#Catt writes

[mrsjellymunson]

Hello, Stranger

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader, Eddie Munson x you, Eddie Munson x reader

For @lesservillain’s excellent Strange and Spooky Stories Halloween writing event for the prompt: ‘Stranger’

Summary: A stranger comes in to buy weird stuff at odd times, and as the cashier at the local hardware store you’re not quite sure what to make of it…

CW: 18+ (MDNI), fluff, maybe SFW though caution for mature and dark themes and allusions to crime and violence. Flirting, li’l bit of awkwardness, some swearing. Both Eddie and reader are in their 20s. Reader’s gender and appearance are not described, they can be whatever you want. No use of y/n. Time period is not mentioned, and any inaccuracies/inconsistencies about history, equipment, American schooling (I’m not from around these parts) or science are deliberate and artistic oh yes they are. No smut, I thought I’d better assess whether I could string a semi-coherent story together before attempting to add that 😆

WC: ~6.2k

A/N: I love gore, revenge movies, murder shows, true crime, science/biology/forensics and DIY (sort of), so this prompt seemed like a perfect fit. There are tiny Easter eggs from The Equalizer, Breaking Bad, 80s crime TV, The Blacklist and John Wick in here - let me know if you spot any! This is the first ‘proper’ fic I’ve posted so I’d love to know what you think. Comments, reblogs and feedback are hugely appreciated and very welcome!

(Also this is my first attempt at dividers too, I hope they worked, I literally have no idea what I’m doing!)

Yep, you were ‘that’ weird kid. Your friends in Middle School had called you a freak because you brought squirrel tails and chicken feet to show’n’tell.

“But look! If you pull this tendon it makes the claw close! Isn’t that cool?!”

No, apparently that was not cool. Especially when demonstrated against your teacher’s finger...

You’d visit a friend whose father was a doctor, begging to read his medical and pathology text books, and preferring to look at pictures of dissected and diseased organs and spontaneous human combustion over braiding your friend’s hair or talking about boys.

And, apparently, scoring a class-topping 9.5/10 for your rat dissection also wasn’t the social merit badge you thought it might be, even amongst your science-abreast academic peers.

So what if you had a strong constitution. And a love of anatomy and pathology. And then compounded it with a love of true crime, particularly serial killers and forensic methods. Surely there were worse things to be interested in?

By the time you’d finished High School you’d learned to mask your enthusiasm, covering your (apparently, socially unacceptable) fascination for all things ‘gross’ and ‘murderous’ (your friends’ words) by choosing science majors like human anatomy and pathology, criminal behaviour and forensics.

People just thought you were clever, nerdy, a scientist. You never let on that you were itching to actually experience some of these things for yourself, in real time, with your own hands…

You work the evening shift at the sprawling out-of-town homewares store on the road running out of Indianapolis towards a tiny town you’ve never been to (Hawksville? Hawking?). You work a few evenings a week plus alternate Sundays, currently in the gardening, kitchen and hardware department. It wouldn’t be your chosen section of the store (in the short time you’ve been there you’ve had to amass a lot of knowledge about tools. Also, how to politely deflect the regulars’ offers to share details of their new projects, lest you get drawn in to a half-hour discussion about u-bends or rawl plugs), but the hours suit you and fit around your college classes, and the employee discount comes in handy when things in your shitty apartment break down or your roommate carelessly breaks something, again.

The final few hours of your shifts were usually pretty quiet, barring the occasional domestic plumbing emergency, or a bored Hawkins housewife coming in looking for batteries.

You don’t mind spending your evenings amongst the tools and machinery, it gives you a chance to flick through the latest copy of forensic magazine or True Crime, or work on your college assignments.

One thing that does make the slow evenings more entertaining is the unusual clientele. A nerdy-looking guy with a moustache needing releasable cable ties, cooking oil and a large plastic sheet at 9.30pm must have an interesting backstory, right?

You find yourself concocting fantastical vignettes about the oddballs that pass through, giving them the most amusing or disturbing story you can think of as they glide by in the night.

The guy with the cable ties? Too easy. Clearly he’s got a ‘special friend’ and an interesting evening planned. TBH, that’s probably not even fictional. You call him Salacious Scott.

The friendly, rotund lady who regularly comes in for for buckets and sawdust? You know it’s Mrs Henderson, who is trying to go self-sufficient and has recently installed a composting toilet, but you prefer to imagine she’s actually a madam with a ‘specialist interest’ playroom, who you brand Madame Urolagnia.

The paranoid guy with a beard and thick glasses who won’t tell you his name, buys a lot of vodka from the liquor store nearby and comes in for plastic pipe, cladding and those slot-together foam mats for kids? He tells you he’s into martial arts and these make safe weapon facsimiles for training, but you reckon he’s actually some kind of government agent. Your imaginary name for him is Mysterious Murray.

One oddball in particular has caught your attention, and not just because he’s easily the handsomest customer you’ve had in a while.

Wait, no, you didn’t just admit that; you just find him interesting, that’s all.

It was his speed and demeanour that had struck you first, rushing in, hand atop the bandana on his head, gangly legs in ripped jeans looking like they were trying to run in two different directions at once, large, dark eyes wide as he’d frantically looked around the store.

“Uh, rope, I need rope, where’d you keep the rope?”

You’d blurted some instructions and he’d headed off, not looking in your direction.

His leather jacket and swinging chains certainly commanded attention amongst the flannel and blue denim that was usually in your line of sight, and you’d found your eyes following him, catching sight of him moving between the aisles from your position behind the counter.

He’d moved towards you with a sturdy knife, a shovel and 3 rolls of duct tape that he’d collected on his way to the checkout, arms full (he didn’t pick up a basket), when you’d ventured,

“I’d recommend the next brand up, if you want something stronger with better sticking power? It costs a little more, but it’s better quality, so overall you’ll use less”, (silently thanking Mr Wheeler’s recent diatribe on the merits and pitfalls of various brands of adhesive tape, remembering the detail because he’d gone so far as to demonstrate by sticking small pieces of it to your skin. It was a weird interaction for sure, but also oddly informative).

He’d lifted his head to look at you and your eyes had connected for the first time. Your eyes widened, and you think you spotted a slight twitch of a smile at one side of his mouth.

Oh, he’s actually really cute.

“Uh, okay, if you think that’s best”.

He dropped his eyes from yours and, after unceremoniously dumping everything else onto your counter, he’d exchanged the rolls and returned.

You’d both paused, you don’t know for how long, and you’d wondered how someone buying rope could be so captivating. But the spell was broken as you’d both spoke simultaneously:

“Did you find everything you need?”

“I’m kinda in a rush, so…”

You’d both chuckled nervously, and you’d set about ringing up his purchases, noticing that a small smile definitely now graced those previously harried features.

He’d paid with a handful of old, crumpled bills pulled from his jacket, politely declining your offer of a bag, and then he was gone as quick as he came, hurrying out into the night with the swish of the automatic doors and a breeze of parking lot-scented night air.

You didn’t know why anyone would need rope and a shovel at that time on a weeknight, but with this particular guy, who you dubbed The Stranger, you found yourself thinking that you wouldn’t mind finding out.

You’d unintentionally spent the rest of that evening coming up with fantasies about that particular customer, although, unusually for you, quite a few of them hadn’t actually involved what was on his receipt…

When The Stranger next comes in he’s after heavyweight garbage bags, more tape and a saw, but seems in slightly less of a rush.

He pauses at your counter for a few moments, making polite conversation, asking how long you’d been working here, whether you were working late tonight.

Is he trying to… flirt? Surely not…

“Thanks for the tape recommendation by the way, it was a real lifesaver. That stuff’s really good, I definitely have a new favourite!”, gracing you with a broad grin (oh fuck, that was a sight) before he was on his way again.

Another time he bought shears, tarp and a large quantity of painting coveralls.

The next trip involved wire cutters, buckets and a wet’n’dry vacuum.

You begin to enjoy The Stranger coming in buying random shit at odd hours. You can’t quite make him out. He buys a lot of gardening and decorating-type equipment (plus he’s almost single-handedly keeping the cleaning product aisle in business), but he dresses like neither - always in tight, ripped jeans, shredded band tees and his signature leather jacket. You’ve never seen him covered in leaves or dirt, and his clothes have zero paint on them. Those coveralls must do a really good job…

You build up a rapport of sorts with him. There’s always a polite, verging on friendly greeting between you, and you let him know when there’s special offers on tarp and garbage bags, and what days there are deliveries of latex gloves and those painting coveralls he seems to like so much. (Sometimes you’ll even stash a few of the latter for him under the counter if there’s a holiday weekend coming up, knowing Hawkins’ husbands will be out in force and not wanting him to miss out.)

But the ‘fantasy vignette’ and forensically-inclined parts of your brain begin to overlap, and start to tickle your imagination. It’s almost as if each selection of items he buys could be used to either dispatch someone, or dispose of a body. But that’s crazy, right? He seems way too nice to be a serial killer. And mob activity in this part of Indiana? Nah. That wouldn’t happen around here.

Would it?

It’s a quiet Friday night when you next see The Stranger. He’s picked up bolt cutters, pliers, some metal trays, a sledgehammer, a mop, and, most bizarrely of all because you’ve noticed he’s not usually one for personal safety equipment, ear defenders.

Again, he’s basket-less, barely able to contain the items piled up in his arms. They topple as he arrives at your counter, and some end up partially covering your open magazine.

“Shit, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Oh, no problem, honestly. I probably shouldn’t be reading on the clock anyway”, you say, slightly bashful, as you move the crumpled magazine out from underneath his items, smoothing it down. The Stranger’s eyes are locked on your hands, and as they move across the page they reveal a headline about a recently apprehended serial murderer and some photographs of a variety of grisly-looking, bloody weapons.

“That looks… interesting, watcha reading there?”, he remarks, leaning in.

“Oh, this? It’s about a new guy they’ve just caught over in Europe. He’s fascinating, he used such a variety of tools and methods that at first the police didn’t even think to link the crimes. Ingenious, really, when you think about it. So creative!”

You look up, and The Stranger is regarding you with an unreadable expression. Does he think you’re weird, babbling on about this murderer like you admire him? Or is he actually impressed with your enthusiasm?

“Sorry, I’m a true crime buff, it’s a bit of a pet topic of mine. And I’m studying forensics at college, so it’s kind of like schoolwork too.” You chuckle nervously, arms moving in front of your body and shoulders subtly curling in on yourself in embarrassment.

The Stranger seems to sense your discomfort, and shakes his head, making his curls bounce, smiling and chuckling along with you.

“No, yeah, uh, me too with the crime thing, actually. Well, not so much the reading, I’m more of a hear-it-through-the grapevine, hands on kinda guy.”

‘Hands on’? WTF does that mean?

“Oh, cool, coolcoolcool”. Smooth…

As you scan his items your fantasy vignette tickles your brain again.

No, don’t be silly…

You bag everything up this time, insisting it’ll be easier to carry, handing them to him and taking his crumpled bills.

Your curiosity is more than piqued and you can’t hold it in any longer. Feeling bold, you ask, “So, what’s all this for?”

“Huh?”

“The- the stuff. What’re you doin’ with it?”

The Stranger looks at you through his lashes, not speaking.

Shit, you’ve overstepped, he’s gonna leave, find a different store and you’ll never see him again.

“Uh, well, some people I know out near the big city are, er, planning a, uh, party, with a few of their, um, associates, and I think it’s gonna get pretty loud, hence the earphones. I, uh, don’t usually get involved in stuff until later in the evening, y’know, after all the main fun’s over.”

You look a little quizzical.

He thinks for a moment.

“I tidy up, but I sorta make it a bit more fun for everyone. Bring a bit of pizazz to a usually mundane part of the evening. Kinda thing.”

You process for a few moments. The ‘Mob Cleaner’ vignette you’d fantasised about screams loud and long into your cerebrum.

Nerves give way to curiosity, and you brashly ask, “So, what exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m kind of a cleaner, I guess? If someone has a problem that they’ve had dealt with and they wanna make the cleanup more, um, interesting, I’m the guy they call.”

Probing further, you clarify, “So you don’t make the, uh, mess, you just clean it up. Creatively?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

He explains he’s still quite new to the job, and kinda fell into it. His boss and his mentor are both encouraging, saying his USP is truly original (Unique Selling Point, he explains when you look confused), and that he definitely ‘has potential’. He’s learning a lot as he goes, but his enthusiasm seems to be appreciated and he wants to do well.

“All you really need is a strong stomach, imagination and a flair for the dramatic!”

He illustrates his last point by making jazz hands by the sides of his head, offering you a generous smile. Yeah, you can see how that particular part of the job comes easy to him.

“Oh, well, it sounds like fun. I hope you have a very successful evening!”

“Okay, well, thanks again! I’ll see you.”

You watch him leave, noticing in particular how well his jeans fit tonight.

What’s that saying again - I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave…?

You shake your head to rid yourself of the lewd - and crazy, yeah, totally crazy - thoughts you’re having about The Stranger and encourage yourself back into work mode.

As you busy yourself and tidy your counter you notice something small and white on the floor in front, about the size of a credit card. It must’ve fallen out of his jacket as he fumbled for cash.

Cash. Always cash. Never credit card, never cheque, never — anything traceable…

You round the counter and pick it up, thinking you’d save it and return it to him the next time he comes in. It’s a business card. The text is unfussy and clear, but glossy, bold and slightly gothic. It’s a company name above some text and a pager number, but it may well be the most intriguing piece of writing that you’ve ever come across:

E.M. Creative Disposal Services, Apprentice to Mr Kaplan & Associates, For dinner reservations call: (555)-666-6969

It’s another quiet night, but there’s already a couple of people at the counter when The Stranger arrives. Mr Sinclair needs a pipe wrench and a plunger (you don’t envy him his evening), and Mrs Wheeler has come in to buy double-As for the second time this month (although this time she also added gardening gloves and secateurs to pad out her basket. Not that you’d judge either way).

You spot The Stranger’s curls before anything else, bobbing in the fluorescent lights as he comes through the entrance doors. He spots the queue and immediately joins it, glancing towards the counter and visibly brightening when he sees you behind it. He’s carrying the sledgehammer he bought last time. As you start to ring up Mrs Wheeler’s batteries you see him examining the head of the hammer. Frowning slightly, he moistens his thumb with his tongue and rubs at one corner, then polishes the same spot on the front of his jeans.

He reaches the counter, receipt retrieved from a bundle pulled from inside his jacket.

You greet each other with a quiet ‘hey’. He continues, “I, uh, wanted to return this. Can I do that?”

“Yeah, sure, lemme ring it through the till. Can I ask why? Company policy,” you shrug, almost apologetically.

“Sure, uh, well you know that phase ‘using a sledgehammer to crack a nut‘? Turns out a sledgehammer does indeed obliterate the, uh, nuts… Let’s just say it wasn’t really suitable for the project I had in mind. I think I need something…”

Lighter? Easier to aim?

“With a little more finesse?” You venture, eyebrows raised, hoping you haven’t completely misread things.

“Yeah, finesse! I like that”. He beams widely at you tilting his head slightly, revealing the most gorgeous dimples you’ve ever seen, and it’s all you can do to hold on to the edge of the counter while your knees gently fail beneath you.

“Umm, you want some help choosing?”

He readily agrees and you direct him to the hammer section, both of you discussing the merits and disadvantages of various models as you choose ones from the display and encourage him to feel their weight and balance. He seems impressed, clearly not expecting you to be so well-versed in the finer aspects of hardware.

“Y’know, you really know your tools!”

You squeak out a bashful, “Thanks.”

You slip into self-deprecating mode and brush off his compliment, saying, “It comes with the territory I guess. I’ve picked up a lot working here. Plus I just sometimes browse the shelves, thinking of nefarious uses for random household objects.” Hurriedly adding, “For school, of course!”

You cringe a bit, thinking this must make you look like some kind of weirdo, but The Stranger takes it easily in his stride, commenting, “You know, you’d be surprised to learn just how much of a marketable skill that can be.”

You chat some more and he eventually chooses a smaller, less unwieldy hammer, and after he pays you part ways again.

You still desperately want to ask him exactly what he used that other hammer for, what ‘Creative Disposal Services’ actually means, and what the hell have dinner reservations got to do with any of this?

The next night you see The Stranger he saunters in at about 8:30. He has a different energy about him this evening, seeming both more relaxed but also somewhat on edge. He’s not in his usual ratty band tee tonight, you notice, and no leather jacket either. Instead he’s wearing a what looks to be a clean, maybe even pressed, electric blue raglan shirt with black half length sleeves. You spot a crimson guitar pick necklace that you’ve not seen before dangling from a twinkling silver ball chain, resting against his sternum and resplendent against the blue.

Observing his forearms for the first time you notice how attractive - and (oh!) tattooed - they are. Toned and veined, their shape and his mix of tattoos are shown off to perfection by that sleeve length, and a leather and chain bracelet that adorns one powerful-looking wrist. The glint of his chunky silver rings accentuates his large hands that peek out of his jeans pockets as he wanders over to you. He’s still in tight black jeans, but they seem a little… neater than usual. And he’s not in a rush. It’s almost like he’s not working, maybe even making an effort.

You feel a frisson of excitement - could it be that he’s come in just to see you?

Exhibit A, m’lud: Scrubbing up well.

He heads straight for your counter, and you greet each other with your characteristic friendliness.

He spies the hefty text books you’ve spread before you, and leans onto the counter to get a closer look.

“Watcha workin’ on tonight, Doctor Quincy?”

You swallow at the cute nickname, voice cracking slightly as you start to tell him about the assignment you’ve got. It’s about evidential tool marks, and how pathologists can identify what’s been used as a weapon or tool of dismemberment.

The Stranger tries to play down his interest, but his demeanour betrays him as he presses for more details, even asking if he could maybe read the finished piece.

That’s weird, right? People don’t read other people’s science essays for fun. Do they?

But you agree, promising to bring him a copy when it’s done.

The conversation lulls, and The Stranger twists the pad of one of his thumbs against the counter, seemingly a little nervous, though you can’t imagine what about.

To break the silence you slip into work mode, but for some reason drop your voice a couple of octaves and murmur,

“So anyway, what is it that can I help you with, sir?”

Wait, is he blushing?

“Um, oh, uh, I actually don’t have a shopping list today, I was, uh, just gonna browse, I guess.”

He backs away from your counter, giving it a few rhythmic slaps with his fingertips before turning away from you and ambling off into the store. He returns a few moments later with a small hatchet and mid-range fold-out knife, plus two rolls of his now-favourite tape.

“You can never have too many of these, amirite?”

He gives you that dimpled smile again, and you feel your stomach do a full (though anatomically impossible) 360° flip.

Observing his lack of focus and comparatively small selection of items, you wonder if he really needs those things, or whether he’s just picking them up as an excuse to come in to the store. Your chest heats up a little at the thought.

Exhibit B: Small, possibly unnecessary purchase. The evidence is mounting up.

Seeing the hatchet, your eyes light up with enthusiasm as you remember something.

“Hey, we just got some new stock in that I think you might like, y’know, if I’m not overstepping or anything.” You finish with a nervous chuckle.

You smile at him nervously through your lashes, skin heating even more in case this is suddenly all a bit too familiar.

He grins, responding, “Sure, go ahead!”

Your smile broadens and relaxes as you turn away from him and walk to the back shelves, crouching down and retrieving something in your arms.

Standing quickly and turning, you notice his eyes widen and immediately flick up to yours, a slightly alarmed expression on his face.

Exhibit C: Was he checking you out when he thought you wouldn’t notice? (Also, is it getting hot in here?)

With a loud thunk you lay two (frankly, terrifying-looking) multi-tools out on the counter in front of him. One looks like an oversized, overspec-ed Swiss Army knife, and the other could easily pass as a prop from an exorcism-themed horror movie. You over-excitedly explain the features of each, saying, “This one has a hammer and an axe, plus screwdrivers, pliers, a saw, wire cutters, a magnesium rod”, you look up at him quickly and ask, “do you ever need to start fires? Plus, it has…”, you wave your hand dramatically over your favourite part of the item, like you were showing it off on a shopping channel, and stretch out the syllables of the final two words for emphasis, “…a bottle opener…”. You raise your eyebrows and grin widely, like this must surely be the deal breaker.

The Stranger laughs, throwing his head back with deep-throated barks from the centre of his chest, and then he chuckles a little, bringing a strand of hair over his cheek and a curled finger to his lips. You’re slightly distracted by that glimpse of his extended neck (god, you want to gnaw at it), and that laugh? You wish you could’ve recorded it somehow.

You quickly compose yourself and continue, switching to the ’horror prop’ product, “And this one has fewer features, but I like it for its simplicity, robustness and practical charm. It’s an axe, hammer, nail puller and pry bar. And it even has a rubber coated handle, so you can still use it safely even if your hands are wet. For, y’know, whatever reason…” you finish, slightly abashed.

“Aw, Pumpkin, this is the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in a while, thank you.”

Pumpkin. PumpkinPumpkinPumpkin. Exhibit D: A term of endearment!

He takes some time to examine both articles, testing out their various features, hefting them in his (large, strong) hands (stop it!).

“I love them. Y’know what, I can’t decide. I’ll take both. What’s the damage?”

You visibly brighten, a squeak of delight that you hope he didn’t hear inadvertently leaving you as you puff up with both his term of endearment and your ever-growing customer service confidence.

You check whether he’d still like the other items he’d brought to the counter, and apart from the duct tape (“You really can’t have too much of this stuff!”), he allows you to reshelve the rest.

He watches, enthralled, as you wrap his new tools in the store-issue brown paper reverently and carefully, as though you were wrapping an expensive gift in a fancy department store, the pair of you sharing bashful looks and half smiles as you work.

As he hands over the now-unsurprising crumpled bills and takes his change his hand drifts closer to yours, glancing his fingers over your palm and lingering for just a moment. There’s a little hitch in your inhale, and you think you see his ears redden a little.

He gathers up his purchases in his arms carefully and gently, and he backs away from your counter slowly.

“I guess I’ll head out then. Uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, I guess you will, uhh-”

“Eddie. My name’s Eddie.”

“Okay, I guess so, Eddie.” You say his name slowly, like you’re testing out the syllables in your mouth.

You continue speaking, offering your name in reciprocation.

“Yeah, yeah I know your name, it’s kinda on your little badge there.” A tiny nod indicates the plastic rectangle pinned on your apron strap near your left shoulder.

Your cheeks heat again. “Right, of course. Ha!” You inwardly cringe. Well, that could’ve gone better.

He’s still backing away, getting dangerously close to an intricately balanced display of colourful children’s watering cans. You’re about to say something, but he turns just in time, ambling towards the illuminated exit with a mumbled, “Okay, bye then. Thanks again for these…” lifting the packages in his arms, and turning to look over his shoulder a couple more times before he finally reaches the door and disappears into the parking lot.

“Hey, d’you know anything about wood chippers?”

It’s been a week since you’ve seen The Stranger Eddie, and you turn abruptly to find him walking towards your counter.

His question throws you out of your stocktaking zone (you’d been focussing on ordering enough plastic pumpkin-shaped buckets for all of Hawkins’ kids this Halloween), but you quickly slip into customer service mode and ask for more details.

Eddie explains, using mostly his arms, that he needs one that, “throws everything everywhere”. You finally work out that he means the type where you feed stuff into a hopper on one side and the shredded debris is forced out of a raised chute on the other (as opposed to the more gravity-based ones where stuff is fed into the top and simply falls out the bottom).

He’s passing it off as being involved in some avant garde student art project, a performance piece involving feeding a load of wood and, uh, paint, yeah, paint into a wood chipper and having it spray out the other side. He blusters that the students are trying to make a point about climate change, or maybe it’s deforestation, he can’t seem to decide.

He explains that the piece is to be performed indoors, that there’ll be quite a few people present, and that he also needs a large quantity of tarp and coveralls because it was likely to make a huge mess.

This is the clincher. You’re absolutely convinced there is no art project, and what’s go through that chipper is more likely to be a human body. Or, given the amount of effort being gone to, and Eddie’s flair for theatrics, probably more than one.

“What size branches?”

He looks at you, confused. “Huh?”

“The, uh, limbs. What size will you be shredding? Some of the smaller models won’t cope with thick trunks.”

He swallows. His eyes meet yours, and he licks his lips. You can’t help but stare at those full, pink… Look away! Just look away!!

He subtly smirks, slowly moves his hands across the counter, and, gently taking hold of one of your hands in his, loops his other finger and thumb around your wrist.

“Um, definitely thicker than this…” - he extends your arm towards him, and moves his other hand slowly up your skin until he gets to your upper arm - “…and maybe a little thicker than this, too.”

You hope he can’t feel the burning sensation that’s erupted up your arm. You know he can’t possibly hear your racing heartbeat or detect the adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins, but you’re acutely aware of both just the same. You briefly ponder whether you’ll need to get a fire extinguisher from aisle 7.

“Umm, how about I show you what we’ve got?”

Composing yourself, barely, you take him to the large garden implements section, explaining that for larger trunks and limbs he may need something towable.

Under the guise of working out whether various models would be suitable, you take the opportunity to dig a little and find out what kind of vehicle he drives. It’s a van, so roomy, practical for carrying a lot of equipment that needs to be kept out of sight. Well, this all tracks.

Also, your brain helpfully suggests, it could potentially be romantic, a private little hideaway where you and he could… No! Stay on topic, you’re at work for god’s sake!

As you debate the various choices you find you’re occasionally leaning into each other, shoulders and elbows lightly bumping, you stealing glances at his chiselled jawline when you think he isn’t looking.

Eddie eventually decides on a mid-size towable model, and as you arrange for it to be delivered to the collection bay he bids you goodnight and disappears out to his van.

‘Art project’, huh? I don’t think so…

You don’t see Eddie for a couple of weeks after that, and you begin to wonder whether he doesn’t like you. Maybe you went too far, did you bore him? Did you frighten him off? Did he feel pressured into buying those gadgets or the expensive wood chipper?

Maybe he’s finally realised you’re a weirdo, like everyone at school eventually did?

Trying to get out of your funk you steel yourself and ask your department manager, Keith, whether he’d seen an odd, metal-looking guy in the store at all.

“Nah, not recently, but someone like that did come in a few weeks back, asking about when you’d be working. Something about your product knowledge helping him with a job, or whatever. I told him your schedule, I hope that’s ok.”

So you haven’t missed him, and maybe he’s not avoiding you. Good, that’s good. Exhibit E: He’s been asking about you?? Oh fu-

You’re startled out of your reverie by the sound of someone slapping two plastic packets down onto the counter.

“Oh, hi Mrs Wheeler, let me ring those up for you…”

On his next visit it’s clear Eddie is restocking his cleaning supplies, and he’s even deigned to use a small trolley this time to transport the heavy and bulky items.

As well as multi-surface cleaner, mops, cloths and some heavy duty gloves, you notice his trolley also contains numerous bottles of chlorine bleach.

“Big clean-up job tonight, huh?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I guess so. I need to leave the place without any trace of the, uh, performance this time.”

“Depends what you need to clean up, I guess. Y’know, chlorine bleach doesn’t necessarily get rid of everything.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it’s fascinating, common misconception by the way. Chlorine bleach gets rid of visible stains, so that’s great if your main concern is aesthetics. But you can still detect haemoglobin, if you have access to the right tools and solutions.”

Eddie looks bath engaged and confused.

“A-heema-whatnow?”

You snicker.

“Haemo-, y’know what, never mind. Blood, basically. So actually, oxygen bleach is your best bet if your biggest concern removing all traces of, let’s say, blood and DNA. Whilst it doesn’t necessarily remove all the marks, it does degrade everything biological to the point where it’s undetectable. At least, with the tests we currently have.”

Eddie leans his elbows on the counter, giving you his full attention, resting his cheeks on his knuckles and pushing his dimpled grin up even further. Emboldened, you talk at length about haemoglobin, DNA degradation, specialist chemical solutions and alternative light sources.

He stays there, rapt, until you come to a natural stop. Just before he straightens up he quietly mumbles, still smiling, “Fucking incredible”.

With a deep breath he returns to the aisles to procure both types of bleach, pays and heads out into the night with a cheery, “Wish me luck!”

The cleanup must’ve gone well, because Eddie’s back a few days later and is making conversation.

“Hey, um, I remember reading once about some guy in England, years ago, who, like, melted people. You ever heard of that?”

You contemplate for a moment.

“Oh, d’you mean the Acid Bath Murderer, John Haigh?”

“Acid bath? Yeah, that sounds familiar.”

“Y’know, that’s actually one of my favourite case studies! It was one of the stories that first got me interested in true crime. 1940s England, dude thought he could get away with it if there was no body. Nope, sorry! When I first heard about it I thought it was really inventive, though he actually took the idea from a French guy who’d already done similar. Makes you wonder how many undiscovered dissolved bodies there might’ve been before and since, huh?”

You wax lyrical for a little while on the relative merits and disadvantages of the dissolving of human bodies in acid, even relating an anecdote about how your lab partner once chose the wrong combination of acid and beaker type, finishing with, “Hoo-boy, that was a mess!”

You become a little awkward, aware of how long you’ve been talking and the possibly-disturbingly-creepy level of detail you’ve gone into, though Eddie doesn’t seem to mind and presents somewhat like he’s paying attention in a chem class. Regardless, you decide to change the subject.

“I meant to ask last time, how did that wood chipping project go?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, really good, thanks. Y’know that advice you gave me about the chipper came in real handy. It was quite the show!” He looks gleefully at you, flashing that brilliant smile. A few small fireworks quietly explode in your innards.

“I’m so glad! Did the client like it?”

“Oh yeah, baby, they were thrilled!”

Baby. That’s new. You like it, and you add it to your growing mental filing system labelled ‘Evidence that Eddie might like me’. You can’t even remember what letter you’re up to now, you’re just enjoying stuffing it fuller every time he graces you with another morsel.

“They even gave me a nice bonus, for my ‘theatricality’.” He begins to lift his arms, but stops himself, resisting doing the jazz hands things again, reasoning there’s only so many times he can do an impersonation of a court jester before it puts someone off. “Said they’re gonna recommend me to their buddies too.”

More softly, and a little bashful, looking through his lashes he adds, “Kinda wish you could’ve been there, actually.”

Oh my, is he blushing again?

“Yeah, me too. I’d love to see you work sometime…”

“You would?”

Okay, he’s definitely blushing.

He leans in over your counter, close, so he can say in a low voice,

“Uh, just so we’re on the same page, you know what I do has nothing to do with art projects, right?”

Holding his gaze, and with your voice surprisingly steady, you swallow before confirming, “Yes, Eddie. I know.”

He huffs out a stuttering breath, and the air between you seems to heat.

He lifts one hand and rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“Hey listen, uh, I dunno if this is a little too forward, or weird, or y’know, whatever,” He’s rambling now. It’s adorable.

“I was kinda gonna ask you if you wanted to get milkshakes sometime, but, uh, maybe you’d actually wanna come out on a job with me? I’ve got one coming up on Sunday that I could really use an extra pair of hands on. I could pay you of course, y’know, for your time.”

You want to blurt out that, for him, you’d willingly burn the world and everyone in it for free. Instead, you smile wide, and settle for,

“Well, my tutors are always encouraging us to get real world experience…”

“Great, so I’ll pick you up at the end of your shift?”

“Sure, Eddie. I’ll look forward to it.”

You’re both grinning, stuttering messes.

“Great! Great. Uh, okay then, I guess I’ll see you Sunday?”

As he turns to leave, you stop him with one final question.

“Just one more thing Eddie. Should I bring my own coveralls..?”

If you got this far, thanks so much for reading!!

Comments and reblogs make my world spin, do let me know what you think.

#eddie munson #stranger things #Halloween #Halloween fic #Halloween Eddie Munson fic #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x you #dark fic #Halloween fic prompts #hardware store fic #Catt writes #my writing #my first long fic pls be kind #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson x gn!reader #Halloween fluff #forensics fic #writing prompt challenge #stranger #hello stranger #mob cleaner fic #mob cleaner!Eddie Munson #gn!reader #niche fic #weird and owning it #some of these things are true #Halloween writing prompt #dark!Eddie Munson

[cattatonically]

Want You Bad - Day 5

This is part of a series for #sterekvalentineweek - I would suggest reading them in order.

What you can generally expect - hilarity, chaos, mishaps, slow burn, strong language, and vague descriptions of some minor criminal activity.

I hope you have as much fun on this adventure as I did!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4

It was Stiles’ usual night out with his friends. They were at their usual bar, and, of course, discussing his latest case - or, as many of the details that he could legally share.

Danny was laughing at his anecdotes, and adding his own. Erica and Boyd were snuggled up and being snarky. Isaac was making quips at Stiles’ expense. Jackson was reminding, for the millionth time, that he would absolutely not bail Stiles out of jail. Peter and Kira were commiserating about Stiles being their biggest headache, and the drinks were flowing freely. All in all, Stiles was having a really great night!

And really, he could only blame the six beers he’d had for what happened next. And the fact that he had not been thinking at all in that moment.

One minute, he was laughing at something Isaac had said, leaning into Danny for support, and the next, his vision had honed in on Derek and Jordan standing at the bar, laughing to themselves.

It looked like Jordan had his hand on Derek’s arm. They were standing way too close to each other for Stiles’ liking. And then, Stiles was standing from his table, and walking right on over to them.

Sliding right in next to Derek, before Stiles could even realize what he was doing, he leaned up and licked Derek right across the cheek. Then, he turned and stared Jordan down. And Jordan? Well. He just burst out laughing. And that’s when it all hit Stiles.

“Uh…” he said eloquently.

“What the hell?” Derek asked. And all Stiles could do was blink up at him as Derek grabbed a napkin from the bar and wiped his cheek.

“Um. Oops?”

“Oops? Stiles, how the hell is licking me an ‘oops’ situation?” Jordan had calmed his laughter down by now, sort of, and addressed Stiles himself.

“Oh my god, chill out. He’s yours, Stiles. Absolutely yours,” Jordan emphasized, glancing at Derek, who glared right back at Jordan.

“I am not his, Jordan.”

“He licked you. So you’re his,” Jordan said through another fit of giggles. Derek sighed.

“Jordan, you are 35 years old. How are as mature as a 12-year-old?”

“The Stilinski Effect, most likely.”

“Wait,” Stiles said, brain finally coming back online. “Which Stilinski?”

“Yes,” was all Jordan said, with a sombre nod. “Anyway, have a great rest of your night, Stiles.” Then he grabbed the drinks that had been put in front of him, and walked away to a different table, Derek following along.

On slightly shaky legs, Stiles wandered back to his own table, and collapsed next to Danny in a heap.

“Stiles. I know I have given you a lot of flak for how you’ve gone about courting my nephew. But that. That was truly a masterclass in disaster.” Peter was grinning at him like the cat that caught the canary. All Stiles could do was sigh as the others burst out laughing.

#sterekvalentineweek2023 #Teen Wolf #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Stiles is a bit of a disaster #But everyone loves him anyway #Slow burn #sterek is endgame #Catt writes

[azoosepted]

slamming my hear on the fucking table auh

the song fit them too well bruh.

#project moon #wonderlab #catt #catt wonderlab #pm fanart #vocaloid redraw #the song is Suishitai wa Koi Shitai by LonePi btw. it slaps go listen to it #it just. augh. #at first i was gonna draw ishmael with this but i thought “it doesnt fit her that well” #so then i thought “maybe marina then?” and my brain went “nah” #and then i thought about it for a moment #remembered the little mermaid abno in wonderlab #remembered catt’s ENTIRE arc about their relationships with taii and rose #and it clicked #and i ended up covering half of the aggie.io page (sorry kel) #Also writing the lyrics was hell who the FUCK thought kanji was a good idea

[gilsart]

henri de catt, fredersdorf and keith!! just for the fun of it

#henri de catt #michael gabriel fredersdorf #peter karl christoph von keith #my art #artists on tumblr #prussian history #school project #fredersdorf's crimes include m*rder and being too pretty #keith's crimes include treason #disclosure of personal infos regarding the king's health and overall bearing with fritz #de catt's only crime is writing books i can't afford

[riftdancing]

“By the gales, do my eyes deceive me or did the rat just drag in the Caracal?” A hushed voice whispered through opposite cell bars. Bated breath caught in the highlander woman’s chest as her rosy tanned cheeks pressed against the cool metal bars straining to get a better look at the ex-soldier who had been deposited roughly upon unforgiving metal floors like a sack of popotoes. Vaniro’s body was weak and her limbs limp, save for the slow fetal curl inwards as she willed herself to persist through the pain with an outward groan. “You look like shit, Nabel.” The cat hadn’t even so much as glanced in the Highlander’s direction as she spat some of her own blood across the cold steel floor. A greeting between sky pirates was a greeting nonetheless, no matter how sour. A cheeky laugh belonging to the playful highlander woman echoed in her direction from the cell next to her. “Aw, thanks puddin’. You’re as radiant as ever. They give you that shiner as a welcoming gift?” “Piss off.” Vaniro growled as the soldier turned prisoner pushed herself to her feet. She swayed uneasily as she began to find her footing. “Ooo, she’s eloquent too. Did they teach you that in finishing school, Love?” Nabel heckled her, genuinely happy to see a familiar face in such an unpleasant circumstance. Perhaps one she could consider an ally too. Gently, the woman brushed a brown curl out of her easy golden eyes. “It's good to see you.” The roughed up feline rolled one shoulder, giving the woman no more than a grunt in response as her shoulder gave a sickening crack of protest. “Have you been here long, Nabel?” The sentiment was not returned. “Long enough to watch them drag your sorry ass in, Vaniro.” Fight fire with fire, they say. “You can call me Gabby, you know.” “Tch.” Social interaction was already wearing on the introverted feline and the click of her tongue was enough to signal the end of conversation. Vaniro fell quiet as she collected herself, smoothed out her unkempt uniform, and turned that piercing gaze upon the cell which now contained her. There wasn’t a lot to it, not that it surprised her. Garlemald had a way about simplicities, in that the cell was just barely complex enough to sustain life and nothing more. An uncomfortable cot against the back wall, a shitter in the corner, and what might be a sink on the back side of it. Beyond that? Nothing.

“Man the last time I saw you I was watching the back end of the Elemental high tailing it over Skatay Range.” Gabby mused whimsically, reminiscing about Blink’s past as the soldier in question began looking for any weakness to her cage. “Successful run too.” Vaniro’s words came faintly, distracted, as she rattled cell bars seeing if there was any give. There wasn’t. In the cell next to her Gabby kicked her boots up against the wall getting settled upon her own uncomfortable cot as she indulged in the past. “Legendary I’ve heard.” “Tall tales.” Vaniro was quick to put the rumor to rest. “The gales that high should have ripped her to shreds, but I hear you got her out in one piece…” Vaniro froze, her body tensing as she ground pearly fangs against one another due to the unpleasant memory. “With weeks worth of repairs to boot.” It was her fault. The ship had barely made it over the ridge. But they had made it out. “Won’t you take a compliment, Captain?” Nabel purred with mirth. “I’m not your Captain.” Vaniro quipped heartlessly. “Nooo, of course not. You’re a soldier now aren’t ya? Joined up with the Empire, big ‘n bad. Really showed us.” A pause as Nabel’s playful nature decayed into disgust, causing her petite brow to twitch. Or was it disappointment? It was hard for Vaniro to discern. It brought the determined woman to a full stop. “If I’m an Imperial soldier then why the fuck would I be in here with you?” Heterochromic eyes locked onto the Highlander finally as Blink awaited her answer callously. “…Yeah, so what’d you do to piss ‘em off?” Gabby chuckled curiously. Silence filled the stale air between them for a moment before a small smirk cracked at the corner of Vaniro’s upturning lips. “Defected.” “Your luck run out then?” “If I blame everything on luck, I’ll never change anything.” “That’s some shit luck then, Mate.” Vaniro's ears pinned before she took a pointed step towards the bars which separated both the women. “You want out of here or not?” “Does a caged bird yearn to fly?” the Highlander ruminated. “Then get your ass up off that cot ‘n come help me.” Gabby immediately leapt to her feet. “Yes, Captain!” “I’m not your Captain.”

#riftdancing - screenshots #character - blink vaniro #gposers #ffxivsnaps #ff14 #miqo'te #ffxiv #riftdancing - writing #I was left alone with my keyboard at midnight #this is what happens when you leave me alone with my keyboard at midnight #never leave me alone at midnight with my keyboard #Also; I KNOW she can fit through the bars in the screencaps #Lord help me if I could make the gaps smaller I would but Blink is a tiny Catte living in a Roe sized world. :')

[disastrouslyyours]

one day ill be really brave and start posting abt my OCs

#i love them a lot they make my brain so happy #i am just SHY!!! #surprising coming from someone who shamelessly posts the fics i write #but idk this is different??? #catt scratches

[princekirijo]

I'm designing Riku's SEES battle outfit for the CATT AU and the actual reason for his coat being a longer version of the regular SEES battle coat is that I want to keep his silhouette similar to his Phantom Thief outfit (his thief outfit has a long leather jacket). However the in-lore reason is kinda funny to think about because there is literally no other reason for him wanting to extend the jacket length other than "I will look way cooler trust me". And somehow he gets the scientists who designed the suits to agree.

#oc tag #catt au #riku kirijo #i think im gonna try come up with a specific tag for him for posts like these #trying to avoid these showing up in any main tags because i would be embarrrased #ANYWAY its just funny to me #'fuck practicality i want to look like the baddest mf when im fighting' #im still making adjustments but im kinda cooking #totally inspired by tulin showing me his katsuro look <3 ty bro #yeah his regular thief look he has a full leather jacket that goes down past his knees #but its not too long because i dont want it to look like jokers u know #its actually inspired by a jacket i saw on pinterest combined with. a character i am a lil obseesed with #two actually now i think of it #and then ye i carried across those elements to this design too #riku i need to be the coolest looking guy in this depressing ass tower kirijo #sees has... mixed reactions to his shenanigans #ive been thinking about catt quite a bit lately #probably because i am writing out tartarus dialogue for it... for fun... 1.3k words and i just started on block 3 💀 #its good though im refreshing my memory on all of sees so i can get fresh ideas

[autumnslance]

Roevember 2022 #4: Desert

"Oh c'mon Dark it's not that bad it's actually a really nice day!"

"It's sweltering and I'm doing just fine in the shade, thanks. We can wait 'til dusk."

"You just can't handle this much sky without a single tree around can you?"

"Nope. You can go play in the sand and sun all you like; I'm staying in the oasis until it's a reasonable temperature."

#Final Fantasy XIV #Thanalan #Roegadyn #Hellsguard #Miqo'te #FemRoe #Roegadame #Dark Autumn #C'oretta Khell #Lyn Edits #Lyn Writing #Desert Catte vs Forest Roe #Don't expect these on schedule or on time #RoevemberXIV

[enavant]

venue work made me feel awful so i’m just gonna go lay down n cry the rest of the day lol i’ll try to write more later or tomorrow i’m sorry :’(

#━━ ❥ out of character » #[ working there makes me hate myself sm lol but i need gil damn ] #[ rip in pieces my uglee catte lmao ] #[ i’m gonna chill then try to write the cute kisses i owe n try to get some serotoniiiin help ]

[sae-mian]

🌹

thank you for the 🌹!!!!

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

There was a hearty thunk, as their aetherial arrow was embedded in the hard wood of the door.

“That’s new. Wasn’t it a staff, last time…?”

The familiar voice, albeit quiet and mumbling, bid them lower their weapon.

“...It was a cane, actually.”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

#another ballad snippet >:D #catte nira'sae finally gets to shoot something and the arrow just goes right through :( #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #ffxiv oc #nira'sae #ask meme #ask answered

[mrsjellymunson]

Hello! 👋

Hi, hello, I’m Kittie and I’m obsessed with Stranger Things, plus other weird and bizarre TV and films. Welcome to my Masterlist! (Yes, I’m finally calling it that 😆). I’m married to Eddie Munson and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind. I write for Eddie Munson (x fem! or gn!reader) and sometimes Steddie, and a single Joe Quinn RPF has made it in here somehow. I hope to write for other characters at some point, and already have ideas for Mr Clarke and some of the girls.

I’m new to fandom (and old, in Tumblr terms at least), so I might get things wrong while I find my feet so please be kind. I’m new to writing but am enjoying myself immensely. I’d love to be friends so please feel free to message or ‘ask’ 😊

🔞🔞 Important: I post and share mature and dark content; DO NOT interact with my blog if you’re under 18 🔞🔞 I block blank, ageless and inactive blogs so if you want to follow me please put something in your bio, including your age/age range.

If you’d like to be on my ‘everything taglist’, or for anything specific, just drop me a comment, ask or message 😊

Content key:

💗Fluff ❤️Mature themes ❤️‍🔥Smut 🖤Dark themes 🌟Most popular 👌Personal favourite

MASTERLIST 👇👇👇👇

EDDIE MUNSON:

SERIES:

KNOCK AT THE CABIN (Eddie Munson x fem!reader, post-S4) Prologue❤️🖤 Part One (coming soon) ❤️🖤 Part Two❤️🖤💗 Part Three❤️🖤💗❤️‍🔥

THE BIOLOGY TUTOR (Eddie Munson x fem!reader) Lesson 1: Female Anatomy ❤️❤️‍🔥🌟 Lesson 2: Male Anatomy 💗❤️‍🔥👌 Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills❤️❤️‍🔥 Extra Credits 02: French💗❤️ Lesson 3: Human Reproduction💗❤️‍🔥 Extra Credits 03: Latin 💗❤️‍🔥 Extra Credits 04: Social Studies❤️💗

Oneshots, 5+1’s, short fics, drabs (newest first):

That Was You? 💗 (Eddie Munson x fem! or gn!reader) 1.6k. A meet cute in a record store.

Take Care of Me 🖤❤️💗 (Eddie Munson x fem!reader) 7.4k. Eddie rescues you after a disastrous date REQUESTED

The Boy Is Mine, Kittie’s edition: an Eddie Munson community-building writing exercise 💗❤️ (Eddie Munson x fem!reader) 1.6k. A romantic night in at the trailer, using prop & dialogue prompts

Candyman, Candyman, Candyman 💗 (Eddie Munson x fem! or gn!reader) ~2.1k. A Valentine’s 5+1: Five times you get to give Eddie a kiss, and one time he kisses you back

S.A.N.T.A. BABY 💗❤️‍🔥👌 (Eddie Munson x fem!reader) ~10k. A festive 5+1: Five times you embarrass yourself in front of Eddie, and one time you don’t…

Hello, Stranger 💗❤️🖤 (Eddie Munson x gn!reader) 6.2k. A stranger buys weird stuff at odd times, and as the cashier at the local hardware store you’re not sure what to make of it…

Thinking About Dom!Eddie’s Thighs ❤️❤️‍🔥👌 (Eddie Munson x gn!reader)

Something To Crow About 💗❤️👌 (Eddie Munson x gn!reader) Eddie dresses as Eric Draven.

Leaving Hawkins? Come Again Soon! ❤️❤️‍🔥 (Eddie Munson x Patrick Verona x fem!reader). Eddie and Patrick make your last night in Hawkins a memorable one (coming soon)

JOSEPH QUINN:

Happy Halloween, Love ❤️❤️‍🔥🖤 (Joseph Quinn x fem!reader, RPF) wc: ~4.4k. Joe raids the costume department at work and conspires to make this Halloween your most memorable yet

STEDDIE:

Ficlets/minifics written for a one word prompt and to a word count (newest first):

Turning P!nk💗

Fool Me💗❤️

‘It’s My Birthday!’💗❤️

Pin Me❤️

The Edge of Insanity❤️❤️‍🔥

Fill Me (dom!Steve)❤️‍🔥

Fill Me (dom!Eddie)❤️‍🔥

Filler ❤️🌟👌

Play Me💗

What’s His Name Again?💗

Find Me ❤️🖤

Teach Me❤️❤️‍🔥👌

Steve’s Keychain💗

Mud Cakes & Pancakes💗

Special Treatment v2❤️

Special Treatment v1❤️

Fic recs (coming soon)

I’m still fairly new, but I already understand that comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of this site. Please support each other and share the creativity! 😘

#catt writes #kittie writes #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #steddie smut #stranger things fanfic #Eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson x gn!reader #joseph quinn #Joseph quinn x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #steddie fluff #eddie x you #Eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic writers

[cattatonically]

Want You Bad - Day 2

This is part of a series for #sterekvalentineweek - I would suggest reading them in order.

What you can generally expect - hilarity, chaos, mishaps, slow burn, strong language, and vague descriptions of some minor criminal activity.

I hope you have as much fun on this adventure as I did!

Day 1

Every few days or so, Stiles and Kira made a point to visit his dad at the station, and bring him lunch. His dad had long since given up telling Stiles he didn’t have to. And Stiles knew he appreciated the company. So it wasn’t unusual for them to sit in the Sheriff’s office with the door open, chatting, eating, and generally Stiles trying to overhear what was going on with the other deputies.

“Don’t you get any ideas, son.” Noah had put his sandwich down - a delicious grilled salmon affair that Kira had made - and watched his son balance on the back feet of his chair warily. Slowly, Stiles lowered himself back down to ground level.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. So you weren’t just eavesdropping on Parrish, trying to catch a lead?”

“Um.”

“Stiles. You are not smooth. Quit while you’re ahead.” Kira smiled her sunshine smile at him, but he could hear the teasing underneath.

“You marrying Peter is the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Stiles grumbled.

They continued to eat their lunch in comfortable silence, when a commotion suddenly occurred near where Jordan and Derek had their desks. And then, in Derek walked, grimacing, covered heard to toe in… Something. Unable to resist, Stiles got out of his chair, and leaned against the door frame of his father’s office.

“What happened to you?” Stiles asked, nodding at Derek’s general, well, ick factor. Faintly, he heard his dad grumble and Kira snort a laugh behind him.

The amusement died as soon as it started because what followed shortly after Derek’s arrival was the stench. An absolutely disgusting, appalling, dreadful stench.

With a glare, Derek turned and looked at Stiles, who was now delicately covering his nose with his sleeve. Through gritted teeth, Derek answered Stiles’ question with: “Goats.”

“Goats? Goats happened to you?” Stiles lowered his arm, intrigued.

Before Derek could respond to that, Jordan cut in, not even trying to hide his amusement at the situation. “That’s what the noise complaint was about?”

“Yes. I followed up on a noise complaint because a herd of goats were in distress. Goats that should not have been anywhere near the Preserve in the first place, and definitely should not have been in distress.” Jordan sat back down, and openly laughed, making Derek growl deep in his throat. Fuck, Stiles liked that sound.

“So. That happened because of… goats.”

“Yes, Stiles. Goats. Goats who eat everything and then proceed to expel said everything everywhere, where it is easy to step in, and slip.”

“Oh my god, you got attacked by goats.” Derek turned away from him, and shuddered.

“Fucking. Goats.”

“I mean. Were the goats doing the fucking, or were they being fucked? Inquiring minds need to know.” Derek paused in collecting his things just long enough to turn to Stiles again and give him another withering glare.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Do you want an itemized list? I think Kira keeps one on our cloud.”

“Or, Deputy Hale, you can take the rest of the day and go home. I believe getting the, uh, goat off of you would do us all wonders.” Noah clapped a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and walked by him on his way out of the office.

“Yeah. I’m gonna do that. Thanks, Sheriff.”

“Don’t thank me yet, son. You still have to file the report on the, uh, illegal goat operations.” Derek groaned again, but didn’t argue on his way out.

Stiles watched him go for as long as he could before turning back into his father’s office and sighing.

“So. I keep a list of your flaws on our cloud?” Stile blinked at Kira, who was giving him that look that he knew meant trouble for him later on.

“I mean. Don’t you?”

“Me? No, I would never. I think Peter might, though. Should I ask him?” She pulled out her phone, wedding ring glinting in the mid-afternoon sunlight coming in from the windows.

Yup. Kira marrying Peter was definitely the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

#sterekvalentineweek2023 #Teen Wolf #Stiles Stilinski #Noah Stilinski #Derek Hale #Jordan Parrish #Kira Yukimura #Slow burn #Stiles is a bit of a disaster #sterek is endgame #Catt writes

[notsuchasecret]

tricksies and treatsies - AtsuHina

Come trick or treating in my inbox! Leave a “Trick or Treat” and a character or ship in an ask, and I’ll treat you to some autumn-themed fluff or trick you with some twisted spooky aus! Treat

A bonfire seemed like a great idea on the last night of a MSBY camping trip. Meian had a stick in his hands, poking at the flames in that way that dads do, swatting at Inunaki’s hands when he tried to do the same. Bokuto had brought along a guitar and Adriah was plucking out some English song on it while Barnes hummed along. Even Sakusa was there, looking relaxed as he ever did.

But Atsumu only had eyes for one teammate.

It wasn’t anything new. Osamu had teased him for years about his stupid crush on the little orange-haired crow, teasing that had turned into incredulous, wheezing laughter when Atsumu had mentioned him among the new recruits back in 2018. Bokuto had noticed right away, and Sakusa not long after. The only two mercies in Atsumu’s life were that Inunaki had not yet noticed, and that neither had Hinata himself.

But now, watching Hinata, seeing the way the slowly-dying flames lit his face in softer shades than usual, watching the way his smile was just a tad sleepy and slow, Atsumu let himself wish that Hinata would notice. Because at least then Atsumu could know definitively, and could move on with his life.

Hinata’s eyes caught Atsumu’s, and he smiled such a soft smile that Atsumu’s entire soul ached with its longing. He dragged his eyes away, looking at the fire instead and trying to ignore the quiet scoff from beside him.

“This is just sad, Miya.” Sakusa’s voice was quiet enough that no one else picked out the words. Atsumu shook his head.

“Ya think I don’t know that, Omi-kun?” he hissed.

“The saddest part of it all is that you keep looking away,” Sakusa continued, because he loved watching Atsumu suffer. Bastard. “Maybe next time, keep watching.” Atsumu looked up at him, confused, and he shrugged. “You might be surprised what you see.”

With that, Sakusa stood, ignoring the team’s goodnights and trudging off to his own tent.

One by one, the other players split off as well, until with a final check-in from Meian, Atsumu was alone by the barely-cold ashes. He tipped his head back with a sigh, thinking of how few stars he could see in Osaka, trying to remember when the last time he’d visited home had been, holding off a daydream about seeing those Hyogo stars with—

“Tsumu-san, what are you doing out here by yourself?”

Atsumu let his head turn lazily, enough to hide the way his heart jumped and started hammering in his chest. He smirked at Hinata, then turned back skyward.

“Nothin’ much, Shouyou-kun. Just thinkin’.”

“About what?”

To Atsumu’s surprise, Hinata lowered himself onto the log next to Atsumu, letting their sides press together. Probably just for warmth, Atsumu told himself firmly. With the fire dead, the mountain air was a nippy enough to allow for huddling. Atsumu hummed, shrugging. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hinata look up as well.

“In high school, I used to wake up when it was still dark out, to bike over the mountain to get to Karasuno.” Hinata’s voice was soft, dream-like, almost. Atsumu turned away from the gaseous bodies above them to look at the star sitting next to him instead, and waited. Keep watching, he told himself, letting himself wonder if maybe Sakusa was on to something.  Hinata was smiling. “There were always so many stars on those bike rides,” he said. “When I moved to Rio, I’d still see them sometimes, but not as often. And of course, there’s so much light pollution in Osaka…” Hinata sighed. “I miss it sometimes.”

“Samu and I used ta go campin’ with our uncle at the end of every summer,” Atsumu said. “A lot like this, actually. He owned land on the far side of Kobe. Actually, not that far away from where my old senpai has his farm now.” Hinata looked at him, and something about the night, about the starlight washing out the color in Hinata’s hair but dancing in his eyes, about the chill in the air that wasn’t actually enough to justify how close they were sitting, about the lingering scent of campfire smoke clinging to their clothes, something made Atsumu want to be brave. And then Hinata smiled, moving the arm squished between them until his hand could snag Atsumu’s where it hung from his knee. He looked back up at Atsumu, still smiling, and squeezed.

“You should take me there sometime,” he said, and it sounded to Atsumu like he was really saying something else. Atsumu nodded.

“I’ll show ya all the places I knew as a kid,” he said, and he knew that Hinata could tell he was saying something else as well. Hinata’s smile softened for just a moment, then he turned back to the heavens and leaned against Atsumu’s shoulder.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sunrise in the mountains,” he murmured. Atsumu knew that wasn’t true, that Hinata had been up before dawn just that morning, and that he had risen early when living in Brazil, too. But rather than point any of that out, he simply rested his cheek on top of Hinata’s head and closed his eyes.

“Let’s stay up, then, and watch it together.”

#hq #Haikyuu!! #AtsuHina #Wordly Stuff #Trick or Treat #JT1M #JT1M Ficlets #Sunshine Crow #for those of you who haven't had to play witness: I've been fucking obsessing over Atsumu lately #And by lately I mean for the past ten?? eleven??? months #Something like that #Anyway Catt has definitely had to play witness and well. Here you go. #This is the first actual indulgence I've given myself in writing my newest son #And good luck to you friends cause I think the floodgates just opened lmao #The Literal Love of My Life

[le-roi-des-bulgares]

Catt... have you been reading Voltaire?

idk why i wrote something this long

Im re(re)reading Voltaire memoirs and suddenly realised... damn, Catt’s probably been reading it before/while writing his own.

It’s not too surprising as I imagine almost everyone read the memoirs after it came out, but it never occured to me that Voltaire’s memoirs can actually serve as a source material for Catt.

The passages about Fritz’s 1730 escape just have too obvious similarities, in rhythm of some parts of the story, in details given, even in usage of specific words:

----

Voltaire: Le prince, lassé de toutes les attentions que son père avait pour lui, résolut un beau matin, en 1730, de s’enfuir, sans bien savoir encore s’il irait en Angleterre ou en France. L’économie paternelle ne le mettait pas à portée de voyager comme le fils d’un fermier général ou d’un marchand anglais. Il emprunta quelques centaines de ducats.

Catt: “...tout cela me fit prendre, il est vrai, en grand étourdi, le parti violent de quitter la maison paternelle; mais, ô diable, savais-je où je voulais aller? [...] J’empruntai quelques centaines de ducats, car, grâces à l'économie de mon père, je n'avais souvent pas le sou en poche.”

Voltaire: Le prince était depuis quelques semaines dans son château de Custrin, lorsqu’un vieil officier, suivi de quatre grenadiers, entra dans sa chambre, fondant en larmes. Frédéric ne douta pas qu’on ne vînt lui couper le cou. Mais l’officier, toujours pleurant, le fit prendre par les quatre grenadiers qui le placèrent à la fenêtre, et qui lui tinrent la tête, tandis qu’on coupait celle de son ami Kat sur un échafaud dressé immédiatement sous la croisée. Il tendit la main à Kat, et s’évanouit. Le père était présent à ce spectacle [...].

Catt: « ... un matin, un vieux officier entra chez moi, avec plusieurs grenadiers, tous fondant en larmes. ‹ Ah mon Prince, mon cher, mon pauvre Prince. › disait l'officier, en sanglotant, ‹ mon bon Prince. › Je crus certes qu'on allait me couper la tête. ‹ Eh bien parlez, dois-je mourir? je suis tout prêt que les barbares m’expédient, et vite. › — ‹ Non, mon cher Prince, non, vous ne mourrez pas, mais permettez que ces grenadiers vous conduisent à la fenêtre, et vous tiennent là. › « Ils me tinrent en effet la tête, pour que je visse ce qui allait se passer, Bon Dieu, quel spectacle terrible, mon cher, mon cher mon fidèle Katte, qu'on allait executer sous ma fenêtre, je voulus tendre la main à mon ami, on me la repoussait. ‹ Ah Katte. › m'écriai-je; je m'évanouis, et je trompai la barbarie de ceux qui me forçaient à voir ce cruel et ce barbare spectacle. »

----

The similarity is striking. This IMO can be explained as either: 1) Voltaire and Catt had the same source, be it Frederick himself, or contemporary newspapers & other publications, or, out of sheer chance, from some other person residing in Berlin. 2) Catt read it from Voltaire, who in turn heard from another person, which could be Wilhelmine as well as others.

Can it be that Frederick actually told the story to both of them? 

In Voltaire’s case, he and Émilie had already known a vague version of the 1730 events before knowing Frederick personally. F then (as far as i recall) only mentioned in his letter that “he already experienced one shipwreck in his life” (not pointing out specific events), therefore he didn’t want Voltaire to come to Prussia while his father was still living. When F became king in 1740, V tried to ask whether his father had shown him any kind of affection and appreciation in his last moments, but F never answered. With nothing on paper, no answer from a previous ‘personal’ question, I’m not sure if Voltaire would be bold enough to ask about Katte and the Küstrin period in person, but well.. it’s not impossible. (I’ve not read their complete letters from 1743 to 1749 though so I might have missed stuff...)

In Catt’s case, his diaries do not record any coherent story about Fritz’s imprisonment. There’s only Fritz, in moments of desperation, bursted out some comments about how unhappy his whole life has been, that of course includes Küstrin. After the battle of Maxen (late November 1759, a whole Prussian corps was captured when he was confident that he had already won the control of the area), F all of a sudden started saying how, in Küstrin, his only support was theology books that he read as a kid, how he was fed everyday with a plate sent through his cell door. This last comment is incorporated into the large chunk at the beginning of the memoirs, which we quoted from. The other is written into the same time it actually happened (like 200 pages in). In his 1759 diaries, while Fritz was away, Catt had also recorded some anecdotes he heard from other people in the army, which he also put into that large chunk.

So, it’s probably not F himself. And if I can speculate, I think Fritz doesn’t really like to talk about this period, especially not on his own initiative. And, when Wilhelmine says that no one dared to talk to him about this, there’s some truth in it.

As for contemporary publications, which I don’t know about, there is certainly a possibility. But for them to take one single news-story or a pamphlet and write two texts that use similar kind of expressions and turn of phrases...?

Moving on - did Voltaire hear it from Wilhelmine? If she had told Voltaire in person, the story was certainly not like how she gives in her own memoirs. Wilhelmine indeed wrote a passage that conveys ‘F believes that he is to be executed’, but is described like this:

Le jour auparavant le général Lepel, gouverneur de la forteresse, et le président Municho conduisirent mon frère dans un appartement, qu’on lui avoit préparé exprès dans l’étage au dessous de celui où il avoit logé. [..] Les rideaux des fenêtres étoient baissés, ce qui l’empêcha de voir d’abord ce qui se passoit au dehors. [...] Alors le général, ayant levé les rideaux lui fit voir un échafaud tout couvert de noir de la hauteur de la fenêtre, qu’on avoit élargie et dont on avoit ôté les grilles; après quoi lui et Municho se retirèrent. Cette vision et l’altération de Municho firent croire à mon frère, qu’on alloit lui prononcer sa sentence de mort, et que ces apprêts se faisoient pour lui, ce qui lui causa une violente agitation. Mr. de Municho et le général Lepel entrèrent dans sa chambre le matin, un moment avant que Katt parût, et tâchèrent de le préparer le mieux qu’ils purent à cette terrible scène. On dit que rien n’égala son désespoir.

* Wilhelmine’s version has been proven to be physically impossible to happen, since there was a short tower in front of the first-floor window at the time, and other accounts tell that Katte was escorted to a nearby battery.

----

Of course, no matter how & where he learned this, Voltaire must have retouched the story to make it effective in his own text. His version is deliberately cold, sometimes even told with a trace of black humor. While Catt, telling basically the same story, makes use of the first-person perspective to make the scene as sentimental as possible. This large chunk about Fritz’s childhood and 1730 makes me depressed everytime I read it );

* * *

Bonus - two more evidences that scream “Catt did incorporate Voltaire’s memoirs into his own”:

There is a rare and weird reference that appears in V as well as in dC. V: ... il n’y avait aucun art qu’il ne cultivât, et il n’eût pas essuyé chez les Grecs la mortification qu’eut Épaminondas d’avouer qu’il ne savait pas la musique. dC: « Vous voyez, mon cher, que chez les Grecs je n'aurais pas eu, comme l'eut Epaminondas, la mortification d'avouer que je ne savais pas la musique. » This is taken from Plutarch’s The Life of Themistocles: “... he was forced to defend himself rather rudely, saying that tuning the lyre and handling the harp were no accomplishments of his, but rather taking in hand a city that was small and inglorious and making it glorious and great. “ [x] Epaminondas actually dances and plays the flute(!) pretty well, according to Cornelius Nepos. I tried to look up if the wrong one they are saying is commonly referenced in the 18th-century, or if it’s a joke in Frederick’s circle, but nothing came up. I could have overlooked something though?? ---

V and dC present the same argument when discussing Frederick’s character and motives. V: Mais il était dans sa nature de faire toujours tout le contraire de ce qu’il disait et de ce qu’il écrivait, non par dissimulation, mais parce qu’il écrivait et parlait avec une espèce d’enthousiasme, et agissait ensuite avec une autre. dC: ... parfois, on [F] parlait avec une espèce d'enthousiasme, et qu'on agissait ensuite avec un autre bien contraire au premier; j'avais déjà fait cette réflexion en comparant ce qu’il me faisait souvent l'honneur de me dire, et ses compositions qu'il me lisait: ces disparates étaient plutôt la suite de cet enthousiasme que d’un manque de franchise.

The contexts are a bit different. Voltaire is saying how Frederick wrote as Crown Prince that France is the biggest enemy for German princes, but now (1741) that shit is going down, he allies himself with the French.

Catt had just written a ‘conversation’ (more like a declaration) in which Fritz, for the first time in the memoirs, talks about how much he wants to abdicate - but now that AuWi is dead he can’t, because his nephew is still a kid. I guess the contradiction is supposed to lie in, how, he says he wants to abdicate, then he never did, not even when FW II’s 35 y/o and 1.9 meters tall. Catt never explained this last part though, so it’s a bit vague. maybe at the time it seemed clearer.

Later in the memoirs, F talks about how when this war is over, he wants to abdicate and go to the Netherlands, but Catt doesn’t believe him. F gets a little offended and asks: Are you doubting my ability to make a resolution? Catt says: I don’t, I just think that when that time comes, you will want to enjoy your glory, and keep the throne you fought for. It’s a more suitable or more natural place to effectively deliver this argument than the first passage IMO.

As someone who has observed Fritz for two decades, and eventually produced such a rich book, Catt couldn't just be blindly following Voltaire’s judgement. instead, he actually agreed with him - to an extent. 

As for Voltaire - I still don’t completely understand where this comes from. The memoirs is constantly saying that Frederick is the ultimate seductress and you guys can’t blame me, an innocent man, for falling for the ultimate seductress. But what he conveys in this line is so ambiguous - is V actively struggling with what the fuck this king is about? Is he even making excuses for him? Or is “enthousiasme” used here because it’s actually better to simply trick others while not committing oneself into the relationship, and worse to genuinely love someone, but that this love is partial, it depends on who’s speaking and acting, the individual or the king?

#long long post #fritztaire #kinda #just writing down my thoughts so they dont fade #Henri de Catt

[writingfromthevoid]

When Dream was really young, he befriended a young boy named Catt. The young boy often blended into the crowds, easily fading into the background, but something about him instantly drew Dream in. 

Catt didn’t go to the training academy, wasn’t one of the lucky ones to actually secure a spot, so he was often lonely. He didn’t really mind it. He didn’t really want to surround himself in large crowds of people, and he valued the time he was able to spend alone. Then, along came a boy who could’ve been the embodiment of summer—Dream. 

Dream and Catt became fast friends, and they often spent their time hand in hand, Dream pulling Catt off on the next adventure, whether that be scaling the walls of buildings or going on a scavenger hunt or anything else. The two were inseparable. Dream had other friends, of course, and he often rambled about his rival and other childhood friend, Technoblade, but it was always Catt and Dream, Dream and Catt. 

Then the 96th Hunger Game occurred. 

They don’t talk about the 96th Hunger Game. 

The only time they ever came close to talking about it was when Dream came to Catt in tears, kneeling in front of him and choking out apologies as he sobbed over and over again until he passed out. 

That was the last time they talked. After that, it was always Catt catching a glimpse of Dream, only to see the blonde turning away. There was always a guilt that lingered in Dream’s chest after the 96th Game, but Catt never blamed Dream for the pit of grief that had made a permanent home in his gut. 

But the guilt was too much, so Catt never got to tell him that. 

If sometimes Catt’s favorite bakery treat will appear on his doorstep when his money’s running a bit low, he doesn’t say anything. He simply takes it with a soft thanks to whoever may be listening. 

#victors au #I'm back #been a while since I've screamed abt this au #so have some writing #dream #tales from the smp #tftsmp #the village that went made #corpse husband #but it's his tales character #catt #dsmp #dsmp au #dream smp #dream smp au #hunger games au #stella's aus #stella's writing

[awlumii]

NAW BUT <33 ZUZU ILYSM and that one mf can go fuck off 🙄 ‘arrogance’ pshhh fuck outta here ur literally humble and thriving I don’t know what the hell they’re on

AND ALSO to that one anon who talked abt the h word ver of the skin writing 👀👀 I see u 👀👀 I love u <3

catte ilyvm and i don't say that often enough 🥺💗

also LMFNSNDNDB i was hoping someone would bring it up after someone brought up the concept LOL

#[ 📭 — incoming! ] #[ 💫 — catte! ] #i should bother u just a lil more bc you're a sweetheart mwah #but i have . i have read that skin writing thing. a lot. A LOT.