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stellasfictionalworld · 1 year ago

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Ch.2 Scaredy Cat

oc x dean winchester

cw: yellow fever ep, implied sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, dean :((

Fuck, torture, and eat.

Hailey wiped her blade clean with her feet propped up on her dashboard. A lonely, fruitless life but in return there was lots of thrill. Her phone rang and she put it on speaker.

“It’s Hailey,” she said.

“Hey Hailey,” her brows shot up, it was Sam, “Could you do me, us, a favor?” he spoke quietly.

“Whatcha want?” she asked and put her knife in her backpack.

Rockridge, Colorado

…

Hailey drove through a small town in Colorado looking for an address of a motel. Her eyes half-lidded as she drove in silence but then her heart spiked. Her foot slammed on the break as a man sprinted in front of her car, screaming. She squinted as he started to run in the middle of the street with the cutest little dog happily trailing him.

“Dean?” she said.

…

“Seriously Sam?” Dean shouted.

Hailey pressed her lips into a thin line and sat in a chair. The motel was quiet for a brief second and Sam shrugged.

“I thought we could use a little bit of help,” Sam said.

“What? By having the witch babysitting me?” Dean scoffed.

Sam just gave him a look, confirming the thought. Hailey pretended to observe her wine-red acrylics with interest.

“You have anything to say?” Dean asked.

“No, don’t mind the babysitting,” she said. “Anyway, don't ya want Sam to go out there with a clear head?” she looked up at him. He was silent, jaw still locked and green eyes pierced her skin. She gave him a pearly white smile and leaned back into her chair.

“So we’re good here?” Sam asked.

“Peachy,” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

Hailey silently nodded and looked at Sam. He let out a sigh of relief and put his jacket on.

“Don’t kill each other, please,” the younger brother gave Dean a look. Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. Sam gave a single nod to Hailey to which she returned with a salute.

The motel room was silent as Dean sat on a bed. He sat straight up with sweat on his brow and eyes flicking to every inch of the room. While Hailey stayed seated at the small dining table facing the door. She’d cracked open a book from her bag and occasionally eyed Dean. Especially when he’d get up to put something away, he’d cover sharp objects, or throw something in the trash. They’d meet eyes, and he couldn’t even hide the fear bubbling up inside him. She gave him a reassuring smile, and she had no idea if it helped him. Maybe it made him want to kill her even more.

“What are you reading?” he asked after shutting off the TV. He looked up from the couch and she showed him the cover. An Offer From A Gentleman by Julia Quinn. Dean smirked and she raised a brow at that.

“What?” she asked.

“Didn’t take you for a romance reader,” he said.

“Oh c’mon now,” she laughed, “I’m sucha hopeless romantic.”

“A Bridgerton hopeless romantic?” he asked.

She placed her receipt on the page she had left off on and closed it.

“Course,” she grinned.

He let out an unexpected laugh and cleared his throat. Dean glanced behind her and then at the TV. He sat up from his chair and sat on the edge of the bed. He faced her with his hands interlaced and his knee bopping.

“You’ve got this yellow fever real bad don’t you?” Hailey asked.

He shrugged and dragged his hands over his face. She got up and sat beside him on the bed. Their shoulders touched and she sighed deeply.

“S’ry this even happened to you,” she said, “doesn’t seem like you deserve it,” Hailey looked to him. His tired eyes glanced at her and he looked back at the room.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“But you said, you’d wanna kill me. So maybe you do,” she scrunched her nose imagining the way he’d prefer to kill her. She knew he would do it, he’d killed many monsters in his time. Hailey could smell the demon on herself every day but under it, her heart beat that of a human. Dean most likely saw it differently, all her flesh and bone that of a witch. A shell of her former life, just a host for a sickening magic. Maybe he just saw her as a monster.

Dean was silent, and so was she. Sitting there side by side as his jumpiness worsened. He was flinching at every sound, and his face was sheet white. Hailey got up and sat back down with her book in hand. She opened where she had stopped and started to read out loud. Her southern accent with some lines sounded stupid, making Dean laugh. She’d jab him gently in the side for it and rolled her eyes.

She’d gotten through a chapter and a half when Dean got up. He stood in front of Hailey, muttering to the air. Hailey’s brows furrowed and she realized he was hallucinating.

“Lillith, leave her out of this,” he said louder.

Hailey’s heart swelled, that scaredy cat Dean was protecting her from his delusion of Lillith.

“Dean, she ain’t real. It’s your mind,” Hailey could feel it. The ghost's curse was getting stronger, pulling Dean to the end of it. Sam hadn’t contacted her yet, and Dean didn’t seem to hear her.

“Wait. I’mma damn witch,” she stood up and grabbed his hand. It was ice cold and he didn’t seem to notice her. She muttered under her breath and felt her blood boil. She tried to hook on to the curse, but she somehow kept missing.

“Please, please,” Dean croaked and his fingers slipped out of her hand. He kneeled on the ground, holding his fist to his chest.

“Dean,” Hailey felt useless as she dropped to the ground. She’d never dealt with ghosts and here she was paying for it. Tears pricked her eyes as she put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay,” she said softly.

There was a brief moment of silence, and her heart was in her throat. Hailey shook him slightly as he started to gasp for air. He sat up with a hand over his chest, and his red eyes were no longer dull.

“Dean,” Hailey said and he met eyes with her. “You’re okay,” she said more for herself than him. He nodded, took in a deep breath and out. Tears of relief pricked his eyes and she smiled warmly at him.

“You two are real good at takin’ care of each other,” she said just as her phone rang. She answered, telling an out-of-breath Sam that Dean made it. She skipped over the near-death experience for everyone’s sake. When she was done, she had Dean catch up with him on the phone. Hailey decided to sit by him on the floor, the toes of her shoes hitting each other.

“Thanks,” Dean hung up the phone. He held her gaze as she took her phone back in her jacket. She huffed and still felt weird. Warm gooey feelings floated alongside her terror and shock.

“Can I give you a hug?” she asked.

His brows shot up, “Sure,” he said. She wrapped her arms around him and he hesitantly hugged her back. They sat there for a beat before he pulled away. He blinked his eyes rapidly before getting up slowly.

“Better get ready to go, we’re gonna meet up with Bobby soon,” Dean helped Hailey up and she nodded. “If you’d like to join us–”

“Course,” Hailey didn’t let him finish and he smiled softly. He grabbed her book and handed it back. “I’ll just uh, tail you guys?” she asked.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

…

Hailey drove in silence, tailing the Impala. Her fingers thrummed against the wheel, wondering about Lillith. How could she lure her out? Really? It had been a month of working out a plan between long phone calls with Sam. She’d kept up killing demons which Hawkins gave her, but she was drowning in jobs.

She parked beside the boys and sat in her car. She blew air out her lips, feeling them quake. Hailey bit down on them and blinked her eyes rapidly. She’d go to a job in Illinois after this, and it suffocated her.

A knock on her window caused her to jump. Dean flashed her a smile and waved with a beer in hand. She got out of the car and took one of the beers.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You okay?” he asked. His eyes lingered on her face which no longer was caked in foundation. The sunken bags under her eyes, and acne was incredibly prominent. She knew exactly what she was doing to cause it too, but she couldn’t stop it. Her cycle of a poor diet (with a side of demons), poor sleeping cycle, and stress build-up were the main causes.

“I will be,” she smiled back up at him. She popped off the beer top and took a sip from it. Dean squinted at her when she scrunched her nose before looking up at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I will be,” he said.

She smiled and hit his shoulder gently. She nodded in the direction of Bobby and Sam. They had cracked open their beers, Sam sitting on the back of the Impala. Bobby leaned on his truck, giving a nod to the duo.

“C’mon scaredy cat,” she walked past Dean.

“The hell, you bitch,” he said.

…

Dean drove the Impala on the dark highway, long grassy hills flashed by. Sam was asleep in the passenger seat. Soft snores and night radio usually put Dean at ease. Yet he couldn’t shake off the cold feeling in his chest. The hairs on the back of his neck raised and he was stuck looking for something, someone. The demon that had undone him, or the demon who was ready to kill him again.

He turned the windshields on as it began to rain. Then, Hailey. Dean bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't get a read on her, well he did, but. Dean was a simple man. The old ways have worked fine, so why not use them now? Why should he give Hailey mercy, just because she’s nice? His eyes flicked to his brother whose face was pressed up against glass. Sam had been different, always so the light at the end of the tunnel. It was something Dean was envious of, but also ridiculously angry about. His brother's idea brought them some good, but some bad. At least Dean’s were simple, quick, and didn’t need a second thought.

However, Bobby Singer, a dictionary definition of sticking to the old hunting ways, trusted Hailey. Maybe just maybe, after today's events. Dean would give her a real chance, after all, a part of him felt he owed her that. She’d shown him simple acts of kindness in a vulnerable time. Her hand on his shoulder, reading out loud to keep him distracted, and that hug. That just about made his heart explode, if not for the fear override. He couldn’t remember the last time someone held him like that, if ever.

There was not a hint of deceit or judgment in her brown eyes. She’d scrunch her nose in distaste, and her fingers drummed against her thigh often. There were a million more things he could name about her in those moments because she became the perfect distraction. He’d hold those things close to his chest, to remember that Hailey, not the Demon Butcher. He’d yet to see that side of her in action, and he prayed she wouldn't change. For both their sakes.

He saw a gas station up ahead and turned his blinker on. Until those pieces of humanity were gone, Dean decided it was time to put a little trust in her.

#oc x dean winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x female!oc #yehaaw witch oc #sam winchester #yellow fever ep #fluff #hurt/comfort #hailey's sweeter side :)#soon we'll see the other... but lets see how this goes #GAH DEAN

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storiesbyrhi · 5 months 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/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; blood; murder

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 end. 4047 words.

1987 The new year

“Do you think she’ll like it?”

Mel nodded. “She will.”

He looked at their creation; it had to be perfect. Eddie wasn’t sure a thing like him was capable of perfection, but for you, he’d try. “Thank you,”

“No problem,” Mel replied, nonchalance in tone but Eddie knew her better than that.

“I mean it, Melissa. You’re a good friend to her. To me.”

Mel squirmed under Eddie’s serious gaze. She blushed, shrugging, and turning to leave.

“Just before you go!” Eddie rushed to say. “I, ah… I heard that you had discovered how Steve Harrington came to haunt you?”

Her head tilted in reply, just a curious small movement that meant to ask how he’d heard about it.

“Hailey mentioned it… Said you’d been working with Ev on…” Eddie paused, unsure what to call it. “Death… craft?”

Mel almost laughed. “Some of us know our magic early. We figure out our abilities. Others… like me… Haven’t entirely grasped the scope of what we can do… I, apparently, channel ghosts… Or something like that,”

“Something like that,” he repeated. “And, the door is open now?”

Steve Harrington’s ghost did a lot of things. One of them was leaving a door between the living and the dead open. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who you asked, that particular door existed somewhere within Mel.

Mel considered Eddie’s questions. The painfully earnest and hopeful expression on his face. He looked almost human.

“I don’t know how it works. I can’t control it properly. If that’s what you’re asking for,” she told him.

Eddie nodded and looked down at the wet grass. He kicked at it a little, droplets flicking around. It would dry soon, under their creation. The January cold rendered unaffecting.

“I… I thought you never really had…”

“A family? Anyone who cared about me?” Eddie finished for Mel. She winced at his bitterness. “Sorry… I did not mean for that to come out like that… My mother died having me. She’s who… I thought maybe…”

If any of the other witches had been standing in Mel’s place, they would have been offering already. They would have been consoling or planning or promising. But it wasn’t them. It was Mel. And Mel did what she did best. She listened.

“If she is there… Wherever there is. On the other side. If she’s there and has always been there, I want to make sure she sees this. I need to know she didn’t see what I had become and turn away in shame. I need her to know that…” Eddie’s jaw clenched. He felt raw and exposed. “I want her to know…”

Mel approached Eddie like he was an injured animal. She was intuitive; she knew that was exactly what he was. Slowly, she put her hand on his arm. “We can try. I’ll try.”

…

You frowned at the tiny white petals. How they formed dozens of flowers. And how the flowers grouped together and grew wildly. Yarrow. Yarrow was growing from your bed. Following the stem down to the wooden frame, you found no glue or magic trick. Yarrow was, very literally and quite suddenly, growing from your bed.

“Do you know anything about this?” you asked Eddie when he wandered into the room.

“I thought it was you,”

“Why would it be me?”

He snorted. “Because you are constantly gardening in unorthodox places,”

“I am?”

“You are.”

Eddie loved the surprised and confused expression on your face. Sometimes you knew yourself well. Other times, not at all. He detoured from what he was doing to pull you into a hug.

“Perhaps it is an omen,”

“Not one that I know of,”

“And, of course, you do know all,” he teased.

He loved the faux-annoyed squeaking sound you made. He loved how you melted into him, still eyeing the yarrow suspiciously. God, he loved you.

“Speaking of mysterious,” you said, pushing off him with your palms flat to his chest. “What were you and Mel doing this morning?”

“I accompanied her on her morning walk. You know what happens to her back if she doesn’t go on her muscle tension walks.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and hummed. “Once is happenstance. Two is a coincidence. But three… If one more out of the ordinary thing comes to pass…”

“You’ll what?” Eddie poked, shaking his head at you. It was difficult to hide anything from you, but he could not wait to tell Kelsey about the yarrow. She had been right.

You said nothing, just trust-fell back into his arms.

“I asked her about what she’s been doing with Ev,” Eddie confessed. He kicked himself for not thinking of the cover sooner. Nothing worked better than the truth.

“The ghost stuff?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about my mother.”

That got your attention. You stepped out of the hug again.

“Don’t look at me like that,”

“Like what?” you asked.

“Like I’m a poor broken bat once more,”

“That’s not what I think of you. You know that,”

“And yet you look wounded on my behalf,” he stated bluntly.

You nodded. “Sorry. I’m sorry… Um… Can she do it? Mel?”

Eddie shrugged. “She doesn’t know. She’ll try.”

You nodded again. “Can I ask… why? Or… maybe… What do you want to ask your mother?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing I can ask of her. I just want her to know that this is it.” Eddie gestured to himself as he spoke.

“You mean you? That this is your… final form, so to speak?”

“Yeah… And it would be… nice… to meet her. And for her to meet you.”

The room was quiet for only a second. Then, “If it doesn’t work with Mel, I can try. We can-”

Eddie silenced you with a kiss. The conversation didn’t need to happen. He knew you’d go to the ends of your magic for him. And nothing about that was taken for granted.

…

The sun was only just rising on the final day of January. It had been a cold winter. Snow had fallen on Hawkins in blankets, not thawing even when the weatherman promised it would. You would not let Hawkins burn anymore, so you cleansed it with water instead.

Eddie had spent the night asleep, curled up in his bat form with you. As the bedroom slowly lit up, you mumbled out the spell and he was back in his body.

“My love,” he whispered, lips cool on your neck. “I sensed your sleep was alive with story,”

“That-” a yawn, “-is a very dramatic way of asking if I dreamt. Almost Shakespearian,”

“You dreamt a dream tonight?”

“Yes, but dreamers often lie,” you recited back.

“In bed asleep, while they do dream things true,”

“Alright. End scene. Besides… I don’t think you want my dream to come true. You were in it and you were not happy,” you told him, wriggling yourself backward to be as spooned into him as possible.

“Do tell.”

It took a moment to catch the sleeping story before it faded into nothingness. Likely, it was inspired by your spell making project; it had begun as a joke, but you were sure you could resize yourself small enough to quite literally ride bat Eddie into the sunset.

“I was a bat too,” you started.

You had been a bat, swooping through pretty pink skies and fluffy white clouds. You’d chased shooting stars and nuzzled together with Eddie high up in Hawkins’ tallest trees. The other bats had kept their distance from you, as they had with Eddie. Then, the largest of the Eptesicus fuscus decided to gift you crunchy beetles and other tasty snacks.

“Wait!” Eddie interjected.

Before he could say anything, you cackled. “That is exactly what you did in the dream! You were very jealous that another bat wanted my attention,”

“What did the other bat want your attention for?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It was a real bat. Not like us. So probably to make bat babies. Don’t worry. I was not into it in the dream. Nor am I in real life.”

Eddie squeezed you tight in his arms, making a small huffing sound.

“Jealous of a make-believe animal,” you snickered.

Eddie’s smile was pressed into the nape of your neck. You felt him drag his teeth along your skin. The rolling want rippled down your body. The scent of jasmine was still strong from their night bloom. You glanced at them on the bedroom windowsill.

“Quiz me?” Eddie asked then, sucking all the sensuality from the moment.

You audibly wined, much to his pleasure. “It’s so early,” you complained, though it wasn’t your greatest grievance.

“It’s never too early to learn the craft,”

“Ugh. Fine. But only because you’re cute.”

Eddie screeched celebratorily, letting you roll out of his arms and turn to face him. He sat up and clapped his hands together.

“Heliotrope oil?” you began.

“To induce premonitions,”

“Correct. Polypody?”

“Nightmares,”

“Buckthorn?”

“Protection,”

“Um… Celandine?”

“That,” Eddie pointed at you, “is a cantrip!” he accused. You raised an eyebrow. “Are you referring to greater celandine or lesser celandine?”

You laughed. “Eddie. I don’t know. It wasn’t a trick question. Which is the one with the superstition?”

“Greater,” he told you like it wasn’t funny. “And, so what if it is superstition? Isn’t that what we are?”

A spacey feeling overtook you for a moment. “Woah… déjà vu…” You shook it from your head and looked back at Eddie. “Oh god… You still want to answer the question, don’t you?”

“It can predict death, greater celandine. For someone with a terminal illness,”

“Can it? How does a flower do that?” you teased.

“Place a stem of it on their head. If they cry, they will live. If they begin to sing, they are doomed to death,”

“I wonder what they sing,”

“Another One Bites the Dust presumably,” Eddie answered without skipping a beat.

It was impossible not to laugh; whether it was because the joke was genuinely funny or because of the smug and expecting grin on Eddie’s face, it was hard to tell.

“So dumb!”

“Hey!” Eddie yelped, diving back under the covers and reaching out for you.

Some things needed to be studied to be mastered. You were learning how magic worked around the existence of Eddie. For his part, he was a student of the basics. Beginning with the very foundations of the craft. Other things needed not a guiding grimoire or senior supervision, for those things came easily -

Kisses trailing over the softness of your belly and down. Hands wrapped around Eddie, thumb circling the tip. Bloody bites licked clean and healed without scarring.

Your favourite part of sex was the moments just before Eddie climaxed. Somehow, in his monstrousness, a rumbling sound came from deep within him while he simultaneously made a pathetic whining noise. It was always eerie and beautiful and sexy.

Eddie’s favourite part was the moments just after, the way you came down from the high. A ragdoll body, fucked out and momentarily broken. He’d position you to be comfortable, leave you for a vampire second to get water and something sugary. You’d giggle, dumb, letting him tip the drink into your mouth. Often then, before sanity returned to either of you, you’d look at him with that expression. Do something weird, it would say, that pretty face of yours.

Eddie had forgotten what it felt like to have an alive, human body. He also loved to play the role of the freak. Loved to see how far he could go before you’d feel disgust. Loved you so fully and so intensely, that every part of your existence was a work of art all on its own.

Naturally then, he’d push his tongue up your nose. Use his fanged teeth to clean unidentifiable gunk from under your nails. Bite the tender flesh above your belly button, watch the blood pool, then body-shot it out. Spit in your mouth.

He’d lick you clean of sweat, reporting on the different flavours as he did so (the sweat that rolled down the small of your back was the best). Take strands of hair from your head and thread them through his teeth, pulling at them like dental floss. Lay his head on your body and listen to the sounds inside; he could tell you when you’d need to use the bathroom before you could even feel it.

Eddie catalogued your body in an effort to see if anything that it made was consumable to a vampire like blood was. Sweat and tears had made the list. Tears tasted salty sweet and none went to waste. He was like a truffle pig, sniffing his way across the plains of your body, searching ferally for that edible high.

You had yet to feel disgust. You doubted you ever would. It all made you feel so very loved so very desired.

Do something weird.

Eddie gripped your face and licked at it like a long-lost St. Bernard reunited with its owner.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered when he finished cleaning your face. You tasted like the chamomile balm you wore to bed.

“A surprise?” you whispered back.

Eddie nodded. “It’s in the woods,”

“But it’s so cold,” you complained, wriggling down into the heat of the bed.

“You’ll be warm soon. I promise. Let’s go.”

…

“It’s the right day,” Ash said to nobody in particular from her place at the window. She was keeping watch, tasked with sounding the alarm when you returned from the woods with Eddie. “The thirty-first. Three represents creativity and growth and self-expression. One for new beginnings. So, thirty-one is about pursuing your passions and starting a new chapter in your life. And, thirty-one is a manifestation number,”

“You do remember we were all raised by Jo ‘777’ Avery, right?” Hailey quipped. “We know what thirty-one means,”

“So does Eddie. He picked it on purpose,” Mel told them as she finished working on the apotropaic besom that would be placed on your front doorstep.

“Of course he did,” Meg said dreamily.

“Wait!” Kelsey’s eyes were wide. “Jo! Her soul cursed to take the shape of something she wasn’t… Like Eddie. What if-”

“It’s not the same. She did it to herself, remember? You can’t uncurse what went willingly into the hex,” Mel soberly offered.

The witches fell silent. Jo had been older than Sally and Gillian. Maybe even Penelope. She spent half her life in the mortal world, watching painters and sculptors and all the artists come and go. She was less muse and more quiet critic. In February of 1897, she grew ill. Jo called it heartsick. The angel numbers she had always relied on meant nothing anymore. Her life, instead, became guided by an American creative by the name of Ivan Le Lorraine Albright.

Jo watched him grow. Watched him paint. Watch his style linger on the wrong side of the cusp of brilliance. The coven often found her scribbling out spells and practicing rituals none of them recognised. Something was terribly wrong.

Then, one day in 1929, Jo conjured a monster named Ida. She poured herself into Ida. Magic and soul and all. Ivan painted frantically, a new style born, a master of the macabre crowned. As Ida was painted onto the canvas, Jo’s body faded into the abyss. Ida dragged her mother into the ink and they were no more.

The finished piece – Into the World There Came a Soul Called Ida – would be gifted to the Art Institute of Chicago. The coven sometimes visited Jo. Felt her there. Felt the energy behind the sick brushstrokes.

“Jo would have loved this. A witch and a vampire? The unholiness of it all?” Ev noted. She was sitting next to Meg, pulling petals from camellias, pansies, and cyclamens to scatter through your home. Meg held the bowl.

“We’ve always been like this. Haven’t we?” Ash asked.

“Driven into the shadows by love or madness?”

“No, I mean… Well, yes… But I think that part might just be womanhood. Hiding the unsanitary bits. I mean we as in witches. We have always broken our own rules,” Ash replied.

The coven hushed again. Throughout history, witches had fallen in love with humans and fae and other unblessed creatures. They had broken law and lore. They had crossed lines and made new ones. But somehow, you and Eddie had been punished the hardest. It didn’t make sense to them.

“I miss Jo,” Meg said.

“I miss them all,” Hailey agreed, her paintbrush going still, only ‘congrats’ coloured.

“So do I. But I’m still angry,” Kelsey admitted. “And I want to be better than them,”

“We are. Being here. Bearing witness to this…” Ev assured her.

“Can you imagine how not normal Jo would have been about Eddie’s teeth?” Meg laughed.

The coven giggled, then continued their snappy back-and-forth conversation while they waited. They speculated about guest lists. The humans? Probably. Cyprian the fae and Randy the wolf? Maybe. What remained of the Catskills coven? Unlikely. And what of tradition? Would the rings be passed from guest to guest, filling with love and best wishes? Handfasting?

When they ran out of things to place bets on, they tried to wring details from Mel about her sessions with Eddie and his mother. Though she was not sworn to secrecy, she already felt she was imposing on their privacy by being in the room. It was better when you were there. Eddie was happier and his mother was brighter. Both metaphorically and physically. The other witches were dying to know what happened during those tender and tragic moments, not realising that each of them had formed a personal and unique relationship with Eddie too.

Kels and Eddie felt like old friends, which of course, they were. They were as comfortable as siblings, which meant Eddie often gravitated toward her house when he was bored. When bickering, they’d refer to each other as Edward and Fern. You watched them playfight like puppies left alone.

Ev’s affinity for darkness lent itself to Eddie’s more nefarious side. She was his armorer and revelled in his stories of justice served. Hailey and Eddie had a two-person book club. Meg was teaching him how to cook and bake all of your favourites. And Ash, once she found out Eddie already knew how to sew, roped him into other textile crafts.

Kelsey looked down at the journal in her hands. The story of you and Eddie. She would write it all down. The lonely vampire. The little witch. The grief and betrayal. The bed of yarrow. The love, the love, oh, the love. Maybe, one day, you’d be gifted the book. Maybe not. Kelsey wasn’t sure how it all ended just yet. As she sat with her sisters, preparing for a party, she was only sure that you were all exactly where you were meant to be.

…

The January sunrise filtered through the flatlands. Rainbows refracted off snowflakes. The tips of your boots were already soaking through and it almost hurt to breathe. About halfway to the woods, Eddie had become a makeshift blindfold, hands covering your eyes, swearing that braving the cold would be worth it.

“Is this what you and Mel have been up to? Did you make a new gate or something?”

“You’ll see,” was all he’d say.

Are we going to breakfast with the foxes? That’d be nice.

Is there another bat that needs saving out here?

If you want to build a tree house, Kels is really who you should be waking up.

Did you find another mushroom circle and need me to identify if it’s fae or not?

You’ll see. You’ll see. You’ll see.

Then, you did.

“Okay… Open!”

Eddie’s hands left your face.

There, a structure. Not really a building. Something else. A dome. As tall as a house with a matching circumference.

“What…”

A dome that appeared to be solid. It had an opaque, matte coating. The harder you looked at it, the less you could tell if the trees were growing through it or if they’d been cut to shape. The dome shimmered, like a reflection on water. Like it wasn’t made to be looked at. Like it was offended at the mere thought of being looked at.

You took tentative steps towards it. Slowly, carefully, you reached out to touch the dome. It was hard. Real. And… warm?

Turning back to Eddie, he was watching you carefully.

“You win. I have no idea what this is,” you admitted.

With his best strut, Eddie walked by and knocked on the dome three times. A slit in the surface appeared. A door, ajar.

“After you,” Eddie invited.

You let the heat emanating from the dome pull you inside.

It was bright; you had no trouble seeing, but your brain was still struggling to process the information your senses were providing.

The shape of the dome had completely disappeared. You would have not known you were inside at all, if it weren’t for the snow and leaves falling, hitting something invisible above and around you, then sliding around it. Touching the wall, it still felt solid and hard, even if you couldn’t see it.

“It’s like… like a reverse snow globe…” you marvelled.

The air inside was warm and still, cut off from whatever was happening in the world. The dome muffled the sounds outside too. It wasn’t silent, but the whistling wind was muted into comforting white noise.

Eddie had followed you inside, clicking the door that could only be opened and closed by him into place. The magic in the spell was linked to Eddie. That meant it wouldn’t last forever, Mel had warned him. It would serve a purpose, then fade away.

Eddie didn’t need the dome forever, only a moment. You were his forever. If all went well.

You’d started to rub your hands over the warm grass and dry bark of the trees. They hadn’t been touched by the snow in days, you figured. They’d shaken winter off in the greenhouse environment.

Eddie had to say your name three times to pull your attention to him. He folded himself down onto the ground next to you.

“This is beautiful… This is what you and Mel were doing out here?” you asked, too in awe of the dome to see the beautiful determination on Eddie’s face.

He nodded, reaching out to catch your chin in his hand, gently redirecting your gaze to him. “My little witch…”

Your joy gave way to curiosity. Whatever he was doing, he’d not done it before.

“My love… I am the last of my kind at what feels like the beginning of my life; an endling, with no right to start something. But I defy that. Like I have defied… everything my life and death dared offer. Until you.”

There was something in his tone that had an immediate effect on you. Your nose tingled and your eyes stung. Eddie’s choice of words dipped back into the sixteenth century when he was most serious. He lost the carefree cadence of the 1980s.

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you. I love you more every single time I see you. Blood of my blood. Body of my body. Soul of my soul.”

The gravity of the moment got caught in your throat. It was with dizzying clarity you reached out for Eddie, for stability. He took your hands and tangled his fingers between yours.

“I was born for nothing but this, but I would live it all again if it brought me to you. The agony of life and the loneliness of death. The void of a hex. I would do it all again and again if it kept me on a pathway to you.”

You were cemented still in the darkness of his eyes. Jaw clenched, breath still, mouth dry. Something smelt of yarrow and apple, though you were not of the mindset to find the source. More than likely, there wasn’t one at all.

“My little witch, all that I have is yours. All that I am, I give freely. Would you seal my fate and bless me with your hand in marriage?”

End note: 92,965 words and we have come to the end of our story. I have been writing this for over a year and have poured so, so much time, love, energy, and commitment into it. So much of my soul is in these pages.

Whatever you came for - entertainment, escapism, Eddie, witchcraft, company, love - I hope you found in Burning Yarrow.

I would deeply appreciate to hear from you. Even if you can't quantify or consolidate your feelings into words, just a little note to let me know that this project has meant something to someone other than me.

Finally, thank you to the real life Kelsey/Kelso @toomanyacorns and real life Mel @kookygranger for the historical knowledge and witchy inspiration. And to all the other women who snuck their way into this world. I love you all!

Until next story... xo Rhi

P.S. The Grimoire and timeline Tumblr posts are complete.

P.P.S. Thank you to the following freaks for helping me think of weird shit for Eddie to do in chapter 31: @jo-harrington @myosotisa @bettyfrommars @mopeymopeymouse @munson-blurbs

Fic Taglist: @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 @goth-cowgirl-03

@pastel-pillows @moviefreak1205 @awkward00noodle

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Vampire!Eddie Munson

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