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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

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it will come back, part one

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: You don't go into the woods. You don't talk to strangers. And you don't, under any circumstances, approach a wolf. Unless one shows up bleeding at your door.

wc: 4.4k

cw: dark themes, mature content, suggestive themes, fairytale au, werewolf au, blood mention, animal cruelty and death mention, gunshots, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, servant!reader, milkmaid!reader, some sort of historical fantasy period idk, antiquated misogynistic values about sex and marriage, takes place in the sever the blight universe, inspired by the company of wolves by angela carter, eventual smut and explicit content in later parts

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+ MINORS DNI

There are things they tell you about the woods from the time you are born, weaning you on them just the same as you are weaned on milk. Don’t go into the woods on a full moon. Don’t talk to strange men. Likewise, if you see a strange man alone in the pines on the full moon, run and don’t look back. And don’t, for any reason, approach a wolf at any time. They’ll kill you before you turn the other cheek.

In your twenty-some-odd years, you have never seen a wolf. You’ve heard them howling, distantly, so deep in the forest that you don’t even feel the need to be frightened by it. They exist in there, somewhere, going about their business as wolves do.

Sometimes you hear about the wolves wandering into town. Old Mr. Thatch, from just over the creek, said his pigs were slaughtered in the night. He’ll have to spend a fortune to get a few more. Torben Plack from the end of Warder’s Row saw one drinking from the horse trough outside the inn last month.

There are whispers of wolves when a baby is missing from its crib. There are whispers of murder in the night. There are accusations that some of the townsfolk themselves are wolves in disguise.

Nonsense, the lot of it. Or, that’s what you believe. That’s what you choose to think about it– even though you’ve been told time and again that a pretty girl doesn’t think, a pretty girl believes and does what she’s told. She doesn’t go into the woods. She does her chores and she says her prayers and she marries a boy with a healthy income and lives quietly, rearing children until she can’t anymore.

(You don’t believe that, either.)

You don’t have the luxury of making any other choices, though. You are a servant, a milkmaid in the employ of a rather cold Master– you have no time for philosophy or discerning what you do and don’t believe about the local folklore.

You milk the cow. You chop the firewood. You feed the chickens. You harvest the cabbage and you don’t complain. You sleep on your bed in your shack– or, servant’s quarters– behind the grand house and you don’t, under any circumstances, question the Master or his wife. You wash the bedsheets after he sloppily takes his wife to bed, and you try to hide your disgust.

You usually do what you’re told. Usually.

On a night when the moon hangs round and full in the sky, lighting the stretch of land beyond your small shack in a milky blue haze, you’re building a small fire in the fireplace when you hear it. The howling. It’s so much closer than you’ve ever heard it, almost as though the wolves are just beyond the treeline that backs up to your master’s land.

You pay it no mind. Normally, the wolves are on the hunt for something– small animals that titter through the woods, unassuming until it’s too late. The howling will be distant soon, and you’ll be able to sleep soundly while the rest of the town frets about the dangers of the wolf-men, locking their windows and bolstering their doors.

Just as you thought, the howls drift away slowly. You snuggle down into the covers of your bed, and you barely flinch when Mr. Thatch fires off a pistol over the creek, ringing through the dead night louder than hell. These things mean little to you. You’re more interested in what the land of dreams holds for you tonight– it’s one of the only reprieves you get from your long days of work.

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when you are mere inches from sleep, that you hear a soft whining outside your cabin door. At first, you think it’s the wind. Then, when it gets louder, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

And when it turns into a soft howling, well. That’s not your imagination.

You wrap a woven blanket around your shoulders and leave the door open when you step out into the chilly night. You don’t have a candle– you could always knick one from the Mistress, but that might risk getting caught, and you don’t love that idea. So, you contend with the little amount of light that spills out of the open door from your small fireplace, and you squint into the dark toward the source of the sound.

It takes shape in the form of a wolf. A big one, covered in black fur and curled up beneath the gabled roof, as though attempting to make itself smaller. It shivers and whimpers miserably, tucking its paws close to its body.

You shrink back in the doorway, drawing your blanket closer around your shoulders. The hum of crickets in the bushes and in the grass across the pasture covers the shakiness of your rapid breathing. You don’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly be expected to bother the Master this late at night– even if it is a wolf, the barn is shut up and the animals are safe. You’d probably be expected to just stay put in your little cabin and wait for it to go away on its own. Maybe in the morning the Master will find it and skin it for the Mistress’s bedquilt.

The image makes you shudder. This poor thing– even if it is nearly as big as you, even if it’s a nasty predator in the eyes of everyone else– is clearly looking for some sort of reprieve. Just the same as you do at the end of the day. You can’t let it be skinned alive just for searching for safety.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, and you know the creature hears you, because it flinches badly. Almost as though it may bolt away in a panic. “No, no… don’t be frightened.”

You lower yourself down towards the ground, tentatively inching forward as the creature turns its head to blink up at you. Water brims its dark eyes, sparkling in the low light from your open door. Streaks of tears flatten the fur on its snout; the wretched thing lets out a noise like a sob, hanging its head like it doesn’t have the energy to stand you off.

“I’ve never seen a wolf cry before,” you tell it quietly. You’ve never seen a wolf, period, but you don’t need to tell it that. You’re not sure that it can understand you, anyways, but you keep talking like it can. “Are you hurt?”

The wolf snorts, sneezes loudly, and then trembles. There’s a high pitched whining, a heart-shattering noise that cuts deep into your chest as the beast cowers away from you. The whine turns into a low growl when you move a bit closer, but it doesn’t sound like it really means business. More like it doesn’t know what to do with your closeness.

“Hey,” you say again, more insistently. You inch your way forward, crouched low to the ground, holding your blanket around you with one hand as you reach the other out toward it. You’ve never tried to approach a wolf. You don’t know if it’s similar to trying to gain a domesticated dog’s trust– hold out your hand, let it catch your scent. Show it that you mean no harm, allow it to come to you. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

The wolf growls for a moment longer before finally relenting, and reaching its head forward to sniff curiously at your hand. You don’t know what you expect– perhaps that it would drop its head again, or back away cautiously. Instead, the wolf surprises you by pushing its head into your outstretched palm like a sad puppy.

“Oh,” you coo, stroking the wolf’s soft head as it trembles. Its ears twitch against your fingers, and it snuffles a few times, its body shaking with each, like an all-too-human fit of sobbing. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you inside.”

Again, it’s a shot in the dark. You back slowly away from the creature, whose watery eyes blink up at you, and then you stand, and open the cabin door wider. The wolf doesn’t move, still continuing to shake with its uneven breathing.

You take a step into the door, and watch as the wolf slowly struggles up out of its cowering position. On all four legs, it seems to be favoring its right front leg, lifting its left paw limply upward. When you take another step back into the cabin, and it follows, it shudders a breath and limps badly on its left leg.

“Good job, honey,” you tell the wolf gently as it tentatively follows you into the cabin.

You don’t know whether to leave the door open or to shut it; you’re not sure if there’s any wisdom in shutting yourself in close quarters with a wild animal, but you also don’t want the Master to find it come morning. You suck your teeth and swing the door shut, quietly latching it and hoping the damned thing doesn’t suddenly decide it’s too hungry.

You turn, and take two steps before dropping to your knees in front of the fireplace, where the most light hits the ground. You drop your blanket to the floor, and pat your lap as you look at the creature shivering a few feet away. “C’mere. Lay down.”

As far as you know, wolves don’t normally lay down and play lapdog for strange humans, but this one does. You wonder at it, remarkable in its size and beauty, as it flops down tiredly onto your floor and rests its head in your lap. Through your cotton chemise, the wolf’s chin is warmer than the heat of the fire.

You pet the wolf’s head again gently as you examine its left leg. It doesn’t seem to have any major wounds except for a spot of wetness on the side of it. When you lift it, the wolf in your lap whines loudly.

“I know, baby,” you coo at it, trying to pet its head as soothingly as you can while you look over the mangled leg and paw. Through the fur and dirt, you see a patch of pink skin matted with bright red, and your own hand comes away smeared with blood. There is a bad gash, enough to still be bleeding.

You don’t want to jostle the animal now that it’s relatively comfortable, so you bend backwards and sideways to reach the cup of water on the shelf at your bedside. It’s what you have on hand to clean the wound– you suppose you could sneak into the grand house to steal some soap, but just the same as the candle, you’d rather not risk it. You take your time in pouring cool, clean water on the wolf’s wound, rubbing dirt and blood away from the gash. In your lap, the beast huffs softly in response.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out of the woods,” you tell it as you tenderly clean its wound, expecting that you’re only speaking to settle your own nerves, “but you ought not to come around here too often. The men here are bloodthirsty. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

The wolf heaves a sigh. For what it’s worth, you take that as some sort of acknowledgement.

“I can’t do much else for you besides this,” you continue softly. The wound is clean now, the fur gone wet enough that you can pull it aside and peer at the gash itself. It’s quite deep, straight, and slices from the middle of its leg upward at a diagonal. It continues to ooze even as you examine it, painting your fingers red. You tip a little more water onto it.

You grab one corner of the blanket you’d used to wrap yourself, and rip a strip off along the grain. The light pink fabric looks almost comical when you wrap it around the wolf’s leg, tying it and tucking the tails in gently so that it won’t fall off too easily. You figure, eventually, the damn thing will come off while the wolf goes off on its merry way. You don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a pet, now.

“I wish I could give you more,” you tell the beast, petting your hand down its mane, feeling the silken fur slide through your fingers like the plushest finery that you’ll never be able to enjoy for yourself. “But, I suppose, you can rest here tonight. If you promise to stay polite.”

The wolf doesn’t fuss when you slide a stiff pillow under its chin, and slip back under the covers of your bed. You gaze at it, curled up in a big black mass on your floor in front of the hearth, and you wonder why on earth a wild animal would be so well behaved.

You wonder how a wolf is capable of crying.

You wake in the early morning light expecting to find a big black wolf sleeping in front of your hearth. Instead, when you rouse and rub the sleep from your eyes, you find that the wolf is gone.

In fact, there appears to have been no wolf at all. No blood on the floor, no black fur on the pillow that has inexplicably reappeared on the foot of your bed. Your water cup is full. And the door to your cabin is latched, just the same as it had been last night, after you let the wolf in.

By all appearances, nothing happened last night. There was no wolf. You half expect that you dreamed the entire thing. And you would continue to believe so– but, the end of your pink woven blanket is still torn, missing a strip from the end, frayed along the grain.

You slip from your bed and fling open the door to your shack, emerging into the cool morning air. You look down at the nook beside the door where the wolf had huddled in the dark, seeking shelter away from harm. There is nothing there to suggest that it had been there last night.

But you know it to be true. You know it.

How could a wolf, a four legged creature with full use of only three of them, manage to unlatch your door, step out, and then relatch it from the other side? How could your water magically refill itself? It’s a mile to the well in the town square, and it’s not like the wolf could have done it.

Broken from your thoughts, you hear a shriek of your name. You lift your head to see your Mistress, fully dressed, feeding the chickens. The daily chores have already begun.

“What are you doing outside in your underclothes?!” your Mistress yells, flinging grain down at the birds. “Go inside and dress yourself this instant, you wretch! And begin your morning duties!”

You jump, darting back behind the door. You hadn’t thought anyone would be out yet. “Sorry, Mistress!”

You rush to grab your stays from the end of your bed. You’ll pay for that one, you think.

There are a million reasons why you prefer doing your chores out of the house.

One, the Mistress isn’t around to rag on you over every little thing. Two, you don’t have to be watching over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t in the Master’s way. And three, you can take all the time you want to do other things as well, as long as you get done before dinner has to be served.

Your skirt is filthy, but it’s a beautiful day, and the creek that separates your Master’s land from Mr. Thatch’s land is babbling quite a bit, and it makes doing the washing up much easier than it otherwise would be. Which you’re happy about, since your arm is so badly welted you can barely curl your fingers.

You sniffle and lift your apron to wipe your nose. Then you wring out the Mistress’s petticoat– of which there are far too many for one woman to reasonably have– you whine at the strain on your injured hand, and you move to the basket of other soiled clothes. You think about blowing your nose in the Master’s linen shirt, and you’re about two seconds from doing it, too, when you hear a splash nearby.

“Shit,” says a man’s voice. There are a couple more splashes around the bend, and then yelps, and then there’s one enormous splash, and a laugh.

“Hello?” you call, trying to peer around the bank of overgrowth beside you. Then, there’s a cacophonous amount of splashing, which makes you screw up your face, and a man emerges from around the bank of greenery.

You pause, holding your Master’s laundry in your hands over the water like you’re wondering whether to dip it in or not. Really, you’re just shocked to see a strange man on your Master’s property at all. He’s out of breath, rosy cheeked and soaking wet from the chest down.

“Um,” is all you can say.

“Hello there,” the man says with a rakish grin that flashes sharp teeth at you. You blink a few times, just to make sure he’s really there. And when you do satisfy yourself with the fact that, yes, he’s very real, you then have to acclimate yourself to the idea that he’s also absolutely beautiful.

His very pretty face is framed by long, dark hair, and his eyes are strikingly dark. There’s something on his skin peeking out of the open collar of his burgundy blouse, but to look at that from this distance means to look at the way his shirt clings to his body, and then his trousers, and if you weren’t already struck dumb, now you are.

“How– how are you– um.” You wave your hands around, gesturing to the general area around you. “Whatareyoudoinghere?”

“I think I was going for a swim, of sorts,” the man laughs, holding one arm out a bit to indicate his damp appearance.

“Who are you?”

“Now, there’s a question for the ages.” The man tromps forward through the water, splashing along gracelessly and with exaggerated steps, like he’s trying to make you laugh. “Generally speaking, no one really cares who I am, just what I want.”

“Okay,” you snap, irritated by the man’s jovial attitude and his need to speak in riddles. “What do you want? Why are you on this land? What business do you have here, and with whom?”

“Whoa, hey–” the man holds up his hands, and grimaces like it’s painful to do so. Then he recovers with a flashy smile. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess. I have no business anywhere, I was just following the creek and seeing where it leads. Guess the time got away from me.”

“I’m not a princess,” you grumble back at him.

He tilts his head, his smile lingering as he looks at you. “Just an expression, no need to be nasty.”

You scowl down at your master’s clothes, and then plunge them into the water like they personally offended you. “Following the creek from where?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, towards the trees. “You came from the woods?”

“Thereabouts.”

You squint up at him. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows dramatically and takes another step towards you. “And may I ask who you are? Or shall I just call you ‘My Lovely Lady of the Creek,’ for time immemorial?”

You tell him your name flatly, and turn your face away as he gets closer, suddenly very invested in getting sweat stains out of your Master’s linen blouse using a cake of lye soap. “You should know not to go into those woods alone. There’s wolves.”

“Oh, I think I can handle myself in the woods, sweetheart.” Eddie smirks down at you. “Anyways, who wants to be in the trees on a day like this?”

You grunt. You don’t think the man will be going away anytime soon, which is bad news for you, because the closer he gets, the more inclined you are to look at him. Then, you’re more inclined to talk, and you’ve already been punished once today. You don’t think you could handle another.

The man, Eddie, sits himself down on a large rock jutting out of the water next to you. He watches you for a moment, scrubbing with one hand at the cloth on the board in the water, and then he points down at your arm. His billowing sleeve flashes red in your peripheral vision, along with the silver of the rings on his hand.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, his voice losing its humorous tone.

You look down at the welted skin. It stings, but the cold water numbs the pain just a bit. Now that he’s brought your attention back to it, your eyes prick with tears again, and you sniff. “My Mistress caught me outdoors in my chemise.”

“She should count herself lucky. It’s a sight to behold.”

“What?” You blink up at him. From this angle, him looming over you on a boulder, the sun rings his head in gold like a halo. “How would you know?”

“I’m… supposing.” Eddie bites his lip, staring off to the side for a moment, as if suddenly at a loss for the right words to say. “You’re a very… beautiful girl. I can only imagine.”

“That’s forward of you.”

“Besides, it doesn’t answer my question,” he rushes out. He scowls back down at your arm. “What did that to you?”

You heave a sigh. “Well, the Mistress told my Master. And the Master is very heavy handed with a cane.” A small sob constricts your throat for a moment, tears pricking your eyes again so badly that you have to stop working and close them. Your sinuses burn from the effort of holding it in.

“You were beaten because you went outside without a petticoat?” Eddie remarks incredulously, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I… I was also late to start my chores,” you admit in a wobbly voice. “So I suppose I got off easier than most would…”

“It’s cruel. I’d love to see how he would take it, if the tables were turned.” Eddie’s dark eyes flash dangerously when you look up at him; there’s something in the set of his jaw and the steely expression on his face that makes you think of the growling wolf last night. After a moment, he softens towards you again. “Why were you late to your chores?”

“I…” you trail off. You think about telling him about the wolf, but you wonder if he’s the kind of person who will go into town and yell about the wolves trying to steal women in the night, and you could do without the embarrassment. “I had a nightmare. Slept too late.”

Eddie clicks his tongue and rocks backward a bit. “A nightmare,” he repeats, considering the word like it’s a part of life’s philosophy. “What about?”

You don’t respond for a few moments. You’ve moved on to washing a pillowcase now, which is significantly less soiled than your Master’s blouse. “Why do you care?”

“I care because I hate to see My Lovely Lady of the Creek in distress. Even if she is completely vexed by the sight of me,” He says lightly, as you tilt your head down to hide the way your cheeks burn. He reaches up his right hand and produces a silver coin from behind your ear. You stare at it in puzzlement as he hands it to you. “What was your nightmare about?”

You hesitate just a moment before taking the silver coin. “Is this bribery?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie announces with a wry smile. “For your thoughts.”

You sigh. You could use the coin, you’ll admit. Maybe you could buy yourself a new robe, or a loaf of bread from the baker, or any other of the myriad things you’re in want of.

You tuck the coin down the front of your bodice, where it slides down and gets stuck between your ribcage and your chemise. Eddie’s eyes follow the path that it takes between your breasts with a hungry glint in them.

“There was a wolf,” you tell him quietly, going back to your work. “It came to my door bleeding. I brought it inside and nursed it. But when I woke, there wasn’t a wolf. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Eddie hums amusedly. “I wouldn’t call that a nightmare. I’d rather call it a dream.”

“A dream?” you echo with a scoff.

“Yes. A lovely dream, with a heroine and a lonely beast in need of kindness.” He leans towards you, his hands on his knees. “But, you know what they say about wild things.”

You huff with indignance, but humor him, because you’re curious in spite of yourself. “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You shouldn’t show them kindness,” he whispers, so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on your neck. “They’ll keep coming back for more.”

You startle, standing up with a noisy splash of water as you yank the last of the laundry from the creek. There’s a flush under your bodice that you don’t like, sticking to the coin that’s going hot against your skin as you think about it even being there. That it was produced by his hand. The more you think about it, the more you imagine it as an extension of his body, touching you just beneath your breast.

Eddie snickers to himself as you hurriedly, shakily, smack the last piece of laundry into the basket with the rest, and pick up the washboard from the water. With a frustrated huff, you stand and rest the basket of laundry on your hip. You gaze out across the creek, and then away towards the trees, and finally, when you’re sure you can form words, you turn back to him.

“Goodbye, Mr. Munson,” you say stiffly, so that you don’t trip over your own tongue. It comes out icily as a result, and you turn away to hide the way that you blush.

“Until we meet again.” Eddie presses his lips together, as though he’s stifling a laugh. Then he says, in a slightly bossy tone, “Take care of that arm for me, princess. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

You whirl around to ask him to repeat that– what the hell did you just say?– but when you do, the man is already gone. Along with any trace of his presence by the creekside.

Except, the coin he bought your dream with still grows warm against the heat of your skin, under your bodice.

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

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he came to serve cunt and that’s exactly what he did

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

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the more that you say, the less i know |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: you have the talk with eddie about his job.

contains: not really angst but not really fluff??? language. alludes towards violence or potential violence, but nothing specific mentioned.

"Can I ask you something?" You whispered, fingers tracing down a pattern of a web surrounding the black widow etched into his collar bone.

The room was thick with smoke, sweat. Eddie's cigarette burning between his fingers, the hallway light the only illumination the two of you had. Skin still slicked with sweat, clothes discarded on the floor; it was routine now. Eddie would pick you up from the bank, take you out, spoil you in lavish gifts or expensive dates, and you'd take him back here. To your place. Never his.

"What's on your mind, baby?" Eddie rasped, cool and easy, blowing out of him like the smoke that rolled through his nose.

"What, um," Your throat seemed to swell together, choking out the words you were desperate to say.

Eddie's head lolled over to you, careful and casual. Still there was a glint in his eye that you caught, even through the low light of the room, and it made you shudder. Like he knew what you were thinking, what you were going to say, like he could see right through you- maybe he could.

"What's going on, baby?" The purr in his tone, soft and calming. It almost made you want to brush it off, stuff your question down again, push it away for another time so you wouldn't ruin the moment. Ruin the softness.

His eyes were so soft when you finally met his gaze, bright and alert looking solely at you. Eddie was good at that, making you feel seen, like you were the only person in the entire world. It was one of his many magnetic qualities that kept pulling you back in, not that you gave much of a fight.

"I... I don't want to make you upset." Your stomach twisted, turned sharply, heart hammering.

Eddie's eyes didn't move, but he didn't miss the way your hands wrung, softly in your lap. "What's wrong?" He cooed, a gentle tone, wobbly and unsure. It wasn't one he was used to using, but he'd try for you.

You swallowed, bile rising, unsure of what to say. It sounded insane, the idea of it all, something out of a movie or a book, not something that should be your reality.

"You alright?" Eddie frowned, bumming the cigarette in the tray besides him. He brought his hand towards you, a gentle brush over your cheek bones. You winced at the feeling, jaw clenching. Eddie's heart sank in his stomach. "What's goin' on?"

"You... You said you worked in management." Your voice was small, filled with hesitancy.

Eddie blinked for a moment, face staying the same, unmoving from your own gaze. "Yeah." He nodded.

There was a pause, a tension so thick in the air you felt like it was crushing. "Is that-" You stopped yourself, a shuddering breath, hand still gripping and wringing around your palms. "What-What kind of management?"

Eddie exhaled slowly, pushing off the mattress slowly. Your eyes never left his, rounded and scared. You looked terrified- Why did you look terrified? Did you think he would hurt you? You were hard to read like this. Eddie was used to being unsure, used to the cryptic unknown, but not with you.

"I do all kinds of management. Management of people, mainly." Eddie said slowly, watching your face carefully. "Why? You lookin' for a job? Gonna leave the bank, baby?" He grinned, teasing, playful, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. To get you to not ask what he knew was coming.

You didn't laugh. Lips didn't curl, and he didn't get to see that dazzling smile he hoped to. Instead, your eyes stayed low, avoiding his gaze.

"That's... That's really what you do?" You muttered, head still tipped towards your lap. "Management?"

Eddie inhaled, shoulders rolling back, slouching against your headboard. Instinct kicked in, that reserved feeling washing over him, trying to detach his emotions to you so he could threaten you. Scare you. Get you to fall into line like the others in Hawkins did.

Your eyes cut to his, rounded, scared. His heart skipped, rushed with familiar bouts of electricity, head spinning, a heat spreading from his neck to cheeks to ears.

He couldn't.

His mouth wouldn't allow it even if he wanted to. Tongue swelling thickly in his mouth, choking back every venomous word that threatened to fall.

"Why don't you ask," Eddie said calmly. "And I'll tell you what you want to know."

He knew you weren't wearing a wire, completely bare in front of him. Nothing around was out of the ordinary, he wiped his nose, casually looking out your window to see only his car on the street. The same cars of your neighbors in their driveways, he'd memorized them all by now. Knew who was at each house.

"What?" Your brows creased.

"Ask me what you want to ask, baby." Eddie said calmly. He could see the hesitance, clear on your face, scared by something someone had finally told you.

"Hey, look at me." Eddie nodded, reaching out to touch you, fingers barely grazing over your bare shoulder. You tensed under his touch and he tried to ignore the aching that filled his stomach.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, baby. C'mon." He cooed, sweet and coaxing enough to have you melting back into his touch. "I would never."

"I know." You muttered. You did know, even if the more rational side of you told you that you shouldn't. You shouldn't trust him, not after what Nancy told you.

"So just ask me." Eddie's hand rubbed over your shoulder, thumb pressing into a blossoming bite from earlier. "I can't say this is unexpected. I knew you'd have questions sooner than later."

Your eyes shot up, rounded with shock. Eddie's lips curled, it was cute, how sweet you looked. Like you'd been caught.

"You're... You're not in management, are you?" You muttered, toying with the material of your quilt, rolling the fabric between your fingers.

"I'm in management." Eddie nodded slowly. "Just not a management you're familiar with. More freelance, I guess you could say. Not like in an office like you are, sweet thing." He pulled his knees towards him, letting his arms fall over top.

You could feel his gaze on you, careful but not harsh, gentle. It was unexpected. "Right." You frowned.

"I-I heard something different." You could barely register the words coming from your own mouth, so far removed from the bedroom, that it felt like you should have just been on a different planet.

"What'd you hear?" Eddie pressed lightly.

That same silence crept back between the two of you, eerily still, your gaze meeting his. "I heard you were in the mafia." The bluntness of your tone left a finality, cutting and sharp.

A chilling realization washed over you, crashing with a reeling sensation of nausea. Eddie's brows raised, a tiny quip, before he could even stop it. Your own eyes widened, color draining from your face entirely.

You didn't think your heart could beat any faster, no it wasn't possible, yet here you were, letting it hammer mercilessly in your ears. A sitting duck in front of Eddie, you wondered how many other there had been in this position. How many others saw his face as the last they'd ever see, and if you were destined to be next?

"Hm," Eddie's tongue rolled over his teeth. You jumped at the sound, fisting the sheets. Eddie didn't move, didn't pounce on you, no goons flying in from the windows like you'd imagined in your fear stricken fantasies. He stayed calm, relaxed even.

"Well, that's... that's the easy answer, I guess." Eddie nodded slowly. "That's one way you could describe it."

"So, it's-it's real?" You babbled stupidly. "That's real? You're-You're in the mafia?" A wobble in your tone that made you cringe.

"Well, not, like, the mafia." Eddie snorted lightly. "Not like The Godfather type mafia, but not not that. A, uh, a smaller scale. We- I work with some different stuff." His eyes met yours. "Do some different things."

"Like what?" You whispered. Why were you whispering? Your mind raced, head spinning. This was a dream, it had to be. It certainly felt like a dream.

Eddie's lips curled, just soft enough to have your heart fluttering, flustered in a whirlpool of heat and emotions.

"Told you, it's management. I wasn't lying about that. People management, money management," Eddie paused, finger drumming against his knee cap. "Other stuff." You fought back a shudder.

"I... I don't-" You swallowed, though your mouth was incredibly dry.

"Let me talk for a second." Eddie said, a commanding tone in his voice you weren't familiar with. It startled you, and you weren't sure why you were aching down to your core.

An inked hand skated across your sheets, and for the first time you saw the rows of skulls across his knuckles when it grabbed yours. "I don't know what you've heard, or what you've been told, and I don't want to know. I don't really give a shit about what other people say about me, but I do care about what you think about me." Eddie's fingers intertwined with yours, holding your clammy hand in his.

"I-I don't do this. I don't date, and I definitely don't talk about this kinda shit with people I don't work with." Eddie muttered. You could feel his own sweaty palms, squeezing your hand lightly.

You weren't sure what to say, that you could even speak if you wanted to say anything at all. So you stayed still, stayed quiet.

"But I meant what I said. I'm not... I don't want you to be scared of me or anything." His eyes met yours softly. "I won't hurt you. Wouldn't've started this with you if I didn't... if I didn't want something serious along the way."

You swallowed. "Why?"

"Why?" Eddie repeated. "Why what, sweetheart?"

"Why... Why do you do this?" Your voice dropped into that hushed tone, like you were scared to speak too loudly, you wanted to keep it between you. Eddie's heart swelled, the sincerity in an action he wasn't even sure you knew you were doing.

"It's all I've ever known." Eddie admitted softly. In the darkness of your room, he'd never felt more seen, more exposed under your soft eyes. "Everybody's gotta make it somehow, baby. This... This is what I had to do."

"And," Your fingers wiggled in his grasp, squeezing his hand nervously. "You wanted to do this? You're happy doing this?"

"I'm not... I'm not like some fucking sick monster, ok?" Eddie huffed, more defensive than he would have liked. "I don't enjoy when I have to do certain shit, but..." His knee bounced, eyes flickering back over towards his cigarette.

"The women's shelter down the street from where you work, you know the one?" Eddie asked. You nodded slowly. "They didn't have hot water for a month last spring. City wasn't going to do anything about it, they didn't fuckin' care until I made them fuckin' care." You watched him carefully. "Couldn't have done that if I had a normal job, could I?"

You shook your head lightly, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip nervously. "Point I'm trying to make here, baby, is..." Eddie took a deep breath in, free hand cradling your jaw gently, pinning you under his gaze. "I'm not just wreaking havoc around here for no fuckin' reason. I don't fuck with anyone unless they fuck with me and I have to, alright? That's just how the business goes. That's management."

"But I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. That's not what this is. That's where those movies got shit wrong, alright? It's not all like that." Eddie shook his head with an eye roll.

"You want me to be honest? Most of the time, it's boring. A lot of planning and moving shit around, making sure it's where it's supposed to be. It's organized crime, baby, not nearly the chaos that Hollywood wants it to be."

You hesitated. "It's not?"

"No," Eddie rolled his eyes. "I mean, you gotta be careful and stuff, but it's not like every single day you're having a shoot off with a rival gang or some shit. Not all horse heads and explosions, most of the time it's just planning shit. Managing people and things, and making sure it's where it's supposed to be with no issues." You didn't dare ask what the 'it' of the matter was, not now anyways.

"I just," You swallowed, taking a deep breath in. "I thought because you-you're always so... alert."

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to be stupid." Eddie scoffed lightly, the playfulness in his tone returning. "You should be more alert. More aware of your surroundings. How long did it take you to realize?"

"Realize what?" You frowned.

"Realize you were going out with a guy in management." Eddie smirked, picking his cigarette back up.

You blushed, picking at the sheet again. "I had a feeling after the fourth date." You admitted. "Not that it was that. Just that... I don't know. I knew it was something. I asked around and... someone told me."

Eddie knew it was Nancy, but he respected how you tried to play it off. Play it safe, that you were protective of your friend.

"So..." Eddie's fingers drummed on his knee. "Anymore questions?"

You shook your head, thumb brushing over his knuckles, lightly over the inked skin.

"I got one for you." Eddie hummed, squeezing your hand lightly, blowing the smoke towards the window. Your eyes lifted towards him. "You want to go to my place?"

"Your place?" You asked, stilling.

"Yeah, I mean, now that you know, I can show you my place. Don't have to explain why there's security and it's out in the middle of nowhere." Eddie smirked. "I have dogs too."

"You have dogs?" You asked, eyes lighting up. "You didn't tell me that."

"No, I knew you'd want to meet them." Eddie grinned.

"How many?" You tilted your head sweetly to the side.

"Four." Eddie beamed. "You'll like them. They'll like you."

"You're just full of secrets, aren't you?" You hummed, lazily holding his hand in yours, fingers curling around the other.

Eddie blew a last drag of smoke out of his mouth, letting the cigarette dwindle away in the tray. "You want to come?"

"Is this your way of luring me away so you can sink me in the river?" You laughed, nervously, like you weren't entirely joking.

"C'mon," Eddie shook his head lightly. "Don't play like that. I just wanna show you my place."

You looked a little anxious, torn. "Truth? I want you to come over so I can show you where I live." Eddie cooed, hands sliding down your arms sweetly. "And... honestly? I can't do the twin bed again tonight, babe, I'm sorry. It kills my neck."

You gaped, shoving him lightly. "What's wrong with my bed?"

"Nothing. You know I never complain." Eddie grinned. "Just a little cramped for the two of us. I've got a bigger bed. You can spread out more."

"Oh? You're just taking me to see your bed?" You teased, grabbing your discarded shirt off the floor.

"No, I'll let you see the whole house of horrors." Eddie smirked, eyeing you as you bent over to grab your pajama bottoms. "But you can definitely see my bed if you want to."

You hummed, stepping back towards him. His hand caught your waist, pulling you nearly on top of him, noses brushing. He needed to see you, see your eyes, know what you were feeling, thinking.

"You trust me?" Eddie whispered, long lashes batting. Your heart swelled, and for a moment, you were sure he could convince you to do anything if it meant he'd stay looking at you so sweetly, so fondly.

You hesitated for a moment, nodding slowly. Nancy never said he was mean or cruel, only what he did for work. You knew she would have told you earlier, long before you asked if he was.

It was just a job, you told yourself, letting him sway you. Let him consume all your fears with a feverish kiss, hands pressing into your spine, pushing you closer and closer to him.

He held the passenger door open for you, letting you slip inside. Your street was quiet, still with neighbors who's long gone to sleep. Eddie held your hand in his on the drive, thumb brushing over your knuckles, stealing small sideways glances at you. You trusted him, let him drive you into the unknown, through the dark, together.

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

Text

sure, sex with someone you love is great, but have you ever obsessed over a fictional character for months and years with no end in sight?

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

Text

Snow in Indiana

Eddie Munson x Reader

5.7k words

Eddie has spent the past decade thinking about the pen pal he lost touch with, but fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when they need it most

Warnings: family death (unedited bc it is 3am and I have been working on this for hours)

“Dear Eddie,

Does it Snow in Indiana?”

He had read the beginning of the note hundreds of times by now. He had memorized how each individual letter had been written and slightly smudged. He knew the entire contents of the letter by heart, but that never stopped him from coming back to it from time to time.

“My grandma hasn’t told me much about Hawkins, just that it’s just like home. Except it’s on the other side of the country. Grandma likes the snow, so I hope you say yes.”

Something about the innocent nature of your writing calmed him down when things got rough. He had received the note in the middle of August at the beginning of 6th grade. Your grandmother had just moved across the country, and she just so happened to be the Librarian at Eddie’s new middle school. She had told both of you that the other could use a friend, even if you were thousands of miles apart. She also insisted that being pen pals would improve both of your lackluster reading and writing skills. She meant well.

“Can I tell you the truth? I didn’t want to write you a letter when grandma called and told me I should. My teachers say I’m not good at writing anyway. But Grandma also said maybe you and I could be friends. And I think I would like that.”

Some of your words had been crossed out with pen, either from misspellings or second thoughts on phrasing. Eddie had stared at the paper for so long that he even knew what was underneath those scribbles.

When the snow started coming down each winter, it was hard for him to not want to keep the letter on him at all times. The opening line of your first letter to him always floated into his head with the first snowflakes.

He had written you back to assure you that it does snow in Indiana, that he too had troubles with pleasing his teachers with his school work, and of course, that he too would like to be friends.

That was over 10 years ago now. He had never met you, never heard your voice, never learned what you looked like (besides the poorly drawn picture you had included for him one time) but you had been a part of him for his middle school years.

The letters started slowing down in the 8th grade. You had told him you were nervous for high school, that you’d heard that kids were meaner there. The last letter he had sent you was in the summer before both of your freshman years. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he had said, what his last words to you were. All he knew was that he wished you luck for your first day.

Then the letters stopped completely. After months of checking mailboxes impatiently, he got the hint and gave up.

At the age of 24, he wishes he sent another letter. He wishes he got some closure on why you stopped writing. He had always wondered if it had been something he had said, or maybe you had just found new friends in high school and decided you didn’t need him anymore.

He was embarrassed to admit that it was his first heartbreak. So he refused to admit it even happened to anyone he knew now.

He tucked the old letter in his pocket as another patron entered the diner. He had picked up a second job as the night cook in hopes of saving up enough to to move out of the trailer with Wayne. It had been months of helping Wayne with bills now, and he was just barely starting to see the hard work pay off in his savings account.

He peeked out the pass through window to get a glimpse of the first customer they’d had in the last hour and a half. The snow had been coming down hard, and it was preventing the already few people who would be coming in to the diner at this hour from showing up. He wasn’t surprised to see the young woman, somewhere around his age, follow the waitress quickly to the booth in the corner and sit down. He was, however, surprised to see no new car in the small lot outside. He hadn’t seen headlights arrive or depart to drop her off. The snow that has accumulated on her hair, even thought it has been covered with a hood, was making him think she had walked a distance to get here. If the counter hadn’t been blocking his view, he would have seen the bottom of her pants completely soaked through from the snow piled outside to confirm his suspicion.

“Can you start on a stack of pancakes, Ed?”

He nodded at the waitress, Judy, who wasn’t usually one to whisper like she was now. She rushed off to the phone in the back office, which did nothing but pique the interest in Eddie’s under stimulated brain.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he made his way out of the kitchen quickly, grabbed a mug from the counter and the full coffee pot, and made his way over the girl in the corner.

You had been staring out the window, and Eddie recognized the look as he approached. You were doing your best to hold yourself together. He was used to this kind of customer at this time of night. People who really needed the company, who had nowhere else to go, often found their way here after midnight. But there was something different about you, and it wasn’t just that he had never seen you around town. No matter how hurt he could tell you were inside, you did your best to keep up a facade when you saw him approaching.

“Coffee?” he offered, less poised than he had intended.

“Please,” you smiled up at him as he set down the mug and poured. He allowed himself to take you in, and that’s when he saw the snow still caked on to your sneakers, and the damp cloth stretching from the hem above your ankle nearly up to your knees. There was snow yet to melt from head to toe, and you were trying your best not to shake from the cold.

“You walk here?” He tried to make light conversation as he chuckled, but you weren’t as chipper.

“My car broke down about a mile up the road. Walking was my only option,” You tried to keep the smile on your face, but Eddie saw the look, almost like a shunned child. As if you were embarrassed by what you had done, preparing for the lecture or consequence coming your way.

Before he could say anything, Judy returned from the back office.

“Tow truck won’t be running ’til morning, darlin’. But I left a message telling them you’d call first thing,” Judy gave you a halfhearted smile, before turning to Eddie, “Where’s that stack I told you to start on?”

“Right, sorry,” he quickly excused himself back to the kitchen, but did his best to listen for the conversation you were having on the other side of the room.

“Where are you staying tonight? I can try to get you a ride there.”

“My grandma’s house, well it used to be I guess. I think it’s just a few more miles into town, I’m not a hundred percent sure though, I’ve never been out here.”

“Used to be your grandma’s house?”

“Yeah, she, uhm… passed away not long ago. Hard to own something six feet under,” you tried to joke, but failed to make either of you laugh, “Funeral service is next week, I came early to pack up her things. Guess I chose the wrong day to drive in though.”

“I’d say. Well let me see what I can do, do you have the address?”

“Yeah, it’s right…” you trailed off as you checked your pocket, slowly coming to realize that you had left the torn piece of paper with the address written on it on your passenger seat, right on top of the map you were struggling to follow in the heavy snow. “Guess I left it in the car.”

Just as the realization was threatening to break you, Eddie came and set a fresh stack of 3 pancakes in front of you.

“You eat up, it’s on the house. And let me know if you remember any of that address,” Judy smiled at you and walked into the back before you could refuse the free pancakes.

Eddie watched you for the next hour through the pass through window. No other customers came in, so he didn’t exactly have anything better to do. It was nearing 4 am, the end of Eddie’s shift. He had cleaned his station in the kitchen faster than he ever had and made his way out to your table to check on your before he left.

“Any luck with that address?”

“Don’t think I’d remember it with a gun to my head. I might as well walk back and grab it.”

“Not a chance. My shift is over in a few minutes. Why don’t I drive you back to your car, you can grab it, and I can get you there.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

“No need to be polite. You’ve had a rough enough night, let’s just get you home.”

You didn’t correct his phrasing. This was the furthest you had ever been from home, and you were sure as hell feeling that in this strange diner with barely a concept of where you were. The snow falling outside only exacerbated your feeling of being out of place.

Eddie rushed to the back to grab his belongings and wish Judy a good night, letting her know he was going to get you out of there, before he made his way back out to you. You had brought the hood of your sweatshirt back up, and were staring out at the snow silently. He approached cautiously and gently spoke, “Let’s get out of here,” before guiding you through the door.

“I’m Eddie, by the way. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier.”

You paused at his name, but he was too busy trying to find his van through the wall of snow to notice.

“I’m y/n, thanks again for helping. You and Judy are both angels.”

He smiled at your name for a moment, but kicked the idea from his mind.

Both of you thought of the letters you had sent all those years ago, unaware that the person climbing into the same car as you was in fact the person you were reminiscing on.

Eddie shook the snow out of his hair like a wet dog before starting the van.

“Left out of the lot?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“You know, I’ve helped fix up a few cars in my day. I could take a look under the hood for you when we get there if you’d like.”

“You’re already helping enough, thank you though.”

“I really don’t mind. Can’t hurt just to take a look.”

The glance and smile he shot you made your stomach do flips. In the low light of the passing, sparse streetlights, he looked incredibly handsome. Your mind wandered back to what you thought your Eddie looked like back in middle school. You had sent him a drawing of yourself, mostly as a joke since your drawing skills as a 12 year old weren’t amazing, but you were also trying to send him the message that you desperately wanted to know him better. Of course, when your grandmother had insisted you become pen pals with a strange boy, you weren’t too happy about the idea, but as time went on, the sound of a friend sounded too nice. You hadn’t had many of them in elementary school, and it concerned your family. But as your friendship with Eddie grew with each letter, you found yourself hoping for something, anything, more. Now, as an adult, you blame your adolescent brain for the silly crush. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him from time to time, still wondering what he might be doing in that moment, or if he is happy. But most of all, you wondered if he missed you as much as you missed him.

“You doing alright over there?” he asked you over the quiet metal playing over the speakers. He was playing it at about 1% of the volume he usually listened at, in an attempt to not scare you off just yet.

“Yeah, just a long night,” you smiled back at him. He nearly assured you that you could be real with him, that he could tell that something more was bothering you, but he worried that would be coming on too strong. And before he could find a way to say it without sounding creepy, you pointed out your car on the side of the road with a sigh.

It had only been a couple hours since you had left it, but it was nearly buried in the snow.

“That’s a little more difficult to check out,” He chuckled as he pulled to the side of the road, lighting up your car with his headlights.

“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab the address and we can get going,” you tried not to sigh as you opened the passenger door.

“Wait a second,” Eddie reached for your hand before you could make it out of the car, “I’m fine with taking a look, and I can grab the address too. No need for you to get cold again.”

“I already walked a mile in the snow earlier, I don't think a minute out there will kill me.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in here if you ask me.”

“Fine, but skip looking under the hood. I can call the tow truck when I wake up, it should be fine until then. Even if you could fix it with nothing, I don’t think I should be driving any more today.”

“Long trip?”

“Since 8 am. I really just want to get to sleep.”

“Deal,” he smiled again before stretching his hand out to you, “Keys?”

You reluctantly let him have the keys to go grab the paper, but not before trying to assure him you were capable of grabbing it yourself. You watched him as he rushed as fast as he could through the near foot of snow, grabbed the address, and rushed back to the van.

“You didn’t lock it,” you stated, nervous to not to sound nagging.

“I know, do you have a bag or something I can grab for you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, where is it?”

“It’s in the back seat on the passenger side. It’s a small black suitcase.”

“You got it, here, take this,” he handed you the torn paper with your grandmother’s previous address written on it in a handwriting that would have been familiar to him, had he glanced down at it.

He ran back to grab your suitcase, and made sure to double check that the doors had locked after he shut them before he rushed back to the van. He threw your suitcase in the backseat before jumping back into the drivers seat.

“I don’t know how you lasted a mile in that, I’m already freezing,” he complained, but his smile still refused to leave his face.

“I’m sorry,” you tried yet again to apologize.

“Don’t be,” he paused to look you in the eye to assure you that he wasn’t upset in the slightest, “Now let’s see that address. Hopefully I actually know where it is.”

You handed him the paper, and even in the low light, you couldn’t miss the way his face fell, even for a millisecond. He hadn’t seemed to stop smiling all night, but the second he saw the paper, it faltered for just a moment.

“Everything ok?”

He looked up at you, and you could tell he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

“Yeah, uhm, this is on the other side of town though. It’s a bit of a drive, is that ok?”

“I’d rather drive a little further than stay in my car tonight. So yeah, it’s fine,” you giggled, relieved that he didn’t seem angry or annoyed with you like you thought.

But he had seen the handwriting. He would know it anywhere, yet he still wouldn’t let himself get caught up in the coincidences. You were just a girl with similar handwriting, and the same name. You weren’t his y/n. He could never be so lucky.

“So, what brings you to town?” he asked after a moment of driving.

“It isn’t the happiest story, and I don’t want to be a bummer.”

“I’m nosey, and that does nothing to curb my interest,” he joked. He just needed to prod, he needed to know if he was being crazy.

“My grandma passed… about a week ago now. Her funeral is next week, but someone needed to clean up her house for the service, and no one else wanted to make the drive out.”

“Do you have any other family in the area to help out?”

“No, she only had 2 sons. My dad and my uncle, and they’re both back west. She moved here, like, 12 years ago now I think. Maybe 13.”

Just another coincidence. He’s not this lucky.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t heard that yet. Just stressed adults complaining about how traveling in the winter was too much of a hassle. Hearing those words, from a near stranger no less, was enough to make you tear up. And Eddie could hear that in your voice when you thanked him, but he chose not to comment on it.

“So,” you began after a moment of awkward silence, “How long have you lived in Hawkins?”

“My whole life.”

“Do you like it here?”

“Uh… It has its moments,” he tried his best to hide his discontent with the town. If it weren’t for his uncle, his band, and his small group of friends, he would have ran for the hills by now. He was too attached to them to run… and also lacking the funds to do so.

“That good huh?” you laughed.

“Hate to sound like an ass, but there are definitely plenty of cons that outweigh the pros for me half the time. But that’s not everyone’s experience.”

“Grandma seemed to like it, but she also liked it back home, and it’s no cake walk back there.”

You almost spat the end of your sentence, and although it wasn’t spoken explicitly, Eddie understood.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep bringing the conversation down. It’s just been a really long week.”

“I believe it,” He paused, “So how long are you going to be staying in town then?”

“I have no idea. Rumor is Grandma left me the house. And even if she did…. I’m sorry, I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours now, and driving for over 15 of them. I know you really don’t need to hear any of this.”

You started to make your body as small as possible, hyper aware of how loudly you had been speaking, and how riled up you were getting. Your father would have hated to see it. But not Eddie.

“No, keep going. Like I said, I’m nosey, and it sounds like you could use someone to talk to about this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he agreed nonchalantly, unaware how much it meant to you.

“My grandma and I were really close before she moved. She didn’t get along with either of her sons, but she was the world to me as a kid. And my dad put up no effort to even reach out to her in the past decade, but he expects all of her stuff to be left to him, and my uncle wants the same. But my mom told me that one of them had reason to believe that she left it all to me. I don’t even know where they heard it, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful, I promise. I just don’t know what to do about the two grown men that she apparently left out of the will if that’s true, and how mad they’re going to be at me.”

“They wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“You don’t know my dad,” you scoffed. You knew damn well that the man wasn’t afraid of throwing a tantrum, especially if it came to money. And he wouldn’t care if you were the one getting hurt in the process.

“What would they have to be mad at you for though? For your Grandma loving you enough to leave you something to start your life on? How is that your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s my fault, they just care that they get their share. If it’s left to me, I might as well just divvy it up before they say anything.”

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I just don’t want to have any issue with them.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not fair to you.”

“You really need to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry,” you chuckled, genuinely fighting back the tears as you spoke.

“Sorry,” he chuckled back. He took a subject before continuing. “Have you seen the house? Like have you ever visited?”

“No, actually. Who knows, maybe it’s a real fixer upper and I’d be better off passing it on to my uncle,” you giggled, and that put the smile back on Eddie’s face.

“If I didn’t mess up the address, it should just be in this next neighborhood.”

You kept saying that all you wanted was to get some rest after your long day, but now that you were talking to Eddie, you didn’t want the drive to end. The disappointment hit you like a rock as he pulled into the driveway of your grandmothers old house, but the feeling quickly turned to something else as you looked out the window to see the beautiful 2 story house with large trees on either side.

“So much for the fixer upper theory,” Eddie said with a whistle, but you were speechless. This was much more than you had been anticipating, much nicer than you had spent your younger years picturing every time you missed your grandma.

“You ok?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just taking it in,” you chuckled nervously, still staring at the house.

“Why don’t we get you inside?” He said, reaching in the back for your suitcase. You put a hand gently on his arm to stop him, and he looked up to see your nearly empty stare, still on the building in front of you.

“Can you give me just a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“No, it’s fine… Are you ok?”

“Yeah…Yeah, It just,” you trailed off for a moment, “I hadn’t seen her in years. Had no idea what her house looked like, or what she looked like anymore. I got letters, I got calls, but… Part of all this didn’t feel as real. Going in there, that’s real.”

“Want me to come in with you?”

“No, that’s fine. I just need a second.”

“Have you ever lost anyone before?”

You didn’t answer, just shook your head as you moved your eyes from the house to him.

“Let me walk you in. You shouldn’t be alone for that.”

You looked back at the house for a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded your head.

Eddie carried your suitcase through the front door, and you both kicked off your shoes before stepping on the carpet. You took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch. Eddie sensed your hesitation as your fingers hovered. He took the opportunity to grab the fingers of your other hand. It gave you enough courage to turn on the light in the entry way.

The furniture was mostly unfamiliar. You could see a few pieces in the living room that you had remembered from your childhood, and the sense of nostalgia calmed you. Eddie let you walk ahead of him, letting go of your hand as you ventured further into the room. Slowly but surely, you made your way to a wall on the other side of the room. It was covered in pictures, new and old, of your grandma with family and friends. You recognized yourself in plenty of them, but the newer ones were the ones that you couldn’t stop looking at. She looked so much older that you had remembered, but still had the youthful glow to her that you had attributed to her mischievousness. No matter how old she got, how wrinkled her face grew, or how gray her had and gotten, you still recognized her. Part of your heart began to ache for not knowing her as she was before she passed. It had been so long.

You felt Eddie approach you from behind, and you expect him to say something nice, or encouraging. But he didn’t. He was surprisingly quiet. You turned to make sure he was alright, but he didn’t seem fine. He was staring at one of the photos on the wall, and he looked like he was about to be sick.

“Are you ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, still white as a sheet as he tore his eyes from the photo to look at you. He barely shot you a half smile before looking back up at the pictures. You took a step back to stand next to him.

“I just remembered that she worked at the middle school when she moved here. Did you know her?”

“Yeah.”

“…Did you like her?” you tried asking after waiting for him to say anything more.

“Yeah, she introduced me to my best friend.”

“Me too,” you smiled at the memory of your old pen pal.

“Someone back home?”

“No, actually. I probably shouldn’t refer to him as that still. We haven’t spoken in… years actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from the photos on the wall.

He should have said more, but he didn’t know what else to say. This was her. He was in shock. The girl he had spent the last decade wondering about had wandered into his diner. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, he felt like he could physically hear them, and it was hard to focus on anything you had possibly said. But luckily, you weren’t saying much.

He followed you like a ghost as you explored the first floor of the house. You were happy you had arrived before anyone else. You had the chance to see the house how she had left it, how she had lived in it. It gave you a sense of closure you weren’t going to get otherwise, it felt as if you were getting a sense of knowing her once again. You were caught up in it until you saw a clock on the wall, reading nearly 5 am. Realization hit you that you were keeping Eddie, and a sense of guilt washed over you. You turned to find him, with a bit of color returned to his face.

“It’s really late, I’m sorry I’ve kept you. You can go home if you’d like. I’m sure you want to get some rest too after your shift.”

He took a second, before asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” And you hesitated before nodding.

“Honestly, the roads are pretty bad out there. I could stay on the couch, help you figure out your car in the morning. How does that sound?”

He way have been a complete stranger just hours ago, but you really did feel like you could trust him. So you smiled and nodded.

“I’ll go find some blankets for you,” you smiled before disappearing up the stairs. Eddie didn’t expect you to come back for a while. You were bound to find your grandmothers bedroom and need to look around for a while. He made his way back to the living room while he waited. He stared at the wall again, but not in shock this time. Now that he knew was 24 year old you looked like, he desperately want to see what 12 year old you looked like. He found a picture near the middle of the wall, of a young girl smiling at the camera. It was the only photo on the wall without your grandmother in it. She had your eyes, had your smile, but most importantly, she actually looked like the drawing he had received all those years ago. You weren’t as bad of an artist as you’d thought. Eddie tried not to grow emotional staring at the photo. He only tore his eyes away from the picture of younger you when he heard you making your way back down the stairs.

Before you could reach Eddie, you paused by the window next to the back door, blankets in hand. The snow coated the back yard, reflecting the light from the back porch into the sky. You began to tear up, just as Eddie approached to take the blankets from you. He saw one of the first tears fall down your cheek, and quickly, but gently put an arm around you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… Is this what it looks like every winter?” you asked, looking up at him with misty eyes.

“For parts of it, yeah. Why?”

“Grandma loved the snow,” was all you could reply before looking back out at the yard.

He contemplated it for a second, fought himself on whether or not this was the right moment to say it, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I told you she’d like it here”

A moment passed as you processed what he had said. You gasped quietly, quickly turning your head to face him. He looked nervous, as if he had just handed his heart to you on a platter, waiting to see if you would reject it.

“Eddie?” you asked cautiously, and you both knew what the question really was.

“Yeah,” he nodded, still nervous and unable to read what you were thinking.

“You stopped writing,” was all you could get out before another tear dropped.

“What?”

“Y-you stopped writing,” you repeated, beginning to choke on your breathes as you spoke.

He nearly panicked as he tried to reply.

“Y/n, w-what do you mean? I only stopped writing when you stopped replying.”

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” you couldn’t stop looking at him, another tear dropping down your cheek. Your exhaustion was exaggerating your emotions, but you may have felt the same regardless. You had waited 12 years for this moment.

“Yeah. Why don’t we go sit down,” he smiled at you, before herding you towards the couch.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly as he crouch in front of you, one hand resting on each of your knees as you sat on the couch, “What do you mean I stopped writing?”

“I sent you a letter, you never replied.”

“That’s impossible, I waiting for months to hear back from you. There’s no way I missed a letter from you.”

“No, I sent one, and I waited, but you never replied. You broke my heart Eds,” you quietly began to sob, filled with too many mixed emotions.

Eddie quickly sat next to you on the couch and pulled you to his chest to comfort you the best he could, but he was still confused. He had checked his own mailbox, his neighbors mailboxes, other houses in town with the same street number as his trailer. This didn’t add up. He quietly shushed you as he thought.

“What did the last letter say?” he asked as you began to calm down just slightly. He had half the collection of your letters memorized, but especially the first and last. He would know if he had read it if you described it.

“It was before Freshman year, I told you how scared I was that all the kids were going to be mean. I was so afraid that I was going to get singled out for still having no friends, and I waited for months to hear back from you. But you never wrote back. You were my only friend, and you stopped writing.”

“No, sweetheart, I would never,” he sighed as his heart dropped. He got that letter, he replied to it. Which meant that she never got his last letter. Neither of them had stopped writing on purpose, they had both assumed the other had given up. But he had sent out one last letter that was unaccounted for.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me,” he gently guided you to look up at him, “I promise you, I wrote back. I don’t know what happened to it, but I never would have stopped writing like that. I thought you had just ignored my last letter.”

“You wrote,” you said quietly, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was a question, or if you were trying to reassure yourself.

“I did, I promise,” he whispered as he swept a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

And though you still needed to know what happened to his letter, and you had had one of the longest days of your life, nothing mattered more to you in that moment than leaning in, slowly. You took a second, pausing right before reaching his lips so he could pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t. It was a quick kiss, but it was gentle and sweet. Eddie didn’t try to pull you in for another, but he didn’t want to part as you pulled away.

It took him a second to open his eyes again, but when he did, he was smiling just as big as you.

“You ok?” he asked for what must have been the hundredth time that night. But unlike every other time you had answered, this time you told him the truth.

“I am now.”

(may or may not be already trying to figure out a part 2 for this, depending on if people like it <3 )

@embrace-themagic @fanficparker @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @nicotine-sunshine820 @itsjusttor @emistrash @thenoddingbunny-blog @sovereignparker @raajali3 @eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @canthavetoomuchchaos @whenshelanded @starlitlakes @witchwolflea @ali-r3n @g0thdraculaura @celestcies

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

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Eddie's not dead and I'm not sobbing

Eddie's not dead.

Eddie's not dead. He's at the little picnic table doing a drug deal with you, where you kiss him like you need him to breathe.

Eddie's not dead. He's obsessing over you, his friends hot mom, who actually let's him shoot his shot.

Eddie's not dead. He's laying on his bed, stoned, hesitantly touching you, hoping he's reading this right.

Eddie's not dead. He's older, friends with your dad, sneaking out of your room after you two had the most sordid hookup of your life.

Eddie's not dead. He's a tattoo artist, with a tongue piercing and a dick piercing, eating you out like a wild animal.

Eddie's not dead because we have chosen to give him life. He's living amazing, fantastical, detailed, beautiful lives with you, the girl of his dreams. He's in the art we make, the stories we write, the dreams we have.

Eddie's not dead, because we said so.

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

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how to survive a horror movie masterlist

Nothing ever happens in Hawkins, Indiana. It’s almost a ghost town. The cruel winters are the same as the muggy summers; plain. The summer of 1991, a crew of misfits, as well as the rest of the small community, is terrorized by a masked killer . Lead by their Mage of the Macabre, Eddie Munson, they try to figure out how to survive their very own horror movie. canon divergent , no upside-down

overall content warnings ( each chapter will have individual warnings ): alcohol and marijuana use , smut, descriptions of violence, g*re, body horror, etc., mentions of mental illness, character de*th, major character de*th, and any other warnings will be added as chapters are published .

the prologue…

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: The timeline narrows and questions begin to find answers. 2777 words.

Notes: Thank you to @toomanyacorns and @courtingchaos for help with this chapter.

1986

As the sun set and what was left of Hawkins retired for the night, your eyes fluttered open under the watchful gaze of Eddie. He hadn’t spent the day in bed next to you; he drifted throughout the trailer, avoiding patches of sunlight while he taught himself about the modern world.

The refrigerator was a marvel. And the stove. He’d watched you use it to make water boil so quickly. It all had such wonderful implications. He could keep blood cool and consumable, then warm it up to body temperature.

He played with running water and used it to clean. It didn’t feel natural for him; he wondered if perhaps he had been someone of great wealth and importance before the hex, for he had apparently never learnt how to complete a basic chore.

Eddie wanted to help though. He opened the washing machine that lived next to the fridge, but realised that there was nowhere to hang the clothes you’d shoved in there. It took his hyper speed hands only minutes to braid string into a thin rope strong enough to hold weight. He twisted the fabrics over the sink, then hung them over the washing line he’d strung up like fairy lights in the lounge room. Eddie was pleased with his work and hoped the string wasn’t magical and important in any way.

When there was nothing left to do, he returned to the dark bedroom and took his place beside you. He thought about your murder board mind. He had questions of his own.

…

Questions of a recently unhexed vampire

Who was I before the bat?

Who cursed me and why? - Theory: I was cursed before the witches discovered the means to kill vampires. The cursed transfiguration was simply a method to render me inoffensive. - Probability demands the conclusion that it was this witch’s coven who cast the hex.

Why do I not feel compelled to act in a way which is in accordance to what I believe to be innately vampire behaviour? - Theory: I have simply forgotten and my senses will return to me. - Do I want my senses to return to me, restoring typical vampire behaviour?

Have I known this witch before I was the bat? - I feel I have known her all my life.

Why has she acted in a way which is not in accordance to what I believe to be innately witch behaviour?

Why have I not abandoned her?

How can this end in any way other than grimly? - Theory: It cannot, and yet I will not deviate from this path as lit by the witch.

…

“Good evening,” Eddie said as you woke.

You had slept through the entire day. Would your body adjust to this new nocturnal routine? Groaning, you sat up and looked around with messy bedhead and a dazed expression on your face.

“Hi,” you croaked.

“You slept deeply,”

“Yeah… Needed it.”

Eddie followed your lead, sitting next to you with his back against the wall. With legs stretched out in front of you both, you sat in the quiet for a moment.

“Can you hear it too?” you asked him.

“The silence? Where he once was?”

Nodding, you looked at him. “I wonder if it will stay like this. Or if Hawkins really is cursed. The history of this land is drenched in blood. Maybe that’s its legacy.”

Eddie hoped that a blood drenched history didn’t forsake something’s future. “I was thinking,” he changed the subject. “While you were asleep,”

“Uh-oh,” you sang.

He smiled softly. “I remember destruction. Fields ablaze. Unnatural sounds. Before Hawkins,”

“Okay, good. Let’s figure it out then.” You sat up straight, brought your legs in to fold beneath you. “There are key points in history. If you remember them, then we can get an estimate of when you were cursed… We already know you predate 1843. But the land had already been taken from Native Americans, right? It had been colonised,”

“Yes,” Eddie answered.

“So, we’re somewhere between 1680 and 1843… That’s still like,” you paused to do the math. “163 years… Fuck.”

Eddie filed through his bat memories. It occurred to him then. “I would have been here, like that, the last time you were here,”

“That’s… strange to think about… Um. Okay, so in 1680 a comet lit up the sky. It was visible in the daytime. Do you remember that?”

“No,”

“Alright… So, let’s jump forward. War. You would have seen that. Mid 1750s, the French went to war with the British Empire. Both sides had support from different Native American groups. We didn’t side with either, just offered aid to the injured. It ended in 1763, officially.”

Eddie frowned and shook his head.

“No? So… We’re down to 80 years. This is good. I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner,”

“Vecna, I imagine,” Eddie quipped.

“Yeah. Right,” you agreed, wriggling on the spot a little. Eddie could tell you’d locked onto this date finding project. Your eyes were bright and you were speaking fast. “After the war, jump a few decades and Indiana becomes part of the U.S. That’s when it would have started to look different…” It was a desperate time, you remembered. Trees began to be cut down on mass. The Native Americans were increasingly being displaced by violent and vicious methods. The coven had remained focus on the flatlands; they tried to preserve a small piece of goodness in a rapidly changing world.

“In 179… 1? 2? The humans began to dig out space for a lake. The ground was hard. The trees’ roots ran deep and it made everything difficult,”

“The heart shaped lake? I don’t remember a time before it.”

You bounced on the spot. “Yes! The lake took decades and, in the end, we had to intervene. The humans were killing themselves and their technology had not advanced enough to help. Eddie, that puts you in 1830. You had to be hexed sometime between then and 1843, if we’re right about why you were hexed instead of killed,”

“And if we’re not?”

“I don’t know why else a witch would do it. The hex would have taken so much magic. Maybe even more than one witch cast it… Transformation is not something we routinely do. It can go wrong. It can be cruel. It’s just not… normal.”

Eddie nodded. “Well, are you comforted by this conclusion? One item less on your list of questions?”

“Yeah… But more than that, it means I know where to look for more answers. If you were hexed by a witch here between 1830 and 1843, it means you were hexed by someone in my coven.”

Eddie had already played with the idea in his mind, ultimately deciding it was more than likely. Somehow, you hadn’t. Had it been somewhere deep in your subconscious, unwilling to give itself a voice? Or, despite your many lifetimes on Earth, had you been naïve?

Eddie braved asking the next obvious question. “But you did not hear of a vampire being caught and hexed? Not one witch spoke of something so rare?”

The forest gate. The image of it flashed behind your eyelids. The feeling that you were the one to build it, but no memory to lend credence to that. No memory of a vampire cursed to a bat form.

Like he could see it on your face, Eddie shook his head and said, “You cannot ask them. If you do, they will know that you know. And what becomes of both you and I then?”

“I know. It’s just…”

“I do not like it either. If we are our memories and they have been toyed with… Who are we?”

You would have been able to define yourself a month ago. Now, you weren’t so sure. “I think I might be a bad witch,” you whispered, unsure where the words came from. “Not bad as in evil… As in… wrong, in some way. Not how I naturally should be.”

He looked almost human for a second. His lips were pink and his hair was soft. Eyes shining, the bedroom light reflected in them. Then, he smiled. Teeth. “If you’re a bad witch, I’m worse vampire.”

…

1836

Before she was Kelsey, she was Fern. Your best friend. Your clever best friend that knew you had been sneaking away into the dark night for almost a year, timing well with the first whispers of vampires in the flatlands. When the colony attacked, so ended your secret rendezvous. Although the conclusion she had drawn terrified her, Fern trusted you unconditionally.

Her trust in you meant when she saw your aunt and mother capture a vampire wearing one of your woven leather bracelets in the dead of night, her blood ran cold.

“Amabel! Amabel! Wake up!” she hissed, pulling you from your bed. You felt groggy, your heart consumed with the grief of losing Eddie. “There is no time to explain. But you must come.”

Barefoot, you let Fern pull you to where Penelope was working. Quietly, you and Fern went around the back of the small hut on the outskirts of the village, peering through a window.

The three witches inside were standing around a figure slumped on the ground. They had witchfire at the ready and were talking in hushed whispers.

“Is that your… your…” Fern couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Eddie,” you gasped. You looked at Fern with abject terror on your face. “He’s not… He’s not like them. I have to-”

“Wait!” Fern hissed, pulling you back down before you could do anything rash. “Do you understand the gravity of what you have done? This is more than excommunication, Amabel. This is… This… There are no words for this is!”

You saw she was just as terrified as you. You nodded slowly, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I know. I know of the disgrace and the betrayal. I wish I understood myself better… Go home, Fern. Save yourself from this mess.”

Fern watched you disappear around the side of the hut. She couldn’t bring herself to leave you alone, but she couldn’t watch through the window anymore either, scared of seeing what would happen to you. Sitting in the dirt, Fern listened as you made yourself known.

“Amabel,” Sally said. “This does not concern you. Go-”

“It does. He does.”

The witches looked from the vampire to you. It took only a second for all the pieces to clink into place. Your wandering mind. Frequent absences. Disinterest in the search for a vampire death cure. How did they not see it before? They failed as coven leaders. As sisters. As family. The witchfire died in your mother’s hands as she noticed Eddie’s bracelet for the first time. She made a pained gasping sound and stumbled backward.

Eddie’s eyes met yours. His expression made your stomach churn. You knew he’d gone willingly with them; he would not have hurt them.

“He is not like the others,” you stated clearly.

“There are no exceptions, Amabel,” Penelope replied.

“Do you think it is this easy to capture a vampire? It is night out. You have no magic death. You have not burned him with witchfire. Why would he be so compliant? How do you think you have managed this?”

The women looked at each other, shame washing over them. They had been complacent. Perhaps ego had shadowed caution. At any rate, they had lost the upper hand and were all at once afraid of the vampire again.

Your aunt’s fire grew in preparation for an attack.

“Stop!” you screamed, launching yourself to cover Eddie. He remained on the floor, crumpled into himself behind your legs. “You cannot hurt him. He is not a threat to any of us,”

“Mistakes have been made,” Sally tired. “On both your part and ours. But a vampire is always a threat. Whatever wickedness he has been spilling into you, whatever lies, you must overcome,”

“The only lie of which I hold him accountable was the promise he would leave this place. That he would go safely into the night, abandon the colony, and let us do our work.” You turned to Eddie and held a hand out. The ties that bound him came off easily, like he’d been the one holding them there in the first place. He stood and apologised through expression alone. “Why are you still here?” you demanded of him.

“I intended to leave, as I promised. I couldn’t… I…”

“You stupid, stupid vampire,”

“Amabel!” Gillian’s booming voice. “If the coven learns of what you have done…”

“They can’t know. We must protect her,” Sally interjected.

“And if we do? And other covens learn of that? Dissemination… This could be all of our undoing,” Penelope warned. “Time cannot be turned back. What damage has been wrought can only be mitigated by what we do now,”

“Fern, who has also not heeded your plea to leave, was right. Witches have been excommunicated for less,” Gillian said. “Show yourself, Fern.”

Stupid, stupid witch, you thought.

Although Eddie was outnumbered, five witches to his one vampire, and he was the only thing in the room capable of killing the others, he knew doom when he felt it. He could run. They would never catch him. What would they do with you though?

“One dead witch could be explained away. But not two,” Penelope said, narrowing her gaze on Fern.

Your reaction was stoic, like your aunt's. Fern’s eyes grew wide and Sally audibly gasped. Eddie prickled behind you at the threat to your life.

“You would ask filicide of me?” your mother whispered.

“The coven has asked worse of you. And you have answered that call. She has knowingly, willingly, joyfully crossed boundaries we don’t dare to speak of. What reflection can she see? What punishment is just? What role must we play to heal this damage?”

“Penelope is right,” Gillian said, voice free from the righteousness Penelope’s held. “We must decide and act out this reckoning tonight.”

The left, binding you, Eddie, and Fern to the hut with temporary magic.

You turned first to your friend. “Why didn’t you leave?!” you hissed in a whisper.

“Me? I do not think you are in any position to demand reason from me… Besides… They would have simply come for me. Clearly they knew I was there.”

You nodded, and Fern watched you bite back tears. Eddie moved closer to you, pushing against you to try to provide comfort.

Like she was suddenly aware of him, Fern looked Eddie up and down. “So… Amabel… Where are your manners?”

The two exchanged hesitant nods, and Fern explained how she had put together the pieces of the puzzle. How she guessed the unguessable. She’d always known you best.

When twenty minutes or so had gone by, you and Fern sat on the straw covered floor. Eddie paced circles around the hut, glancing out the windows. In their company, the two people who you loved most in the world, you had it in you to have hope.

In the forest, the witches stood and discussed your fate.

“Do not act so pious now, Sally. If it were anyone else’s daughter you would have accepted death as reasonable,”

“Stop,” Gillian warned before her sister could say anything. “It doesn’t matter. There will be no death tonight. With vampires in the flatlands, we will need as many of us as possible,”

“We agree on his fate. A subject to find a method to kill them?” Penelope stated more than asked. The others nodded.

“Amabel will fight it,” Sally said.

“We will give her no option,”

“Does her judgement bear some consideration? She has no reason to trust a vampire. Yet, she does. What if she is right about him. What if there is another use for him?”

“Sally, your mind is clouded. There is no such thing as a vampire spy,” Gillian almost laughed.

“Whatever he is, we did not think that could be…”

“No. Amabel’s judgement does not receive consideration. Any appearance of humanity in the creature is a trick and nothing more. We bind him by night, burn him in sunlight by day, until we can find a way to destroy them,” Penelope said with such finality that Sally resigned to it.

“And of the girls?” Gillian asked.

“This must be stripped from them. There cannot be a shadow of doubt about the evil of vampire when this war begins in earnest. We bind the vampire until his death. We take Amabel and Fern’s memory of all of this. They will not recognise his face.”

End Note: If you are wondering why this update came so late, it is because I got mega inspired by some horror I was reading, then wrote To Break a Covenant. If you haven't read it yet, I'd love for you to give it a go. Heed the tags/warnings though.

I am still taking ideas/requests for 1986 things Eddie can learn about now that Vecna is gone and they have some time on their hands.

As always, thank you for reading! xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog

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thevampirelevi · 1 year ago

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Chapter Summary: A voice calls to you.

Author's Note: Set around two weeks after the ‘earthquake’ and is canon-compliant except there is no Eddie in 1986. This fic takes a couple of chapters to get going, so stay with me. I am SO excited about this, and I think you will love where it goes.

1986

The colony screeched and swooped, taking off into the inky dusk sky with graceless chaos. Each bat had stretched their wings and dropped from their forest dwelling to join the trilling and flapping. Only one remained.

He perched high in the treetops, an unwillingness to join the others that was not typical for a bat. Impossible for a bat, depending on who you asked. He observed the night grow darker with an entirely unnatural sense of understanding.

Eventually, he would fall from the branch and join the others in the hunt for moths and wasps, beetles and bugs. The hunger would drive him to it, yet the hunger could never be satisfied. It had been like that for one hundred and fifty years.

He was the oldest in the colony and couldn’t remember being young. He couldn’t remember reveling in warm nights or cicada season. He felt as if he had always haunted the forest and always would. He felt, and that was the problem.

The other bats did as all Eptesicus fuscus did. They were born into a colony around April and spent a month nursing from their mothers. The pups grew up, hibernated in the winter, mated, and bared the next generation, ultimately living a short life, just shy of a decade at best.

This bat did not. He did not hibernate alone or with others. When they found warmth and shelter in dilapidated buildings, under tree bark, or in caves, he remained a presence on the boughs of the forest’s tallest trees. He did not mate and did not father. He did not fly patterns across the sky while the town below slept. He ate to survive and continued to live well beyond his species’ dictated years. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He watched over Hawkins, Indiana for over a century. With each passing year, things would change. Slowly, the wilderness had been reduced to clusters of wooded areas by modernisation and industrialisation. It was becoming more and more common for the bats to come into contact with humans. A vast majority of the time, the people screamed and ran, terrified of disease or spooked by urban legends. Some marveled at the bats with respectful awe. Some tried and failed to catch the needle-teethed things for sport. Mostly, they were left alone to mind their own bat business, and mostly, that’s what the ageless bat did.

It wasn’t until mid-nineteenth century that the bat sensed a deep and profound shift. The Lab was built and the earth suffered. The bat had an ariel view and echolocation, but he couldn’t know what happened within the walls. Decades passed and the mystery continued. By 1983 though, he knew his kind wasn’t the only nightmare fuel in the woods.

1984. 1985. And, in 1986 the ground split open, spilling the Upside Down into Hawkins. An earthquake, reported the news. The sixth sense innate in all animals knew better Deers, birds, and bees all migrated out of pattern. The colony of bats entirely disappeared one night, having feared the vibrations pulsating from the cracks in the earth.

Only one remained, an unshakable and quite possibly magical force tethering him to Hawkins.

…

“That town is no place for a witch,” came the warning. “Something is still wrong with Hawkins. Can’t you sense it?”

Infamous in Indiana, Hawkins was the place where buildings burnt and people went missing with threefold outcome. One: they were never seen again. Two: returned, but at what cost? Three: bodies found, so disfigured by unseen violence that it was hard not to believe in monsters.

When the streets fell apart in 1986, sending part of the town down into hell, it would have been fair for Hawkins to lose what remained of their resolve. Yet, the town would go on to rebuild, and between the freshly poured concrete and funeral services, a battle was fought in secret.

“A doorway was opened. They may not claim victory,” came another warning with a beg to heed.

Yes, it would be the fight of their lives, but it wasn’t for a witch to interfere with. That was a hard line in the sand of magic that even you would not cross. They called him Vecna, but you had no name for him. His sorcery was not of the natural world. To let him know of yours would be to risk it all.

There was more to you than witchcraft, however. Hawkins was a town in crisis, and there was space for you to help and heal.

“It’s not just him,” cried a third and final warning. “The ground is consecrated,”

“That’s old superstition,” you dismissed.

“So is blood moon bad luck, but look what happened last time. And falling brooms, broken mirrors, and circles of salt. We are superstition. There are some places witches should not go.”

Your mind was set and your path clear. “Something is calling me there. Doesn’t that have meaning?”

“Not all callings are sanctified,”

“Do we fear holiness or not?” you asked. “I can’t walk consecrated ground but should only show devotion to the sanctified calls?”

There was no answer.

You sighed and softened your voice. “Look, I know you mean well. All you do is out of love. I know that. But, I need to do this. It’s… I don’t know… So real. The calling. It almost has a voice,”

“The timing,” was offered as a reminder.

The first time you felt something coming from Hawkins was when the quote unquote earthquake happened. A catastrophic event like that had to have more consequences than just Vecna, you thought. It could have shifted other magic and natural musings.

“I’ve made up my mind,” you stated with boldness beyond your rank in the coven.

“Are you so willing to discount lore?”

“Folklore. It’s 1986. I know witchcraft isn’t a science, but you have to give me more credit than that. We don’t have to listen to every whisper on the wind and take for gospel the tea leaves in our cups… Nuances, you know?”

Your eyes stayed closed and your hand gripped the pen tightly, waiting for a reply to be sprawled out on the page. When nothing more came, ‘Are you so willing to discount lore?’ the last words scribbled in a handwriting not your own, you breathed out hard.

Automatic writing took a lot of energy out of you, but it was the best method of speaking to The Witches Who Came Before. Reading back their psychographic warnings, you felt a small sense of guilt over defying them, but more than guilty, you felt empathy for a town so beaten by evil over and over.

Hawkins was calling.

…

Aid workers, distressed families, and reporters had flooded the small town, making it all the more easy for you to slip by the city limits unnoticed. Although you weren’t sure what should or could be noticing you, there was still a small exhale of relief when you didn’t burst into flames as you drove passed the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign.

The voice calling you to the town hadn’t been polite enough to give specific instructions. In lieu of directions or coordinates, you drove along roads that appeared to be out of the path of the earthquake, finding your way to a bar called The Hideaway.

Inside, patrons sat around watching their town on the news while staff rushed to cook food and package it up for the crisis centers.

“Bit of a wait on food, honey,” a waitress called to you.

“Just after a Coke.”

It seemed uncanny for a bar to be operational in the middle of an emergency, but it also befit a town so used to death. You took your can of Coke from the waitress, left a ten on the counter, and made your way around the tables to get to the noticeboard on the other side of the room.

Lost dogs. Swimming classes. Babysitters for hire. Then, your eyes landed on it.

1BR TRAILER. PARTLY FURNISHED. WATER/ELECTRICITY. NEEDS REPAIR. CHEAP. CALL: FOREST HILLS TRAILER PARK. 312-683-1192.

Maybe it had already been volunteered to home displaced people, but you trusted it was worth a shot. “Hey, can I borrow your phone?” you asked the waitress, walking to the bar and leaning on it. She nodded and dumped the old rotary phone in front of you.

After four rings, “Forest Hills,”

“Ah, hey. I saw your flyer. About the one-bedroom. Is that still available?”

The woman made a scoffing sound. “Apparently beggars can be choosers. Ain’t nothing wrong with that trailer but Red Cross said it ain’t fit for people. On account of the mold, they said.” Her voice was gravelly from a pack a day, but she didn’t sound unkind.

“I don’t mind mold,”

“Guess it’s available then.”

…

The bat had never known illness or injury. Whatever was killing the trees though, had touched him. He didn’t wither and die like other flora and fauna, but he wasn’t unscathed. It was as if he was burnt from the inside out, a mark on his feet spreading slowly but surely.

The sensation was unpleasant at first, but grew more noxious. His wings wouldn’t stretch their full span, and he could only glide small distances. The bat found a small patch of trees not yet turned to ash, settling in at the base of one, hiding under brush for warmth.

It was a fine place to die, if that should be his fate. He was where he belonged.

…

Forest Hills Trailer Park had been subdivided again and again; any spare patch of land was used for caravans and tents of people left homeless or those coming to watch the disaster unfold.

The one-bedroom trailer Michelle, manager of the park, gave you the keys to was indeed in need of repair. There were air vents that sat wide open, the outside cold seeping through. Dark mold grew in the corner of the bedroom’s ceiling. And the carpet should have been replaced years prior.

The very first thing you did once alone in your new home was ring a small bell you kept in your bag. Three shrill rings for good fortune. For everything else, you’d need supplies.

The local general stores would likely be low on stock, and the shopping mall had burnt down only a year ago. It stood in ruin, yet to be redeveloped. Before you ventured to the shops, you decided to take a short walk around Forest Hills and the surrounding land to see what could be foraged.

As you passed people, some looked you up and down, Satanic Panic clouding their perception of anyone they considered to be different from themselves, to be ‘other’ in any way. Some neighbours though, waved and offered a friendly greeting. “Michelle con you into that old trailer?” one asked, to which you politely faked a laugh.

Out beyond the trailers and RVs was a patch of land that seemed unaffected by everything happening in the town. The trees soundproofed the space, making it feel miles away from civilisation. While there wasn’t much in the way of edible mushrooms and plants, nor things needed for your craft, you sensed an undercurrent of magic there.

Crouching down, you picked up a golden leaf, twirling it between your fingers. Close, you thought, but didn’t know what it meant.

It was then you saw it out of the corner of your eyes. Something moved under the tree near you. Small. An animal. A rabbit, maybe? Rats or opossums or a trash-stealing raccoon?

Slowly, you sat down on the forest floor, cross-legged and facing the tree. You would wait until the animal revealed itself on its own terms.

The bat was so weak he could hardly move. He tried to hide away from the human that was watching him, but he couldn’t. When he resigned to his position, he let his vision focus on you.

You weren’t surprised to see the bat. The feeling was relief, like you’d found a missing thing. It was clear something was wrong with the creature though. “Do you need help?” you asked it.

Still slowly, you scooted closer to the bat. There were no obvious signs of injury. His brown fluffy body was free from blood or gore. Perhaps he had torn a wing or flown into a tree.

“I can help,” you whispered, holding a hand out flat to the ground. The tips of your fingers were close enough to the bat that he could bite if he wanted to, or he could shuffle forward into the softness of your hand.

Whatever compelled the bat to never leave Hawkins, compelled him to fall onto your palm.

“Hi,” you greeted, bringing your hand to your chest and holding the bat safely between your hands. “What’s happened?”

The bat was a common species; you recognised him as the aptly named big brown bat. His body was the size of a baseball, and some of his colouring was wrong. His legs and arms would normally be pink, but they were a sickly black colour. It looked like his brown fur was beginning to turn too.

“Did you eat something bad? Accidentally poison yourself?”

The bat, of course, did not answer your questions. You looked around the trees for other lost animals or any sign of something that may have caused your new friend to become sick. When there were no answers there either, you stood and took the both of you back to the trailer.

…

Destiny and a little folly may have led you to Forest Hills and the one-bedroom trailer, but you had come to Hawkins prepared nonetheless. In your car, there were supplies to ensure if you’d had to sleep there for a couple of nights, you could. The bat would benefit from your readiness.

The sleeping bag you’d packed was turned into a soft nest for him. “Alright, let’s get you warm,” you whispered, placing him in the middle. He shuffled on the spot for a few moments before settling, his brown eyes still watching you.

When you offered him a piece of banana, he nibbled at it.

When you gingerly stroked his fur, he let you.

Still, there was something about the way the bat watched you, something in his reaction to your movements. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it was most definitely curious.

“Alright, my furry friend. We need provisions. Especially if there’s gonna be two of us.” You spoke to him as you pulled your jacket on and grabbed your bag. “Please be here when I get back. I promise I can help you.”

…

It was dark when you returned home. Stores were staying open late to receive interstate deliveries and provide goods to the in-need townspeople, so you managed to get most things on your list.

Inside the trailer was cold, the spring air outside not yet filtered with summer’s coming warmth. You checked on the bat, ensured he was still cosy in his nest. Then, you got to work.

After soap and scrubbing did its part and the mold was attacked with vinegar and bleach, you boarded up the vents and added repairing them properly to your to-do list. In the bedroom, the bed was covered in fresh linen while you dreamed of a brand new mattress.

The only other furniture in the so-called ‘partly furnished’ trailer was a couple of bar stools at the kitchen bench, a televisionless television stand, a couch in surprisingly good condition, and a coffee table that sat a little too low to the ground.

Next, you took a ritual learned from your sisters whilst in India and let milk and rice boil over on the stove for prosperity and abundance. From time spent in Lowcountry, you observed the practice of painting your porch blue. The trailer didn’t have a porch, but the doorframes would suffice. It would ward off evil spirits, as would the salt ring you ran around the home. Finally, mugwort and sweetgrass smudged through the space, cleansing and claiming it as your own.

By the time you were finished, it was almost midnight and your stomach growled obscenities. The bat had been nibbling on the fruit you’d offered, but you’d not eaten since the morning.

After two cups of noodles and a cup of white jasmine tea, you unpacked the small cat bed you’d purchased for the bat. You relocated him into it, still with the sleeping bag, and pushed it under your bed. He’d like it in the dark, you thought.

Skipping a shower, you changed into pajamas and got into bed. Sleep came quickly, perhaps quicker than it had in decades. You dreamt that night. Of darkness. Of blood. Of screaming. Nothing coherent, nothing recognisable. Just an ominous feeling that you were going to find what you were looking for, ready or not.

End Note: Reblogs and comments are so appreciated. Like I said, it will take a couple of chapters for you to fall in love, but I promise you will.

If you are interested in the witchcraft in the story, check out The Grimoire. It will be updated with each chapter!

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