parents.”

He pauses, turning his gaze back at Nancy, “Wait, what about the demo-monster? We know nothing about it.”

“We do.” Nancy gets up, walking over to her bookshelf. “I’ve only seen the monster for a minute, but even if it’s not from our world, it’s still an animal. A predator. If we can at least guess its strengths and weaknesses,” she pulls out her animal encyclopedia. She hasn’t touched it since eighth grade, but it should still do, “then we hunt it and kill it.”

Jonathan stares at her. “How?”

“We can get hunting equipment. That should work.”

“But will that guarantee getting Will and Munson out?”

Nancy doesn’t know how to answer that.

—

Jim wakes with a startled gasp and a hand clamping over his neck. The side of it still pangs with the needle suddenly stabbing through the skin. Catching his breath, he takes in his new surroundings. He’s back in his trailer, now sitting upright on the couch as the morning beams through the curtains. Which means that, in between now and his baffling discovery at the Hawkins Laboratory, Jim had somehow made it home and blacked out.

Motherfuckers.

Jim rushes out of the couch and starts tearing through every inch of his place. Cuts through the pillows. Breaks more plates than necessary in the cabinets. Digs through the trash. Ruffles his bedsheets. The whole shebang.

It’s while he starts unscrewing the bulbs of his lamps that a knocking bangs on the front door. Jim freezes for a second, a sheet of sweat and fear dousing him. His gun is lost somewhere in the mess. If that’s the Lab folks again with that Brenner man again-

“Chief! You coming out?”

Jim shakes out a relieved sigh. It’s Cahallan.

He eyes at the lamp, wondering if he could still check it. He decides to leave it for now. Let the Lab listen to him like they want.

Jim finds his gun and checks through the peephole. Then he pokes his head out, glaring at Cahallan.

“Whoa, Chief,” Cahallan starts but Jim cuts him off with a (hopefully) very relaxed, “What’s up?”

As Cahallan stares at him, Jim notices two other men behind him. He relaxes when he recognizes Powell - who’s looking down like the dead leaves around his shoes are the Niagara Falls - and Conrad Smith, another officer at the station.

Cahallan snaps out of his stupor, shaking his head. “Remember Barbara Holland? A couple of those rangers went out and got a eyewitness who said she hitchhiked with a trucker somewhere west. Guess she did ran away after all.”

Jim nods, but his mind is already split between completing his search of the house and the goddamn state getting their hands all over Hawkins.

“There’s something else too, Chief.”

Jim barely resists an impatient sigh, “What?”

The men look at each nervously before Cahallan takes a breath and quickly says, “Will Byers’ grave was desecrated last night.”

Jim almost falls over at that, but he catches himself at the last second. He doesn’t hide his shock and disbelief though. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“We got the call just around ten last night.” Smith takes the reins to explain, “The grave was dug down to his coffin and the robbers broke it open.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

How Jim hasn’t collapsed to the ground yet, he chalks it up to his sheer force of will and the way his hand still grips on the edge of his door. He sucks in a deep breath, “Please tell me the kid’s body isn’t violated.”

Cahallan winces again, “Yeah, uh, we don’t exactly know.” At Jim’s bewildered glare, he quickly backtracks, “When we came over, the graveyard was swarmed by the state guys! They told us this was their ‘point of interest’, whatever the hell that means other than we should stay out of their business.”

A cold sweat drips down Jim’s neck. This definitely sounds like a government coverup in the making. Not to mention that if Joyce catches a wind of what’s going on… Jim’s not sure if he should pray for the state rangers from their inevitable fates.

Then another cold thought strikes him. What if the Lab already bugged her house? And Wayne Munson’s?

“Okay.” Jim feigns casual interest and clicks his tongue. “Well, if the case is going to be resolved by the state, then so be it. Now scram.”

Before he shuts the door, he hears Powell calling out to him. He glares out again, “What?”

Powell shuffles from foot to foot before finally piping up, “Am I still fired after the Munson kid is found?”

Jim slams the door.

He stays long enough to hear their mutterings and crunching footsteps as they walk away. Then he stomps back over to the lamp, digging his hand inside the cover. Something plastic touches his fingers. Jim immediately curls around it and pulls it out, barely catching a small snap as he does.

He examines the device closely. It’s a small black object that looks like some Lego pieces glued together with a couple exposed wires on the side. Jim doesn’t think twice about opening the window and throwing the thing out as far as he could without pulling a muscle.

—

It’s the crick in his neck that wakes up Wayne first. He slowly sits up from his uncomfortable position and rubs a hard thumb on the knot. As he does, Wayne presses a palm over his eyes, taking in the room with bleary eyes.

The living room’s the same as last time. The lights Joyce had reattached to the wall were sprawled across the table to the wall above the couch. Part of the old bedsheet, the alphabet hastily painted in black, had somehow fallen on his lap. Joyce herself is also sleeping, now lying on the couch instead of her stiff seating position from the last time Wayne had checked.

It’s surprising that either of them had slept after their grave discovery (no pun intended), especially after a frantic but thorough washing of their dirt-covered hands and disposal of the shovels.

He reaches over, nudging Joyce by her arm. It takes a couple tries but she jolts awake.

“Oh god…” She yawns with a crack of her jaw. Then she peers over at Wayne. “Had they said anything yet?”

Wayne shakes his head, picking up a string and letting it go so it clacks against the cloth. “I’ve actually fell asleep too, so I might’ve missed it.”

Joyce stretches her arms over her head as she sits up. She clears her throat and calls out, “Good morning, Will! Morning to you, Eddie.”

Wayne watches every lightbulb but none of them flickers. Joyce gives out a huff of frustration before she glances back at Wayne. “Coffee?”

“Best way to start the morning.” Wayne smiles. Joyces returns it, though smaller and strained. But just as she stands up, there’s a sudden knock at the door.

They freeze. Wayne whirls his head back to Joyce. Her face is pale with fear. When she catches his eye, she mouths questioningly, “Police?”

Wayne really hopes it’s not.

We got out of the grave fast. We ran back to my truck fast and quiet. I drove us out without a hurry just several minutes later so the ‘keeper won’t question it.

..Actually, looking back at it, Wayne might’ve been an idiot.

The knocking comes again. Persistent, louder.

Wayne stands up slowly. Joyce grabs onto his arm. “What do I do?” She whispers. He can already see her hand twitching towards a nearby hammer.

“Answer it.” Wayne continues when Joyce gives him a baffled look, “Whoever it is, they probably won’t leave until you open the door. Might be the police. Might be Lonnie or somebody else.” His hands goes on her shoulders, squeezing them assuringly. “But the second they start bringing harm on you, I’ll break their teeth.”

Joyce nods, sucking in shaky breaths. She pats his hands, letting Wayne to drop them as she strides over to the knocking door. Joyce pauses to shoot another look at him. Wayne nods back. Go ahead.

She jerks her chin up with a defiant glare. Joyce calls out as she opens the door. “Alright, I’m here! No need t-”

Chief Hopper immediately steps inside, silencing her with a finger to his lips and a notepad aimed at her.

Wayne blinks. Well, he fears the police would come, but not in this kind of manner he’s seen before. “Chief?”

Hopper turns to him, holding his shushing gesture while shaking his notepad at Wayne. They’re written in black pen, large letters saying DON’T SAY ANYTHING!

“Hop-?” Joyce starts to speak, but Hopper shushes her again.

Wayne and Joyce soon stand at each other’s sides, watching in complete bewilderment and dismay as Hopper methodically turns the house inside out. After what feels like hours later, Hopper finishes his bizarre inspection as he nods at them.

“You’re good, Joyce.” Hopper sighs, dropping to the couch.

“Hopper, what the hell?!” Joyce throws her arms up, stomping over to him. “You come in here, tell me and Wayne to stay quiet, and you tear the rooms apart? At this point, I might as well move out!”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Hopper rubs his eyes wearily, “I just needed to make sure they didn’t bug you.”

At Joyce’s sound of confusion, Wayne steps in and asks, “‘They’?”

If he’s puzzled by Wayne’s presence, Hopper doesn’t show it. Instead, he answers simply, “The lab.”

“You’re losing us, Hop,” Joyce crosses her arms, “What lab?”

Hopper tells them. For the second time, Wayne thinks that he’s just hearing a ghost story. Only this time involving a reckless breaking and entry of the Hawkins Lab and discovering something in their lower floors that sounds more like a newfound gate to hell.

“It was glowing red?” Joyce interrupts. The horrified disbelief on her face probably matches with Wayne’s.

Hopper nods, “Yeah, from the inside.”

“Like my wall.” Joyce murmurs. Catching Wayne’s confused glance, she explains, “That night when I spoke to Will and he told me Eddie’s name? Something came out of my wall in the room and, well, I couldn’t see it probably but it glowed red and scared me out of my house.”

“Eddie’s name?” Now it’s Hopper looking confused.

Wayne blows out a soft breath, “We- well, Joyce here had spoken to her son. Turns out wherever he is, Eddie’s with him too.”

While Hopper processes that info, Joyce frowns at him, “Do you think that, because of whatever the Lab has in their basement, it’s why Will and Eddie are not here?”

“Not to mention the state taking over Eddie’s case.” Wayne remarks pointedly.

Hopper runs a hand down his face, muttering curses under his breath. “Yep.” He makes a short but bitter laugh, “Actually, I figured that they had to be covering for something when I tried to get to the morgue, but too many rangers were posted there.”

“Because Will’s body is fake.” Joyce says.

“Exact-” Hopper starts to nod before shooting his head towards Joyce. A sharp pang of panic shoots through Wayne as he whirls at her. Joyce immediately clamps a hand over her mouth but the damage is already done.

The silence loads into the living room like bullets in a gun chamber.

“Joyce.” Hopper says slowly with a careful tone. His hands are carefully outstretched and open. “Joyce, what did you just say?”

Joyce looks at Wayne with barely-hidden panic and apologies in her eyes. He just squeezes her hand comfortingly. It’s okay, I’m not mad, He hopes she understands his silent message.

She squeeze his hand back.

“Joyce, I promise you’re not saying anything incriminating. I just want to you repeat what you just said. Just as a friend.”

Screw it, let’s rip the Band-Aid off. If the Chief of Hawkins Police can handle sneaking into a government lab by himself, then what’s worse than grave robbing with good intentions?

Wayne clears his throat, getting Hopper’s attention on him, “We already know about Will’s grave because Joyce and I dug it up last night.”

He keeps his own head up as Hopper’s snap towards him with saucers for eyes.

Joyce drops her hand from her mouth and almost-yells, “But that’s to check on who they actually buried! And you know what we found, Hop? It was fake. They literally made up Will’s body out of plastic!”

“I accidentally kicked the head off.” Wayne adds with a casual shrug. Not the best attempt to have the atmosphere light again, but sue him, he’s trying. “Bless the almighty above that there was only cotton stuffings instead of blood coming out.”

Usually, he doesn’t like watching the light be drained out of people’s eyes in real time. But this time will an exception because it’s actually kind of funny seeing Hopper go into some sort of existential crisis on the spot.

“Please don’t report this, Hop.” Joyce claps her hands together in a prayer gesture. “At least don’t tell anyone Wayne and I did it.”

“Oh, don’t worry…” Hopper barely mutters, his gaze now blankly staring at the table as if the object had just sucked his soul out.

“Hop?” Joyce leans in as if to poke him, but Wayne gently stops her. Shaking his head lightly, he says, “How about we fix ourselves some breakfast? I don’t remember the last time I ate, to be honest.”

They both stand back up, leaving Hopper on the couch. Wayne notes Joyce’s carefully-steeled face and nudges her. “You’re allowed to laugh, you know.”

Joyce quickly shakes her head, but he can see a smile already cracking through her face while she rubs over her arms. In fact, she looks almost a tad too gleeful, “I’m glad that I got to actually say that out loud.”

Then her face falls again to the chronic worrying expression, “I just hope our boys are doing okay right now.”

—

When Will stirs awake, the first thing he feels is Eddie’s heart beating against his ear from where his head had at some point moved on top of Eddie’s chest. Relieved, Will keeps his eyes closed, ready to continue sleeping.

And then he hears the raspy breathing.

Will sits up so quickly that, for a second, his vision turns black around the edges. Even in the dark, he sees Eddie rapidly blinking up with glossy eyes.

“Eddie?” Will places his hand on Eddie’s forehead, only to immediately pull it back. His skin is so hot that it burns through all of Will’s fingers. Oh no.

Will moves so he’s kneeling right beside Eddie’s head, already carefully brushing his hair away from his sweating face just like how Mom does it whenever he gets sick. The older boy trembles violently, either from the touch or the fever, Will doesn’t know. He tries to remember what Mom had always said on those sick days, finally settling on the most important question - “Are you feeling okay?”

Eddie answers with a small gurgle before throwing up over his jeans.

-

Taglist: @unclewaynemunson @hellion-child @steves-strapcollection @sidekick-hero @penny00dreadful @hbyrde36 @mmmmwaffles94 @princessstevemunson @sirsnacksalot @tartarusknight @lyriclight @kodaik97 @plsdontdrinkmylavalamp @bookbinderbitch @gutterflower77 @soaringornithopter @angeldreamsoffanfic @panicatthediaz @renaissan-vvitch @manda-panda-monium @newtstabber @little-trash-ghost @niniel-karenine @tinyplanet95

[dinsfire24]

Amanita hummed happily to themself, gathering flowers into their arms. Why were they gathering flowers? Well, they had to give them to someone. They couldn't remember who, so they figured they'd better just give some flowers to everyone they could find. And everybody liked flowers, right?

A pair of voices sliced through the air. Ah, there were their first targets! Listening carefully, they recognized the voices as Caity and... and...

They saw the red-and-black clown come around the corner. Right, Clown. They picked out a rose and a sunflower, then darted up to the pair. "Hey!"

Clown stopped, his shoulders hunching. "Oh... Hi, Amanita," he said flatly.

Caity, meanwhile, smiled at them. "Hey, Nita! Whatcha got there?"

"I was... I picked flowers." They held the sunflower out to Caity first.

She accepted it happily, tucking it into her hair and telling them, "It's so pretty! Thank you."

Clown tried to slip away, but they quickly handed him the rose. "Don't..." They paused. "For you too."

"Ah." He shoved it into his inventory. "I like black roses better."

Caity shot him a look. Maybe confused? Amanita was confused too, but they started to realize something as he walked away.

They turned to Caity, frowning. "Why does Clown- Why does he hate me? Did I do... or, well- forget something?"

She hesitated. "I don't know... I mean, I don't think he hates you. I dunno why he would. But I don't know him very well."

"Hmmm." Amanita looked down at the bouquet in their hands. "Okay. Bye."

Then they walked away, collecting flowers as they went and thinking of a plan.

Someone who knew Clown better. They tried to remember people they'd seen him with. They thought he didn't have many friends. Maddie? Was she his friend? Or was it Kab...?

Well, they could see Kab right now. She was in a house. Probably her house, actually. They looked down at their bundle of flowers. She liked blue, right? She was wearing blue. This blue bell-shaped flower would be good.

With flower in hand, focusing on the thing they had to ask Kab, they walked up to the door and knocked.

"Oh, shit- Be there in a second," Kab called, and Amanita heard the sounds of several things being knocked over. Or shoved into a chest. Or both. They covered their ears to dull the noise.

Once it had ended, Kab opened the door. "Oh, hi, lil' buddy!" She grinned. "You've got a flower for me?"

They nodded, tossing it to her. "It's- I'm trying to... Uh..." Oh, the one thing they had come to ask. "Shit."

Kab snickered. "Aren't you, like, ten? Oh, you probably learned that from me... Pyro's gonna be pissed."

Amanita tilted their head. "But... Not important," they decided abruptly. "I remember. Why does... Yeah, why does Clown hate me?"

She stiffened angrily. "How am I supposed to know? Probably 'cause he's a stupid asshole," she snapped. "Don't- Just don't worry about him, okay? His opinion doesn't matter."

"Oh." They drooped slightly. "But he keeps... avoiding me. You weren't the- I was wrong."

"What's that supposed to-" Kab stopped herself, taking a deep breath. Her voice was strained, but calmer when she asked, "Wrong about what, lil' buddy?"

"I wanted- I thought you were his friend," Amanita explained. "Well, it kind of... I mixed you up. With, uh, Maddie?"

"Ah." Her expression darkened. "Right. Maddie is his friend! Yes, right, of course she is," Kab spat.

...She was definitely angry at them. But they weren't sure why. "Do you... Kab, do you hate Clown?"

"I do. I really do. I hate his smug fuckin' face and his stupid words and the way he's taking away my-" Again, she stopped herself. This time, she didn't start talking again until she'd turned around and went back to what she was doing before Amanita had come over.

They were almost going to leave when she quietly said, "You should stay away from him, Amanita. Maybe it's better if he doesn't like you. I don't... I don't want to know what he could do to you."

Some strange feeling congealed in their gut. Were they angry, too? "I'm... sorry. For asking," they told her flatly.

Kab's head snapped towards them. "Lil' buddy, wait-"

They ignored her, shoving their way out the door and running into the field.

There were a couple of people nearby. Pyro and Rae. They didn't think they'd given them flowers yet. But suddenly, they didn't even want to give out flowers any more. They just wanted to go lay down for a while.

[giggly-squiggily]

Ooh!! I always love these! <3 I headcannon that in Scarlet and Violet, Director Clavell has a super ticklish neck >:3 students and teachers both will sometimes give him a light poke or a little tickle all the time because they love the little squeaks he makes! >:D and the person who does this the most is Tyme -@Magma-Queen

Queenie, my dear friend! *hugs* I platonically love you- Clavell is an absolute sweetheart and deserves all the tickles! I've gotcha covered!

“Director Clavell- come here a moment, would you? Something’s off about the lesson plan.” Tyme gestured him over, brows furrowed as she read over the binder a second and third time.

“Hm? Oh-yes. Let me take a look.” Ever the good Director, he put down his mid-morning tea and joined her at her desk, bending to look at the paper. “Hm…I don’t see an immediate problem, Professor. What seems to be the issue?”

“You don’t see it? It’s right there.” She pointed at a paragraph halfway down the page. “Right…there.”

“I…” He bent down further to get a closer look. At this point he was all but doubled over now. “Professor Tyme, I really don’t see the prob-LEHHEEM!” An undignified squeak escaped his lips when her hand came to rest on his shoulder, fingers brushing his neck. “T-Tyme!”

“Hm? What is it?” Her face betrayed her, eyes dancing with mischief as she wiggled her fingers against the crook of his neck, making Clavell scrunch up in giggles. “Do you see the problem now, Director? Everything’s planned out so meticulously- there’s practically no time for laughter.”

“I shehehehee whahahahat you mehehhahahan! Gehhahaha- We hahahhahahve to fihihihix thahahaht!” He grabbed onto the table, all but leaning on it as he tried blocking out her wiggling fingers. “Whahhahat do yohoohohu suuuhuhuuguuhuhuhst?”

“Glad you asked! For starters- we need to make some space right about…here.” She moved her hand to the back of his neck, earning a proper chortle. “Then we can rearrange the lessons here, here and here.” She went from scribbles to kneading to gentle pinches, all earning various bursts of mirth from the cackling man. “Then once we’re done with all that- we should have plenty of space for laughter. Don’t you agree?”

“Ahehahhahaha! Yehhehehes, yhehehehehes! Now ceehhhehahahse this behehehehahhahavior!” He pleaded, cheeks rosy and voice weak with wheezing. Tyme laughed as she pulled her hand away, gathering her things.

“Thank you for seeing things my way, Director. Now- I’ll be off teaching my class.” She nodded, giving him one last scribble before heading out the door, leaving Clavell slumped and tired against the wooden furniture.

“Yehehehs…hahahve a good clahahahass, Professor Tyme.” He sighed, shaking his head fondly.

Send me a headcanon and character(s) and I'll write a short 300-500 word dabble for it!

[wallflowerswit]

did anyone stop and think that maybe eloise forgave penelope in the end bc eloise is in love w her

[strayslost]

"When will they learn not to underestimate the Hunting Dogs? Those fools really thought they could escape the flames of justice - ha!"

Teruko is clearly pleased as she brags to Kitamura about the Hunting Dog's latest victory with a beaming expression. In actuality, it's not her own victory that she's celebrating, but Kitamura's - and to her, it's such an obvious outcome that it's not worth any surprise at all. It seems that doesn't stop her from feeling cheery, though - just as much as she would've been if she'd come back from interrogating a criminal or winning a fight herself.

"It's been too long since I've been able to go out there myself..." she complains, though it's evidently not enough of a complaint to ruin her mood. "I've been so bored, lately. Hey, you've gotta have something for me to do around here, right?"

@sunderedscript ( starter for kitamura! )

[disillusionedjudge]

((not me realizing that I could've given Gylfie a brother and had the perfect opportunity to dive into a Cain and Abel dynamic

[biosurvive]

me: chris keeps rose at arm's length because he feels guilt and doesn't want to overstep his bounds

rose's dlc:

me who is obsessed with dilf chris: fuck