cinnamon-mushroomabomination

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

Steve going into the trailer's kitchen, almost totally blind without his glasses on, sees a figure bending to put something in the oven, slaps their ass and says "what's cookin' good lookin'" only for Wayne Munson to turn around and say "Eddie's on the porch"

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

since the old version of this post was flagged for 'adult content'...

reblog this post if your account is a trans safe space or owned by a trans person!

along with that, reblog if your account is a trans non-binary spectrum safe space or owned by someone on the trans enby spectrum!

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

A Tarnished Copper Boy (11)

Previous | Next | Ao3 Last chapter, Eddie assured Steve that he's doing the right thing in not changing the timeline while Catherine, their next door neighbour, removed Steve's stitches and encouraged Eddie towards a career in nursing.

Chapter 11: Rent Asunder

Steve’s frustration in the kitchen after he returned continues to hover at the back of Eddie’s mind. The insistence that Eddie doesn’t need to entertain him uneasily leads to branching concerns, an insidious outstretching of prickly fingers pointing to Steve’s potential dissatisfaction with living here.

With his fall always coinciding inside the living room and his anxiety about affecting the timeline, Eddie knows that Steve has very little choice but to put up with their weird roommate situation.

It niggles at him, an increasing conviction that Steve needs more beyond what the cramped walls of their trailer can provide. His third visit before winter had done Steve good: the dark bags under his eyes disappearing and his torso healing in a way that has left him less stiff while reclining. But Eddie continues to wonder: what more he can offer Steve after he has been made into a recluse, stolen away from his friends, family, and time?

The concern jitters at the base of his spine, even as Eddie tries to ignore it, as they later ready for bed. Steve slides under the covers on the side closest to the door, pillows propped behind him. “I’m looking forward to when I can properly move in bed. I feel stiff as a board lying on my back, but anytime I turned over all I could feel were the stitches pulling.”

Next to the window, dark but for distant yellow lights, Eddie perches on the other side, pulling off his socks. He likes his feet warm, but socks between sheets drive him mad. “What about now that they’re out?”

Steve squints and does a wiggly little shake that makes it look like he’s got ants in his pants but is likely him testing the range of his movement. “It’s better. I think tomorrow or the day after I won’t feel any of it, but Catherine is mean with those tweezers.”

“She’s pretty ruthless,” Eddie agrees, stretching out on the far side of the bed, the usual length he leaves between him and Steve yawning between the two of them. “Think she’d get along with Robin?”

“Like a house on fire,” Steve agrees swiftly, but he eyes Eddie’s isolated position doubtfully. “Why do you do that? Scoot all the way to the side,” he clarifies at Eddie’s confused expression.

Eddie thinks that he probably shouldn’t say because I’d like to rub up all over you and I only have so much control, so he settles for a different truth. “Just trying to give you some room, I practically suffocated you under all this hair that first morning.”

An enigmatic expression flashes across Steve’s face too quickly for Eddie to understand, but he watches as Steve’s smile begins and broadens as he says, “So you have no moral objection to cuddles. You’re just trying to give me space for my sake.”

Eddie nervously adjusts the pillow under him, trying to puff out what is dolefully flat and feeling like he’s fallen into some sort of trap. “Yeah?” He agrees uncertainly.

“So, if you’re faced with me—a guy who happens to really enjoy cuddles—and you wanted to make sure that I felt comfortable, which may mean less space, then you’d want to help me out too?”

“Steve,” Eddie says slowly, wondering at that fever dream theory again, “Are you asking me to cuddle you?”

“Hmm,” Steve taps a thick finger against his chin, as if in deep thought. “I do like being the little spoon, but I don’t think I can handle it with my right side at the moment. How about this…?”

Now, Eddie may not be the biggest guy, but he’s still a guy and he’s not light and his limbs are sufficiently long, thank you very much he mentally retorts to Jeff, who had razzed him two years ago ago before his growth spurt. This all runs through his head as Steve reaches over and efficiently tugs Eddie closer to the middle of the bed and then easily flips him over so that he’s curled on his side facing the window—which, all the manhandling would normally be sufficient to make his blood drain south, but then Steve curls up behind him too.

Resting Eddie’s head on his outstretched left arm, chest against back, he keeps a respectful distance between hips and ass. One broad hand spreads over Eddie’s hips, the tips of his fingers just reaching the top of Eddie’s thighs.

Eddie freezes under the burning palm, a welcome brand that he’s sure he’ll find on his skin tomorrow morning, but Steve isn’t deterred. “This okay?” he whispers, the warmth of his breath washing over Eddie’s neck, causing him to shiver.

“Yes?” Eddie squeaks.

He feels silent amusement rumble through Steve’s chest. “Are you sure?” He persists, voice rising to a normal volume and easygoing. “If it’s too much, I can back off.”

No, no. Eddie’s pretty sure he’d like to live in this moment for the rest of his life; Steve’s body one long line of heat against his, curled around Eddie like they’re lovers. And, really, he’d just been thinking about how to make Steve’s stay better for him. If Steve needs to be the big spoon, who is Eddie to deny him?

He tries to style out his suddenly fervent opposition to Steve pulling away with a joke, “You touch-starved, Stevie?”

Steve’s silent long enough that Eddie turns his head to look over his shoulder. His face is guarded like he’s waiting for Eddie to make fun of him, but he nevertheless chooses to share his thoughts. “Probably, something like that,” Steve finally admits. “I do like cuddles. You know, hugs and shit, but it’s not really allowed… as a dude unless it’s after sex, and my family for sure aren’t the hugging kind.”

Remembering Steve brushing his teeth as he admitted that there was no one to call at home, Eddie’s lips firm in resolution and he turns back over to his side, grabbing Steve’s right arm and pulling it firmly from his hip to rest against his chest, drawing Steve that little bit closer. “I like hugs and shit too, nothing wrong with that.”

Steve lets out a relieved sigh, stirring the loose curls of Eddie’s hair. “Good to know,” he murmurs, resting his forehead on Eddie’s shoulder. The two of them together like lost puzzle pieces found, and Eddie wonders if he’s the only one who hears the little snick as they fit into place.

It’s the best sleep he’s had in months, feeling safe in Steve’s arms as if he has his own sentinel now, curled around him protectively during the night. Steve looks similarly rested the next morning, eyes bright and clear, with his arms loosely clasped around Eddie’s waist. He’d unconsciously shifted in the middle of the night, turning so that he was face-to-face with Steve. Rather than any awkwardness that Eddie may have expected, he simply rewarded him with a sleepy smile and an affectionate squeeze before rolling out of bed.

Eddie figures if he needs to take a couple of extra minutes to allow his galloping heart to calm down each morning, then that’s a price he is more than willing to pay. And if spends a little extra time in the shower too, well, at least a good time is had because arousal already simmers low in his gut first thing let alone with a biteable Steve so close at hand.

It’s not the only thing that becomes taken in hand after that, the shower each morning pounding down on his shoulders as he releases the tension building in him. Lotion on his hand and around his dick, stroking himself to the memory of Steve wound around him from behind.

He allows his imagination to roam, creating a false memory of a bold Eddie seductively pressing back, turning his head to meet Steve’s darkening eyes, his gaze trained on Eddie’s lips as he pushes up against him, dragging his rigid length against Eddie’s ass. He imagines Steve’s hands biting into his hips, holding him still as he rhythmically moves over him while his lips descend to take Eddie’s.

The thought of Steve grinding on him, using him for his pleasure causes his hunger to flare. It creates a fiery conflagration that has him biting down on his moans, coming almost violently across the white tiles. The euphoria that slowly seeps through his lax limbs afterwards is nearly enough to drown out his guilt at whacking it to an unwitting man, helplessly confined to their home.

After that, they settle into a routine similar to the one established before spring. Eddie at school and Hellfire, Wayne at the plant, Steve keeping the house clean and the boys fed. The predictability of it all is comforting to Eddie, and Steve seems content with switching between hanging out and running the Munson household.

That first stirring of warmth at the start of spring turns out to be a false start and dirty grey clouds come rolling back, casting the trailer in gloomy, shifting shadows. Eddie decides the following weekend that the atmosphere will only help in recreating the feeling of curling up under blankets and in warm jumpers over Christmas. Perfect for this morning’s surprise.

Wayne sits in an upright burrito on the couch, blinking tiredly over a half-empty cup of coffee that Eddie knows is not yet enough to wake him. His mug is red with love thy neighbour boldly scrawled across it. Eddie is barefoot in the kitchen, wearing dark sweats and his thick-knitted, grey jumper. He hears Steve shuffle up behind him.

“Are those green pancakes?” Steve gawks down at the masterpieces that Eddie is currently assembling. He can only make sandwiches his ass; suck it, Wayne. Steve looks up at Eddie, a bitchy expression crossing his face, “Are we having green eggs and ham too?”

Eddie pokes at him with his elbows, edging him out of the kitchen. “Very funny, is that your highest reading level?”

“Oh, you fucker,” he hears Steve mutter and Eddie grins in delight, twirling his spatula in happiness before it falls to the floor from his clumsy hands. “Three-second rule,” he hisses at Steve’s laughter.

Rather than giving into his baser nature, Eddie generously offers Steve a fine morning beverage. “Give me a second, I’ll make you a cup,” he says, already grabbing a mug and moving towards the carafe.

“Let me. You concentrate on whatever the hell is going on over there,” Steve slides in behind Eddie, plucking the cup from his hands to rest it on the counter.

Before he can even think to move, Steve curls his fingers around Eddie’s hips. And his sweats are riding low because he can’t be fucked to pull them up and, oh Christ on a stick, he should have because Steve’s broad palms are bare against Eddie’s skin as he nestles them above his pants but under the jumper, and Steve’s hands are gripping him like he means it, the heat of it scorching. Eddie thinks that he could add a little more force, squeeze that tiny bit tighter and Eddie’s sensitive skin would bruise like a ripe peach, a sweet pain for him to press against later.

“Excuse me, chef,” Steve says, the rumble of his voice deep in Eddie’s ear, making him shiver down to his toes. Almost bodily picking him up, Steve firmly redirects Eddie out of his way and back to in front of the stovetop.

He stares blankly down at the hot pan, imagining Steve using that jock strength to lift him onto the counter, Eddie’s legs curling around him, ankles crossed over the bubble butt that he watches far too often to be seemly.

“You might want to flip that one,” Steve says next to Eddie, voice as smooth and dark as velvet. He startles and, yes, the pancake is looking crispy around the edges, so he hurriedly employs the only trustworthy thing in the kitchen right now — his spatula.

Steve moves out of the kitchen to perch at the counter, smirking over the rim of his mug. Eddie doesn’t really register it as he concentrates on making the next pile of pancakes, keeping his lower body close and shielded by the stove because sweats leave nothing to the imagination.

Thank Christ it’s a small kitchen and he’s able to set up two plates full of pancakes while practically glued to the spot. Eddie directs Steve away with their breakfast and he ambles onto the armchair to join Wayne in watching The Jetsons. Eddie flits into the bedroom, shoves the waiting rectangle into his pocket, and refills Wayne’s mug before joining them with his own stack.

He passes Mrs Butterworth over to Wayne and shoves a large forkful into his mouth, sweetness explodes over his tongue. Steve eyes him over his plate, “The green is really… something. Is this how you always make pancakes?”

Wayne snorts around his own mouthful, “Just once a year. It’s Eddie’s Christmas special, don’t ask where it came from. It’s a mystery.” On the television screen, Rosie the robot maid frantically chases after Astro the talking dog.

“No mystery,” Eddie declares. “It comes from the power of imagination to fuel the wonderment of the festive season.” Grinning, he mimes snow falling from the air with one wiggling hand.

“But it’s long past Christmas,” Steve says, confusion charmingly crinkling his face. Though Eddie is pleased to note, he continues to eat his pancakes.

“True,” Eddie concedes, inclining his head grandly before nodding to the television. “And while we have Astro rather than Rudolph, we continue to celebrate Christmas 1984 with a long overdue present.” He wriggles his gift out of his pocket and flicks it to Steve across the room. Steve deftly snatches it out of the air with an athletic ease that Eddie will deny to his dying day is very, very attractive.

A smile spreads across Steve’s face and he beams at him, “You got me a Christmas present.” Eddie feels like he could bask in the warmth of Steve’s expression for days, just curl up and purr like a cat under a sunbeam. “Open it up, Steve-o.”

“Yes, please, open it. Eddie’s going to wet his britches if you don’t get on with it.” Eddie stops wiggling in his seat to glare at his unrepentant uncle, whose blue eyes dance with amusement while he deliberately sips his coffee in a nonchalant manner.

Steve carefully unfolds the red wrapping paper to reveal Van Halen’s album 1984. He stares down at the cassette long enough that Eddie begins to get worried, and he rambles to fill the silence. “I know that you like Let’s Dance and Ashes to Ashes, and I’ve seen you dancing to the Eurythmics. But Van Halen with a guitar is out of this world and I thought that the synth he’s introduced would be your style?”

Steve fingers the hard plastic carefully while Eddie babbles, panic filling him at the thought that he’s badly miscalculated somehow. “Uh, that’s what I meant about the Eurythmics, that electronic feel? Is it… not good?”

Steve blinks out of his reverie at Eddie’s disappointed tone, shaking his head as he looks up. “No, I like them; Panama is a lot of fun. I was just thinking that the title is appropriate, like a reminder? A time capsule or something? Sorry, I’m not explaining this right.”

Wayne shifts off the couch, his mug clacking against his plate as he stands. “I’m going to go clean up.” Eddie barely notices his departure as he walks out of the living room. “No, I think that makes sense.”

He looks over his shoulder to ensure that Wayne is out of earshot. “It’s a pretty big thing — you coming here. And I think that’s worthy of celebration.”

“Yeah?” Steve glances down at the gift in his hand shyly, but a smile works its way to the edges of his mouth. He rubs thoughtfully at the cover design, a rebellious blonde cherub smoking from a white pack of cigarettes. “And, uh, what did you think of the cake?”

“I loved it,” Eddie says, the simple words insufficient to convey how the gesture had made him feel less alone when he was missing Steve so badly already. “I don’t think I’ve had a fruit cake since Mama left. It was wonderful.”

Steve’s face brightens with pleasure, “Yeah? I was worried it was undercooked.”

It had been at its centre while being weirdly overcooked on one side, but it had tasted like home with that warm balance of brandy under the sweet notes. “It was perfect,” Eddies says honestly.

Steve’s smile is sweeter than his Christmas gift, and so warm that Eddie is filled with that fluttering that strikes all too often in his presence. They decide to play the album immediately and when Wayne comes out of his shower, dressed, he’s faced with two young men bouncing around like loons to Jump.

Wayne shakes his head at them affectionately, “I’ll be out for a while. Eddie, Catherine left another textbook for you over on the coffee table. Steve, I’ll see you later for the Ohio game.” Steve waves him off with a friendly goodbye and moves to clear the torn wrapping paper, Panama starts to play in the background.

After Eddie’s initial concern that Steve and Wayne may not get along, it quickly became clear that his concerns were unwarranted. Steve felt useful by contributing around the house, Wayne appreciated the extra help, and the two bonded over their love for sports. Eddie was reliably informed that today’s game is of the basketball variety.

As his uncle slides on his jacket and steps out of the trailer, the door banging behind him, Eddie wonders whether he’s off to see Catherine again. He blows wayward curls out of his face with a small grin. Something had broken through after Catherine helped with Steve’s stitches and Wayne was spending less time at home and more time smiling. Eddie figures Wayne will say something to him when he needs to.

It’s Catherine’s textbooks that lead him to the idea, even if he doesn’t realise it at first. Concepts that he never thought would even occur to people in authority, like checking in with the patient and advocating for what they want. Putting the patient at the centre of healing because it was their fucking body, not just something to use as a demonstration of a doctor’s diagnosis skills or, as Eddie begins to contemplate, a body to practise their suturing on.

He sort of wants to give it a go, learning how to stitch a wound. And, considering how often Steve gets hurt, it might legitimately be a skill he needs in the future. Not that he says as much to Steve; he’d only get a scoff and rolled eyes in response.

It all appeals to him, the idea of being that first port of call for someone hurt, vulnerable and needing help. He can be the professional to make the jock stay and get a CT scan, he can be the one that spots the kid with the long sleeves in summer; he can create his own mutant powers for healing and use them for good.

Eddie remembers Steve derisively describing his cousin squandering his political muscle for his own benefit and thinks that he would be the opposite. The opposing force that creates pockets of good in a world that can be pretty fucking grim to some people. He’s describing all of this to Steve when he understands that the look he is receiving in return is indulgent, perhaps even affectionate.

“What?” Eddie asks warily, thinking that maybe he had rolled from excited into rambling and that Steve was about to sass him about it.

“Nothing,” Steve says, the corner of his eyes crinkling into a tender expression, “I’m just unsurprised that the guy who fights the man atop cafeteria tables—”

“I’ve done that once!”

“—and looks out for his nerdy sheepies, is going to go out into the world to battle for the little guy one scrape at a time.”

Eddie blushes, looking down at the textbook. He traces an outline of a human body with arrows pointing to it, “There’s no guarantee of that yet.”

“No,” Steve says confidently, “You will. You’re going to become a nurse and whether it’s with kids or working with a scalpel—”

“I don’t think they allow nurses to do actual surgery.”

“—you’re going to be great at it.”

Eddie purses his lips, “Is this your knowledge from the future by any chance?”

Steve shakes his head gently, “No, I just have faith.”

It buoys Eddie, that Steve believes in him. That Catherine sees potential in him. It makes his world seem bigger and has him wanting to reach out and grasp a future he had never considered but that looks increasingly attractive.

These days, band practice ends with Gareth and Jeff squabbling about the group’s name and new guy Dougie’s no help, so Eddie starts to beg off and spends more time on his homework. If he gets his diploma, then maybe he’ll be able to get into nursing school. Eddie will need to look up the requirements, but even if his grades suck surely there are some transitionary classes that he could do to get in. And so, for the first time in his second senior year, Eddie starts to apply himself.

Steve tells him to get more fruit at Melvald’s, it’ll help boost his brain he says about it. Showing very little faith in Eddie’s memory as it is, he writes down a list of the exact number of every fruit and vegetable he wants Eddie to buy. Eddie clicks his tongue at Steve’s distrust; he can be counted on to get groceries, Jesus H.

It’s as he approaches the check-out counter that he sees it. The 1985 calendar for America’s roadside attractions. This month’s feature is the Big Chicken in Georgia. Eddie grins, it’s perfect. He hides it at the bottom of the paper bags that Steve helps him to unpack at home. 

Later, in their kitchen and smiling in satisfaction, Steve pulls out two fat oranges in his hands, “Good, you got them.”

Eddie presses a hand over his left eye and lunges, knees bent with his right arm thrusting forward. “Have a hankering for good old Vitamin C, hey? You know what they say, an orange a day keeps the scurvy pirate away.” He parries with his imaginary sword.

“No,” Steve rejoins calmly, amusement dancing in his eyes as he whacks away Eddie’s still-wiggling arm. “Catherine said that if you really want to get into it, you can practice dissecting and stitching back up oranges.” He pales slightly at the memory. “It honestly sounds disgusting, but she left a few items for you to practice with. She also wanted me to tell you that the needle you have in your kit is for one-time use only, so don’t use it until you need it.”

Eddie lights up, holstering his sword, “That is so cool. I’ll have to get Wayne to make her cake again.”

“Or you could make it yourself,” Steve suggests wryly.

“Who has time for that? I have sutures to practice.”

Steve laughs and places Eddie’s future patients in what he’s designated as the fruit bowl. “Now,” Eddie rubs his hands together in anticipation, “One good turn deserves another, and I got you something in kind.”

Steve raises an eyebrow as he slides the tins of tomatoes into the cupboard, “You didn’t even know I was organising this. You just said I needed it for my scurvy.”

“No,” Eddie slides forward, pressing his finger against Steve’s plump lips. The softness of them causes a shiver to run briefly at the base of his spine. “I said that I was the scurvy pirate, keep up.” He steps back quickly before he’s tempted to do something stupid, like slip his fingers into Steve’s mouth or something.

“My bad,” Steve says sarcastically, licking his lips as he opens the fridge door and shelves the egg carton.

Eddie pulls out his gift to excitedly show Steve the calendar; he frowns adorably in confusion until Eddie explains. “I’m going to start marking down every day.”

Steve’s eyes light up, “So if I blip out and come back—”

“You’ll know immediately when you are, not just where.”

“Eddie,” Steve says fondly, “That’s really thoughtful, man. Thank you.” He searches inside the paper bag before folding it. “You know,” he adds casually, “You could use it to mark your due dates too. You have trouble keeping them front and centre of your mind sometimes, right?”

Eddie hadn’t realised Steve watches him closely enough to understand one of his chief frustrations when trying to do the right thing and hand in his homework. He mulls on it; it’s not a bad idea and maybe it’ll help bump up his grades.

“You can pin it next to your sweetheart,” Steve teases, referring to Eddie’s Warlock guitar hanging by his mirror, “You’ll never miss a due date again with all the kisses you send its way.”

“Jealous, Stevie?” Eddie playfully bats his eyelashes.

Steve squints at him with a look that Eddie can’t decipher, “Maybe.”

Eddie snorts, falling back, “You must really miss date nights.”

Steve sighs, binning the bag into the trash can. “Something like that.” He walks past Eddie into the lounge room, propping his feet onto the coffee table in a way he’d never do if Wayne was home. “Want to watch something?”

Eddie nods and joins him, throwing the television remote into Steve’s open palms. He knows he’d missed something just then, the flash across Steve’s face telling him that something else was going on in that noodle, but he’s not sure exactly what it could be.

It worries him: the concerns that Steve keeps to himself. Eddie sees him get jittery sometimes, pacing about the trailer when he forgets that Eddie is in the other room. He’s only heard bits and pieces, small mutterings rising into a scolding tone, telling himself that he needs to stay put if he doesn’t want to fuck up the timeline. That he needs to get over himself so that everyone else makes it out alive.

Eddie had bitten his lip hard when he overheard that last part. Understanding that what Steve was saying wasn’t for Eddie, but also knowing how hard it must be to carry the weight of the future on your shoulders, making yourself a prisoner, no matter how friendly the wardens.

But, oh boy, does the warden get to have some fun in return.

He’s late home one evening, having stopped for a couple of personal deliveries with the profitable asshole tax applied. Climbing the trailer steps, the ethereal hoot of an owl sounds in the woods and night has dreamily fallen, but the light shining through the closed windows is a welcoming gold, and he can smell something warm and delicious. It all puts Eddie in a wonderful mood, feeling like the breadwinner coming home after a long day.

He plays into it as he walks through the door, calling out an expansive, “Honey, I’m home.” He mimes taking off an old-fashioned fedora like a husband returning in Leave it to Beaver. The delicious scent of dinner spreads languorously in the air, an unfolding of veiled fingers beckoning Eddie closer.

Steve is in the kitchen when Eddie looks over to gauge his reception to the bit, white and red striped tea towel draped over his left shoulder and right hand propped at his fist, a wooden spoon in its grasp. He rolls his eyes, “Welcome home, snookums.” Dusty Springfield plays softly in the background, crooning about a spooky little boy like you.

Eddie grins, happy to play and pretends to draw off a heavy coat. He hangs it carefully next to the invisible hat. “Well darling,” he intones deeply, trying for a heavy rumble, “What do we have on the menu tonight?”

And see, Eddie thought he had this all planned out. A little drama exercise and some light-hearted fun. Then Steve leans over the counter, hips deliberately popped, and ass subtly wiggling, and Eddie thinks that oh fuck he’s not thought through anything at all.

“Well, pooky,” Steve breathes and oh double fuck that doesn’t help either, “I thought that glazed pheasant would pair nicely with your usual martini.” The music continues with a steady, hypnotic lilt.

Eddie deliberately frowns, glancing around as an addition to the joke but also so that he can look away from the temptation of Steve’s swaying ass. “And where is my borderline alcoholic crutch this evening?”

Steve straightens, smoothing down his non-existent poofy skirt and sauntering over to Eddie. The motion so smooth and mesmerising that he briefly thinks that he could pull off heels if he ever has a mind to it. Heat rises under Eddie’s collar as Steve tugs at it, miming his tie being pulled off in a slippery, slithering motion. The rhythm pulses, and Dusty smokily declares that she was confused but now she’s a-dyin’ to be sayin’ all the things in her heart.

“I thought I was your only addiction, honey pie.” Despite being the same height, Steve is looking up at Eddie through his lashes and Eddie really needs to not be thinking about how else they could play house right now.

The word addiction seeps some cold reality into his brain, the truth of it a little too close to how he feels these days and he lets loose a deliberatively false laugh, patting an oversized gut that’s not there.

“Well honey, sometimes a man just needs a drink.”

Steve retreats a little out of his space with a coy smile and Eddie inhales like he can finally inflate his lungs again. Yet all that extra breathing space stutters to a halt as Steve pulls up Eddie’s wrists between their bodies and pretends to wrap the tie around them, and Eddie just… lets him.

The melody falls to a dramatic stop followed by two precise finger snaps.

Steve smirks and pretends to tug him towards the kitchen stools. The music swells again, a sweet eerie tune as Eddie obediently follows like he’s properly leashed. His weakened knees give out under him when Steve pushes Eddie down onto the seat with a commanding hand on his shoulder. His knowing smile is dark and electrifying as he tells Eddie, “Good boy.”

A bolt of lust strikes through Eddie so hard he’s afraid that he has been rent asunder like a tree struck by lightning. It has him ready to fall down to Steve’s knees and offer any sort of payment if he would like to do this with a real tie sometime. Eddie doesn’t own one, but he’ll go out and buy it if Steve wants to play games like this.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say something really fucking stupid and blow up this wonderful, friendly peace he has at home when Wayne thankfully walks through the door with a clatter.

He calls out his greetings and Eddie tears his eyes away to mutter a hello, his cheeks are burning hot, and he doesn’t think he can look at Steve right now. Not with the naked desire that must be shining in his eyes.

One look at him and Steve will understand that none of this is pretend for Eddie. Not the cute little nicknames. Not the feeling of coming home to family. That Steve has become his family in near all ways. Eddie swallows around the sinking feeling that he’s not sure how to call a place home anymore without Steve in it.

Dusty fades away, humming about her spooky little boy.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Tag list:

My tag list is always open, so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed, let me know. :)

@bookworm0690, @child-of-cthulhu, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @finntheehumaneater, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @gutterflower77, @hallucinatedjosten, @just-a-tiny-void, @ledleaf, @littlewildflowerkitten, @manda-panda-monium, @mightbeasleep, @nburkhardt, @newtstabber, @stillfullofshit, @tartarusknight

#THEYRE SO SILLY #steddie #time travel #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #im going to bite them GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHERR #op. op i love this au so mhch #;-;💕💕💕💕💕

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

twenty one pilots, hozier, melanie martinez and a lot of vocaloid

updating this bc apparently i cant count and i only said 4

adding on halsey to this

mine would probs be: one direction, taylor swift, ed sheeran, the script and coldplay 

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

Thanks for the tag ^^

If you know, you know lol

tagging @charmelloww @tears-of-amber and anyone else who wants to share

Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals!

hi Crystal have fun darling <3

thanks for the ask feyre (or rhysands future wife whichever you prefer) ♡

1. Ballad of a homeschooled girl by olivia rodrigo

2. July by noah cyrus

3. Serial killer by lana

4. Snow angel by renee rapp

5. Is it just me by emily burns

tagging with no pressure ofc @lu-luvslestat @i-know-you-wanna-kiss-me @izzy444angel @myst1caltwilight @cinnamongirly222 @depressionbarbie2023 @bonesofnixie @sillygirlsmindset @dreamingawayyour1ife @snowangelxoxo2007 and anyone else that wants to do this ♡♡

#Spotify

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

rel, Shoko

#rip shoko #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

Love Should Be Simple, It Should Be Kind

(also on ao3)

wc: 2,869, Steddie Tags: Post Season 4, Post-Canon, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington's Dad Is an Asshole, Fluff, Happy Ending (Full tags are on ao3, but there's no content warning).

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He has to break the news eventually. Steve knows this. As he looks at the plane of Eddie's bare back, flexing whenever he shifts, as it moves to accommodate him bending over to taste the pasta sauce at the stove.

Last night, Steve got off shift from Family Video, broke some minor traffic laws, and had dinner with the Munson's at their home. The excitement of not having to go home to a stale conversation over hastily put together food or a night in which he argues with his dad so fervently, that all he can do is go to his room and lock the door, food forgotten.

They do this every Friday night. And it always brings a flooding warmth to his chest.

But, this'll probably be the last time that they're going to have a late lunch, the day after an amazing dinner. Because Steve had to ruin it. Because he always ruins things. Because he had to run his mouth the morning before. And he ran away, like his dad told him not to.

Eddie turns away from the stove. His hair is pulled up. And his eyes are glowing, somehow, in the low amber light of the living space. They shine like fresh tree sap. And he has the softest smile adorning his features, forcing his smile lines by his nose to wrinkle deeper, his dimples making a faint appearance. He closes his eyes and tosses his head from side to side and chuckles. "Man," he drawls, "wasn't that movie last night amazing?" His head falls back. Features still relaxed. The line of his throat stretched, his Adam's apple ever present.

Truth be told, Steve doesn't remember the movie. Doesn't even know the title.

He was too worked up. He was afraid of what would happen if he was sent to his house.

"The way those special effects looked. Could'a told me it was real, and I'd believe—" Eddie now looks down from the ceiling. His eyes are open. Wide and bulging. Mouth forming a soft scowl. Whatever happiness, giddiness, relaxation, whatever—it's now missing. As he drinks in however Steve looks; he must taste like some cheap wine with the way Eddie's continuing to sour just at the sight. "What's wrong?" Eddie innocently asks, "Did you not like the movie?"

Steve shakes his head and sighs through his nose. Caught. He's been caught. "No," he murmurs, "it's not that." He rubs a hand over his eyebrows and leaves it there as his eyes catch on the worn tablecloth at the dining table. It has holes in places where Eddie probably picked at it. Pen stains from burst ink cartridges. A few tough crusted spots. Little scrapes in the fabric that tell Steve, People eat here. "It's not that," he whispers at the table.

He doesn't see it, but can hear Eddie pad towards the vacant dining chair just across, and plop down. As if the food doesn't even matter. As if he isn't actively cooking. As if he has all the time in the world and all the care in the world and all the sympathy in the world to listen to Steve. To listen to his...problems. All the things wrong with him. All his—

A hand settles on his free one. Eddie's fingers rubbing at veins and warm skin. "Stevie," he gently croons, "what's going on?" Those fingers are dancing over his skin they flip over the backside of his hand and they settle at the edge of his palm where it meets wrist. Steve thinks it's lovely. The way Eddie just dishes out love like it's free. Or like it's easy growing in some paradisal garden. Or like it's something infinite. Like, maybe, Steve is infinite.

He laughs. Steve laughs at that thought. At the hand on his. At Eddie's soft words. At his careful demeanor. At his failed life outside of Hawkins. At the tablecloth that shows what family should be—tastefully messy and worn from time. At his dad's silence. At himself, for asking yesterday morning, when his dad was angry and vengeful, "Did you ever love me?"

And he giggles at the absurdity. That somebody like his dad could love somebody like him. For all his failures and all his misfortunes and all his burdens—the hospital bills and spilled blood and scream-himself-hoarse nightmares. And laughs, again, at his dad's silence to the question.

Steve laughs until there are tears down his face. His hand falls away and his head is tipped back, hair brushing the top of his chair. He looks back at Eddie. And Eddie looks back, like Steve is some wild thing, like some devious thing, like some science experiment that came to life and doesn't know how to live.

He laughs even when his lip quivers and his chest tightens. And stops, finally, when the next sound is no longer jovial, but sad and pained. A sob that dug itself from miles of collateral damage in Steve's chest, rose through his throat like vomit procured from too many vodka shots, and burst open from his mouth as a hideous monster, even uglier than any of those that he's fought the last few years.

"Did you know that my dad doesn't love me?" he asks, reedy and weak. Wet and tinny. Childlike and lonely. "He doesn't love me," he says, as if he can conjure the will for his dad to speak. For the words—I love you—to fall from his mouth.

"Steve," Eddie breathes out.

"He never did. Said that I—Said that I wasn't his son," he spits. Sniffles between words. And almost becomes drunk from the sentiment of what he's admitting. "He—He wants me gone."

Eddie stands from his chair, drags it behind him, and sits impossibly closer. He places both his hands on Steve's shoulders and ducks down to look him in the eyes. And without another moment's thought, he tucks Steve into his bare chest. One arm slung over his bouncing shoulders and the other wrapped securely around his head. Protecting him, it feels like. Shielding him from the worst discovery of his life.

They don't move much at all. Just Eddie shifting his hips every now and then to accommodate the way Steve's body continues to slump downwards. And Steve's whole torso jerking with how hard he sobs. Right into bare skin, over Eddie's heart; and he isn't pulled away, isn't repositioned to make Eddie more comfortable, he just lets Steve do his thing; his heart performing an act of Kintsugi.

Because the softness of his palms meets the grittiness of Steve's hair. His cheek cushions on his skull and he doesn't complain when Steve jostles too much. He squeezes with all his might, keeping them both in the small space Eddie has created.

Because, "I love you," Eddie whispers. "It's not the same, but I love you. I love you, Steve. I love you," he continues to mutter.

At the quietest part of Steve's crying, when he whimpers and hiccups and can't move from the exhaustion, Eddie just whispers, "Be with me. Stay here."

"I can't." He pulls away, sitting up with the same amount of effort to lift a car with his bare hands. "I can't just be somebody else's burden. That wouldn't be fair to either of you."

And Eddie sighs. He takes Steve in. His bloodshot, half-lidded, glistening eyes. The splotchy skin of his cheeks. Moistened and bitten lips. His ruffled hair and slouch to his shoulders. How he picks at the skin around his thumbnails. Small. Defeated. Resigned.

Steve goes to say something when the silence stretches far too thin, but is immediately close-mouthed as soon as palms cool down his cheeks. Eddie's fingers are calloused. And thin. They barely rest. Moving to trace over an eyebrow, under an eye, the eyelid, forehead, smoothing wrinkles, hesitantly pushing in at the corners of Steve's mouth.

They lock eyes.

"Can I tell you something?" Eddie suddenly asks. Steve just hums. And Eddie takes a swift, courageous breath. "When we were in high school together, I used to spend a lot of my time just gazing at you. Not watching. Not glaring. Gazing.

"I'd see the way you shifted on your feet. Your little hand shakes when you were nervous, as if you were trying to get rid of the energy. I'd take in how tired you sometimes seemed—and I'd go to your locker and slip you a note with a little bit of cash for some coffee—"

"That was you?" Steve squawks.

Eddie chuckles. "Let me finish," he whispers. And is met with the smallest of Steve smiles, his little endearing one—not his confident or his bitchy or his won one over smile, just him being him. He sighs.

"I would overhear you talk about your dad. Sometimes to other people. Sometimes to just yourself, and I always could tell those were the toughest days. You know? You just seemed so...so sad. Restless." Eddie rubs his thumbs under Steve's eyes. "And your eyes wouldn't be as bright. I could always tell something was off. But you just went on.

"You went on believing that you were bullshit, when Nancy told you. You went on believing that you couldn't be anything more than your old self, even when you weren't the one reigning in school. You went on without your friends, graduating by the skin of your teeth, face bashed in sometimes, defeated and tired other times.

"Even when you worked at the mall. And then at Family Video. I was jealous of you, sure. But I was also worried for you. You seemed, and I know this whole thing I'm saying sounds really rude, but you seemed lifeless. Just drifting. Unbelieving that anything could stick, and if it did, not for long.

"But I—God, I just looked at you and thought, Who wouldn't love him? Because I did. I still do. And your father is just too horse shit to see what he's missing out on." He drags his hands downwards, resting them on either side of Steve's neck. "I think about if I ever got to love you, how I'd do it."

Eddie's gaze is set on Steve's. His eyes soft, thoughtful, enriching. His voice is gentle, "Like I would wake up next to you in the morning and swipe away the hair in your eyes. I'd count your moles and kiss my favorite one. I'd peck between your eyebrows and gently wake you." His fingers dot the places he mentions. Pressing long term between Steve's eyebrows.

He continues after a breath, "I would go into our kitchen and make you a cup of coffee. Teaspoon of milk, teaspoon of sugar, the way you like it. Butter some toast, fry up a piece of turkey bacon, and scramble eggs with cheese. Because you don't like French toast or pancakes for breakfast, too sweet. I'd bring you your food at the dining table. Pour you a cup of pulpless orange juice. Sit next to you and hold your free hand. I would kiss the back of it and you'd tell me something like, 'Ew, Eds. Your lips are greasy,' but your eyes would be fond.

"Send you off for work. Help cart around the party. Welcome you back home. Turn on a sports game, because you get excited and you get loud and you look younger and you become so vibrant. And I'm not gonna make fun of you for that, because you don't make fun of me when I go crazy over a new album or a new idea for one of my campaigns or when I explain all my nerdy shit to you."

"It's not shit," Steve interjects. Voice soft and enamored. So far away from what it had been just moments ago, hoarse and agitated and incredibly depressing.

Eddie just smiles and continues, "I'd wash your hair for you in the shower. Get on my knees and scrub at your skin like I was praying at an altar. Which—I know I haven't done in a while, but—I'd figure it out for you. And I would comb your hair and whisper soft things and kiss your shoulders. I'd guide you to bed after we have spaghetti for dinner. Blow you or something, I don't know. Sex isn't, like, something we need to do for me to love you.

"And afterwards, I'd clean you up again. Kiss your forehead. And tuck you under my arm. Because you're the kind of guy that wraps everybody else up, but you deserve to be wrapped every once in a while. Every night, if you'd like. Then, we'd wake up the next morning and do it all over again." Eddie sighs, rubs his thumbs in little circles over the part of Steve where his neck meets his shoulder. "I'd never get tired of that. Because I'm already halfway in love with you. And I never think about doing otherwise." He clears his throat.

"My point is, I'd love you. And also, you don't need love from shitty people. Especially when they don't make the effort to show you or even say it. I would happily do it anyway. There are so many people who'd love you better than what he could ever offer."

After all that, Steve is speechless. Can only sit and stare at Eddie. Feel his ever fidgety fingers against his skin. Hear his tiny puffs of breath, neither anxious nor frustrated. All he can do is look, take-in, digest.

But he knows how he feels.

He's been on some dangerous precept. Fall in love with Eddie, which he feels as though he's already jumped over ledge and started doing otherwise. Or fall back and let Eddie love him, however fleeting it may be. Because there's not an option where Steve is without some amount of love, in any form, when it comes to Eddie.

Him and his brash attitude. Thousands of stories. Hundreds of tiny quirks.

Like when Eddie sits on the couch and listens to any song, his fingers tapping out the bass line over his stomach. Or when he hones in on the guitar and is able to map in air where the chords would sit, as if the neck is right there in his other grip, strung across his body. There's the ting he does when writing a campaign idea; pencil resting on his chin, the eraser end running agist the jut of his lower lip. Tugging his hair over his face to hid how compliments wash over him. When he hears a slow song, something more acoustic or soft, he stands in place and just sways his hips—whereas in the car, when it's a metal tape, he's got one hand braced on the ceiling and one on the dashboard, head banging with the jump of the wind.

Eddie's offerings. Making meals. Playing certain songs. Humming when Steve has a nightmare, either over the phone or right under his ear. He acts begrudged by it, but he takes Dustin to the arcade when he asks, or Lucas to basketball practice, even Robin when she wants to go to the bookstore. Maybe it was the near death experience, but he acts first on a lot of his feelings. Apologizes more frequently, when he's done something especially dickish.

And how his love is branded from Wayne, Steve always notices. Because, though Wayne is a quiet and gentle man, he still gives what he can. Offers a space on the couch when Steve wants to join in on the football game he's watching. He hands out the beers, uncapped before he sits down. Serves guests and his nephew first, before himself. And his almost unnoticeable little thing, wrapping an arm around one of their necks, and dropping a chaste dry kiss to the top of their heads.

Steve had asked about it. Eddie just answered, "It's his way of making sure we're there."

And as Eddie hands over a plate of spaghetti, sprinkled with the amount of parmesan that Steve likes, and a cold glass of ice water—Steve finally realizes.

"Oh, you love me,' he whispers.

Eddie's head darts up from where it was looking down at his plate. And his gaze softens when it meets Steve's. "Yeah, Stevie. I love you a lot." Dimpled smile.

"And—And you want me to stay here?" Eddie nods in response. "Oh," Steve mutters. "Wow."

Steve appreciates that Eddie doesn't say anything in return. Just sets his fork down and offers out one of his hands, palm up. The other resting on the table.

He dances one of his hands over the tablecloth and gently places it in Eddie's.

Squeezes.

"I love you, too." He squeezes once more. "I'll find better words to say it."

"Not needed," Eddie murmurs, "stay here, though?"

And what is Steve to do, but nod? He'll have a hell of a time to pack up his bedroom, but at least where he's going, the meals are homemade and the lights are warm, and there's enough love to feel full. To feel, for the first time, like he doesn't have to beg for it.

#;-; #steddie #theyre so in love

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

I had the steve cut for most of last year and only just now went back to my usual, the volume is absolutely the hardest part.

Its so cool you have a nailbat tho

I think the people who hate Steve just hate the fact that he's a goddamn entire gender all by himself. They're experiencing gender envy, that's all.

#also yes #prev tags #gender envy #for a fictional character #is something only my other trans often enby folks commiserate with me over #agreed agreed #Steve is just. He's so gender

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

FUCK noah schnapp.

I'm not watching s5 and I will only be fucking reblogging fan content.

Free palestine and fuck israel

noah schnapp changing his tune re: his zionist views is so fucking rancid. “my views have been misconstrued, i actually wish for peace for everyone and hope we can lend each other grace moving forward” no actually u became a propaganda machine for the zionist entity, helped generate consent for genocide by spreading heinous lies, and shut out anyone who tried to tell u otherwise. now ur probably in trouble with the suits and have an agent holding a gun to ur head to be more palatable so u want ppl to be nicer and still won’t denounce zionism. fuck u. i hope u fade into obscurity and are only remembered for saying zionism is sexy while laughing and celebrating the deaths of thousands of innocent people

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

To The Substitute Art Teacher - Jordan Bolton

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

reblog the money pigeon for a financially stable future

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I found out about the jjk hello kitty collab today and this is the first thing my brain thought of

#KDHKFNFMV

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

—

After the three groups split, the Jabberwocks (El, Robin, Steve, and Eddie) waited on the back porch for the other two groups to walkie back confirming their starting positions.

They dawdled by the door, flashlights and a compass secured in a backpack just in case they were out longer than planned. Steve figured it wouldn’t take long though, they’d check the pool and they’d check the woods around Loch Nora and either they found a gate or they didn’t. It seemed straight forward enough, especially with El’s help on their team.

“Three of Hearts in position,” Jonathan’s voice cracked through the walkie speaker, “Over.”

“Us, too,” Max answered. There was a pause over the radio and Eddie rolled his eyes, likely imagining the fit Dustin was throwing trying to get his hands on the walkie instead of Max.

The walkie crackled again and Max’s voice sighed in agitation over the speaker. “Tea Party in position,” she muttered.

“Remember to walkie back as soon as the Looking Glass is spotted, and don’t go through-!” Dustin’s voice crackled through before the line cut off.

Steve nodded, sharing glances with their little group as they stepped off the porch and made their way through the backyard.

“I’m assuming you don’t feel any gates in the pool?” Steve asked.

El shook her head. “Not near the house, either,” she added. She paused, though, a confused squint to her eyes. “Wait, did you say in the pool?”

Steve squinted back. “Yeah? Isn’t that where Barb was?”

El shook her head, glancing at Eddie and Robin. “When I saw her, she was in your yard, right there.” She pointed off to the side of the pool, closer to the edge of the house.

“Do you think that matters?” Robin asked, looking around the yard as if she could will herself to see what El had.

The teen shrugged, “I’m not sure. It would make more sense if the gates from Steve’s world were open instead of ours, since that’s where he came from. Do you remember where the rest of them would be?” she asked him.

“I mean… I don’t know where the demogorgon opened most of them, they were all over the place. Nancy and Jon found one though, when they were looking through the woods so I know there’s gotta be some out there.”

El nodded and made her way to the edge of the property, leading the other three into the woods. Eddie skipped ahead of them, stopping the group from going any farther.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, hands up as if stopping a wild animal in its tracks, “If the Looking Glass could be universe-specific… could other universes just slip through any old gate? How many should we be looking for?”

The group paused at the implication. What Eddie was saying was right. What if Steve wasn’t the only one to slip through? Could there be more Steves? Could there be other universes with open gates? Steve shook his head, putting a hand on one of Eddie’s arms to push it back down to his side.

“Let’s just… focus on one issue at a time, okay?” he said, stepping around the arm he just put down and turning to face the group again. He nodded toward the woods, gesturing for them to continue onward. El looked between the two men. She seemed slightly nervous at Eddie’s implication, but shook her head and continued forward without another word, like Steve suggested.

Stray branches cracked under their feet as they trudged along through the underbrush, Steve hanging behind just a bit so he could keep everyone else in his sight.

Without Vecna’s vines choking the life out of the trees, the forest was much less daunting. The bright afternoon light spilled through the branches, making it seem more like they were out for a hike and not a mission. Bits and pieces of conversation from El and Robin drifted back toward Steve, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Instead, he let the hum of their voices drift through his ears like static, filling the trees with their gentle sounds.

Eddie stopped walking for just a second, waiting for Steve to catch up to him before resuming his steps side-by-side. As their shoulders bumped, Steve was hit with the memory of their first trek into the Upside Down. He’d thought Eddie was just some weirdo who’d gotten attached to Dustin, a reluctant member of the party who just happened to save Steve because he didn’t want to be left alone. Eddie’s presence had calmed his nerves, even then. His rambling, nonsensical tangents about Ozzie and Nancy and the Munson Doctrine, as if he needed something to cling to in order to fill the silence and couldn’t help but fill it himself.

This Eddie seemed quieter, somehow. No, not somehow, he was quieter, like the Eddie from his world couldn’t handle his own thoughts for too long, like he wrapped his words around himself like a blanket, like his rings of armor. Steve wondered briefly if he’d ever actually seen Eddie be comfortable, if maybe they weren’t as close as he thought they were. The Eddie next to him now just walked, and bumped shoulders, and mulled over his words in his head. The Eddie next to him now seemed comfortable with Steve at his side, seemed almost relaxed. Or, as relaxed as one could be while looking for a potential portal to another dimension.

Steve knew he should be looking out for said portal (or portals), should try and remember where the gates had been seen in his world, but he was honestly starting to spiral a bit. He’d thought the Eddie from his world was calm around him, too. He’d thought their weekly calls had maybe brought his walls down just a little, that maybe he trusted Steve, like Steve trusted Eddie.

But, seeing how the man was when he was genuinely relaxed, when he was comfortable in a silence, it had Steve questioning everything. He couldn’t help but remember their conversation from the kitchen that morning, how Eddie hadn’t told Steve about himself, how he didn’t seem to know the Eddie from his world as much as he thought he did. He wanted to know this Eddie though.

A hand grabbed Steve’s arm to slow him down. His heart skipped in his chest before he realized it was Eddie and not a threat. He really shouldn’t be so deep in his thoughts all the time.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at Eddie’s hand. He didn’t remove it like he expected, just kept his hand clasped around Steve’s wrist.

“Are you okay?” he asked, squeezing Steve’s arm gently, comfortingly. Steve paused, steps faltering to a stop, and looked at the man before him.

“I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat and squinting at the metalhead. “Uh… why?”

“You’ve been pretty quiet since the munchkins stormed in this morning, so I just wanted to check.”

Eddie had been talking to Robin when the ‘munchkins’ arrived, then he’d been goofing around with the boys and Steve had wandered into the kitchen. Eddie had been arguing with Robin, had been wrestling the kids, had been eating breakfast through a dramatic story, had been everywhere all at once. When did he notice Steve? When had he realized he wasn’t talking? How did he know?

“I didn’t… I didn’t think you’d notice,” Steve mumbled. He glanced over at the retreating backs of Robin and El, conversation still filtering through the trees as they meandered further and further away.

Eddie was looking only at him, for what seemed to be the first time that morning. Steve kind of felt like running in the opposite direction; shaking Eddie’s hand off his arm, digging his heals into the dirt and sprinting away from his questions. Instead, he felt the weight of himself settle into his shoes, felt the warmth of Eddie’s palm against his pulse and looked up, meeting Eddie’s gaze straight on.

“Of course I noticed,” Eddie said, and Steve couldn’t help thinking back to Dustin’s arms wrapped around him in the kitchen. He thought of El and Max fitting themselves around him when they first arrived. Steve scratched at his nose to distract himself from the sting in his eyes.

“I just… I just, uh,” he cleared his throat, not really sure where the words were going. “Dustin said he was glad I’m here. That… that he’s happy to see me even though I’m not the right Steve.” God, his voice cracked. This was embarrassing.

Eddie nodded, letting Steve mull his own words over without interruption, and Steve couldn’t help glancing down at his lips. They were pressed in a hard line, a determined line, like whatever Steve needed to say was the most important thing right now. Even though they were hunting for a literal tear in the universe, even though Steve couldn’t hear El and Robin’s voices anymore and they should probably think about catching up.

Again, Steve’s mind kept flashing to them in the Upside Down and for some reason most of his thoughts revolved around how Eddie’s lips looked then, too. Though usually loud and boisterous, Eddie always had a serious set to his face when things were important, voice hard but spoken softly like he was desperate for his words to sink in. Steve took a deep breath and thought about how to convey that same earnestness.

“I don’t think it’s a good thing that I’m getting attached. What if I have to go back? What happens then?” he whispered, afraid saying it any louder would break whatever confessional Eddie had wrapped around them.

“I hate to break it to you, Harrington, but we’re already attached. Henderson was right, we’re all glad to have you here. It would hurt no matter what, if you started pulling away now or not.”

Steve nodded. He knew Eddie was right, there’s no way he would be okay if he distanced himself from the party. It would still hurt when he left, if he left.

“Besides,” Eddie continued, tipping his head closer into Steve’s space, “we’ve got options. We don’t even know if you have to go back. Maybe the gates closed already, maybe we won’t find it, maybe El can close it on her own, there are options. Don’t count yourself out just yet.”

Steve let the words wash over him like a comforting blanket, holding him tight in their embrace. He hoped Eddie was right, he hoped they could close it without issue, he hoped he’d be able to stay here with everyone he loved, but-

“But what if I have to be on the other side for it to close? What if it won’t close without me?” he asked Eddie, as if he had the answers to the universe.

The metalhead stepped back just once, just enough for them to gently begin their walking once more, and slipped his hand back to his side. He must have noticed El and Robin were far ahead, too. Steve's wrist felt cold.

Eddie glanced at Steve from the corner of his eye, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he leaned into every step he made. Steve felt almost… off-balance — like Eddie had torn him from the comfort of a warm blanket pile and tossed him into the backyard. They were only a couple steps apart but it felt almost cavernous.

“Do you want to stay here, Steve?” Eddie asked, keeping a slow pace to stay close to Steve’s side.

“Of course I do,” Steve said. Why wouldn’t he? Why would he want to go back to an empty house he’d nearly trashed more than once, empty liquor cabinets collecting dust like every other surface of the house? Why would he want to go back to a world where everyone he loved was either dead or gone? Where they’d all left him behind? Of course he wanted to stay.

“Then we’ll do everything we can to make sure you do,” Eddie replied. He said it so solidly, so sure in his words, like that was all there was to it. He picked up his pace a little bit, like the conversation was over and everything had been said and decided. That was it, he was saying, nothing else to do. Of course Steve wanted to stay, of course they would let him, of course they would fight for him, Eddie was saying. For a second Steve thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe, that the air had fully escaped his lungs and he’d just collapse to the ground from the struggle to hold it in, until Robin’s voice called out just a few yards ahead.

“I think we found something?” she called, voice completely unsure.

The two men picked up their pace to a slow jog, following the direction of her question. They found the two women standing in front of an old tree, bark dry and cracked around the base. As far as Steve could tell, there wasn’t anything odd about the tree at all but El was staring at it intently, hand reached out to touch. Robin was cringing away as she watched, as if the tree would explode once disturbed, but El’s hand landed on the old bark without so much as a twig snapping.

They all stared at the tree. It was just a tree.

“El?” Steve called out. She turned her head to him, hand still gently placed against the bark.

“It feels different than the others. It feels… familiar,” she said. “Like a piece of me.”

They all nodded, as if that made any sense. Still, nothing happened and the tree remained a tree.

Quietly, carefully, like Robin’s anxiety was leeching into his mind, Steve stepped up beside El. He reached out his hand, like he’d just seen her do, like she currently was, and tried to place his hand on the bark. Instead, he saw the wood at the base of the tree split and widen the closer his hand got.

He yanked it back, stepping away with his arm clutched tightly to his chest. Robin and Eddie had quickly stepped up beside him, like they were prepared to pull him away even farther if the tree decided to play any tricks. The tree, however, just stitched itself back together as Steve stepped away. The bark seemed to grow, as if they were watching a timelapse of skin healing.

They all stood staring at the old, unblemished trunk again, suspended in the quiet as they held a collective breath. Nothing happened. As they stared, the tree remained a tree and though El’s hand was still placed on the bark, the wood remained silent and unchanging.

Steve stepped up to it again, both Robin and Eddie’s hands tightening their grip on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Robin demanded, voice shrill and panic coating her words.

“I just… want to try something,” he said, gently shaking off their hands. He placed his on the bark once more, the wood splitting and opening just like the first time.

It looked like flesh, the bark tearing an almost rectangular hole in the trunk, like the wood was alive, like it was breathing. They all watched, though nothing else happened.

El removed her hand from the bark, the split remaining open, and she walked around Steve to stand in front of it. It wasn’t red like the gates to the Upside Down were, like blood would come rushing out if you took a knife to it. Instead, it glowed an almost yellow color, as if there was sunlight peeking through a sheer white curtain on the other side.

Eleven reached her hand out once again, but before she could make contact Steve stepped away and the gate closed for the second time. She looked up at him, annoyed. “What was that for?” she huffed, standing to her full height.

“I’m not letting you get sucked into a tree,” he stated flatly and crossed his arms against his chest. He stepped back, putting more distance between himself and the mystery tree. “If you fall into that thing, Dustin’s gonna kill me.”

“Oh, right, like Dustin’s ever been the authority on anything,” Robin scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“If you want to listen to him bitch and moan about falling into the stupid mirror glass or whatever then be my guest!”

“It’s the Looking Glass, Alice,” Eddie piped in, patting Steve’s shoulder gently. He rolled his eyes, giving Eddie the driest look he could possibly muster, and shouldered past him to grab the bag Robin had set on the ground.

Inside, he grabbed the walkie, clicking the talk button and calling for the other groups to respond. “We found the mirror glass or whatever,” Steve spoke into the receiver, glancing back at Eddie with a smirk.

Dustin’s voice immediately crackled through the radio. “It’s the Looking Glass, Steve!” he called back. Steve shook his head as he listened to Eddie’s laughter behind him, smile pulling at his lips while waiting for his actual sentence to sink into Dustin’s brain.

“Wait, you found it?!” the walkie screamed.

“Yeah, we found it, but it’s… weird. Meet back at my place and we’ll tell you all about it, over and out,” he said, not letting Dustin get more than a ‘weird how?’ out, before he clicked the walkie off and shoved it back into the bag.

Robin tossed it back over her shoulder and patted Steve’s head before turning back the way they came. It didn’t seem far from the house, they hadn’t been walking for long, but Steve couldn’t help the shame that washed over him for being so drunk that night he couldn’t even remember crawling through a fucking tree into another world. He hoped they could figure out the gate, that he could stay here, and hoped that he’d never drink that much ever again.

—

It seriously took me an embarrassing amount of time to come up with those stupid group code names until I woke up a couple days ago like hey wait a second, this is like alice in wonderland smh you do not want to know the even dumber names I had picked out before

anyway, happy new year 🥂

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #background stobin

[cinnamon-mushroomabomination]

A Tarnished Copper Boy

Previous | Next Last chapter, it was Spring Break 1986, Vecna was vanquished but Steve mysteriously disappeared when he touched the gate in Eddie's trailer.

Chapter 2: The Sentinel

Fall 1984

Eddie slams his school bag against the side of the couch before falling onto its worn cushions, huffing. It’s only day one into his repeat of senior year and he already wants to quit.

Today had been an unending exercise in patience after walking through the wide doors of Hawkins High, while also pretending not to experience the wash of humiliation for failing to graduate last year. Already thinking that he looks older and certainly feels older than most of the student body.

He'd caught glances from the former juniors too. Typically, being seen as the resident freak wouldn’t get to Eddie. He likes to court that sort of attention every now and then.

But the knowledge that he’s returned due to his own fuck up turned their scrutiny into tiny, pointed daggers stabbing across his back. It made his skin crawl and his van had squealed out of the parking lot minutes after the final bell rang.

An image of Wayne’s hopeful face fills his vision and Eddie’s head falls back against the arm with a groan. He had promised Wayne that he would try again and there is nothing he wouldn’t do for his uncle.

Glaring at the open bag, Eddie decides however that he doesn’t need to tackle it all immediately. Day one, he reasons to himself, pulling out his campaign notebook and pushing The Great Gatsby further into the depths of his backpack.

The scratch of his pen on paper is the only sound in the trailer as Eddie details his new idea about a township under siege. Afternoon sunlight spills past the curtains hanging on the window, the warm glow of it creating a soothing space as he determinedly forgets his day. Eddie faintly notes from its frantic barking that the Hamilton’s dog has spotted a cat when his calm is shattered.

A falling object slams from the ceiling to the floor. The thud echoes through the trailer and shudders under Eddie’s seat.

Pulse jumping in surprise he scrambles away from the moaning intruder sprawled face-down on the carpet. What the fuck, Eddie thinks, head whipping around in increasing shock, urgently looking for where the man had come from.

He’s half crouched, eyeing the front door, when the man struggles to push up onto his hands and knees, back facing Eddie. “Why’d you move the mattress?” He calls out irately.

The surprise of such a non-sequitur briefly knocks Eddie out of his fear and he peers closer, trying to make sense of this strange turn to his afternoon.

He’s just had a moment to take in the back of mud-splattered pants and a brown leather bomber jacket before the man bellows, “Christ!” He plunges to his side, kicking his legs in pain. “Shitting Christ,” he hisses, clutching at his sides. “Like a thousand fucking needles.”

The genuine pain in his voice has Eddie pausing from his bent position, warily watching and surprising himself as he asks, “Are you okay, man?” He immediately slaps a hand to his forehead: what idiot is concerned for the wellbeing of their home invader?

“Yeah,” the man eventually groans, rolling over onto his back and slowing his breathing. He gingerly rises, propping one hand behind him for support and running fingers through thick bronze locks. “Just a bad landing, is all,” Steve Harrington says in the middle of Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie absently wonders whether it’s his head tilting to the side or if it’s the world spiralling that has the ground swaying under him so abruptly. Either way, it does nothing to distract from the shock that’s rung through him like a slap to the face.

Steve’s eyes suddenly lock on Eddie and, bizarrely, a shadow of concern clouds his expression. “Shit,” he rushes to his knees, darting to hover over him, his palms raised like he doesn’t know where to touch first. “Are you okay? You shouldn’t be moving like that.”

Steve pushes him gently against the couch and, just as bizarrely, Eddie simply… lets him. The surprise of this entire situation numbing him into a blank compliance.

Steve presses his hands against the sides of Eddie’s torso, the warmth of it scalding through his thin shirt, before frowning and shaking his head. “No, it was…” He redirects his attention, staring intently at Eddie’s lap before starting to pat large palms against his legs. He frowns, “Where’s the blood?”

But it’s Steve’s thumb moving against the inside of his thigh—the intimacy of the inadvertent gesture—that finally jolts Eddie out of his shock and he slaps at Steve’s roving fingers with one hand and uses the other to push him away.

Unprepared for Eddie’s hasty resistance, Steve falls on his backside with an oomph, arms splaying behind him to keep himself upright. His face is one long crease, mouth downturned and brows furrowed. “Where are your injuries?” He asks urgently, eyes darting over Eddie’s exposed neck and collarbones.

“What injuries?” Eddie asks in exasperation, feeling like he’s going out of his mind.

Steve leans urgently forward, gesturing with a frantic hand. “The bats, man. You’re— that is, you were pumping blood out of those bites just a second ago. I thought Robin was going to puke if she had to look under your bandage one more time. Robin—” His head swivels, turning and twisting, trying to find—Eddie assumes—this Robin.

Under his warm tan, Steve pales even as his breathing picks up. “Where’s Robin? What about Dustin? Why—” His head snaps to the ceiling in a way that has Eddie wincing in sympathetic pain. He follows his eyeline but all he can see is the normal plain beige above them, and that small water stain that looks like Australia in the corner.

Steve’s wide eyes shoot back to Eddie, panic clear in their depths as they frantically take in every detail. He shifts back onto his knees, slowly reaching out to touch the end of Eddie’s hair, now long enough to just brush his shoulders. His fingers tremble. “Your hair, it’s so short. And…” He swallows, the gulp audible in the silence of the room, “You’re okay. The trailer is okay.”

He trails off, gaze turning inward before focusing on the curl pinched between his fingertips. “It hasn’t happened yet, has it.”

Steve’s face is inches from his own, enough that Eddie can feel the warmth of his breath as it washes over his skin. He’s not keen on how Steve’s invading his personal space but doesn’t have it in him to push someone away when they are so clearly freaking out.

The guy looks like he’s teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. And the last thing he needs is some jock losing his mind in Eddie’s home; though, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s talked someone down from a bad trip.

Eddie sighs, he may not like or even really know Steve, but he doesn’t want  to see him suffer either. “Steve,” Eddie says gently, trying to break through the fog clouding his expression, “What’d you take, man?”

That’s the first thing to figure out: has he been mixing with drinks, is it some bad shrooms, or a paranoid spiral from getting too baked? Eddie’s thinking something along the lines of acid if the guy is hallucinating bats big enough to take down a fully grown man.

Steve snorts, a bit of colour returning to his face as he drops Eddie’s curls, leaning back onto his heels. “No, man. I’m not high.” His head tilts back as he spears his fingers through his hair and Eddie struggles not to look too closely at the smooth skin stretched over his neck or the pretty little moles dotted across it.

“Not high, but I feel a little out of my mind. I think…” He curses, still staring up at the ceiling like it’s an oracle about to unveil otherworldly guidance. “I think I’m not in the right place or the right—” He stops like he can’t say it.

Eddie shifts uneasily against the couch. For the most part, Steve seems in his right mind, even if the contents of what he’s saying don’t make much sense.

His gaze narrowing, Eddie finally realises that the man in front of him also looks very different from the high school junior of last year. He appears roughed up, for one thing, with smudges of dirt smeared across a cheek and under his chin. And his jaw looks sharper and hair longer, more 70’s rebel than 1950’s greaser.

“The ‘right’ what?” Eddie asks softly, figuring it won’t hurt to play along and understand what’s making Steve stop and start his sentences like a stalling engine.

Plus, he’s sort of intrigued by this rugged version of the prep jock that he’s used to seeing in the hallways. The dissonance was disorientating at first, but he can’t deny that it’s a good look on him.

Steve gazes at Eddie’s shoulder-length hair again, dropping his eyes to the backpack against the couch that’s half open and spilling onto the floor, his school notepad and maths textbook peeking through. “Remind me, Eddie. What grade are you in right now?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, trying to think if they had any classes together today to justify the annoyance that runs through him. If nothing else, a returning senior is still noteworthy he thinks a little bitterly. “Come on, Harrington. It’s day one of our final year, don’t tell me you’ve checked out this early.”

“Right,” Steve nods to himself, Eddie’s irritation not even registering. “1984. You were at the desk in front of me in Click's. I’d catch you drawing your characters and monsters for Hellfire rather than taking notes.”

Eddie’s eyebrows fly up in surprise, “You know about Hellfire?”

Steve takes in Eddie’s expression, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah man, my kids love that club.” He rolls up to his feet in an easy movement that has Eddie vaguely jealous.

Standing tall above Eddie with one hand curled around his hip he looks like he’s about to outline the Tiger’s new gameplan, Steve continues to explain, “I was a bit jealous at first, but Dustin loves it and really that’s what matters, right? Dustin…” He snaps his fingers, lips firming, “He’ll know what’s going on.”

“Uh, you might be thinking of some other club then, because we don’t have a Dustin,” Eddie says.

Steve’s smile deepens, a small secretive thing like he’s laughing at a joke that Eddie may not know but oddly he doesn’t feel like it’s at his expense either. “No, not yet. You’ll love him though.” He hums thoughtfully, “It’s hard not to like the little butthead. Hey, you have the van yet?”

Eddie blinks from the abrupt change of topic and at Steve as he unerringly strides to the space on the wall by the front door. “Yeah?” He says, confused as Steve plucks the Chevrolet’s chain from the hooks where he and Wayne keep their keys.

It’s out in the open so Eddie’s not exactly shocked that Steve went there first, but his confidence at finding the location in one go is weird.

Eddie supposes the ghoul figurine that he had painted and tailored to work as a key chain makes it even more obvious since Steve Harrington apparently knows about Dungeons and Dragons and thus can guess that the monster hanging on the hook is likely Eddie’s.

Eddie, who he has noticed in class. Or will. He’s not sure about the whole thing concerning Mrs Click’s class since they didn’t have history today.

The jarring difference between Steve’s words against reality must be the reason that Eddie feels a half step behind, which is also why it takes a moment to launch into action when Steve twirls the key ring around one blunt finger before stepping out of the trailer. The screen door slaps shut behind him.

“Hey!” Eddie calls out, scrambling after him only to find that Steve is waiting outside. He moves Eddie gently down the steps with his hands around his biceps before turning to close the door. After the quiet snick of the lock turning, he presses the keys into Eddie’s hand. “Give me a lift?”

Eddie closes his gaping mouth and nods dumbly. Sure, why not, he thinks, swallowing down a giggle at the ridiculous circus his afternoon has devolved into. Steve jogs over to the unlocked van door and launches himself onto the passenger seat, wincing and grabbing at his side with a soft curse.

Eddie frowns as he follows him into the driver’s side, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Steve just smiles, pushing a hand back to rap against the passenger window, “You should lock your car door, man. It’d be pretty easy to hotwire, right?”

Staring at Steve, whose tongue is firmly in his cheek and looking less lost and more amused, Eddie wonders aloud, “What is even happening right now?”

“Ignore me,” Steve shakes his head, eyes glimmering with humour. “Can you get to Piney Wood Drive off of Church Street?”

Eddie nods slowly, not completely sure about why he’s allowing himself to be directed by Steve’s whims. He thinks that a sort of morbid curiosity for this mystery is pulling him along like metal fillings drawn to a shiny magnet.

“Sure,” he finally answers, turning the key. Judas Priest blasts from the stereo and Rob Halford growls about the growing storm. Eddie reverses off the gravel while Steve reaches over to turn the volume down, but surprisingly doesn’t flick it off.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looking out at the blur of houses past the window and tapping his finger against the car door in time with the beat. “Is this Ozzy?” He asks.

Eddie blinks at the stop sign they’ve paused at, “You know Black Sabbath?” Has his soul left his body? Maybe Eddie’s the one tripping balls back at home because surely Steve doesn’t know Black Sabbath.

“Not really,” Steve chuckles. “I just know he’s pretty metal — bit a bat onstage, right?”

Again with the bats. “You have a thing for small flying marsupials?” Eddie turns left onto Highland Drive, slowing down as an older couple cross the middle of the street. “I don’t think they are. Marsupials, that is.” Steve gestures to his stomach, “No, uh, pouches, right?”

Eddie reroutes his thoughts to safer, saner places than a world where he’s being taught species characteristics by someone he’s fairly sure he’s not exchanged two words with before today. He decides to flip the script instead, “No, this is Judas Priest. The Sentinel.”

“Is that a D&D reference?”

Eddie huffs in disbelief, “No, it’s the song title. It’s about a protector that’s ready to defend against any threat. He’s pretty badass, has blades and everything.”

“Sounds like D&D,” Steve snorts as Eddie turns down Church Street.

Eddie inclines his head, “Touche. Now, where are we heading?” Steve directs him to the top of the incline on Piney Wood Drive where a cluster of birch trees surround a wide, single-storey house. The peaks of the roof charmingly peer out between the tall, white trunks like a little hobbit home.

And it’s as the house’s entrance swings open—Eddie helpless to do anything but follow behind Steve at this point—that he finds himself in front of a little hobbit as well.

A pipsqueak pulls the door back with a demanding sort of energy, his face is framed by tight brown curls shoved under a blue and white baseball cap and when he opens his mouth to speak, Eddie sees that his top front teeth are missing. “Steve?”

“Dustin!” Steve steps forward and roughly pulls the kid into his arms. Dustin’s expression looks like an echo of Eddie’s earlier bewilderment, but he gingerly reaches a small hand up to awkwardly pat him on the back.

Steve hangs there for an extra second before roughly clearing his throat and standing up again, though his hand continues to rest on Dustin’s shoulder. “Buddy,” he says, “You’ve got to help me out here: I’m a freaking time traveller.”

(This will have a similiar release schedule to The Gift, with Ao3 always updated first :) )

Tag list under the cut

@bookworm0690, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @finntheehumaneater, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @hallucinatedjosten, @just-a-tiny-void, @ledleaf, @littlewildflowerkitten, @manda-panda-monium, @mightbeasleep, @nburkhardt, @newtstabber, @stillfullofshit, @tartarusknight

My taglist is always open, so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed, let me know. :)

#Oh wow #steddie #time travel #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is already so interesting to me holy shit #i love it