#witch!eddie

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

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

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

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

“Since when?” He’d asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have a date!”

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

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

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

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

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

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

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

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

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

“Steve, the bowl?”

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

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever. 

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

Wait..

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

Is…

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

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

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

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

Is he…?

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

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

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

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #witch!eddie #witch!steve #work song #hozier #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st #robin buckley #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve has good grandparents #steveddie #eddeve #witch au #noelle writes

[kaspurrcat]

I'm so excited to be able to post about my second @steddiebang fic "Moon Breaks Knight" by @alchemistc. It's a beautifully written witch!Eddie and werewolf!Steve fic with magic and amazing world building and so much more. I really could do on and on about it.

It was so much fun to be apart of this team. I had so much fun brainstorming and bouncing ideas off everyone.

The rest of our team includes fellow artist Axel and betas Alex and Zo.

Here's a taste as to what's to come.

Ao3

Eddie has enjoyed the quiet solitude of the forest for years -- the shifting breeze in the branches of trees he knows as well as himself, the den of chittering foxes and the mysterious hart who appears so rarely, the white ash tree that has grown up around him as he built a fortress away from the town he'd grown up in, away from the ghosts of his past.

Eddie has little desire to be drawn into the conflict stirring around the kingdom, but wards Eddie has spent his own blood, sweat, tears and song to build begin to fail, and woods that haven't seen a visitor in decades keep shuffling people along towards the clearing in the forest where Eddie has made his home. The village where he'd buried his mother is destroyed by a darkness Eddie doesn't understand, and wolves draw ever closer.

#steddiebang23 project promo #stranger things #fanart #steve harrington #st4 #steddie #eddie munson #cas draws #steve x eddie #steddie big bang #steddiebang23 #steddie fanart #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #witch!eddie #werewolf!steve

[fastcardotmp3]

wildfire

for @steddiemicrofic September 2023 prompt: CHARM | words: 548 | rated: M | cw: off-screen murder; arson witch!eddie; firefighter!steve; vaguely 'practical magic' inspired

Roses bloom in the ashes of the Hargrove house, in the remains of two brutal men with too much hate in their hearts.

Roses bloom and relief flourishes within the cottage the Munsons call home, an attic reforming itself into a cozy bedroom for a teenage girl who has never had a space of her own.

Roses bloom and Susan weeps and Eddie does not feel regret. Not this time.

Sometimes the blooming only happens after a significant burn.

“I put through the paperwork today,” says a man, stripped down from his uniform and allowing Eddie's gentle hands to wash soot and dust from his cheeks, sweat from the flat slump of his helmet hair. “It's not cut-and-dry though, Ed. It might need a helping hand.”

The water of the shower is warm but not hot, soothing with its steam as Eddie holds Steve's face in the palms of his hands, keeps him steady long enough to press lips against his temple.

“I'll handle it,” he promises in a murmur. “Nothing to worry about, sweetheart.”

“Always something to worry about with you,” Steve wraps his arms around Eddie's waist, pulls them flush against each other without an ounce of urgency.

Holding. Keeping.

It's no secret that there are witches in the woods surrounding Hawkins, or at least not a well kept one, but this is only theirs.

A man who makes unnatural fire burn bright and hot enough to bring down the walls of a home so human in its haunting in twenty minutes flat; the man who fought it valiantly all the same, even knowing his un-charmed water stood no chance against the open maw of a Munson's magic.

“She's safe now,” Eddie says, a kiss pressed into the apple of Steve's cheek, turning him under the stream of water to drench his hair and drag his lips over the bare meat of those strong shoulders. “Nothing to worry about, everyone is safe.”

Steve's muscles hear the push of truth to every word spoken with intention on Eddie's tongue, and they release some of their tension under his ministrations, even if Steve himself will never been fully relaxed so long as there's a chance… A mere chance…

“If the police come to a different conclusion--”

“Then I'll handle that too,” Eddie assures him, soapy fingers through a growing lather at Steve's scalp, the gentle scratch of fingernails where a hum of a different sort of persuasion buzzes.

“Don't charm me into believing that,” Steve demands without any heat, leaning into Eddie's touch with a long exhale of breath. “Not when so much is on the line.”

He's not wrong in his worry, but he doesn't know what Eddie does.

There have always been witches in the woods surrounding Hawkins.

There always will be.

They have never, in centuries of practice, been run out of this haunted town that needs them more than it needs to be rid of them.

“Can I charm you to stay?” Eddie questions once Steve's hair is rinsed and he's facing him once again, strong hands holding the power that is Eddie like it's a precious thing. Fragile.

“As if you have to,” Steve kisses him, this man who runs towards fire.

Perhaps it's the reason he's so at home running towards Eddie.

#dot fic #dot post #steddiemicrofic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #witch!eddie #firefighter!steve #practical magic without a cop involved basically mwah #trying to get writing brain up and running again so here you go!

[toughpaperround]

Magic Fic Recs (3)

Feels like magic in the air ... even more 911 fics with a spiritual edge, coming up!

'How To Ride A Werewolf' by @theadorabletia (G, 1k) a ficlet in which Werewolf!Eddie and Witch!Buck use their powers to escape

'i want your middays, i want your midnights' by stayeven | @demieddie (G, 1k) a domestic buddie fic, in which witch!Buck needs to be up in the middle of the night

'Christmas Magic' by @tabbytabbytabby (G, 800 words) a tale from the POV of an elf.

'Winter Wonders' by @matan4il (T, 6k) in which there is magical realism, fae, snow and love.

'hear the door slam (realize there's nowhere left to run)' by farfromthstars | @buckactuallys (T, 4k) in which Buck and Eddie dare to spend the night in a haunted house

'there’s gold in the dirt i never took the time to see' by wafflesofdoom | @capseycartwright (T, 17k) a season 2 rewrite with a twist of magic

'The Witch That Stole My Heart' by witcheddie (T, 3k) in which Eddie is magical

'Why Do All The Monsters Come Out at Night?' by @princessfbi (M, 41k) in which there is elemental magic, vampires, a serial killer and plenty of whump

And finally, 'You Ain't Never Had A Friend Like Me' by mansikka | @redlightsandicedtea (M, 28k AND my podfic, 4hrs long) in which a sassy genie gets involved in the story of Buddie. 

Part 1, 2 | Rec list Masterlist

#911 fox #buddie #fic rec #rec list #magical buddie #buddie au #witch!eddie #witch!buck

[hippolotamus]

Fuck it Friday 🖤

Tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @weewootruck @fionaswhvre @jesuisici33 @pirrusstuff @your-catfish-friend Thank you loves!

Tagging (for future or for interest purposes) @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @disasterbuckdiaz @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @buddierights @spotsandsocks @statueinthestone @forthewolves @911onabc @watchyourbuck @hoodie-buck @monsterrae1 @heartshapedvows @wildlife4life @honestlydarkprincess special shoutout to @ladydorian05 for the inspiration for this scene

It's late but it's still Friday somewhere and I put too much effort in to not post this. Please enjoy a long snippet of The Darkest Fairytale (aka cat!buck/witch!eddie). Prev snippet here. Putting it under the cut because there's some mild description of mishandling Buck while he's in cat form. For reference Buck and Eddie are both teenagers here.

Evan is- well, he’s a lot of things right now. Scared. Confused. Pissed off. Cornered. 

Maddie isn’t around, their parents are worse than ever and, to top it all off, he’s stuck as a goddamn cat. It’s something that’s happened a few times now. The thing is he has no idea how it happens or what exactly it is he does to become human again. All he knows is that one minute he’s Evan and the next he’s got four legs, paws, fur and a tail. And all he can do is helplessly meow or hiss because apparently nobody can understand him. Right now that’s a big fucking problem. 

Three teenage boys – he’s pretty sure he recognizes them from a rival high school’s football team – are crowding around him, backing him into a clump of bushes and trees. He had just been out for a walk, trying to blow off some steam from the latest fight with his parents, and then he became this. Of course, they noticed.

One is wearing a backwards ballcap, another has a Steelers jersey, and the third one has a Zippo lighter he keeps flicking open and snapping shut. 

“It’s okay, kitty cat. We’re not gonna hurt you,” Jersey Kid says, lunging for Evan as if to prove that’s exactly what they’re planning to do. 

On instinct, Evan swats at him, successfully leaving a deep scratch on his forearm. 

“Dude! What the fuck!” Jersey Kid yells and nearly tries again, but Ballcap stops him. 

“You can’t go being an asshole about it, dumbass.” 

Ballcap leans down, reaching out for Evan. He really should have seen it coming. Unfortunately, Evan is so focused on Ballcap he misses the fact that Lighter Kid is behind him, ready to grab him the moment he’s backed up far enough. 

Evan hisses and growls, flailing his body in an attempt to break free. He thinks he manages to claw at Lighter Kid’s face. Despite his efforts he suddenly finds himself in the dark. Evan stops long enough to realize he’s in a bag of some kind. Maybe a backpack? One of the kids must have had it on them and he never noticed. 

Bile rises in his throat and he’s angrier than before. He lets out a throaty yowl and begins to thrash around again, determined to get away. 

“Christ, Jimmy, is it really worth it for a stupid cat?” One of them says.

“I told you. That’s not just a cat.”

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s god himself - OW! Fucking thing scratched me through my bag.” 

Good, Evan thinks. At least until the hit comes and he’s knocked to the bottom of the pack. 

“Knock it the fuck off.”

He’s going to get out of here. If he has to wait until they open the bag so he can dart off, so be it, but he’s getting the fuck away from them. 

“Hey!” 

A new voice, another boy not part of the original group. Evan makes himself as small as possible, hoping this person won’t catch on that he’s there. 

“You got some kinda animal in there?” Shit.

“What the fuck do you care?” Backpack kid sneers. “It’s none of your business.”

“Well,” New Guy says, “It kinda is based on the way you just elbowed that bag. Pretty sure no one does that and says ‘knock it the fuck off’ to a textbook.”

Backpack kid makes some kind of offended sound, and there’s muffled offerings from the other two. It feels like they’re moving again, but that doesn’t last long before the bag slams into his back and they come to a stop. After that everything becomes a bit of a blur. 

Evan can’t help the surprised yowl that escapes when the bag gets thrown to the ground. At least that’s where he hopes he is. Outside there’s what sounds like shoving, grunting and cursing. Evan scratches frantically at the zipper line hoping to escape while everyone is distracted. It’s not budging though. Distantly he thinks he hears more yelling, but then everything falls silent except for the sound of footsteps approaching. 

“Hey there.” New Guy’s voice is soothing. There’s no hint of malice like the others. Still, Evan isn’t entirely sure he can trust him and prepares to bolt when he has the chance. 

A thin stream of light shines in, growing wider as the zipper opens. He watches the gap increase until he’s certain there’s enough clearance. Evan wants to quickly get as far away as possible, but not before making sure New Guy knows not to mess with him. He wriggles through the opening right into New Guy’s hands. 

Evan squirms and bites. Hard. New Guy tenses but doesn’t fight Evan. He simply deposits him gently in the grass. 

“It’s okay little one. You’re safe now.” 

New Guy has tan skin, dark brown hair that falls forward over his forehead, and eyes the color of a Hershey bar. He smiles at Evan and tentatively holds his hand out as an offering. He smells like sunshine and evergreens.

“I’ll bet someone’s missing you.”

I highly doubt it. 

“Oh.” New Guy abruptly pulls his hand away. “You talk.” 

You- understand me?

“Yeah. I, uh, well. I’m a witch and you’re a familiar, right? Am I not supposed to understand you?” 

Evan’s heard of familiars, but he’s not- that’s not what he is. He didn’t have the slightest inkling he even had any magick until recently. 

I think you’ve got it wrong. Whatever you think I am, I’m not. 

New Guy scrunches his brows for a moment before offering a soft smile and extending his hand again. “I’m Eddie by the way. I didn’t realize you were- or I guess you’re not. Either way I should have maybe introduced myself earlier.”

#fuck it friday #sorta #fic: the darkest fairytale #cat!buck #witch!eddie #buddie wip #hippo writes #i wrote all this before posting so #if it's terrible i'm sorry #it'll be edited at some point to be better #mwah!

[alchemistc]

Moon Breaks Knight

It's finally here! So excited to finally be able to share this with y'all!

Special thanks to my artists Axel and Cas and my betas Alex and Zo, without whom I would have spent months and months with only my partner to scream at each time an idea struck me.

Eddie has enjoyed the quiet solitude of the forest for years -- the shifting breeze in the branches of trees he knows as well as himself, the den of chittering foxes and the mysterious hart who appears so rarely, the white ash tree that has grown up around him as he built a fortress away from the town he'd grown up in, away from the ghosts of his past. Eddie has little desire to be drawn into the conflict stirring around the kingdom, but wards Eddie has spent his own blood, sweat, tears and song to build begin to fail, and woods that haven't seen a visitor in decades keep shuffling people along towards the clearing in the forest where Eddie has made his home. The village where he'd buried his mother is destroyed by a darkness Eddie doesn't understand, and wolves draw ever closer.

Fic | Art (kaspurrcat) | Art (sleepykiart) | Unofficial Playlist

Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Minor Robin/Nancy, Minor Lucas/Max

#steddiebang23 #steddie fic #steddie #steve/eddie #steddie fanfic #steddie au #steve harrington x eddie munson #witch!eddie #werewolf!steve

[a-little-unsteddie]

…“Fledgelings, this is Prince Stephan,” Hopper gestured at Steve, who winced at the use of his full name. No matter who said it, the use of his full name never failed to make him cringe.

“Steve, please,” he hurried to correct before any of the Fledgelings could be introduced. Hopper rolled his eyes again, causing Steve to press his lips tightly together, shifting slightly from his position.

Hopper gestured to the Fledgeling furthest from him, which dragged Steve’s attention back to the angry looking one. He was surprised to see that the man seemed to have gotten himself together, only looking slightly annoyed rather than furious.

The knife in his gut twisted a little more. …

so… I’m working on a fic… Prince!Steve, Mage(ish)!Eddie.. it takes place in my original universe but i have steddie brainrot so i made it steddie. i’ll post more information as i write it, though! WIP title is ‘year of the sunflower’! name from the album of the same name by Jake Scott!! the only relation is the title bc i thought it was a nice title.

plot is unknown, mostly. just wanted to write something for steddie in this universe because i thought it would fit. i’ll explain the ins and outs once i have enough of the story figured out :)

#st #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #prince!steve #mage!eddie #witch!eddie #sort of lol #in this universe he’d actually be #wyrm!eddie #so #fantasy medeival setting

[cowboysandpilots]

Thinking about how everyone thought Eddie was into satanic rituals and everything but like… what if he actually was? What if he could hail Satan and do ritual and dark magic and spells and shit?? I would honestly love that.

#witch!eddie #warlock!eddie #is there a difference #anyway #I want it #he deserves that #eddie munson #stranger things #tv: stranger things

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i had a worm wiggle it's way into my head when 'work song' came on on my way home today.

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,949 | rated: T

cw: major character death (no gore, nothing descriptive, though it's stated that Eddie was sick and getting weaker, then implied that he dies.)

Eddie Munson’s mother was a witch.

He didn’t know this until he was stricken with the same sickness that took her from him years and years before, but he knows now.

He knows from the small chest he found buried deep in his and his Uncle’s attic one day after learning of his ailment, and the handful of months he should expect to have left, from the local doctor. 

The chest was brimming with scrolls, tomes, candles, stones, herbs, vials, even a small pewter cauldron.

“I shoulda known,” was all Wayne had said, heeding Eddie’s beckoning call that hazy afternoon. 

Eddie sorted through everything he had found; spending hours every day flipping through each book and journal, deciphering his mother’s handwriting and the spells she had inscribed onto the pages. 

He even started to try a few; his mother’s ‘powers’, per sae, had come from the earth around her, writing in the largest, most disheveled of the journals that all she had needed to do was to listen to Mother Earth herself, listen to what she had to tell her.

So, Eddie practiced.

Small things at first, like seamlessly re-attaching the snipped off head of a daisy back to it’s stem, snipping it off again only to regrow an identical one in it’s place. Even starting a broken branch of the pine outside the Munson home on it’s way to a new green version of what was lost.

Eddie counted himself very lucky that Wayne was not one to believe the church’s nearly unhinged ramblings about witchcraft being the work of the Devil, and let Eddie practice a couple of the other simpler things on him.

“Jus’ don’t go thinkin’ I’mma let you chop my head off, boy.”

Wayne’s body aching from following their ox around all day with the plow? “Here, drink this, it should help.” It did.

Couple of Wayne’s fingers get snapped under the same ox’s hoof? A little harder, but he managed; the digits sore and achy that night, but good as new come morning.

“There a hair spell in that book, Ed?” Wayne joked one morning over breakfast, a good three quarters of the way through the six months the doctor gave Eddie, and a couple after finding Maggie Munson’s secret.

“Hmmmm….I dunno Uncle Wayne,” Eddie flips through his journal absently, “I think a Get Your Hair Back spell is too close to a love charm to work right. You could end up with hair all over your body and not just on that beautiful, shiny, head o’yours.”

“Love spells are touchy,” Maggie’s journal had said, “There are a rumored few that work, but only for the truest forms. I’ve tried some simple potions and charms…Al still left..and if they didn’t work…” the rest was easily filled in. 

“Oh yeah? Then how's about a Cure What Ails Ya spell? Got one’a those in that there book?”

“Why? You feeling sick, Wayne?” Eddie half-jokes, trying to veer away from having this conversation with Wayne again.

Wayne’s quiet as Eddie focuses intently on the book infront of him, trying, and failing, to scoop up a bite of egg onto his fork without looking away.

“Ed,” his uncle starts, soft and pleading once again, “Is there really nothin’ that can help ya?”

Eddie huffs, dropping his fork onto his plate and pushing it and the journal away from him. Definitely something a younger boy would do, not the nearly 25 he is now. “Why don’t you give them a look, huh? ‘Cause I already have.”

“Ed–”

He snaps his head up to glare at the older man. “What is it Wayne? What?” Eddie snatches the journal back up off the table without looking. “I’ve looked okay? Through Mom’s and through every damn book in that attic. And there was nothing. Nothing! You think she would’ve left if there was?” He stands sharply, knocking the small faded blue table away as he does. “Would’ve left m—”

His free hand wraps around his middle, nausea and the spins taking him for a ride a the sudden movement.

“Hey, Hey, sit back down son.” Wayne stands as well, coaxing him back into his chair. 

The nausea spells have become more frequent, the dizziness even more so, as the months have worn on, so Wayne ties up Eddie’s hair (growing thinner by the day), walks the short few steps to the pitcher of water he’d pulled from the well that morning, and pours some into a bowl, grabbing a clean(-ish) rag on his way back. 

Wayne smoothes the cool damp rag over Eddie’s face and neck, slowly and deliberately until the nauseous feeling passes.

“‘M sorry, Uncle Wayne, I know you’re just worried.”

“It’s alrigh’ boy, I shouldn’t’a pushed.”

“I’m still doing better than most,” Eddie says, voice tilting up at the end, “I think it’s ‘cause of the magic.”

“Thoughtcha said there wasn’t no cure in that book.” Wayne states, moving to empty the bowl. 

“There’s not,” Eddie closes his eyes, relaxes back into his chair. “Doc thinks Ms. Wilson had the same as me and Ma, and you saw how quick it took her.”

“Mrs. Wilson was nearly 70, Ed.”

“Then how about that boy Carver? He was my age, and Doc gave him six when he came down with it too, was gone in two.”

Wayne shrugs, “The devil wanted him back sooner.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, lifting his head to catch a glimpse of his Uncle’s ‘desperately-trying-to-hide-his-smile’ smile.

Wayne jokes, but Eddie’s been contemplating this for a while now. When he had hit his second month, he was about the same as he was, steadily growing weaker, as what was expected, but nothing like how Ms. Wilson and Jason had looked in theirs. 

Hell, Jason had worked on the docks with Eddie since they were boys; both fit and lean, healthy young men with the musculature to show for their work.

That was when he’d found his mom’s books, and ever since, his health had slowed to a crawl. 

“I think using mom’s magic is helping me.”

Wayne is quiet, cleaning their plates from the table and dumbing the leftover eggs out the window to the pigs. 

“I think it’s your magic now, Eds.”

—---

And so it went.

Eddie’s given six months turned into a year, his magic growing from healing fingerbones, to mending their ox’s broken femur with ease. 

His year didn’t come without worsening symptoms though, and his previously well filled out overalls hung loose around him, his calves barely filling out the tops of his boots tied all the way tight. 

Wayne always kept the faith, so to speak, not a religious man by nature, but Eddie could hear him sometimes in the early morning and late night praying to “Whoever’s got their ears on up there,” to keep Eddie safe, to keep him in their sights when the time came. 

Eddie had been doing work of his own, too. Writing down anything new he found out while sitting with the Earth, listening, watching….

Mother told him through the whispers of the trees, the soft humming of the grass, that he’d know when it was time. 

And that time was within the next few days. 

He felt it in his bones, he felt it in the air when Wayne passed him his birthday gift (a flaky scone with the biggest chunks of chocolate in town, an amazing treat he got once a year) on the morning of his 25th year, he felt it in the very ground he walked on…

He was ready, though he did harbor one regret. One thing he knew he missed out on.

He’d never fallen in love.

Over his last year, Eddie would sit with Mother; amongst the trees, lain back in the field of grass on the hill behind their house, and tell her about them. 

The ‘they’ that he’d likely never meet, the they that would love him for nothing but his love in return. 

Nothing was ever specific, only the vaguest feelings he’d get about them, about the way they’d love, the humor they’d possess, the love for Eddie’s stories they’d have.

And every time he’d speak of them, Eddie’d leave with something that he didn’t realize he had picked up until he was nearly back home. 

A chain of daisies Wayne had plucked from atop his head when he sat down for dinner, a scrap of dark blue fabric he’d found walking through town, a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, the tiny sun bleached skull of a bat.

And he’d write. Over and over, never quite getting it right, but there was something he knew he needed to get out of his very being before he left for good. Something that felt like a promise.

–

The morning came, and Eddie awoke to a silent house. 

Wayne out on the fields already, most likely out helping the folks on either side of them with whatever they needed doing, with only the hens’ clucks and pigs’ snorts keeping him company with the calls from the birds in the trees. 

Eddie got up, slow as slow could be, got himself into his clothes, shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to their small blue table, tore out a blank page of his mother’s notebook and wrote.

Pouring all of what remained within him, Eddie thought of the Earth, of his mom, of Uncle Wayne, and them. His unknown love.

-x-X-x-

Steve Harrington’s mother was not a witch.

But for the last few years, he’s had a suspicion that his Grandmother is.

Everyone says that their food tastes so good because “It’s made with love!”,  but with Mama Harrington, it was real. The love and intent she imbued into her meals was there. And she could cure any ailment.

She would always go on and on about the importance of food, each recipe’s ingredients’ healing powers, and of the recipes and their stories that had been passed down through the years from her mother, and her mother’s mother, all the way to now, where they ended up in a cookbook that’d gone untouched since it was given to Steve’s mother in the late 60’s.

“A gift! Unused for so many years, Steven!”

“I know, Mama,” he nods again, dropping some green something into the pot of sauce bubbling on the stove. “Almost 25 years.”

“Aye! You have catching up to do.” she says, shaking a thick wooden spoon at him.

“Me?” he scoffs, “I don’t know the first thing about cooking, Mama!” Baking? He’d hold his own. Cooking? If his grandmother wasn’t there to help him of on the phone to guide him through a recipe? Kitchen would go up in flames.

“Bah! Watch closely, dear.” she says, shuffling to the pot that stands nearly as tall as her where it’s perched on the stovetop. “It is always your intent behind what you are cooking. You can make anything be anything as long as the intent is there.”

“Even eggs?”

She nods, her nearly fully white bun flopping back and forth on top of her head. “Even just eggs.”

“So if I want a carbonara to help get my friend a passing grade?” he asks, incredulous, but immediately thinking of Robin, who’s coming up on her finals in a couple months (for her doctorate! A PhD! Can you believe that!).

“The intent! Put it into the eggs, into the pasta, I don’t care! But make it for That!”

She throws a concerningly large handful of pepper into the pot on the stove, and gives it a stir.

“Now, this is my Mama’s recipe, and it will help your Pa’s back.”

“How so?”

“Because I told it to,” she growls, glaring at the pot and raising her spoon as if she was going to smack some sense into it.

“Alright, Mama,” Steve chuckles, “What do you need me to do?”

He spends the next hour helping his grandma roll out some of her premade dough for some fettuccine looking noodles, grabbing a wrapped up blob “from the top shelf, Steven. That’s the stuff I made for you.”. 

He rolls, folds, and cuts it as he’s told, then goes to pick Robin up from campus while she finishes everything.

“It won’t take long now, dear, and you shouldn’t either.” Mama scolds, waving her spoon around once again.

“Got it, Mama, be back soon.” He slips on his shoes, looks in on his grandpa in the living room as he passes, grinning at the loud snores he hears from the direction of Pa’s recliner, and slips out the front door to his car. 

In no time, he’s picked up Robin, stopped for a movie from Blockbuster, and is home to the smell of fresh bread.

“We’re home Mama!”

“I’m just setting the table, grab your Pa!”

“Come on Pa, Mama’s got some pasta for you.” Steve says, coaxing his grandfather out of the chair and into his slippers. 

“Ah, perfect, my back’s been real achy lately.”

“That’s ‘cause you sleep in the recliner, Mr. Harrington.”

“How many times do we gotta tell you, Robin? Just call us Ma and Pa.”

Robin plops down in her designated spot across from Ma, “Hey, you should get used to it now; Once I finally get up the nerve to Chrissy out, she’ll come over here all “Mr. Harrington” this and “Mrs. Harrington” that.

“And how’s that coming, Bobs?” Steve asks her, sitting down beside his grandma and immediately passing the plate of bread across the table to Robin’s waiting hands. 

She starts going off at a million miles a minute about her longest standing crush, while Steve shares a look with his grandma, both smirking conspiratorially as Robin takes a bite of the bread.

That’d been Steve’s suggestion, a bread imbued with luck.

It wasn’t a “Love Spell”, Mama said there was none in existence that were worth the pain. But the minimal luck that she had sown before into countless baked goods (especially near February), have had a surprisingly great track record.

With everyone but Steve.

She couldn’t quite figure out what it was that kept him from getting the benefits too, every time she had tried, they had tried, it was an astounding failure. 

First with Tommy Hagan, the carrot cake cookies Steve had presented him with as a special birthday treat back in middle school ended with two missing front teeth and a broken arm.

Then again without even thinking about it, he’d added some luck and hope to homemade chicken pot pies he’d whipped up when he and Nancy were on the rocks. 

It had somewhat worked with Billy Hargrove, but that one hadn’t even been intentional, and he shudders to think about it to this day.

“I don’t know my dearest, maybe it is because you are already tied to someone else?” She had said after her tried and true pot pie recipe failed.

“But it didn’t even work with the one I was already with!” he yelled, sighing deep and pinching the tears away from the bridge of his nose. “She jumped right into Byers’ arms.”

Mama had just given him a pitying look, which was worse, honestly.

Now, he stays far away from any of Mama’s lucky foods, especially with the weird twisting feeling he had gotten the few times he’d tried over the years after leaving Hawkins.

He and Robin came up to Indy for Robin to go to U of I, a year after she graduated, and when Steve was fired from the job that had been paying the majority of their apartment's rent when he was spotted kissing his then boyfriend by his manager….they came to live with Steve’s grandparents, taking to them both with open arms and hearts.

He comes back to the present when his third bite of pasta clears away the last of his headache.

Steve shoots his grandma a knowing look, which she ignores with a sip of wine. 

–

They’re nearly finished with dinner when it happens.

Steve’s listening intently to a story Pa is telling them, something he’s sure he’s hears a dozen times before, when he absentmidedly picks up, then takes a bite of the bread Ma made for Robin.

It’s more than he’s ever felt before.

In the past, whenever Steve’s tried to gain some luck in love, he’s been inundated with flashes, feelings, words, a warmth in his bones that he’s wanted to hold onto forever. 

The feelings grew stronger the older he got, and now, Steve finds himself sitting on a rolling grassy hill. 

It’s not a flash of a vision like before, he’s sitting in the tall soft grass, and his hands are already making a chain of daisies. Nearly done, in fact. 

He finishes it off, turns it around in his hands, then when he goes to put it on…

He’s back at the table with his family, the slice of bread in his hand, and Pa still telling his story.

Steve jumps up, startling the other three, and beelines it to the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for just a damn scrap of paper. 

Mama follows him, “Steve, the bread?”

“I was on a hill, chaining daisies, and now I have to get these words out.” He probably doesn't make a lick of sense, but he doesn’t want to lose them.

Suddenly, a pad of paper and pen are passed into his line of sight. He snatches them up, and starts scribbling down as much as he can.

He and Mama stare down at the words on the page. 

“Mama, what is this?”

She is silent for a handful of breaths.

“This is why the luck never worked.”

now with a part 2!

also: i don’t know the first thing about being a witch or anything of the sort, nor do i know anything but the basics about cooking; hope im not way way off on anything!!! this is all in fun 😅

#eddie is living in a non-specified olden times #and steve is post-canon about to turn 25 so it's 1992 for him and robin #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #witch!eddie #witch!steve #work song #hozier #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st #wayne munson #robin buckley #noelle writes #it is nearly 11 pm and this looks good but i will probably find problems with it in the morning #if you see typos no you don't

[yudol-skorbi]

i was listening to Metal Guru by T Rex and its kinda happened

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #art #fanart #i love drawing people dancing #even if i am kinda bad at it :Р #dancing witch each other is an ultimate form of love for me #tender and slow or just goofing around dosent matter as long as all the participants enjoying themselves

[stevieschrodinger]

Thinking about no upside down everyone's happy and healthy and *cough* alive. Witch!Steve's happy off living his best life in his super cute cottage with his cute garden making soaps that help with itches and creams that clear up bruises and just generally being content. His best friend Robin who has convinced herself that Steve is lonely and Robin is a Meddler (TM) so she, not having anywhere near Steve's skill with magic, steals one of his books and Steve's favourite crystal and a flower from the roses that grow over his front door, and goes home with them.

And she summons Steve a familiar, except she doesn't tell Steve and when she doesn't hear anything for a bit, she assumes she got it wrong or something.

Meanwhile Steve is trying to shoo a jet black snake out of his cottage, except it keeps hiding in the cupboards. Steve ejects the thing to the bottom of the garden in a pillow case. He's very gentle because he's fairly sure the snake is magical in some way.

This is confirmed when the snake, after being told they are very pretty but 'not an inside snake' actually responds by 'hiss'ing.

It doesn't hiss.

It says the word 'hiss'. And it says it repeatedly when it's being carried in the pillow case.

"You can come back when you learn some manners," Steve informs the very male sounding snake. Not that Steve wants to make any assumptions.

Anyway long story short, Eddie is Steve's familiar and he can turn man shaped and makes Steve's magic so much stronger and the reason Robin doesn't hear anything for ages is because they fall in love and have been sexing it up with Eddie's double snake dicks.

Or something.

#eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #fic ideas #witch!steve harrington #familiar!eddie #snake!eddie

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve pulls up to the school with Dustin and Robin.

Dustin: They either think he worships Satan or he's a witch. I don't understand why.

Robin: *pointing* Well, it could be because of that.

Dustin and Steve look over to see Eddie climbing out of his van, a murder of crows following him out.

Eddie: I told you guys to stay home. *walks off, grumbling as the crows follow him* I feed you guys once!

Steve: Why do I suddenly find him hot?

#stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things s4 #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #dustin henderson #robin buckley #incorrect stranger things quotes #eddie's a witch but he doesn't know it

[doomcheese]

A Teen Wolf phase turns to a Steddie phase turns to an asdflkjhwerewolfsteve phase.. and here we are. My second pic for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang ✨

The absolutely lovely @staymagical joined forces with me to make the wonderful Latent - please come along for a witchy and magical ride 🥰

#arts #stranger things reverse bang #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #werewolves #witches #all the best things #stranger things

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday 🖤

tagged by the super talented @welcometololaland @your-catfish-friend @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @wikiangela @eowon @disasterbuckdiaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @weewootruck @thewolvesof1998

These days I am taking whatever will let my brain write some words until I'm back on track. Please enjoy a snippet of The Darkest Fairytale (all prev snippets here)

Evan stays rooted in place, skeptically eyeing Eddie. Life experience so far tells him not to bother with any sort of trust, even with someone as seemingly friendly as this. But something deeper, a difficult to ignore instinct in his gut overrides it. He cautiously steps forward, stretching his neck to sniff and take in Eddie’s scent again.  This time he gets a mix of lavender and pine mixed with a hint of musky and spicy. Evan chances another step closer, until his nose touches Eddie’s skin. He’s this close, and everything in him is burning to lessen the infinitesimal space, so he closes the final gap to rub his cheek against Eddie’s hand, not missing the accompanying sharp inhale.  Eddie doesn’t pull away, in fact he lowers himself to sit cross legged on the grass, so Evan assumes he hasn’t caused any pain or discomfort. He so desperately wants to climb into Eddie’s lap, but he knows he’s always asking too much of those around him. It’s easier to stay where he is and allow Eddie’s fingers to gently rub under his chin and behind his ears. He’ll take what he can get until Eddie decides it’s enough. A deep bark breaks through the peaceful silence, setting Evan on edge again. A full grown chocolate lab lumbers across the grass, heading straight for them. All of his survival instincts kick in, sending him racing out of the park, away from the lab and away from Eddie. He runs at top speed, sticking close to bushes and other objects he can easily climb or duck under, until he no longer hears the jingle of the lab’s collar. He only stops when he realizes he’s made it home. Now all he has to do is wait for whatever turns him back into a human. Perfect.

it's late so tagging some folks who showed interest @shortsighted-owl @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @buddierights @monsterrae1 @forthewolves @911onabc @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @statueinthestone @wildlife4life @heartshapedvows @honestlydarkprincess @steadfastsaturnsrings @stereopticons

#it's very possible buck unintentionally did something when he rubbed against eddie.... #just saying #what could it be? #i'll never tell #wip wednesday #fic: the darkest fairytale #cat!buck #witch!eddie #buddie wip #hippo writes

[aphrogeneias]

37 w Eddie 🫡

roommate!eddie munson x fem!reader + we always snuggle, and this shouldn’t be any different, but i’m trying not to press my lips to yours because they’re right there and i don’t want to pass up another chance, but you take initiative and do it yourself. oh.

warnings: fluff, a little suggestiveness, kissing. eddie being a soft boy.

There is no excuse, at this point.

The only excuse he could give himself, at first, was that he's a tactile person. His uncle used to tell him he had eyes in his hands, always picking things up in order to look at them. His hands are always fidgeting, reaching, touching.

Eddie’s friends are all used to it. He hugs, holds, and squeezes. Hands on their backs and arms, guiding, reassuring. Excitedly pulling and slapping when he's telling a story, or laughing.

This only grew tenfold when it came to you.

At first, he kept a safe distance. You weren't his friend, after all. Just Nancy’s friend from college, someone who needed a place to stay after your last roommate bailed on you. Coincidentally, Gareth had left their apartment to move in with his girlfriend not too long before.

Fate, it seemed — or just two broke young adults trying to make ends meet, which was, in a way, fateful too.

His caution was thrown out the window when he realized you were just like him in that aspect. It all started with small, delicate touches.

A hand on his back while you were sharing the kitchen space in the morning, too tired to get off each other's way. Messing his hair to tease him, kissing his cheek as a greeting anytime you got home. You'd put your feet on his lap during your self-appointed movie nights, and his hands would carefully land on your calves, rubbing your legs under his rough palms, and you wouldn't pull away.

The blue light of the television, the only source of light in the room, had him feeling light. Your soft skin on his hands, and the warmth under it, the fuzzy feeling of the hair there. He let them wander, squeezing your knee, massaging your feet, always keeping an eye for your reactions. It seemed as if you preened under his touch, leaning into it. As if, if he'd pull away, you'd ask for more.

After that, he grew bolder. Hungrier. It didn't help that you were always within his reach.

An arm around your waist while you bumped into each other in the hallway. Hovering over your back when you both had to use the bathroom in the morning, letting his chest graze your back. Pulling you closer on the couch, his arm over your shoulders, your head on his chest. Hands eagerly looking for your warmth, for your skin.

Hugs from behind in the kitchen, climbing into each other's beds at night. A habit that started because you simply didn't want to stop your late night conversations, so you'd drag yourselves from the dining table with mismatching chairs, or from the couch, and into each other's rooms.

Talking about the latest book you finished reading, the last band he got obsessed with, your hopes, your fears, whatever silly conspiracy theory he read about and couldn't stop thinking of. Sharing the same blanket, hands touching, legs too.

It doesn't take long until you're in each other's arms more often than not. There is no excuse. Eddie is a tactile person, and he longs for your touch. He'll seek it until you turn him away, but that doesn't seem like it's something you'd want either.

Tonight, your faces are almost touching. You're sharing the same pillow, the one that smells just like your hair. Vanilla and coconut, sweet like you. He chases the shadows on your face, dancing with the lamp light that comes from the opened window. You're speaking, but he's not entirely listening — until you stop.

“What is it?” He whispers. The silence feels sacred.

“Nothing.”

It's not nothing, not when you lean in, neither when your lips touch his. Softly, and slowly, testing the waters. You catch his upper lip between yours, and kiss it. It makes his stomach flutter, like the wings of a moth, searching for the light. It's over too soon, and he almost whimpers with the loss.

He's learning forward, trying to catch your lips again. You giggle, putting a finger to his aching lips.

“I'm sorry. Is that okay?” You're whispering too. Neither of you know why.

“Depends. Is it okay if I tell you that I've wanted to do this since the first time I saw you?” Eddie is honest. There's no excuse not to be.

You kiss him again, firmer this time. Your mouth lingers on his, and it tastes like sunlight. “Me too.”

#hope i made justice to your request my witch queen🫶🏼 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic

[paexie]

Some oc sketches. I hope I don't lose steam for the kiss meme I'm doing. It's still just a thumbnail.

#paexie art #paexie oc #oc #ash #eddie #wolf #werewolf #witch