#steddie witches au

[disastardly]

WIP Wednesday:

pick up every stitch

He let his mind wander just a bit, let his senses fade out into the surroundings, a hazy set of feelers that made two things very clear, very quick: they were still in the trailer in Forest Hills, and unless someone was insanely competent at masking their aura, it was just the two of them here. Against his brain’s protests that there was nothing to see out there that was worth the coming migraine, nothing that they hadn’t already figured out with magic, Steve risked a peek at the fuller world again, because he just had to be sure.

(make me write!)

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T

Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.

“Since when?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”

“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.

“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.

“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.

“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”

“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”

“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”

“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.

Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”

“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.

“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”

Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”

“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”

“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”

“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”

Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.

Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?

It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?

Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.

He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste. 

“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.

He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.

That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.

Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.

Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home. 

He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.

Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.

He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.

Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.

Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.

The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.

He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression. 

It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.

“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries. 

Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.

Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.

“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly. 

The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”

“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.

Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.

Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.

“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.

She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”

He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”

She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”

He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.

As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.

“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”

He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.

Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.

“I have a date!”

Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.

“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.

He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”

“Steve, the bowl?”

“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”

“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.

The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.

Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”

“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.

“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”

“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”

“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.

He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later. 

As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.

Whatever. 

All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—

Wait..

Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?

Is…

The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.

What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?

That..sounds right....why is that so famili—

Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.

Is he…?

And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.

tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts

also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 18

part 1 | part 17 | ao3

“I’m sorry I’m sorry don’t hate me I’m sorry, did it work? Don’t hate me. Did it work?”

“Dustin,” Steve barks. Dustin looks up, eyes bright; he's hugging Steve so hard it’s like he’s trying to fuse his face to Steve’s rib cage through his shirt. Steve scruffs him on the top of the head, rubbing his knuckles over his dumb baseball cap in a way he hopes is reassuring, and wheezes, “Can’t breathe, bud.” 

The kid takes a hesitant step back, fists still balled in the fabric of Steve’s shirt like he might run away. Mike’s cowering behind him, hunched in on himself and nervously eyeing up the nail bat.

“So you’re... not mad?” Dustin asks.

“Oh, I’m fucking pissed,” Steve smiles sarcastically. “Hope you used that Butterscotch wisely, dude, because it’s the only one you’re getting for the rest of the year. Also, you can kiss your full candy bar trick-or-treating plans goodbye.”

“What? No!” Mike starts to whine, but immediately shuts his mouth when Steve glares at him. Then Eddie swoops in behind them, clapping a hand on both kids’ shoulders and nearly startling Mike out of his skin.

“And, uh, for obvious reasons,” he says in an acidic sing-song, “you’re both banned from Hellfire for the next month.”

“WHAT?” 

Oh, this guy’s good.

“Eddie, what the fuck?!” Mike pleads. “We’re just about to get to the manor’s secret passage!” 

“Yes, and what a shame that your paladin triggered a hidden trap and got stuck in a faulty portal for the next four sessions.” 

“Oh, my god! This is— this is—!” 

“Payback?” Eddie sneers.

Dustin’s eyes are darting rapid fire between the two of them, and he elbows Mike in the ribs and hisses, “Dude, shut up before he kills us both for good!” 

“Oh, my god,” Mike says again, face twisting through all five stages of grief. 

“Oh, also,” Steve adds for his own amusement as he heads toward the stairs, “you two can clean all this camping shit up.” 

—

“You play a good game of Punish the Pipsqueaks,” Steve grins, walking side by side with Eddie. "That D&D ban? Ouch. Keep that up and the moms will start recruiting you for babysitting duty."

“Oh, boy!” Eddie smirks. “My dream finally realized.”

They get back to their cars, and Steve shivers a little, the cold finally getting to him now that he doesn’t have the fight or flight to keep him warm. He unlocks the bimmer and slides into the front seat; cranks up the heat, his hands impatiently hovering in front of the vents. 

Eddie catches the car door. “You’re really not going to punish them more?" he asks, leaning in, head cocked to the side. "I mean, no trick-or-treating sucks and all, but. Seems a little lenient, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it does,” Steve agrees with a short laugh, “but see, the thing is, those two dumbasses are assuming that revenge is a dish best served cold, when actually?" He points at the house. "It’s a dish best served by Claudia Henderson.”

Eddie’s brows lift in question.

“I’m gonna call her tomorrow morning and say I caught them smoking at the bus stop.” 

“Jesus!" Eddie laughs. "That’s diabolical.” 

“And then I’m gonna suggest they do community service at the retirement home on Halloween instead of trick-or-treating, because Dustin’s weirdly afraid of old people.” 

Eddie's laugh turns to a cackle, all his teeth on display, and the car bounces on its wheels as he leans his weight against the door. “Oh, man," he exhales, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Remind me not to get on your bad side.” 

“Pretty sure we’ve only ever been on each other’s bad sides.” Steve’s joking, but Eddie’s smile slips a little, and Steve wants to take it back. Pluck the words from the fog of chilled breath hanging between them; tell him that they're not anymore, that they don't have to be again.

But then Eddie catches the bass line coming from Steve’s speakers and the grin comes back full force. 

“Hold the fuck on," he beams, nodding his head to the beat and hum-mumbling the melody as the words come back to him.

Following the footsteps of a red dawn dance, we are entranced. 

“Spellbound,” he sings, shaking his head in delighted disbelief. “I’m sorry, does Steve Harrington have a Siouxsie tape in his car?”

Steve’s face goes red. Fucking Robin. “If you’re about to talk shit about the music, I— I mean, I’m just the chauffeur, man, I don’t—”

“Relax. It’s not that, I just…” He raps his knuckles against the roof. Gives Steve a once over; smiles softly at whatever he sees.

“What?” Steve asks. Kinda likes how he has to crane his neck to look up at him.

“Nothing," Eddie murmurs, low and deep. "You’re just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Steve shivers again.

It seems to snap Eddie out of... whatever that was. “My bad, man,” he says, his voice back to normal volume. He apologizes for letting in the cold air and slips Steve’s jacket off, handing it back to him and shutting the door with a soft click, then he throws out a parting salute and skips off to his van.

Steve just sits there for a moment, feeling syrupy and dumb. Like there's whiskey in his chest, a full flask of it sloshing around behind his ribs.

His jacket smells like Eddie. Siouxsie croons in his good ear.

Spellbound, spellbound, oh-oh-oh.  

"Jesus Christ," he mutters as he cuts the music off. He drives home in silence, the song still ringing in his ears.

—

part 19

first half of tag list below the cut comment if you want me to add you to the next one

@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

When witches turn eighteen years old, it’s customary for them to be sent out into the world, to practice their magic and find their calling. So when Eddie Munson’s birthday passes in July, he packs a suitcase, says goodbye to his Uncle Wayne—the best garden witch in the tri-county area, ask anyone!—zips his cat into the neck of his leather jacket (whom he’d cleverly named Kitty when he was six years old), climbs on his broom, and sets off for the city on the coast.

Once he gets there, Eddie’s not entirely sure where to go. He’s never actually been to the city before, but he’d heard so many stories—from classmates and friends, from travelers passing through his small town who’d come searching for Wayne’s recipes, from the witches who returned after their year-long apprenticeships—that he’d known since he was thirteen that he had to see it for himself. He wanders the cobblestone streets with his broom and his bag and marvels at the crowds. He watches a magician perform on the street—doesn’t miss it when he slips a card up his sleeve or shifts a coin through his fingers, but it still makes him smile—before he stumbles onto a ‘help wanted’ sign in a shop window. Kitty lets out a tiny meow from where she’s tucked under Eddie’s chin, like she’s trying to get his attention. Eddie glances down at her and she shifts her gaze from his face to the sign and back again.

“Alright, I hear ya,” Eddie murmurs, grinning and cupping a hand over her head for a quick pet.

A tiny bell jingles overhead as Eddie pushes open the front door. Immediately, he’s met with the smell of baking bread and sugary frosting. He breathes deep, giving Kitty another pat on her head. He stands at the counter for a moment before a boy around his age appears from the back room.

“Hi, welcome to The Bakery. What can I help you with?” The boy is grinning wide, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. He’s got soft brown hair and eyes to match. Eddie meets his gaze and feels himself blush.

“Um, you have a ‘help wanted’ sign in your window?” Eddie hooks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the sign.

“Oh! Yeah, we just put that up today actually. We’re looking for a delivery person,” the boy is still grinning, eyeing Eddie’s broom. “I’m Steve.” He holds out his hand over the counter for Eddie to shake.

“Eddie.” Steve’s hand is surprisingly soft when Eddie shakes it.

“The job comes with a room over the bakery, our hours are from 6am to 5pm every day but Thursday, and we’d like you to start immediately.”

“Oh, um. Just like that?”

Steve grins again. “I may not be smart, but even I know not to turn away a witch when one comes knocking.” He knocks his knuckles against the wooden counter and Eddie returns his smile. “Come on, I’ll show you the room.” Steve turns to head back the way he came and Eddie takes a moment to look down at Kitty. She blinks at him, all-knowing, and it makes Eddie blush again. He rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at her before following behind Steve.

He follows Steve out the bakery’s back door and up a set of wooden stairs that lead from the garden to a small deck, where Steve pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks one of the two doors. He gestures for Eddie to step through the doorway before following behind him.

“The room is furnished, there’s a small stove there in the corner with a sink and a washroom just over there,” Steve gestures to a door on the opposite wall from the tiny bed. “My apartment’s the next door over and I have a full kitchen, which you’re welcome to use if you need to. Here’s your key,” Steve drops the warm piece of metal into Eddie’s palm, “and I’ll have the spare key to my place and the bakery for you tomorrow. Make yourself at home and head down to the bakery tomorrow morning.” Steve pats him on the shoulder before heading back out of the tiny room and down into the bakery.

Eddie is left to do nothing but blink at the empty space Steve had left behind. He’s not entirely sure what just happened, but he’s pretty sure he’s landed both a job and a place to stay. Not bad for his first day in the city.

~*~

A year passes and Eddie is happy. He writes to Wayne and tells him all about Steve and the recipes he tries out in the bakery. Tells Wayne that he suspects that Steve might have some witch blood he doesn’t know about; the things he can do with buttercream are pure magic. Eddie visits Wayne once for his birthday—it’s a long way by broom—weighed down by pastries and cakes that Steve insists he take home with him.

Eddie starts to learn the landscape of the city, learns when to fly over the coastline and when to keep tight to the city streets. He makes his own posters, starts to do some deliveries after hours too, which leads him to meet all sorts of interesting people. He meets artists and performers, writers and teachers, even the man who services the big clock at the center of the city (which Eddie finds particularly impressive).

He spends time with Steve. Steve is funny and smart, despite what he’d said the first day Eddie had met him. He can cook, not just bake, and he insists that Eddie joins him for dinner at least three nights a week. At first, Eddie had tried to say no to Steve’s invitations, thinking that Steve was just being polite, but Steve had insisted and Eddie realized that Steve was actually pretty lonely. He wasn’t from the city and he didn’t have much family; he’d come here when his parents had died. He’d apprenticed with an older woman named Claudia, who’d left the bakery to him when she’d retired not too long ago. Steve’s eyes go soft whenever he mentions her. Her son, Dustin, still helps them around the bakery three days a week, counting down the days until he leaves for university (he only ever relays the amount of days and Eddie’s pretty bad at math, but by his count, Dustin’s still got about three years to go).

Steve also talks about his best friend, Robin, who’s away at art school. Steve is hoping when she comes back in the spring, she’ll work at the bakery decorating the cakes. Eddie’s surprised to learn that Robin is also a witch; he hadn’t known many witches to go to art school.

The year passes in dinners and picnics, in deliveries and odd jobs, and when spring is finally turning over into summer again, Robin arrives home to the bakery.

“Stevie!” A voice calls from the front of the shop, scratchy and warm, drowning out the jingle of the bell. Eddie is sat on the counter in the back room, completely entranced by the way Steve’s arm muscles jump under his skin as he kneads bread dough. He’s barely listening to some story Steve’s telling about something Dustin had done the other day.

Eddie watches as Steve stops what he’s doing completely. “Robbie?” A smile spreads across Steve’s face, quick and involuntary. He doesn’t even pause to wipe his hands before he’s rushing into the front of the shop. Eddie watches through the door as a pretty girl with short blond hair throws her arms around Steve’s neck. He lifts her off the ground, spinning her around, leaving flour fingerprints across the back of her navy t-shirt.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?” Steve asks when he’s finally returned her to an upright position on her own two feet.

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, dingus.” She pokes a finger into his ribs and he half-heartedly tries to shove her away.

Watching them, Eddie feels something tighten in his chest that he can’t quite explain. He knows this is Robin—he’s seen pictures of her before—knows she’s Steve’s best friend, but this is more than mere friendship. This is something else entirely. Something magic. Eddie’s a good witch. He knows true love when he sees it.

“You have to meet Eddie,” Steve says before calling through the doorway, “Eddie, come meet Robin!”

Eddie hops off the counter and does as he’s told.

~*~

A few weeks later, Eddie wakes with a pounding headache. There’s a breeze coming through his window off the coast and it makes him shiver. He coughs and looks around for Kitty, but she isn’t curled in her usual spot on his pillow. Eddie sniffles.

He pulls himself from his bed and feels dizzy. He washes his face and drinks some orange juice before he heads down to the bakery.

“Wow, you look awful,” Robin says by way of greeting. She grimaces as he comes through the doorway.

“Gee thanks,” Eddie grumbles half-heartedly in her direction. His voice sounds heavy and hoarse.

Steve crosses the room from where he stands in front of the ovens and presses the back of his hand to Eddie’s forehead. “Eddie, you’re burning up. You should go back to bed. I’ll bring you soup later.” He pushes Eddie in the direction of the back door.

“But the deliveries,” Eddie mumbles, eyes already half closing as he dreams of getting back into his sleep-warm bed.

Steve smiles softly. “Don’t worry. Robin and Dustin can handle it.” Eddie glances behind Steve at Robin, who nods at Eddie reassuringly.

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice is a whisper and then he’s stumbling back up the stairs and falling into his bed. He wonders again where Kitty’s run off to.

~*~

Eddie is in and out of consciousness for three days. He has strange dreams, some of them nightmares where monsters chase after him as he tries to fly away on his broom; others are about Steve and Robin and even Dustin, good dreams of the life he’s made here for himself.

Steve keeps his promise and brings him soup every day, helping Eddie sit up against his pillows and even helping Eddie spoon the broth into his mouth. Eddie thinks he maybe should be a little embarrassed about it, but it’s so nice and comforting that he can’t. It reminds him of home, of recipes from Wayne’s garden.

Robin comes to sit with him on the second night, stroking his hair and humming lullabies while he drifts off.

On the third day, when Eddie is starting to feel better, Kitty finally reappears. Eddie asks her where she’d run off to, but she doesn’t answer. She’s been keeping secrets lately.

~*~

After three days, Eddie finally returns to work. Steve gives him the first delivery, tells him Dustin and Robin can continue to help out, just for a few days, so Eddie doesn’t overexert himself. Eddie nods.

He ties the tiny pastry box to the handle of his broom and mounts it on the sidewalk outside. He kicks off from the cobblestones. Nothing happens. Flying had always come easily to Eddie. It was second nature to him, something he never really had to think about. Not all witches could fly, but Eddie can’t really remember a time when he couldn’t.

He tries to kick off from the sidewalk again. Again, nothing happens. Eddie can feel the panic rise in his chest. He swallows, tries again. Still nothing.

He hears himself let out a small whimper and he’s glad Steve’s gone back inside and can’t hear him. He glances through the shop window and sees Robin’s clever eyes watching him. She meets his gaze. He can see the naked concern there. He swallows again.

He climbs off the broom and unties the package. He carries both as he re-enters the bakery.

“Something’s wrong,” he says to Robin and Steve.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks coming out of the back room again.

“Dunno,” Eddie replies. “Broom’s broken or something. Can’t fly.” He shakes the broom in his hand.

“Does that happen?” Steve’s brow furrows. Eddie shrugs.

“Maybe you’re still sick,” Robin says. “You should go back to bed. Try again in a few days.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Eddie looks down at his feet. He passes the box to Robin and then decides she’s right. Decides he should go back to bed.

“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Steve says, reassuringly. “It’ll pass. Robin and Dustin can keep doing the deliveries for a little while.”

~*~

Eddie’s magic doesn’t come back. It’s not just the flying either. Kitty stays away longer. Eddie finds himself misunderstanding her more often than not. He keeps messing up simple cleaning spells and the easy home remedies he’s been brewing since before he can remember.

He takes his broom out every night and under the cover of darkness tries and tries and tries again. Sometimes he feels eyes watching him from Steve’s apartment, but when he glances up, all he can see is the flutter of curtains.

~*~

After three weeks of a miserable, magic-less existence, Robin knocks on the door of Eddie’s small room.

“Wanna talk?” She asks from the doorway.

Eddie considers saying no. Instead he nods and gestures toward his small kitchen table. She sits.

“I saw you practicing,” she says, diving right in.

“Yeah.” Eddie doesn’t try to deny it or even play dumb and ask what she means. She’s a witch. She’ll know. “Flying used to be like breathing. I didn’t even notice I was doing it half the time. Think I learned to fly before I could even walk. Now it’s all I think about. Feels like something’s missing now, like my lungs or, like, a part of my heart or something.”

Robin nods, knowing. “That happened to me, you know. Lost my magic. Felt like I lost an arm.”

Eddie swallows. “What helped get it back?”

“I met Steve,” she says softly, a fond smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I left home earlier than other witches. I never really fit in. I wanted to go to school. Didn’t know if I even wanted to practice my magic at all. My parents said if I stuck it out, I could leave when I was fourteen. So I did. I waited and counted the days and finally it was time. Spent a year in the city. I loved it. But then, one of my friends… something happened to her.” Robin looks sad and twists her fingers together, fidgeting. “She had to leave the city. When she left, I got really sick. Couldn’t do magic for almost a year.”

“A year?” Eddie asks, mouth hanging open. “I can’t not fly for a whole year.”

Robin hums. “You figure it out. You have to. Some days it’s more noticeable than others.”

“But you met Steve. And you got your magic back?” Eddie prompts.

“Yeah. It’s like that saying, you know the one? ‘True love makes the best magic.’” She says it like she’s said it a hundred thousand times before.

Eddie grumbles. “Don’t think I’m gonna fall in love and magically fix my flying problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t say anything about falling in love.” Robin smiles again, big and bright this time. “There’s more than one kind of true love.”

~*~

Eddie thinks about what Robin had said to him for days. He turns it over in his mind again and again and again.

He starts laying out treats for Kitty. He misses her. Even before he got sick and lost his magic, he’d started to leave her behind more and more on his deliveries. He’d realized he could fly faster without worrying about her falling from inside his jacket.

She’s hesitant, but she starts coming back more. When they sleep, she returns to her place on Eddie’s pillow and Eddie feels good with the soft, warm weight of her next to his head as he slowly drifts into sleep.

Before he’d gotten sick, he’d taken on too many deliveries. He’d stopped having time to chat with the customers, to hear the little stories of their lives, of cleaning the clock tower at the center of town or a new plot point one of the writers had just figured out. He’d missed hearing the explanations of what celebrations he was delivering cupcakes or tarts or heart-shaped cakes for. Delivering on foot gave him a lot more time to stop and watch the street performers, to help tourists with directions. On foot, Eddie began to appreciate the city again, like he had before, when he’d first gotten here. When it felt like he’d been dropped right into the center of a dream realized.

He starts having more dinners with Robin and Steve. He’d stopped doing it so much, not wanting to feel like a wonky third wheel. But they slot him in right next to them, right in the middle. They fill him in on inside jokes and old stories. Sometimes Dustin joins them and Eddie tells stories of Wayne and the strange people who used to appear on their doorstep in search of some of his magic.

Eddie starts to feel happy again.

~*~

A week after he talked to Robin, Eddie brings his broom out into the center of the street. It’s close to dusk, the sun low in the sky, and the bakery is closed for the day. Steve, Robin, and Dustin stand shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, waiting.

Eddie breathes deep. He swallows. Breathes again. And then he mounts his broom like he has a million times before. He grips the polished handle. He feels it thrum beneath his fingertips. He takes another deep breath, closes his eyes, and kicks off from the cobblestones.

There’s a strange sort of hush to the street. Eddie can’t tell if he’s in the air. He squints an eye open and sees Steve, Robin, and Dustin waving up at him. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He lets out a shout.

He does a few circles around, just above their heads, while they all scream and clap for him. Eddie can’t help but laugh. He’d missed this.

When he finally lands, they all rush to hug him. Dustin lets go first and then Steve.

Robin’s arms are still around him when she whispers into his ear, low enough so only he can hear it. “See? True love magic.” Eddie smiles again and gives her one last tight squeeze before letting go.

Dustin and Robin head back inside, leaving Steve and Eddie to stare at each other in the empty street. Steve is still grinning, his hands in his pocket.

“How’s it feel?” Steve nods toward the broom.

“Feels like breathing,” Eddie tells him, closing the space between them. Steve’s cheeks flush and Eddie doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick from Eddie’s gaze down to his lips and back again. Steve licks his own lips. “Feels like home.”

Steve is breathing a little harder now as Eddie continues to slowly close the distance between them.

“Feels like magic,” Eddie whispers, before he brushes his lips against Steve’s. He pulls back slightly. “Feels like love.” Steve’s hand comes up to curl around the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling Eddie in close for a real and proper kiss, right there in the empty street, under the setting sun.

now on ao3 :)

(For @outpastthebrakers for commenting on the post where I mentioned this!!!! Warning: this was fully written under the influence of a sleeping pill in abt an hour and a half. Don’t hold that against me :P)

[strangersatellites]

AU where eddie is a witch but he’s bad at it

(part idk several)

eddie’s practicing his magic and accidentally messes up an ingredient in the potion he’s supposed to be drinking.

he’s testing a short-term truth serum to use as a (mildly unethical) party trick after he was accused of lying during the last round of truth or dare.

he wasn’t. thank you very much.

the potion calls for sage, which eddie proudly knows steve grows in their kitchen window. he loves to cook with fresh herbs.

problem is, steve also grows thyme. and basil. and rosemary.

eddie thinks he knows the difference.

it’s not until he’s finished the potion and tries to tell a lie that he learns of his mistake.

not only does no lie come out of eddie’s mouth, but neither does any sound. at all.

he yells, or tries to, until his lungs give out. their cat, ozzy never even lifts her head.

he tries to sing: nothing.

to whisper: nothing.

to tell an absolute truth: nothing.

he flips through his spell book and finds the potion he accidentally made, one for temporarily quieting a screaming toddler, mind you, and finds that its effects will last only an hour.

he’s pouting on the couch when steve comes back from work.

“hey babe! how was your day?”

crickets and a withering glare.

“oooookay so don’t tell me.” steve puts his hands on his hips and eddie would tease him. you know, if he could.

they have a stare off for a second before eddie sighs. he kicks at the coffee table where his book is still open and taunting him.

steve walks around to look at it and barks out a laugh when he figures it out.

“oh my god you stole your own voice!” he’s wiping tears from his eyes and his shoulders shake with laughter. “what were you even trying to do?”

eddie flips to the page for his original potion, taps at the book and then points and accusatory finger at the kitchen.

steve slims the page before he looks at eddie incredulously.

“baby this calls for sage. the one you made used thyme how did you get those confused? they look nothing alike!”

eddie levels him with a deadpan stare and steve breaks into giggles again.

“maybe i should be the witch. i think i’d be better at it.”

eddie’s too busy rolling his eyes to notice steve picking up his glass and taking a long sip until it’s too late.

his eyes go wide and he smacks steve’s arm with enough force into send steve sputtering.

well, as close as he can get with no sound coming out.

he tries to yell at eddie and is met with nothing.

eddie waves his hands around in what he hopes reads as “yeah, you’d be so much better as a witch than me.”

steve clearly gets it because he rolls his eyes and makes a chatterbox motion with his hand.

they sit in silence for a few seconds before they make eye contact again and it’s over.

it takes the full hour for the potion to wear off before their silent hysteria calms down. even then it’s back as soon as they can hear each other laugh again.

au august day 14: wizards & witches

[safk-art]

I've made Eddie quietly follow Shark!Billy towards Steve near a dock area, he sings a lullaby to him to put him to sleep then Eddie takes advantage of him so he can take his sweet essence to create Siren Steve by giving it to one of his Eels..

8)

view the whole short comic on Patre0n below

v

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[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

fae!steve who, practically the moment he learns what he can do, sets up a trap curse for his parents. if they ever kick him out and disown him, then the second he exits their threshold he'll take all their luck with him. he'd feel bad about cursing his parents, but the point of a trap curse is that it doesn't activate unless the targets of the curse do something to meet its requirements. if his parents were just good people, good parents, then nothing bad will ever happen to them.

but they really can't seem to help themselves. steve guesses he saw this coming.

he tells eddie about it, when eddie comes to pick him and his one allowed box of clothes and shit from the harrington house. eddie'd offered to curse them, 'might as well make good on my whole evil satanist reputation', but steve told him he already had it covered. told him about the trap. he's never seen eddie look so proud and so sad at the same time.

and sure enough, all good luck leaves the harrington household when steve does. a random irs check reveals harrington sr's years of tax fraud, and his business goes bankrupt trying to pay the fines. someone leaks pictures of one of mrs harringtons senior aides on a drug filled bender in the city, ruining both her campaigns squeaky clean image and her chances at reelection in the fall. several of mr harringtons former secretaries sue for sexual harassment, while seemingly every other woman he's ever come in contact with simultaneously sues for child support.

and steve just watches. he's happy now, living with eddie in a small apartment with their cat and the various small woodland creatures eddie keeps trying to sneak in (so far steve's had to kick out three raccoons, a possum, a skunk, two bats, and a coyote. they've all been very understanding when he's explained the situation to them but eddie still acts like a kicked puppy every time he does it). eddie keeps a little shoebox under their bed with newspaper clippings of every terrible thing to befall the mighty harringtons, says it's in case steve ever wants the reminder that he got one over on them in the end. a reminder that steve's happy and they're not.

steve doesn't need it. he feels it, every time the curse does something to them, something clicking in his chest like one of those alarm clocks with the flaps that flip over from one minute to the next. he wonders if it'll ever feel like too much. if he'll ever think they've been punished enough. they've had a rough couple years, it's sort of only a matter of time before something happens that's unlucky enough to injure or kill them.

steve thinks if he was human, maybe he'd care. maybe he'd look at that shoebox with the guilt eddie seems to be half-expecting every time he brings it out. but he's not, so he doesn't. he set the trap, but his 'parents' are the ones who sprung it.

they really should have known better than to cross a changeling.

[bettyfrommars]

Season of the Witch

by @allthingsjoeq & @bettyfrommars

steddie x reader

Blair Witch Project au

Warnings: 18+ONLY, found footage horror, hurt/no comfort, fem!reader who is just a friend, no Vecna, angst, lost in the woods, mentions of witchcraft, paranormal happenings, things that go bump in the night, fear of being stalked, allusions to gore and MCD.  Dead dove do not eat. wc: 13k

If you are familiar with the film The Blair Witch Project, you know some of what to expect. This is a horror fic; it will be scary and unsettling at times, so please take caution if the genre makes you uncomfortable. 

Summary: Three friends find themselves in a small town in Maryland, the home of the Blair Witch, in order for Steve Harrington to film a documentary for his semester project.  In tow are his boyfriend, Eddie Munson, and you, a friend he invited along to be his trusty cameraperson.  Once you are too deep in the woods to find your way back, the myths surrounding the lore of the land begin to take shape, and you realize you might never make it out of there alive.

Much love to @allthingsjoeq for all of the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this, and also for calling it "a Marmite fic". We hope you enjoy this contribution to the October festivities! Much love.

Burkittsville Cemetery, Maryland

“Here we are,” Steve Harrington can’t contain the glimmer of wonder in his eyes, behind wire-rimmed spectacles, as he parks near the overgrown site of the cemetery.  

You look up from fiddling with the camera in the back seat as the tires crunch to a halt, already thinking of where the best spot to get a shot of Steve would be for the documentary he’s working on.  You aren’t as familiar with filming as you should be for being his main cameraperson, but you and Steve had become close friends very quickly, and he practically insisted you be a part of it. 

He was especially fascinated with the town you grew up in called Burkittsville in Maryland.  You knew about Steve’s obsession with the paranormal, and the legends that surrounded certain locations, so you told him about your hometown legend—the Blair Witch. You hadn’t been back since you were a kid, but you watched his face light up when you talked about the lore, and all of the possibilities for filming. 

Although Steve had his camera crew of one sorted, he would and could never travel without his partner in crime and in love, Eddie Munson. The metalhead stands now looking out over the cemetery with his black and white flannel over a Bark at the Moon Ozzy Osbourne concert tee, and his hair tied back in a bandana, being the supportive boyfriend. He clamps a hand on Steve’s shoulder to give it a squeeze. “You got this, big boy. Let’s rock ‘n roll.”

Tall grass yields underfoot as you all make your way around the space, bending down to try and read the crumbling grave markers.  

There is a staggering amount of tiny, decaying gravestones, each dedicated to a child who lost their life to unknown, yet presumably horrifying circumstances.

“Shit,” Steve mutters under his breath.  “There’s a lot of kids here.” You film his profile as he says it, shifting the focus back to get Eddie in the frame, and he shoots his tongue out, putting his forefinger and pinky up to make devil horns. 

Steve does a monologue for the camera.  He’s standing on the hill near one of the taller headstones, and the wind makes his hair unruly.  “Here we are in the town of Burkittsville, formerly Blair. As legend has it, around 1785, a Blair resident named Elly Kedward was accused of practicing witchcraft by several children. The children said that she had dragged them from their homes with the intention of drinking their blood. As you can see, there is an unusually large number of children buried on this hill.”

You film different headstones, making sure to capture the stone angel, and a few of the other statues, to splice into the film while Steve is talking for the final cut.  

Interviews with some of the long-time residents in town are next, and in the car ride down the hill, Eddie holds the camera and turns it on you in the back seat.  You cover your face at first, not wanting to be recorded, but he eases you out of it with some of his playful banter.  “Since we’re interviewing people who grew up here, we should start with you, right? What is your experience with the Blair Witch?”

You’d talked about the stories you’d heard so often with Steve, but being in the spotlight made you nervous, and it took a second to find your words.  “No personal experiences, really, but I’ve heard a lot of lore.  Ghost stories, mostly. Stuff to scare us kids so we’d go to bed early.” You shift in your seat and look out the window, but Eddie is waiting for more.  “I, um, well…”

“Leave her alone, Eddie,” Steve responds absently, flipping the blinker to turn into town. The song Season of the Witch by Donovan is on the radio and Steve’s mumbling the lyrics.

“No, it’s okay,” you flex a quick smile.  “If it helps, I mean, I was 8 years old when we left, I don’t know a lot other than what I’ve researched.”

“Your audience is waiting,” Eddie zooms the focus in way too much so that your eyes take up the whole frame.  

“Okay,” you start. “So I guess there were these two guys who were hunting once, up by the cabin Blair Witch is supposed to haunt, and they just disappeared off the face of the earth. Search parties combed the woods for weeks and couldn’t find a trace of them.”

“Maybe they realized they were in love and ran away together,” Eddie chuckles, pushing the heel of his hand into Steve’s shoulder.  

You smile down at your lap. “Could be.”

“One more thing,” Eddie looks at you over the top of the camera and then puts his eye back down to focus.  “Is there a chance we could all end up victims of the Blair Witch?”

You can’t tell if it’s a serious question, but it gives you chills.  Your eyes flick from the camera to the back of Steve’s head and his messy flop of hair.  

“I personally don’t believe in ghosts or witches,” you smile as you say it, and catch Steve’s quick glance at you in the rearview mirror.  “But don’t tell Steve.”

Eddie snorts and puts the camera in his lap but forgets to turn it off. 

“I’m really looking forward to proving you wrong,” Steve’s muffled voice says to you as Eddie rustles the camera down between his legs.  “There’s some spooky shit going on in those woods, and I’m going to get it on film.”

First night, The Motel 

The map of the forest is spread out across the thin, floral spread of the motel bed. Eddie and you stare down at it, identically flicking your eyes across the inked locations, each mirroring the same dazed look of cluelessness. 

“I think, if we start here and then make our way north we’ll get to here,” Steve then circles the center vigorously before saying, “by midday.” 

On the map it's easy to believe the forest only stretches a few miles and Steve’s plan so far seems simple enough, promising this hike to be quick. With the action plan sorted, a large pizza shared, and your survival packs spilling out with textbook necessities, it gives the three of you the rest of the evening to chill. This downtime allows you to mess about a bit and accidentally fill some of the tape space with personal footage. 

You’ve decided to sprawl out on one of the two double beds, propping yourself up on your elbow to film Steve and Eddie’s tiny little tickle fight that started over Steve being adamant that he wasn’t and would never be ticklish. Eddie knows just the right areas on his ribs to challenge with his deft fingers, making Steve squirm and beg for him to stop, while Eddie chuckles and pounces on top of him, making the cheap bed springs squeak.

“Hey, put the camera away,” Steve spots you, and then attempts to lunge off the bed and grab the camera. But you lift it out of his reach with a mischievous giggle.  

Eddie smiles along with you, his gaze falling with admiration on the way Steve’s cheeks turn a rosy pink at the exhilaration.  He throws a wink your way and pokes his tongue at Steve’s back, grabbing his ankle to keep him from leaving the bed. 

“Stevie, have you seen my lighter?” A few minutes later, you start filming again as Eddie is wandering the room in nothing but a pair of boxers and an unzipped hoodie.

“Are you going to smoke now?” Steve asks, checking the batteries in his flashlight.

“What’s wrong with now?”

“Well, you know,” Steve unsubtly tips his head in your direction, worried that you may not be comfortable.

“Oh, no I don’t mind”, you say, not wanting your inexperience to ruin the mood. It makes Eddie raise an eyebrow, your choice of words being music to his ears. 

“See Steve, if anything she’s probably curious,” he extends both hands to you as if you were a prize at the fair.

Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet and begins to dig through his pack's front pocket before retrieving a baggy of rolled joints. He pats around in his vest and produces a green plastic lighter with a triumphant, “a-ha!”

It’s been a while since you’d smoked weed, and you weren’t even sure you liked it, but Eddie’s contagious energy made you want to be a part of whatever he was doing.  He squints as he inhales, holds it, and then passes the joint to you between pinched fingers before releasing a generous plume of smoke. 

You took what you thought was a tiny drag, but it tickles the back of your throat and sends you into a coughing spasm, making you bat your chest with the palm of your hand after handing the joint back. 

“Can’t handle it sweetheart?” Eddie snickers, but then he wiggles his eyebrows at you and takes another drag for himself, passing you a bottle of water from the bedside table. The cap is off and some of it sloshes onto his hand.

“Oh, wait, I have something better,” Eddie says, jumping off the bed to snatch a fifth of whiskey out of his bag.  “Shots?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Steve adjusts his glasses and pulls back the comforter on his side of the bed to get cozy.  “Just one. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You shrug and nod, eyes bloodshot and watering, while Eddie puts the bottle to his lips and chugs a shot first before handing it to you.  You swallow a big gulp, and Eddie howls at the way your face screws up like you’d just sucked on a lemon.

“Here’s to the Blair Witch,” Steve holds the bottle up before he takes his drink.  “May she grace us with her presence tomorrow.”

Black Hills Forest, Day one, 9am

“Are we filming?” Eddie chimes in, practically vibrating with excitement.  

“The green light is on,” you mumble to yourself, frowning down at the screen on the camera that shows nothing but black.  

“Hey, Indiana Jones,” you call over to Steve who is checking the direction of the wind with a licked finger as he squints into the sun filtering through the dead leaves.  “What am I doing wrong?”

Steve adjusts the strap of his hiking pack and strolls over to you with a tight clench between his eyebrows.  “Give it here,” he sighs, taking it from you. “I just tested it this morning, I know it’s—”

He finally sees the problem and halts.  He makes somber eye contact with you, takes the cover off the lens and holds it up.

“Oh,” you bite the inside of your cheek, stifling a self-conscious laugh. 

“Steve Angelica Harrington,” Eddie grins, throwing his arm around Steve aggressively, almost knocking him over.  “Our hero.”

You lift the camera up to your eye and get both of them in the frame, leaning back to smile at the pair.  Steve shrugs away from Eddie’s attention as if he doesn’t like it, but then there is a moment when he turns and the two almost kiss.  Eddie gives a few exaggerated, puckered smooches and leans in. 

Steve realizes you’re filming and pushes his boyfriend off for real this time, running a hand through his hair to fix himself.  Restless as ever, Eddie comes around to take the camera from you, asks you where certain buttons are, and then points it in your direction.  You shrug him away playfully and shield your face from the nose down with the crook of your arm as if you are Dracula holding your cape.

Steve pops his knee out and tilts his head. “Would you two dorks stop messing around and take this witch hunt seriously? I want this documentary to be a success.”

“So remind me, King Steve,” Eddie turns the camera on his boyfriend, and he does not look amused.  “We’re trying to find the ghost of some child murdering witch from the 1700’s? Should I be trying to spot a gingerbread house too?”

Off camera, you snort and say, “idiot,” under your breath.  

“Eddie,” Steve keeps his profile to the camera, refusing to make eye contact. “Let’s get some footage first and then I’ll let you mess around with the camera.”  He doesn’t want a bunch of adolescent jibber jabber on film. .  

“What, I’m just trying to be helpful,” Eddie shrugs with puppy dog eyes, lowering the device.

He forgets to turn off video again, and as it angles at the ground. Audio catches a distinct sound, like a soft moan, from somewhere in the woods.

Steve holds his hand up for everyone to halt, freezing in place, and a small twig snaps under his foot.  

You open your mouth to speak, something about how it would be better to get a shot of Steve in the clearing, but you are swiftly shushed.

You motion to take the camera from Eddie, and then you point it at Steve, and he turns to you, right in the camera’s eye. His tone is dire:  “Can you hear that humming?” 

“I can’t—” Eddie blurts, but then Steve puts the palm of his hand tight over Eddie’s mouth, wrapping his fingers over his chin, knowing that it was impossible for him to stay quiet under pressure.

Your heart is racing as you concentrate, ears straining.  There is the dry shuffle of the breeze rustling the branches, but otherwise, the silence is eerie and vast. 

“Cut it out, Steve, it’s not funny,” you bristle, locking one arm protectively over your chest while the other attempts to hold the camera in place. Steve is darting his attention around the woods, trying to locate the origin of the sound.

Eddie steps back, moving his mouth away from Steve’s muzzle. “It’s just the wind, baby, it’s making you paranoid,” he offers, noticing the way Steve’s face is drained of its color. Bending down to retrieve the map that fell when Steve got manhandled, one of Eddie’s legs flew out behind him dramatically.  A part of you wonders if Eddie and the map are a good combination, however you keep your thoughts to yourself. 

You’re almost positive you heard a voice in the woods as well, but you decide to keep that close to your chest.

The lingering tension finally subsides, and Eddie reaches back for Steve’s hand to keep him moving in the same direction; to coax him out of his racing thoughts.  Not wanting to waste battery life, you turn the camera off and stumble behind them, actively fighting off the urge to glance over your shoulder at whatever might be following in your wake. 

The next few hours consist of hiking through unused paths and trampling muddy footprints, waiting for Steve to find his perfect backdrop to open his documentary. With the car far behind you and your full 360 view being nothing but trees, Steve finally breaks from his determined stroll.  

“Can we do this now?” You lightly prod. For the last half hour, Steve has been trying to find the right spot to stand, and you felt like his perfectionism will be the death of you.  

Steve has that look, the professional one, when he means business. However, for Steve to enter his little documentary presenter zone he wants to stand alone, the trees being his only sidekick. 

“You can go over there now,” Steve gives Eddie a playful nudge. 

His boyfriend has been on his heels this entire time, but now the metalhead jogs over to grab the camera off of you to keep himself busy, while Steve concentrates, pushing his glasses up on his nose, finding his performance space before he begins.

“The town of Blair has been cursed since the 1700’s,” he starts.

Eddie and you share an encouraging nod, adding a dash of support for Steve to continue.  

“They all warn of the Blair witch, the one known to lure children to her home and sacrifice their souls and use their blood as an offering.” Steve starts to find his rhythm, naturally taking small steps backwards, like a guide, forcing the camera to follow.

“Elly Kedward was eventually found and blamed for the towns disappearances and without trial was banished into these woods in the depth of winter to freeze and perish a worser fate than her victims.” 

There’s a climatic wind gust that passes through the trees, almost like the ghost of a victim's warning, sent to bring the hairs on your arms to rise. It makes Eddie grin, Steve’s eyes widen with interest, and you try to contain a violent shiver; the theatrics of nature perfecting the shot. 

Steve pauses to take in his surroundings for dramatic effect before continuing.

“Her twisted end didn’t sit right, the town of Blair began to notice odd occurrences, noises and symbols from the forest. Locals believe she left a curse. They say she is still roaming in these woods to this day, seaking her revenge and enticing lost souls into her portal to show the devil her true power.” 

Steve takes a breath, pausing before opening his mouth to speak again, but Eddie’s attention span has other ideas. 

“Oh wait,  Steve can you do that again, I didn’t press record,” Eddie says as cool as he can muster, biting the inside of his cheek. 

Steve shoves his hand roughly through his hair and holds it there, tempted to rip the hair from his scalp. “For fuck sake Munson.” 

Quickly breaking into a wild grin Eddie says a quick, “joking babe,” fully accepting the harsh shove Steve jabs to his shoulder, but then Eddie decides to up the antics.  He falls to the ground dramatically and starts to wiggle like a worm.

“Help, Help, it’s got me, the witch,” faking a struggle, to which Steve tuts, lodging a twig in his direction and adding a casual, “get over yourself, Munson.”  You dive down to take the camera from Eddie’s extended arms as he rolls to his side, and bite back a grin before giving Steve the signal that he’s on again.

Steve advises Eddie to roam around while he delivers the next part of the story. 

“This legend sits on the border of fiction and fact. It’s chilling, yes, but the stories and facts just don’t add up. A truth needs to be found and today, the legend of the witch will either remain its legendary hoax or a fatal truth may be… Wait, cut.”

“What, why?” You frown, enjoying Steve’s witch hunter mode, but clearly his self doubt has arrived.

“Was it a bit much? I felt like I was entering Eddie’s DND campaign.”

“Hey,” Eddie protests, opening his mouth and eyes wide at the camera and prompting you to snort a laugh at his theatrics. 

The day wages on, the forest becoming your only view for miles as Steve drags his feet, unsatisfied at his findings so far. The consistent checking of his watch is a hint alone that it’s time to set up camp soon.  

By nightfall, the strange noises from earlier were all but forgotten, and you sit with a full belly in front of the crackling fire opposite Eddie.  You film him as he tells one of his wild stories, complete with active hand gestures and cartoonish sounds.  Eddie gets a detail wrong in the tale he is retelling, and so Steve corrects him with a bit of a bored look on his face, as if he’s heard the story told wrong a million times.  You focus the zoom in on Steve’s face as he turns to rest his chin on his shoulder and regard his partner.  There was a deep fondness there in his eyes, even though it is masked for the moment with irritability.  

Eddie decides to get in close, his mouth inches from Steve’s. You watch as he murmurs something that makes Steve crack a smile, and then the two share a kiss, noses rubbing, and you feel like you were intruding on a private moment.  You then decided it was time to give the juice in the camera a rest for the night while you all slept.  Much like the camera you follow in its footsteps and shut off, exaggerating a yawn to catch the pair’s attention. 

Your little hint is not lost on Steve, and it prompts him to pass you a flashlight so you can avoid tripping over the tent's zip on your way to bed. 

Nestled undercover in your downy sleeping bag, you drift in and out of sleep, only faintly hearing the footsteps of the boys before they go into their tent. In the middle of the night, you swear you hear voices, like a distant conversation, but you assume it must be the boys. There’s an ominous but faint cackling that follows it, but by then, you’re already too deep to notice. 

And then suddenly, there’s nothing, just stillness and the dark of the woodland air. 

Day Two, No sight of the road. 

The next day brings more of the same.  Hopeful banter in the morning, which then easily leads into some playful teasing throughout the afternoon. The on and off tones of professionalism to mockery becomes apparent. At one point while filming, Steve in one of his monologues, tense and suspenseful, until the scene was hijacked by Eddie flying through the air to tackle him.  

The light mood progressively gets shadowed, though, as the day wears on and there seems to be little to no chance of getting back to the car before dark.  Steve halts to check the map several times, flustered and angry with himself, while Eddie has a smoke break and you film around, even catching sight of a doll made of sticks hanging from a tree.  

“Steve?” You hum his name over your shoulder, wanting him to see what you see.  

He ignores you at first, biting the side of his thumbnail, and spinning on his heel as he stares down at the compass. When he finally lifts his head, he frowns, confused, but then the doll made of sticks comes into focus and his eyes narrow behind the smudged lenses of his glasses.

“What the hell is that?” Eddie is already on his way over.  He decides to smoke the other joint in his pack instead of one of his Camels, and it is doing wonders for his anxiety.  

Eddie reaches up to touch the doll, but Steve stops him. “Wait!” He notices that his voice is a bit harsh, so he starts again in a calmer tone.  “Listen, we don’t know what it is or who put it there.  I think we should respect the woods and leave it be.”

“Respect the woods?” Eddie barks a laugh, continuing to touch the legs of the doll and turn it around to see how it was made and you watched through the camera lens. 

“I bet some kid made it when their family was out here camping,” Eddie mused, exhaling smoke. “It’s creepy, I like it.”

Steve decides to interfere with his high boyfriends fascination, batting his hand away and in the process accidentally knocking the wooden doll to the floor.

 “Hey, Steve you’ve killed him!” Eddie taunts; mouth agape, eyes accusatory.

Steve really didn’t want to do that and you sense the growing paranoia that he’s experiencing from the way he’s frozen, staring at the little figure now laying twisted on the floor. Eddie pouts and goes to retrieve it once again. 

“Eddie, leave it.” Steve can’t hide his increasing stress, his words strained in between his clenched teeth. He grabs onto Eddie’s pack using it to encourage Eddie to walk in the other direction.

Steve prays this is the right way. He sends you a weak smile, and you know him well enough to deduce that he is feeling embarrassed that he doesn’t have you out of the woods yet.  

 As the sunlight dwindles, a bitter sense of reality begins to creep up on you. The branches above lose their subtle shadows and the once benign tree clusters begin to morph into something otherworldly. 

When it is finally time to make camp again, it is all any of you could do not to think about the stories you’d recorded from the townspeople the other day.  In particular the one about the killer who would take kids down into his basement two at a time, and make one wait in the corner while he killed one, and then would kill the one in the corner.  He didn’t like their eyes on him, apparently, that’s why he made them stare at the wall.

The darkness is crowding in, giving tiny nudges to everyone's paranoia that you are not alone in that forest.  There was a presence that tickled in barely audible whispers as the night claimed its position and every howl of the wind was a possible threat.  

Not a lot of filming took place during the down time by the fire. It was as if the courage to speak the stories had vanished and the myths began to seep into their reality. Less words exchanged and a few uncertain glances shared with Steve, but Eddie remained stoic and chilled, maintaining his energy. 

The plan of action is the last conversation you share, Steve taking control and promising that you’ll all be back in town by tomorrow afternoon. 

The sound of the boys getting situated in their tent was comforting, and you giggled when Eddie farted and tried to blame it on a passing wildebeest.  But, things got quiet quickly—too quiet—and soon you could hear the faint hiss of Steve’s snore and you realized that having your own tent was not all it was cracked up to be.

An owl hooted, but along with its natural call there was something else out there making sounds.  Was that the humming Steve had mentioned the day before?  Straining to listen, the noise was followed by an unmistakable cackle that made you grab the flashlight and a pillow and scurry out of  your tent like it was on fire.  

“Um-guys,” you were pulling open the flap to their tent before either of them could answer. “Is there any possibility i could squeeze in your tent tonight, i was a-a bit cold on my own.” 

Eddie sits up, groggily, from where he had his head on Steve’s chest, as if he’d fallen asleep the second he closed his eyes, and scoots away to make room for you in the middle.

Feeling safer nestled between your two friends, you are finally able to let yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep that offers no reprieve from the shadows in your mind.

Later that night, scattered and confused, another bizarre noise caught your attention, jarring you awake. 

A blanket of dark coats the inside of the tent, but after a few fuzzy blinks you easily make out that  Steve is sitting up with the flap of the tent open. He’s crouched over, the faint shake of his hands holding the camera a dead giveaway to his unease.

Sensing that you are awake, he tilts his head to the side to acknowledge you, and then signals for you to listen. 

“Did you hear that?” You whisper, not wanting to wake Eddie who is offering soft snores next to you.  

Steve puts a finger to his lips, and then turns back around with the camera pointed out into the night.

Somehow he manages to convince himself that the noise is from a deer or squirrel. Due to your delirious state, this information settles your tired worry and allows you to snuggle down, eager for the morning light. 

Day Three, Walking in Circles

With no idea how long Steve remained awake last night, there’s a part of you that feels he’s hiding something to protect you. The next morning his raw, uplifting nature dwindled, his inner doubts coming to the surface to pinch the skin between his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry I dragged you all out here,” Steve announces with a heavy sigh, staring down at the remnants from the fire. Eddie angles the camera up at him while you zip a few things into your knapsack. “We’ll be having lunch back in town in a few hours, but let’s keep adding to the footage as we go.”

Steve shows you on the map where you were all headed, tapping his finger in the spot where you’d parked the car.  “Two hours, tops,” he promises.  

Eddie gets to his feet and adjusts the focus so that Steve goes from blurry to clear to blurry again. “Battery life on this thing is low and I can’t find the portable charger.”

Steve turned on him, jaw muscles tensing, ready to let an angry word slip.

“The charger is right here,” you corrected, lifting it out of the bag it was in to show Steve and calm his nerves. Once Steve steps away to check the compass again, Eddie makes a face at you, tongue darting out from the side of his mouth, letting you know that he knew it was there, he just wanted to give Steve a hard time.  

“I have a question for you, sir,” Eddie rushes up behind Steve and taps his shoulder, making him turn away from the lens, bringing a hand up to block his face. “How do you feel about this Blair Witch hunt so far?”

Steve smooths the sides of his hair back and squares his shoulders, determined to look unbothered.  “I feel good,” he lied. “I feel like I know exactly where we are and we just need to head east for another couple miles.  Everything's going as planned, we’re just a little behind schedule, that’s all.”

You open the canteen around your neck and gulp down a few swigs of water, musing that there wasn’t much left, and you needed to find a fresh stream somewhere soon, just in case.

But, it was only a passing worry, because Steve’s confidence that you’d be back at the car in a few hours gave you an unhealthy helping of blind hope. 

When you finally find the water line, there is a fallen tree across the creek, and it happens to be the only way across.  You have the worst balance, and being suspended over moving water makes you nervous in a way that has your hands trembling.  Eddie carries the camera for you, strapping around his neck as he makes his way across like an acrobat, and then Steve follows behind you, whispering words of encouragement.  

Hours later, it’s high noon when Steve makes you all stop for a rest to take your packs off so that he can check the map again.  You happen to be filming him as a flex of panic flashes across his face.  

“Why does this spot feel so familiar?” He asks it under his breath, but the audio catches it.  

It was the same spot you’d started from earlier in the day; same stump, same bundle of dead branches next to a large boulder. Steve turns on his heel and you can see in his face the way his heart stops when he sees the impressions from the previous night’s tent pegs.

“How is this possible?” He whispers. “We’ve been going straight all day, following the compass.”

“Give me that,” Eddie storms by, yanking the map from Steve to sit down on the big stump to look at it while he has a smoke.  “This shit is Greek to me,” he admits, hollowing out his cheeks to take in all of the nicotine his lungs would allow. “Are you telling me we’ve been going in circles?”

You squat next to Eddie, filming him while he glowers at the lines on the paper, hair tied back in a messy ponytail.  This was the crankiest you’d ever seen him, and you’d known him for at least a year at that point. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there were only 3 cigarettes left, and his pack a day habit was at risk of being tested without nicotine patches or comfort.  

He realizes you are recording and flinches away, blowing smoke out his nostrils.  “Put that thing away please.  I’m not in the mood.”

Steve split the last half of a squished peanut butter sandwich into 3 parts and passed one to each of you, but Eddie refuses his.  You stare up at Steve, waiting for his word that you should stop, but he shakes his head.  “She’s doing exactly what I told her to do, Eddie. We’re filming a documentary.”

“Oh, we’re filming a documentary about being lost now? Is that what this is? Because we are, we’re fucking lost.”

 Eddie grumbles, exhaling an agitated breath.

“We’re not.” Steve’s voice is gruff as he pushes the food into his cheek with his tongue.  “I know exactly where we are.  The car is right over that way, through the trees, I’m positive.”

“Yeah, well, you said that yesterday morning and last night and four fucking hours ago,” Eddie shot to his feet with a huff, keeping the butt of his smoke clenched between his lips to button up the front of his black and red flannel. 

“Shouldn’t you know where we are?” Eddie’s penetrating gaze falls on you, and for some reason, it makes you nervous.  “I know you said you were just a kid, but you grew up here right? So, you must have some idea?”

You glance nervously over at Steve, as if to ask for support, and then focus the camera back on Eddie as you stammer.  “I–I don’t ever remember coming out here. Once maybe, but—”

“Really Eddie?” Steve turns to his boyfriend. “You expect her to have a Magellan sense of direction in these woods because she lived nearby when she was a child? You get lost in Hawkins and you’ve lived there your whole life.”

Eddie mumbles something as he straps the last part of his pack on and starts walking, without a word, heading in the direction Steve suggested, kicking at the dirt as he goes.  

“I’m sorry about this,” Steve mutters to you as he offers his hand and helps you stand. “I should’ve had you home safe by now.”

“It’s okay, I trust you. I promise I really don’t know these woods that well,” your voice is small.  Your eyes are softly pleading when they find his, as if to beg for absolute reassurances.

But, Steve has nothing verbal to give.  His throat is dry, he hates fighting with Eddie, and his pride was taking quite a catastrophic blow—on film, no less. He squeezes your arm, and continues at a fast trot to catch up with his salty partner, pulling you along with him.  

A few hours later, the sky opened up and it started to rain, and as you ducked to follow the boys into the clearing to reluctantly set up camp, you trip over a pile of rocks and almost drop the camera.

“What the hell is this?” You mused aloud, adjusting the focus, establishing that it was, indeed, just a pile of rocks, but there was something…odd about them.  They’d been stacked up by hand in the shape of a mound. 

Steve and Eddie were up ahead, standing in close proximity, having a conversation in tense whispers while Eddie found the driest patch of ground under the canopy of trees to shake the tent out.  It was only drizzling now, and he was eager to set up some type of shelter in case the downpour started again.

Steve moves the hood of his yellow rain slicker back to check where you were, and then comes over to see what you’d found.  

“There’s a couple of them,” you point out, stepping back so he could view the others, “What was it that one woman in town said about stacks of rocks? Something to do with a signal, or warning maybe.” 

Turning, you see Steve frantically dig through his bag, only letting out a satisfied hum when he retrieves his notebook. Its spiral-bound pages hold all of the key points from interviews of people back in town. You can tell he’s proud of you for having the intuition to know that these stacks might be important.  

“Remember that woman we spoke to at the trailer park?” Steve asks, biting his lip in thought.

“The weird one? Mary?” You wonder aloud. 

Steve snaps his fingers in excitement, flicking to the right page in his notes. 

“Yes! Crazy Mary.  I wasn’t paying much attention to her because I thought she was insane, but I’m sure she mentioned something to do with rock piles?”

“What’s your notes say?” You lean in to see what the camera can catch on the paper.

“Not a lot. I’ve just written ‘Bible Story about rocks’”.

You try your hardest to remember, whispering to yourself and attempting to remember what the eccentric woman had said. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you begin. “But, didn't she say something like, they symbolize a promise, like if you promise not to cross the rocks nothing can harm you and vice versa from the one who put them there. Ancient truce type agreement?”

“I mean it sounds right, but why are there three?”

“I'm not sure?”

Steve waves Eddie over, but he isn’t interested.  He’d gone into full-on “if I don’t keep busy I’m going to lose my shit” mode, dropping to his knees in the mud to hammer in the tent pegs.

Steve sighs, feeling like Eddie probably needs a bit of attention and comfort before his mood swing completely erupts. In his process of turning away from the rocks his booted foot catches a pebble, sending the pile toppling over, but he doesn’t think to give it any attention.

Panicking in his wake, you shield the camera from the rain and re-pile the pebbles back in a formation that you hope they resembled. 

You eat the last of the canned vienna sausages by the fire and no one is in the mood for jokes, but Steve does reassure everyone, especially with an arm around his boyfriend’s stiff shoulders, that you all would be out of the forest by the next afternoon.  You film it, catching the way Eddie pulls away at first but then leans in to rest his head on top of Steve’s and they both stare into the fire with glossy eyes.  

You didn’t even bother setting your tent up that evening, and you snuggle on the outside of the boys this time, curling up next to Steve while he spoons Eddie.  

For the first hour or two, everything is peaceful, and the three of you sink into shallow sleep, only to be jared awake by Steve stumbling out of his sleeping bag, stepping on both of his companions in the process.  

“Holy fuck, did you hear that?” He hisses, moving to unzip the tent.  “I need to get out there, hand me the camera.”

“Steve!” You bark a harsh whisper.

“Goddamn it,” Eddie starts putting his boots on, half asleep, not wanting Steve to go out alone. “It’s just a bunch of fucking deer or something, baby, will you just—”

But then, you all hear it.

As loud and as clear as if there were people standing right outside your tent: a cackle of laughter, heavy steps crunching in the leaves, snapping twigs, echoing from the forest floor.  And then there is the distinct cry of a little kid—maybe two, three different little kids. It all echoed back into the woods as if it’s in your ears and far away all at once. 

With the tent flap half open and one foot out, Steve shoots a look back at the two of you, nostrils flaring as he stills for more noise.  “Did you hear those kids?” He huffs, snatching the camera and ducking down to bolt out of the tent. 

“Baby, there are no kids in these woods!” Eddie lunges after him, catching Steve’s calf to pull him back in.  He stumbles back under cover into a crouch, only to “shush” everyone again, certain that he heard something else.

It’s then that the tent begins to shake and jostle, and the cackling continues, but it’s right on top of you now, circling the enclosure.

“Holy shit, holy fuck,” Eddie wails, pushing Steve out of the tent this time, and reaching back for your hand as he exits.

“Go go go!” You demand, encouraging them both to run as far and fast as they could from the campsite. 

Everyone is stumbling and cursing, running in the dark, with the light of the camera Steve’s holding being the only illumination.  He trips over something with a curse, and Eddie helps him up while you take the camera, not caring where the lens points as you run along with the boys, as fast as your feet can carry you.  

Not a sound follows you, not a single footstep or snicker.  Eventually, you all collapse breathless in a huddle, hunkering down near a tree.

Eddie looks into the camera you hold. “Turn that light off,” he’s panting, pupils pinned. “Shut it all off, stay the fuck down.”

“Keep the audio on,” Steve whispers, to which he gets a shove in the shoulder from Eddie.

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to film your movie, dude,” Eddie hushes curtly.

“Shutup!” You scold them both, turning the camera off.

You all sit frozen in place, holding onto each other in a football huddle for—god knows how long? Two hours maybe.  Daylight finally begins to break, prompting Steve to motion you to get the camera rolling again. 

Day Four, No Way Home

The three of you stay close, too frightened to be even a meter apart as you make your way back in the direction of camp. You’re cold, wet and done; so over this witch hunt and ready to put it behind you. 

After a while of weary steps and nervous glances around, Eddie’s tongue clicks, breaking the silence. “There are some hillbillies in these woods trying to fuck with us, and I don’t want to fuck with that.”

Steve looks up at him.  “But what if it’s something…not human?”

“Well, I don’t want to fuck with that either,” Eddie runs both hands through his hair, intertwining his fingers on top of his head as he walks.

You decide to chime in. “Something definitely does not want us here.”

“No kidding, Sherlock.” Eddie blows a raspberry and turns his back on the two of you.

“Something?” Steve cocks his head at you. “But I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts or witches?”

“I don’t,” you swallow hard, averting your eyes.  “But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“Okay, we’re going,” Steve answers, meeting Eddie’s hard stare over your shoulder with defiance.  “We got what we came for, let’s get our shit and keep heading north.”

“Are you sure north is the direction we need to go in?” You ask, cringing through the beginning stages of a headache.  “Because we were headed north all day yesterday and it didn’t get us anywhere.”

When the campsite finally comes into view again, everyone stops short, each jaw going slack in disbelief.

“uhhh, what the fuck is this?” Eddie mumbles, stomping over to look at the way the tent has been squashed, and how everyone’s things have been thrown around.  Whoever or whatever had been taunting you all a few hours ago had made a mess of all of your things; there was clothing and gear tossed in every direction.

You ran across the campsite, eyes searching. “Where is my pack?” The question caught in your throat, as if you might cry.  

“Your pack is right there,” Eddie points.  “More importantly, Where is my pack?”

Everyone starts collecting what they can find of their personal items while Eddie lifts up his open canteen from the ground.  “They dumped all the fucking water out.”

He realizes that the canteen is also coated in something and he drops it with a curse. “Is that fucking slime? It is, there is some kind of slime all over it,” he raises his hand up to look at the viscous liquid and then rubs it off on his pant leg as best as he could.

“Im not fucking about anymore Steve, okay I believe it all, you happy? This shit, whatever it is, whoever it is, doesn’t want us here.”

Eddie’s right, this is a clear warning, an intentional attack, and for once Steve’s not looking excited at the product of evidence before you all. Steve turns towards you, your kneeling figure scooping up your pack—it had been thrown to the other side of the campsite, but nothing seemed to be missing.

Before he could question it, the whining sound of Eddie pricks his ears. Swiftly turning to face whatever tantrum the curly haired boy is throwing now, Steve is faced with Eddie frantically picking up scattered pieces of clothing. 

“Woah, babe, is that all your clothes?” Steve asks in a rush, moving closer.

“Yep”. Eddie doesn’t even want to converse. 

“Just yours though Eddie? No one else's?”

“This is bullshit!” Eddie throws the canteen down and it bounces further away.

Steve moves to reach out and touch Eddie’s arm, but his hand gets slapped away.  “Leave me alone, dude. I need a second.”

You turn the camera off while everyone collects their things and tries to catch their breath.  You were all officially out of food now, with the exception of some peanuts, and a detour needed to be made to get water from the creek.  Eddie refused to use his after it was slimed, but thankfully Steve had an extra one.

When the camera comes back on, it is a couple hours later, and Steve is holding it this time to film Eddie enjoying his last smoke, while you sit with your head against a tree and your eyes closed.  No one is in the mood for talking, and it is wise to conserve energy with very few resources at your disposal.

“A hamburger and fries sounds nice,” you said to break the silence with your eyes still closed.

“Mmmhmm,” Eddie concurred. “A big can of Spaghetti-O’s would hit the spot right now.”

Steve points the camera at his hiking boots as he steps closer, indulging in the fantasy. “I’ve been craving one of those clam chowder bread bowls like we had on the wharf in San Francisco.” 

“That was some good shit,” Eddie mumbles, sucking his smoke all the way down to the filter. 

The camera turns off again, and when it comes back on, you have it.  Eddie is charging ahead, waving his arms, shouting something about how you all need to follow the creek and you’ll end up somewhere eventually.

“Hey,” Steve is walking in front of you, but he turns around.  “Can you pass me the map? I want to check something.”

“Yeah, hold on,” you say, but then you reach back and realize you can’t feel the well-worn edges, and sudden, prickling dread takes over. Panicked, you reach around to check the other pocket, coming to realize the map is gone. 

“Are you sure you gave it to me Steve?” you lighty question, knowing that right now is no time for jokes. 

Steve gives you an exasperated look, as if you are goofing with him like Eddie might.  “Yes, you have the map, you always have the map.  I gave it to you after a map-check before we made camp yesterday.”

You kneel on the ground and put the camera down to do a proper search, your heart racing.  “Eddie,” you shout, making him stop abruptly in his tracks.  “Do you have the map?”

“Me?” Eddie turns around but stays yelling from a distance.  “Why the hell would I have it? It was fucking useless anyway.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve pats the air with his hands, trying to calm the meltdown he can feel building. His attention returns to you as you stand without a map in your hand and a worried look on your face.  “I know I gave it to you,” Steve reiterates. “It has to be somewhere in your stuff.”

You don't want to say what you are thinking, as you stand, pointing the camera at Steve again, but it comes out anyway.  “What if whoever attacked the tent took it?”

Steve grimaces.  “What would they want with…our map?”

“To make sure we have no chance of finding our way out of here,” you say it under your breath, and through the lens, you watch Steve’s jaw go slack as he takes on that possibility.  

When realization dawns that you were about to lose light and need to make camp again, a thick blanket of anxiety and agitation falls over all of you.  You are dragging your feet, camera angle pointed at the ground while the boys get the tent out.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” Eddie mumbles curtly, brow furrowing, and back teeth grinding as the nicotine withdrawal nips at him.  

You mention that you’ll go and gather some branches to make a fire, but Steve puts his hand out to stop you.  “Let’s not make a fire tonight.  We don’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Good idea,” Eddie grunts. “I’d rather freeze to death in a few hours than spend one more day fumbling around this hellscape.” He is digging through his things in Steve’s pack to see if there happens to be a stray cigarette or joint anywhere.  The frustrated anger rising in him is palpable.

“It’ll be a while before I ever go camping again, that’s for sure,” you muse to the group, and both the boys respond with enthusiastic nods of agreement. 

“I’m gonna burn this tent when we get home,” Eddie bites out.

When you turn to Steve, he is rubbing his forehead and staring down at the ground, pensively, and you ask if you should stop filming for a bit.  

Steve glosses over your question and asks another: “You promise you don’t have the map? Because if you have it, and you were just saying you lost it to be funny, I won’t be mad.”

You lower the camera so that it’s focused on his chest and the army green utility jacket he’s wearing.  “I’ve checked my pack three times,” you offer, earnestly. “I promise, I don’t have it.  I wish I did, Steve.”

In the background, Eddie curses at the top of his lungs and one of the tent pegs he’d been fumbling with goes flying through the air. “I’m so fucking done with this! Holy shit, what the hell are we still doing out here? This is fucking insane.” 

Steve motions for you to keep filming.  He’d tease Eddie about all of this later, he knew he would.  He’d also use it as fodder for the argument of why he should quit smoking altogether.

Steve turns toward his boyfriend with his hands on his hips. “I know you blame me for all of this, and I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? We’re all tired and hungry and miserable.”

Eddie snaps around, eyes dark and his body rigid.  “You bet your fucking ass I blame you! You’re the reason we’re about to get flayed by a bunch of inbred mountain people or die of starvation out here in this shitty-ass excuse for a forest.”

“You begged me to let you come on this trip, Eddie,” Steve is doing his best to keep his voice low, because matching Eddie’s tone when he gets upset never helps the situation. “Like you said, if we follow the creek, we’re bound to end up somewhere. It’s impossible to get lost for too long in America these days.”

Eddie’s nostrils flare.  “I begged you? I practically agreed under false pretenses one night when you had my dick in your mouth, I didn’t beg for shit.  I wanted to spend time with my boyfriend and watch him work, but that was back when I thought you were talented.  Now I realize you’re just a hack who can’t even read a fucking map.”

He regrets it the second it leaves his lips, and you can see it in the way the corners of his mouth turn down. “I didn’t mean that,” Eddie whispers.

You step back from the two, not sure what type of conflict is about to ensue.

You can tell it hurts Steve by the way his eyes water, and he pushes his glasses up to rub his face.  “No, you’re right,” Steve sighs, “It is my fault.  But maybe if you weren’t such a big, needy baby all the fucking time, I might have been able to think clearly on this trip.”

“I’m the needy baby? Seriously?  So what, little miss perfect over there gets let off the hook because she’s your perfect little puppet?”

“Hey, no need to bring her into this.”

“Guys!” You shout, waiting until they both look at you.  “This isn’t helping, okay? I for one am scared shitless about what else might be out here in these woods, and if we don’t stick together, we don’t have a chance.”

There is a minute long silence while everyone tries  to shake the anxiety out of their shoulders. Steve comes over to let you know you can turn the camera off, but then the sound of Eddie’s laughter makes you both turn.  

He’s bent over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard he is sucking in dry air.

You and Steve share an amused look, 

“What’s so funny, baby?” Steve asks, cracking a bit of a smile.

Eddie stands, face red from exertion. “You and that fucking map. I got rid of it yesterday! What do you think about that?” Eddie then convulses into giggles again, walking off into the other direction.

“You did what?” Both you and Steve say in unison.

Surely, you’d both misheard him.

“Yeah,” Eddie continues. “I kicked that fucker into the creek, it was useless!”

“You son of a bitch,” Steve spat, lunging at him. “How could you do that to me? To us?”

You catch Steve’s arm, trying to hold the camera and him all at once. The last thing you need is for these two to get into a physical fight.

Eddie starts to walk further away, but then he stops to turn on his heel and face the two of you, deciding to fight his case a little more. “We just kept going in circles, it wasn’t helping us!”

“You knew I was going crazy looking for it! Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve yells after him. 

In the distance, you see Eddie shrug, before matter of factly stating, “I need to go for a walk.”

“But it will be dark in a half hour,” panic bubbling in your chest. “Eddie…wait!” 

Eddie waves his arm in the air and keeps going.  

“Let him go,” Steve touches your shoulder, “he gets like this sometimes. Let him walk it off, we’ll finish setting up.”

Steve has an overwhelming desire to run after his partner, to say, “hey, stop, I love you,” but none of that ever happened.  He knew when it was best to let Eddie cool off.

He knows Eddie won’t go far, he’ll be back in a few minutes.

When you turn the camera back on, an hour later, Eddie is still not back.

There is a soft, orange glow from the sunset through the trees, but other than that, it’s pitch black out. Locking arms with Steve, he dances the beam of his flashlight around the forest while you film with the camera light on, trying to remain within visual distance from camp.

Steve had already screamed Eddie’s name so many times, his voice was becoming hoarse.

 “If you’re fucking with us, Eddie, I swear to Christ I will never ever forgive you!” He starts to imagine Eddie is crouched down by a tree somewhere, covering his mouth to hold back the hilarity of watching his boyfriend almost shit his pants looking for him.

Steve tries to break free from your linked arms, attempting to charge deeper into the woods.

“Steve, no!” You squeak, desperation present in your tone. You shift the camera to the crook of your arm, so it angles up at his horrified face. You really don't want anything bad to happen to Eddie, but you also can’t let anything bad happen to Steve. 

Steve suddenly turns to face you, eyes wild.  “But what if he’s hurt somewhere, what if he’s…damn it Eddie!...what if…”

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, you already know what he is thinking. What if the myths of the forest were true? What if there was an entity in the woods that fed on fear and needed a sacrifice every so often? What if there were hillbillies in pig masks carrying chainsaws and they often resorted to cannibalism? You’d watched too many horror movies in your life and so had Steve, and it wasn’t helping either one of you at that moment.

But, to be fair, it wasn’t all just in your head.  There is definitely something or someone else out there with all of you, and maybe it was just biding its time until all of you are broken.   

Eddie’s missing.  An hour later, it’s official.  

He wasn’t hiding or playing a game; he had somehow vanished into thin air. The guilt begins to creep and crawl, festering inside Steve’s chest, the buzzing of night insects heightening his sense of dread. 

You’d manage to coax Steve back to the tent. “We’ll go back and build a fire, so that he can see the light of it if he’s lost.”

“I’m not going to stop looking for him,” Steve mutters, screaming Eddie’s name again as he walks, his voice echoing off the emptiness as the cold air burns his lungs. He was too pumped full of fear and adrenaline to cry, but the tears were building behind his eyes. “It’s freezing out here and he’s only got that flannel on.”

“Listen to me,” you yank Steve around to look at you, being rougher than you ever have with him, but your eyes are kept soft.  “It would be very easy for us to get lost in these woods ourselves.  What if Eddie makes it back to camp and we’re gone?”

You let that sink in, hoping you can reason with him.  You notice that his shoulders relax.

“I bet he went a little too far and he can’t find his way back in the dark,” you continue.

  “He probably found some shelter to wait it out for the night.  He’ll be cold, but it’s not going to freeze, he’ll survive. We can go out and look for him at first light.”

Steve starts nodding to himself as he pans the flashlight beam over the forest again.  “A fire is a good idea, so he knows where we are.”

The active denial grips the both of becoming a makeshift coping mechanism, a way to hold onto hope when there seems to be none left.  You have a bad feeling that you may never see Eddie alive again, but you plan on keeping up pretenses for Steve for as long as you could.

 “We’ll find him, Steve,” you don’t want to lie to him, but you felt like it was something he needed to hear.

Steve struggles to meet your eyes, but you can make out a stray tear that’s making tracks across his stubbled cheek and it breaks your heart for him. 

“I didn’t go after him, didn’t even try to convince him to stay. How fucking stupid could I be?”

“No, Steve, you can’t blame yourself, okay, it was an in the moment thing, it’s going to be okay.”

“What part of this whole thing has EVER been okay?”

He turns his back on you and it sends a stinging pang through your chest.  A part of you can’t help but wonder if he’s wishing it were you that went missing. Maybe he’s wishing he never brought you along at all.

With a heavy heart and a signature rake through his hair, Steve shuts his eyes, takes a shaken breath and turns around, inviting you to step into his arms and you hook an arm around his waist. This embrace is welcomed, as you soak up the heavy warmth wrapped around you, making it hard to let go. Seemingly feeling the same, Steve leans in further, soaking up what he presumes is the last moments of peace, a crumb of tranquility. Feeding on the sliver of hope you’ve provided him.

A stuttered sigh slips from Steve’s dry lips.  His next words are nothing but a whisper, but it’s meaningful, and becomes tattooed amongst the trees.

“I can’t lose him,” his voice cracks.

Then, as if on cue, there’s a cry—a whimper of agony erupts from deep in the nothingness.

Steve snaps a look at you and a fist tightens over your heart.  You hold very still, making sure you heard what you thought you did, both wondering if you’d imagined it.

But then another scream follows, this one more drawn out than the first, and it sounds just like Eddie.

Steve braces himself, senses sharp, trying to find the direction the scream is coming from.  “Holy shit, that was him!”

There’s a scuffle as Steve bumps into you in his haste to move.  You almost drop the camera as he bounces off of you, losing his mind over the sound of Eddie's voice, you then scramble to catch the device before it falls to the ground. There’s only muffled noises for a bit as your arm is blocking the microphone and the lens catches the back of Steve’s legs, bolting into the pitch black forest.

“Whatever you do, don’t stop filming!” He shouts over his shoulder.

And then your heart is pounding, jackhammering in your chest as you take after him. Steve’s running, pumping his arms, and then there’s another scream and he catches himself for a full stop, freezing in place.  

The video takes in the side of his face, tears wetting his cheek under his glasses, his head turning in the direction of the scream.  “It’s this way…Eddie!...it’s coming from over there!” He points in that direction, and then his feet follow to a place where the trees get denser.

You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the campsite, wondering if the two of you will be able to find your way back, but then keeping up with Steve becomes a priority.  Breathlessly, you struggle to keep up the pace, you trip and try to avoid falling over tree stumps that are dotted along the path.

“Steve”, you manage to stutter in between sharp breaths, “How do we know, what if- what if it’s a trick. What if it’s not Eddie?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course it's…”

Another scream. 

Steve’s words die on his tongue, as all he can manage is a wide eyed frantic glare into the trees, before attempting once again to scream his boyfriend’s name in vain, begging to catch a glimpse of his frizzed up hair between the branches. 

You both speed up, using all the remaining energy left inside your weak bodies, ignoring the burning in your lungs and metallic taste coating your tongues. 

The woodland flooring begins to create almost a disheveled looking path, a trail appearing out of nowhere. Horrifying possibilities begin to bleed into Steve’s imagination, the memories of the past few days twisting in his mind as he tries to predict what state his boyfriend could be in. 

Steve stops to get his bearings, gulping in breaths.  His stomach clenches like he might puke, but he swallows down bile, hoping for another scream to pierce the night and guide his way.

You catch a glint of something silver nestled in the leaves of the forest floor, and you shine the light down there to get a look.  You swear it’s Eddie’s wallet chain, the one he had on the last time you saw him, but then Steve starts moving again, on the trail of a sound only he could hear.

Running full boar, dodging through the trees, something smacks Steve in the face, and he swats it away, thinking it’s a branch.  But then he takes a step back and looks up. You almost smash straight into the back of him, not realizing he’d stopped so abruptly.  Your camera light brings attention to what Steve is seeing.

Unsettling deja vu is shared between you both as you realize that a cluster of handcrafted stick dolls, like the one you found the other day, are dangling before you. 

Steve’s hand trembles, reaching out to touch the frayed twine from which they hang. 

"Steve, stop," you hiss, your voice is a harsh whisper, eyes darting over the dolls as they sway in the breeze. You can't shake the feeling that you are being watched; that something sinister is lurking just beyond your peripheral vision.

Ignoring you, Steve begins to count the dolls, pointing with his finger, his movements manic, his words a rapid, breathless murmur.

"One, two, three... they're leading somewhere!”

"Steve!" you call out to him desperately, your voice echoing through the forest, falling on blind ears. He starts to follow the primitive stick dolls, and you know you have no choice but to go with him into the unknown, the dread of what lies ahead producing blooms of sweat on your scalp. 

Finally, you emerge into a small clearing. There stands an old, weathered cabin.

 It appears abandoned and worn, its wooden walls covered in moss and ivy, and its windows cracked and shattered. The cabin looms like a forgotten relic of the past, isolated in the dense forest.

“Steve, I-I don’t think this is a good idea”. The air is heavy, and your teeth are chattering.

“Whatever happens,” Steve clicks his tongue and swallows hard, wetting his dry mouth. “Promise me you won’t stop filming.”

“Steve, are you insane?”

He turns to you with wide, earnest eyes, his voice dead calm under the circumstances, “Promise me?” 

You feel like you’ve officially lost him, whatever you attempt to say to change his mind would be useless. “I-I promise.”

Another blood-curdling yelp of agony pierces through the air.

“Eddie, I’m coming!” Steve huffs, motioning for you with a swing of his arm.

You both scramble cautiously onto the cabin’s creaking porch. You decide to zoom the lens in on Steve’s hand, reaching for the rusted doorknob, trying your hardest to focus. 

Dread seizes you, and you attempt to get through to him. “Steve, please, I think I do remember a way out of these woods, actually. What if we go back to the tent, wait till morning and try again?”

You manage to worm your way in between Steve and the door, blocking him now. Steve remains unyielding, shrugging you out of his way, twisting the door knob, and then pushing in the unlocked door. 

“Steve—” Your voice cracks. You want to find Eddie too but there’s something…wrong with this cabin, and you can’t find the words to tell Steve in a way that would make him give up the search.

But then he’s already through the open door, and you stay on his heels. The light from your camera dances over his flashlight beam into the broken floorboards and chipped paint of the interior of the cabin.  

The screaming has stopped, but now the dead silence invades your senses.  There’s no furniture, and the walls are bare. There is a smell lingering that hints to wood rot and black mold and rodent feces. You scan the camera around to show there’s a wide, empty room, and a hallway to the right.

“I-I can’t lose him,” Steve whispers, and your eyes are wet, heart hurting for what this trip has become. You can't let him go in there alone, no matter how much your instincts are telling you to grab him and run in the other direction. 

With each step you take, the cabin seems to expand into a labyrinth of winding corridors, narrow staircases, and hidden rooms. The walls are lined with faded, peeling wallpaper, and the air grows colder and more oppressive with each passing moment. 

But then Steve darts down the dark hallway and up a stairway and you try to follow, tripping on the first step in your hurry.

“He’s in here, I know it,” Steve gasps, and you can only catch his boots before he is already on the next floor.

Eddie’s cry sounds again, and this time there is no mistake— it’s coming from inside the house. 

Two floors up, there are empty rooms, but still no sign of Eddie.  Steve makes a point to direct your attention to the same type of child handprints you’d seen earlier.  “Did you catch these?” He asks pointing to make sure you got the shot.  

It looks like a dozen tiny children had dipped their hands in black paint and made palm impressions all over the wall over the ripped and stained wallpaper.

And then another scream, muffled this time, breaks the silence of your twin haggard breaths, but it is coming from somewhere deep in the cabin now—somewhere below.  You can almost feel the screams vibrate inside the soles of your feet.

The shout is followed by a heavy bang that shakes the walls. It makes you both jump, locking eyes with mirrored expressions of fear.

Without a word, Steve disappears back down the stairs and into the shadows of the second floor. There are no sounds picked up by audio other than Steve calling for Eddie, and you follow, taking two reluctant steps at a time. The weight of uncertainty makes your feet feel like lead, while the lightheadedness of your hunger makes your skull feel like a balloon, and you have to catch yourself on the wall to find your balance, stars crossing in your vision.  

The only sounds now are the heavy thuds of footfalls on the old stairs, and the drumbeat of your heart in your ears. There appear to be looming shapes all around you as you run after Steve, and the camera catches glimpses of things that are unidentifiable sliding along the walls.  

You hear Steve shout, “down here!” and then he is throwing another door open and it sounds like he’s bolting further down in the house, down into what must be a basement.

You think you catch a glimpse of a figure standing in the corner, but when you stumble back and point the camera light there, you realize it’s nothing.

“Steve?” You can’t get a visual on where he is now, but then you finally catch the open door and the glow from his flashlight beam. 

“I don’t feel good about this, Steve! Don’t go down there!”

But it’s too late.

You reach the top of the stairs.  “Steve, wait!”

“He’s down here somewhere, I know it!” Steve persists.

You take another look at him through the lens; he’s dropping down to the dirt floor and darting to the left, disappearing into the inky blackness.  The sound of Eddie’s voice has not been heard for a while, but Steve continues to call out for him, the tremor in his voice now catching with a sob. 

 Abruptly, you see Steve halt. 

He shouts up over his shoulder to you, “Did you hear that?”

The air is suddenly ice cold; freezing even.  You shrink against the doorframe and pan the camera to capture the front door behind you, noting that it is closed, and then quickly back to Steve.

Something in the basement startles him, and Steve drops his flashlight to the ground, smashing the light's glass in the process, making him curse before rushing back up to you, banking on the illumination from the camera light to help him find his way. 

Sprinting up the rickety steps, Steve is relieved to find that you are still intact, dutifully holding his camera and waiting for him. 

Your presence serves as his motivation to attempt to sprint up the stairs a little faster. However, something stops him in his tracks a few steps up.

Your heart is in your throat as you wait, but Steve pauses to look over his shoulder.  “I feel like there is something else down here.”

Your teeth are chattering, your words come out stuttered. “Hurry, Steve.  Let’s go!”

“Not without Eddie,” he says with a vigorous shake of his head, taking one more searching look into the seemingly empty basement.

The chill you feel is much more than skin deep as you pan the camera around the main room again to find it empty, all but for the shadows that appear to be crowding in. 

You can hear Steve make his way up two more steps, but before you can shine the light back down on him, there’s a loud THUD from somewhere below. The noise manages to sliver into the walls, sending an unnatural quake throughout the entire house.

 “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?” Steve jumps.

 His feet are moving before his brain can fully register what is happening. 

Steve never looks back again. 

He takes the next few steps and trips over himself in his haste, his glasses falling in the process.  He doesn’t even bother to bend over to retrieve them, he hears the glass crunch under his boot but can’t bring himself to care as the high volume of fear unravels him.

Adrenaline ignites his flight mode, and he’s practically crawling up the stairs with his hands now, scampering to get away from whatever or whoever did not want him down in the basement.

You stayed where you were, watching—filming. 

The sound of footsteps pricked your ears from the empty room behind you, prompting you to turn around to pan the camera again, shakily, but you were met with nothing but the decaying cabin walls. 

Your mind chooses not to register that the front door to the cabin is wide open now, the forest having its own personal view into the cabin, the branches silently watching.   

Steve has climbed closer now, stilling halfway up, with his face drained of color, bracing his hand on the wall for balance.  He meets your eyes for some much-needed reassurance. The documentarian in him wants to look back, to see what might be glaring up at him from the bottom of the stairs, but his fear won’t let him.

Four steps, one hand holds the camera, your other one on the doorknob. 

Three steps, you begin to shift to the side, ready. He’s so close, he’s ready to leave, make it out, you can see the relief in his eyes to be free of that hole. 

You’re both quaking like brittle autumn leaves now, it feels like the blood in your veins might turn solid and crack, and the air from your lungs is coming out like smoke.  

You feel the need to pan the camera once more just in case, but Steve is so, so close, you decide to wait. 

Two steps and he is about to reach out for your hand. 

One step. 

You slam and seal the door shut, holding your weight against it, twisting it a certain way so that it locks. 

Steve’s breathless, you can hear it, he’s panting. 

However, he’s not standing beside you. 

The camera catches the ornate, brass doorknob as it twists and turns, capturing the sound of his heavy fist banging against the wood, and it’s vibrating into your palm as you press it there, feeding on your guilt. 

“Hey, open the door,” he tries the knob again, with more force this time. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m fucking locked in here!” He pounds his fist, desperation mounting.

“I’m begging you, open the door.” He tries to ram his shoulder through the frame, and it's a pointless move, but it does make the regret bloom fresh within your chest. 

"Let me out! Get me the fuck out of here! Don’t leave without me, please!” He sobs, his voice turning shrill.

You press your forehead against the door, angling the camera down so that it's filming the floor. The camera angle exposes a flicker of something, just a tiny glimpse of some type of black markings.

Steve stops his banging, he goes silent.

Summoning the last of your courage, you say once more, "Sorry, I'm—I..."

Another forceful kick lands on the wood, he’s had enough, the forceful boot punctuating Steve’s plea. "Open the goddamn door!"

You start to back up then, camera almost forgotten as it records the floor.  Through labored breaths, you are issuing your apologies so softly, but loud enough for the audio to capture.  

There’s another loud thud, and the camera vibrates from the impact.

It’s followed shortly by the sound of a sickening crack from beyond the basement door.  Steve’s cry is cut short by another blunt thud, and you wince away, squeezing your eyes shut.  

You flipped the light from the camera off, thinking you’d shut down the entire device. Out of the darkness, the audio picks up what sounds like a hundred hissing whispers, speaking of unintelligible things, muddled amongst feet shuffling all around you.  

In the background, the next set of ears to listen to the tape will be able to make out the hollow thuds of a body being dragged down the stairs.  

To you, in the present, the sound prompts you to turn away from the closed door, your cheeks wet with tears. Your heart is heavy, lips dry and cracked, but you know that there must be sacrifices.

It’s all in order to maintain the balance. 

You really did the best you could for Steve: you got it all on film, you kept your promise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, one last time, and you mean it.

 There’s a rustling, another thud, and then the camera spins around as if it were thrown.

And then, nothing but static.  

Epilogue 

The bodies of Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, and their companion were never recovered from the forest near Burkittsville.  Most of the things from their campsite were recovered, along with a video camera and film that was handed over to authorities.  Contrary to what was found on the tape, there was no physical evidence of foul play anywhere on the property.  

Some experts speculate that you had something to do with their disappearances, others believe you met the same fate as your two companions.  When authorities went to question your friends and family, they found out that your life was a blank slate before you met Steve on the college campus, and your only living relative was a grandmother who lived in a nursing home not far from Burkittsville.

The police went to question her, but unfortunately, she was in the grips of late-stage Alzheimer's. There were two photos of you in your grandmother’s room: one was from when you were a toddler.  In the other, you were maybe 7 or 8 years old, surrounded by trees in a forest, holding up some sort of stick doll made of twigs. If one were to have a closer look, they would spot an odd, isolated cabin amongst the woodland background.   

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thank you for reading!

reblogs are deeply cherished, and so are your thoughtful words, but please, please try not to share any spoilers in the comments or the Blair Witch will get cha🧡

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[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

The Wolf and The Witch

Part 1/?

Steve knows better than to enter the Witchwood. He’d been warned from the time he was a child, back before the wolf, that it was home to its namesake. And not just any witch, a dangerous one. One that had killed an entire hunting party, unprompted, with the flick of a finger. None who have entered those woods since have ever returned.

Steve knows better than to enter the Witchwood, but he doesn’t have a choice. Robin is slumped over his back, hands clenched tightly in his fur, clinging desperately to consciousness. He can feel her blood, warm and sticky, matting the fur of his back. His own gait is slowed, every step jolting the silver teeth digging into his right hind leg and sending sharp pain shooting through him. He’s not sure how much longer he can run, and he can hear them - the bloodthirsty cries of the townsfolk dead set on his murder.

They had been found out. So many cycles of living in this town, living among its residents as a friend and neighbour, and still they’ve all turned on him. Of all the times for it to happen, too. It was the moon he had agreed to make Robin a wolf. She had already been weakened from the wolf taking hold when they had been attacked, the silver already a weakness but her body not yet given over to the strength of the wolf.

Steve wishes he could take her to Nancy, knows Nancy would help despite everything, but the townspeople have blocked them off, funneled him in his blind panic. His only hope is to lose them is the wood, but even then he might lose Robin to his own fumbling medical knowledge.

But first, he has to get away from their pursuers. Steeling himself with a deep breath, Steve enters the Witchwood.

————————————————————————

Eddie is no stranger to people trying to do him harm. It’s been a constant in his life from the time he was a child, long before his gifts had awakened. And one that had- well. It’s been a constant of his life, sure as the cycle of the moon and sun. So he notices the prickle of someone entering the woods, but he gives it no regard. It happens a few times a year, that someone gets it into their heads that they will be the one to kill “The Witch of the Woods”. None ever even make it to him, losing themselves in the enchanted trees.

These trees are older than him, and their magic is their own. They like him and welcome him among them, but otherwise are hostile to outsiders. In the beginning, he had tried to help those who became lost in the woods, but those days have long since passed. Despite what his uncle says about his soft heart, Eddie’s become bitter and jaded and he no longer pays any mind to those who venture into the woods.

But this time, something is different. Eddie feels the disturbance of someone crossing into the forest, feels the shift of magic as the forest warps around them, and it’s… different. The ways and paths of the trees are second nature to him, he can tell by the shimmer of magic against his skin which paths have been revealed and which hidden away and this…

The forest is being lenient, gentle. The interlopers are shown the ways to peaceful places, soft and danger-free. Eddie can recall only a few times that the forest has been kind to intruders, and it has almost exclusively been to children.

So he’s more than curious already when he feels the buzz of more people crossing the boundary into the woods. A lot more. And Eddie realizes that this hunt is not for him.

The trees are not so kind this time, opening its twists and turns like a maze, a trap for anyone foolish enough not to turn back immediately. They don’t, of course. They never do. Eddie pays them no mind, drawn instead by curiosity to the two that are being pursued.

He steps between the trees, slipping into a space that’s folded away between reality, picking his way with ease through paths that are there and paths that are not until he emerges at the edge of a small clearing, moonlit and mossy. Theres a tiny spring-fed pond and there, limping toward it, is a wolf. It’s huge, the size of a small bear, with a strong frame and thick russet fur.

It notices him at the same time as he notices it, and it’s massive head swings to face him, teeth already bared in a snarl. It’s hackles raise, and it turns fully, squaring up, a threatening growl rumbling across the little clearing to him.

Eddie steps back, already gathering his power until it glows around him with dark energy, because this is no normal wolf. Even without the size and the silver trap clamped around its leg giving it away, he can see it in its eyes, feel in its presence that this is something more.

He recalls his childhood, the warning tales at his mother’s knee. He remebers later, freshly chased out of town and taken in by his uncle, watching as the old man leafed through his ancient book and warned Eddie that he wasn’t the only dangerous thing in the wilds. Eddie has no doubt that he’s come across one of those dangerous things now. He looks at the wolf and knows exactly what he’s seeing.

A werewolf.

[disastardly]

Happy WIP Wednesday!! It was so hard to choose, but the witches have won me over. Please add a few sentences to pick up every stitch? :)

Up and over, no magic required when you had Steve’s upper body strength. (Try explaining that to Tommy and get laughed out of the conversation.) A hand tight on his athame as he landed softly on his feet, whole body tensed for the inevitable punch, kick, tackle, anything. Hedges always got violent, that much was gospel truth among the coven’s active rangers. All that tension and nothing. Nothing in front of him, nothing coming in hard and fast from the sides. He glanced right: nothing. He glanced left: A beautiful snarl of a man, poised at the other end with a guitar slung over his shoulder, one arm raised and ready to strike.

[viviseawrites]

wishing the happiest of (slightly belated) birthdays to @paradimeshifts7!

each evening's darkening

rated E | 11k words | stevie harrington enters the forest to barter with a witch for a cure. she comes out with much more. wlw steddie.

excerpt:

Stevie Harrington knows better than to enter the woods. She’s lived in town all her life, after all, and the people of Hawkins have long claimed that something ominous haunts the land beyond the tree line. It used to be that young men dared each other to spend a night beneath those boughs to prove their courage, but too many never returned, and now folks respect the wishes of the forest.

If it weren’t her last resort, Stevie would not be here. She should be tucked away in bed at home, settling in for the night. Instead, she’s standing at the spot where prairie grasses give way to tall trunks, peering into the shadows. She shifts her weight between her feet, eyes searching for any sign of danger, before she swallows and steels herself. Her shoulders roll back under the straps of her rucksack as she nods firmly, just once, and makes the stupidest decision of her life so far.

The temperature drops beneath the trees. Her feet, clad in thick wool socks and worn boots, sink into the damp mulch of leaf litter and decay, kicking up a musty scent that tickles the back of her throat. “This better fucking be worth it,” she huffs, pointedly keeping her gaze directed straight ahead.

Robin told her not to do this. She begged and pleaded and threatened and promised to help find another solution. After all that, Stevie barely believes she managed to convince Robin that she would wait for her. Stevie half-expected to find her sleeping on the doorstep just in case Stevie tried it anyway.

But it’s better this way. Either Stevie succeeds or she fails, but no one else suffers, whatever the outcome.

After a few minutes, she’s learned not to look when she thinks she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. She chalks it up to normal animals—squirrels, foxes, rabbits, and the like—because there’s no point in considering anything more dangerous, not if she intends to see this through. Instead, she preoccupies herself by repeating what Dustin had told her at the start of all this, again and again, intent on remembering every detail.

“Not all witches are evil, Stevie! I swear on my mother,” Dustin had insisted. “I read something about witches that used to help people instead, and it said the witch of Mirkwood was one of them until something really bad happened.”

“So what happened?”

Dustin had folded under Stevie’s unimpressed raised eyebrow. “Well, no one is really sure.”

“Even if that were true, Dustin, how would I find her?”

“The book says only those in need may find the path,” Dustin had said. Despite further prodding and bickering, he recalled no other details. Honestly, Stevie nearly gave up on the idea right then and there. It was far-fetched and unlikely to yield results; it still is. But at least she exhausted every other option before resigning herself to this.

Only those in need may find the path. Stevie figures the desperation bubbling under her sternum lends credence to the necessity of this cursed trip.

She just hopes that Dustin and Robin forgive her if everything goes wrong.

A low, grumbling kind of snarl splits the muffled night air. Stevie flinches, whipping her head up to look for the threat, and immediately pitches forward over a raised root. Displaced air ruffles her hair and her ankle rolls under her until a yelp breaks from her lips, but she manages to catch herself against the rough bark of a thick oak. The silence that follows weighs heavy on her trembling shoulders. Gone are the weird shuffling noises and hair-raising growls; instead, silence descends around her. Even the owls have gone quiet.

Stevie presses her back up against the oak and stares out into the dark. Despite the glowing moon she spotted before entering Mirkwood, no light pierces the canopy here. She does manage to spot a branch on the ground a few feet away, though, amongst a patch of clover, and she scrambles to pick it up, wielding it like a club as she waits for an attack that never comes.

Her heartbeat drums loudly in her ears. Her fingers cramp around the makeshift weapon, held at the ready even as the normal sounds of the forest filter back in. Whatever she encountered, it appears to have moved on, but her nerves refuse to calm.

When the voice comes, Stevie acts in a way she’s not proud of. “You know,” someone says behind her—the words cut off as Stevie screams and whirls around, sweeping her branch through the air only to find nothing waiting. A shudder wracks her arms and spills down her spine.

Witch, her mind hisses.

“Well, that was rude,” the voice says blandly, coming from overhead this time. Stevie looks up searchingly to no avail. “I was just going to compliment you on dodging the demodog. It almost looked purposeful when you tripped. Very graceful.”

read the rest on ao3

[a-little-unsteddie]

strawberries & lemonade

i have wanted to write something for this month’s @steddiemicrofic challenge, but i have been unable to get my brain to do anything with it for some reason. however! that ended tonight and i was able to write this and now i’m gonna think about witch!steve for the rest of forever. thank you @sailing-through-hawkins and @hammity-hammer for enabling me. alternative title: how much world building can rowan fit into this ficlet? answer: tbd

prompt: charm || word count: 548 || rated: t

If you needed something magic related, there was only one place in Hawkins to find it.

Okay, well, maybe that was a lie, but there was only one place that anyone with any self respect would go to. Which is why Eddie found himself approaching the Harrington cottage at the barrier between town and the wilds.

Eying the edge of the wilds warily, Eddie carefully made his way up the stone path to the front door. When he looked up at the front door, he was surprised to see the witch leaning against the railing of his porch. He wasn’t exactly what Eddie had been expecting; he was wearing a worn yellow shirt with brown leggings, and some brown leather boots. Atop his head wasn’t a stereotypical witch hat, but his hair was tucked into what appeared to be a crocheted hair bandana. All of that is to say, he didn’t look like who Eddie had expected to find when he left the small place he called home that afternoon.

“Well met,” Eddie breathed, eyes wide as he met Steve’s gaze head on.

“Well met,” Steve returned, smiling slightly. He gestured towards a small set up where he had put out lemonade and fresh fruit, “Come sit. We can talk.” Eddie’s stomach immediately growled as he walked up the steps to sit where Steve had motioned.

“Are the stories true?” Eddie asked, looking at the food and beverage with apprehension. Steve sat across from him, sitting with his legs folded under him.

“What stories?” Steve asked, before noticing his apprehensive demeanor and snorted. “No.”

Eddie flushed, ducking his head as he muttered a quiet, but sincere apology. He reached out and grabbed a strawberry, humming happily as he bit into it.

“My uncle is sick,” Eddie said, as he sipped the lemonade. The witch hummed, eating one of the strawberries himself. “I heard you’re the best.”

“You heard correctly,” Steve said, nodding. “What ails him?”

“We..we think it’s a curse.”

“We?”

“I,” Eddie amended, looking sheepish. “I think it’s a curse.”

Steve hummed and looked at Eddie expectantly, which the man took as a sign to continue. He explained the little he did know about his uncle’s condition, a persistent fever that refused to go down, with fever dreams of black dogs plaguing his fitful sleep. All the while, Steve listened carefully, looking more and more angry as he continued.

“I agree with your assessment,” Steve said, standing abruptly. “Stay here.” He said before disappearing into the cottage, leaving Eddie sitting on his porch alone. When he returned, Steve held out a small charm. Eddie hesitated briefly before grabbing it.

“Put this beneath his pillow for three nights, and the fever will break and the dreams will cease,” Steve explained, eyebrows furrowed, betraying his concern. “Nights only,” He reiterated. Eddie nodded slowly, peering at the small charm curiously.

After a moment, Eddie looked up at the witch. “I don’t have a lot to offer in return,” he admitted guiltily.

Steve smiled softly, “I only ask for a boon.”

“A boon?”

“You will know,” Steve said, reaching out for Eddie’s hand, covering it completely with his own. Eddie hissed, shaking it out before realizing Steve had seared his sigil onto the back of his hand. “And you will come.”

[tinytalkingtina]

Soaring Symphony (Steddie Dragon and Witch AU) Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is now live! Read it now on Ao3

Outcast witch Eddie lives alone in the woods, until one day he encounters an injured dragon in need of aid. Aka, a Witch!Eddie and Dragon!Steve fantasy AU.

Rated E (Chapter 5 is strictly T-rated though)

Tags/content warnings: Fantasy and Magic AU, Witch Eddie Munson, Dragon Steve Harrington, Disabled Eddie Munson, Blood and Injury (nothing more graphic than canon injuries), Nudity, blow jobs, mating bites (not omegaverse just borrowing the concept), emotional intimacyTM, discussions of body image issues

Excerpt:

“That’s…that’s my sister.” Eddie shook Big Boy’s shoulder in excitement. “She finally found you, you were right! Guess we don’t have to resort to pigeon mail after all.” “She must have figured out a way to sneak around, always was the smartest one out of the whole clan. Come on, I want you to meet!” His dragon took off running. Eddie hung back, wanting to give them a moment together first.  His sister landed with a bounce and a hop, frantically meeting him halfway. Hisses and rumbles fell out of her mouth in quick succession. Big Boy touched his forehead to her snout, speaking softly. His sister butted him solidly in the chest in response, causing his dragon to throw back his head and laugh. Doing so exposed his neck, and the pink ring of still-healing scar tissue that encircled it. Big Boy’s sister’s posture changed immediately. Her tail came out to surround Big Boy tightly as she turned to face Eddie with green fire licking out between her fangs. Eddie whimpered and dropped to the ground. “BIRDIE STOP, please don’t hurt him, I’m okay!” With his eyes shut tight, Eddie heard his dragon come closer. “Eddie, I’m here now, stay with me, you’re not in that attic.” Warmth enveloped him. “Come on, put your fire away and calm down, he’s not an enemy!” A growl emanated somewhere above them. Big Boy’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “What are you—yes, of course, I have invisible restraints on right now, you’ve solved it, that’s clearly what’s keeping me here.” After a few moments pause, a deep note rang out. The reverberations bounced around Eddie’s skull, making him wince. As the note faded, a bright green light pierced his eyelids. Opening them in surprise, he yelped when he saw Big Boy’s sister looming over them, with beacons of light pouring out of her eyes. “There, now do you believe I’m not possessed? It’s pretty simple, I’m not leaving him right now because I don’t want to.”

Tagging a few folks who helped push me to write this over the past month, thank you <3 @devondespresso @dreamwatch @soaringornithopter @blubblesandink

@augustjustice @vthx

Also thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the divider!

[steddieunderdogfics]

A Rage That Never Wavers by FandomLover1992

@fandomlover1992

Rating: Explicit

78,813 words, 9/? chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Needs Love, Steve Harrington Needs Therapy, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Bottom Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is cursed, Abused Steve Harrington, Gay Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Sex Toys, Magical Tattoos, Magical Accidents, Magical Artifacts, magical healing, Alternate Universe-Witches, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Steve Harrington is a hot wood worker, Magical Sex Toys, First Time Bottoming, Loss of Virginity, First Kiss, Eddie Munson is Whipped, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Gay Eddie Munson, Eddie is a LGBTQIA champion, Protective Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Fluff, Eddie Munson Has a Crush, Familiars, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Steve Harrington Whump, Eddie takes amazing care of Steve, Touch-Starved Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has PTSD, Steve Harrington Has a Praise Kink, Eddie Munson Has a Big Dick

Summary:

It was just a baseball. Steve knew he shouldn't have gone into his neighbor's yard for that stupid baseball when he was twelve, but Tommy Hagen insisted. The worst, Steve thought would happened, would be that he got yelled by his parents. Not this through…not this hell….not this curse. From that day on, anyone who got within 20 feet of Steve Harrington, his friends, strangers, his own parents were overcome with rage and hatred for him. And where rage and hatred festers, beratements and attacks soon follow. One day, many years later Eddie Munson, a rather powerful, if not quirky and well-meaning Witch moves to town with his Uncle Wayne. Between hexing bigots and building magical artifacts, Eddie's determined to solve the mystery of the angel that lives in the cabin next to them in the woods. But can Eddie help him? It's one thing to lift a curse, it's another to mend a body…and a soul. If you're looking for a super angsty, hurt/comfort fic where Steve's a hot wood worker and Eddie's a witch, all in an Autumn cabin core setting, look no further!

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @fandomlover1992 . Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[hairmetal666]

Eddie is sixteen and his magic is incredibly volatile. He's powerful and he has trouble not accidentally casting when his emotions are high (which is always) or casting on a whim, not being careful enough of his words, and suffering the unintended consequences. Wayne ends up hiding the grimoires and family journals until Eddie learns a little more control, and is the first to realize that Eddie casts better while he's playing music. They develop a system, by no means perfect, where Eddie composes a song based on how the spell feels.

Sixteen is also the year Eddie falls in love. He's always known he liked boys, but never thought about relationships. He lives in Hawkins and is a witch, for god's sake. He sneaks off to Indy, goes to bars, but can't imagine having something like a boyfriend.

Jackson is new in town, already 17 but in Eddie's grade. It starts as friendship, but before long Jackson kisses him. Eddie thinks it's like a fairytale. It ends when Jackson's military dad is transferred to a base overseas. It's mundane. It rips Eddie's heart to shreds.

After, Eddie does a spell. He knows he shouldn't; he's too upset and his magic is unpredictable at the best of times. He doesn't care. He grabs his guitar, starts playing. The song is melodic, layered, sad. He starts babbling, casting a spell to never fall in love by creating the most beautiful, unrealistic boy in the world. He won't remember some of what he says--and that's a problem-- but knows he talks about a boy with a map of the night sky on his body, the loneliest king, the prettiest man in Hawkins, jock with a heart of gold, lover of nerds and small children, throws himself into danger with little thought for the consequences, shockingly kind, fantastically mean. He knows this person can't be real, too many contradictions, too many impossibilities.

Enter Steve Harrington.

Eddie knows Steve. Everyone does. And sure, the guy is hot as hell, but the worst kind of douchebag jock, so Eddie never really considers him worth thinking of. And that would probably continue, but his new Hellfire recruits think the sun shines out of Harrington's ass, and apparently Robin Buckley is his best friend. It doesn't add up and Eddie's usually great at math.

Time passes and he starts to get it. He watches Dustin and Harrington do the dorkiest, nerdiest handshake and the joy that contorts Steve's face. It's so fucking beautiful, Eddie has to look away. He comes upon Harrington and Erica Sinclair bickering, both smart-assing, listens to the way Erica giggles about it once she thinks no one can hear. Or when he watches Steve drop Max Mayfield at home--Max who Eddie has never once seen smile, who he's always been just a little bit afraid of--and she's laughing and teasing him, beaming.

It's inevitable when they become friends. Steve is a wonder. Constantly a surprise. So pretty it's like looking directly at the sun. When Steve tells Eddie that he's bisexual, it drops off his tongue with no hint of unease, no consideration for how he's upending Eddie's world view.

One night they're getting high, just the two of them, and he's asking if Steve wants to shotgun and Steve smirks and leans in, and then they're kissing. Doing way more than kissing.

They keep hooking up, but it's nothing. It's Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who wants the all-American white picket fence, wife, 2.5 kids, and a dog. Not a dnd playing-metalhead-nerd-witch dude. And if Eddie feels himself growing inexplicably more and more fond, well, he's made damn sure love isn't in the cards for him anymore.

They're laying in Eddie's bed one night, Eddie tracing gentle fingers between the moles and freckles on Steve's back.

"That tickles," Steve murmurs. "What are you doing?"

"Mapping the constellations," he whispers.

Steve's laugh vibrates Eddie's ribcage, as does the rumble of his voice saying, "my mom used to do that when I was a kid. Said she was looking for the big dipper."

He presses his lips against the top of Steve's spine to stop from saying something unkind about his parents, who never loved their absolute gift of a son enough, leaving him lonely and forgotten in that big, cold house. He freezes as soon as he has the thought, remembers that spell. It's nothing, of course. The spell was to repel love, not get Steve Harrington into his bed.

They keep sleeping together, spend almost all their time together. Eddie's enamored but it doesn't matter. Steve isn't his, not really, and never will be. Eddie made sure of it.

But one day Steve comes over and sees this old Casio keyboard Gareth brought over.

Steve flips it on, starts hitting notes; at first dicking around, but then sliding into Clare de Lune.

"You play the piano?" Eddie asks. He knows he has a dopey smile on his face, his heart doing something terrible in his chest even though he's not in love.

"Took lessons until I was ten," Steve smiles up at him, blushing when their eyes meet.

Eddie has to walk away or he's going to do something like drop to one knee and propose. Steve keeps playing, transitioning from Debussy to something infinitely sweeter, so sad it makes Eddie's heart ache.

He stands in the doorway to his bedroom for at least thirty seconds, before storming back into the living room. "What are you playing?" he demands.

It startles Steve, whose fingers still as he looks at Eddie with giant eyes. "Uh, I don't know. It gets stuck in my head sometimes. I thought it was Ozzy or Dio or whatever. It only happens when we're together. You don't recognize it?"

Eddie recognizes it. Eddie recognizes it and Steve shouldn't know it. Eddie didn't write it down , just like he didn't write down the words of the spell.

"Get out," he says. Mean because he's trying not to fall apart.

"What? Eds, what're y--"

"No, you need to leave, Harrington. Right fucking now."

"Eddie, tell me what I did. Let me fix it, please."

"Not on you. But you have to go," Eddie is shaking and Steve's eyes fill with tears.

He doesn't fight, though. His mouth pinches and he shoves his way outside.

Eddie panics and cries, tries to remember as much of that fucking spell as he can before Wayne comes home.

The first words out of Wayne's mouth when he sees Eddie curled up on the couch are, "What'd you do this time, kid?"

He spills it all, every last detail, and Wayne listens in silence, eyebrows peaked.

"It's that Harrington boy?" He asks when the tale is told.

"How'd you know?" Eddie asks.

"Are you kidding me? I see the way you look at each other. You love him?"

Eddie nods, burying his face in his knees. "He doesn't want this, though. He only likes me because I fucking spelled him to."

Wayne rests a hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Kid, I thought I taught you magic better than that. Better go make things right while you can. Then we're going to have a long talk."

Eddie wants to ask what the point is in making it right. It's already too late, after what he's done. Still, he makes the drive to Loch Nora.

Steve opens the door in sweatpants and a stretched out t-shirt, his hair undone. He's sad, Eddie realizes.

"You here to tell me what I did yesterday?"

"Like I said, it wasn't you. Can I come in?"

Steve nods, steps aside.

"Well?" Steve prompts.

Eddie explains exactly what he did four years ago, what it lead them to. When he finishes, he braces for Steve's anger, for yelling. Instead, Steve throws his head back and laughs.

"You're not mad?" Eddie asks. "Or you're so mad that all you can do is laugh?"

"Not mad," Steve confirms.

"Why not? How can you trust me now? Trust this?" He gestures between them.

"I don't know, dude. It's not like you...designed me, or something. I didn't wake up one day when I was fifteen with a bunch of new moles. I told you about my mom. Plus, that would be medically concerning. And I definitely already had crushes on other boys. So, you didn't make me bi."

"What about being kind? What about the kids and being protective?"

Steve just shrugs. "I think a lot of that was due to Nancy, but I guess I can't stay it wasn't the spell."

"You're too calm about this. I took away your free will!"

"Did you?" Steve raises an eyebrow, way too unbothered. "Maybe the spell brought us together. Took a damn long time to do it, but I don't feel like I have no choice in this." He turns more towards Eddie, taking his hands. "I like what we have. But if you don't feel that way, we can end it."

It's Eddie's turn to laugh. "Not feel that way? Harrington, I don't know if you've heard, but you're the man of my dreams. I am, unfortunately, wildly in love with you. I just--this isn't what you want, right? Not forever. You want a wife. Kids. All that shit."

"Who says? We could have a family, Eds, if we want. Hell, we already do! We're raising six kids. And, yeah, maybe I will decide I want a wife and all that one day. I'm 90% sure nothing magical is stopping me. The only thing that is, the thing that matters, is that I want you. Not because of a spell." Steve smiles, face turning a delicious pink. "But because I love you too."

He squeezes his eyes shut to force back the tears that want to fall, kisses Steve instead. Their mouths slide together in perfect sync, and Eddie wants to get lost in it forever; in Steve's lips on his, the snag of his teeth, the way he clutches at Eddie's curls.

When they pull apart, Steve starts laughing again. "I can't believe I'm your perfect man."

"Oh my god," Eddie's face flares with heat. "You have to forget this ever happened. Your ego's too big as it is."

"Nah, this? This I'm remembering forever."

They kiss for a long time before Steve says, "I think I understand why that song was so sad now. You should write us a new one."

Eddie pulls Steve close, thinking that he'll write Steve whatever he wants for the rest of their lifetime.

[sijssjsbssjsnsnnskbskwns]

Steve Harrington X Eddie Munson X Sapphire Witch!Reader (this is just an idea you can use it if you want to!)

Summary: Stranger things Seasons 1 through 4…Season 5…to be continued…

(A/N: Hi hope this inspired you if you want to see more of my posts you can it’s recommended!…you can also use this idea on Wattpad to if you wanted or just here on tumblr just giving you options!… I also made y/n au profiles so you know what y/n could look like….YOUR WELCOME! :)