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#life has many doors Ed boy
rapid-artwork · 25 days
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Woe, Ed Edd n Eddy be upon ye.
I am continuing my pursuit of the "Cartoon Network Classic Style " ™️
I think I'm gonna move onto Billy and Mandy, Samurai Jack and Scooby Doo next.
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This has been stuck in my head for years, and I’m hoping that giving it form will finally set me free.
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thecoolguy24601 · 21 days
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I had this idea
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dlocomix · 1 year
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Drew the Warners and threw in a Rolf cause my friend asked me to
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misterbaritone · 2 months
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I peeped that new Ed trailer for SF6 and uh that boy lookin kinda S H A R P
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rabbit-trolls · 1 year
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lakeshor · 2 years
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Eddie Munson facts:
- Gay
- First concert: Led Zeppelin, 1977
- Dead father who he never knew, semi-absent mother (she lives in Indianapolis, he sees her 2-ish times a year, she used to send money to his uncle but stopped when he turned 18, they have a strained relationship)
- LOVES Halloween
- Started playing guitar at age 13; his uncle bought him his first guitar, an acoustic one that he still has in his room
- He worked as a bagger at Melvald’s for a summer to save up for his electric guitar
- Owns 3 denim jackets
- Had a fleeting crush on Billy Hargrove when he first came to Hawkins
- Pyromaniac
- One of his older cousins got him into D&D, he then taught it to his bandmates
- Played trumpet for 2 months before quitting band (he knows Robin tangentially because of this)
- He moved in with his uncle at the beginning of his first round of senior year
- Started dealing drugs accidentally (happens)
- First kiss with a girl was in middle school, first kiss with a boy was at a D&D tournament in 1982
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gembroni · 24 days
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let go
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glittery-animations · 5 months
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steddiewithachance · 11 months
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"You Should Date My Nephew"
"433-6296". Wayne mouthes to himself. He visualizes the little slip of lined paper that's taped to the wall above their phone at home. 433-6296. He could call. But he wont.
Wayne grunts as he lowers himself to sit on the curb outside the plant. He got off work --he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch-- 36 minutes ago. It's 3:36 am and god dammit Eddie how many times did he remind the kid to set his alarm. How many times did Wayne remind Eddie that his truck was in the shop and that he'd need a ride home in the morning. And every single time he'd mention it, Eddie responded "I got it old man! I'll set an alarm" with an exasperated eye roll and would go back to whatever he was doing. Wayne has tried calling the trailer a dozen times already and damn that boy for being such a heavy sleeper.
433-6296. Wayne could probably solve his problem with a single call, but that would be completely inconsiderate and borderline inappropriate, so he wont. A gust of cold November wind hits Wayne unforgivingly in the face and makes his eyes water. He pulls a pack of camels from his chest pocket and with stiff, shaky hands, lights one. 433-6296. He could call or he could walk home. The walk wasn't easy in ideal weather when Wayne was fully rested. Right now it was freezing, Wayne didn't have his good jacket, and he just finished an eight hour shift. 433-6296. Fuck it.
Wayne stands up and hurries toward the phone before he can talk himself out of this. It's insane, and he knows the poor kid barely sleeps as it is. Knows from Eddie that he'll pick up the phone anytime Eddie has a nightmare and drive over to talk him out of the bad dream, keep him company, or fall asleep on the floor of Eddie's bedroom so his nephew doesn't have to go back to sleep alone in a haunted home. 433-6296 Wayne dials and waits with baited breath.
The phone rings a handful of times before a quiet voice greets him on the other side of the line.
"H'llo? Eds?"
"Uh hi Steve. It's Wayne?" Wayne says quietly into the phone. Steve seems to sober immediately.
"Mr. Munson? Is everything okay? Is Eddie okay?"
"Yeah no everythin's fine. I'm sure Eddie's safe and sound at home. Look, I'm real sorry to wake you, kid, and I'm sorry to even be askin' you in the first place. I know it's mighty unfair of me to call at this time but uh- My trucks in the shop and Eddie was supposed to pick me up from work forty minutes ago but I think he mighta slept through his alarm. And it's too far for an old man like me to walk. Was wondering if I might owe you a helluva favor if you could pick me up tonight, son." For a few moments there is silence. Wayne worries he has crossed a line, for a brief moment he fears he might have burnt the most important bridge in Eddie's life. He's immediately regretting waking Steve up for this.
But then he hears the distinct rustling and thump of someone putting on shoes.
"Of course Mr. Munson, I'm leaving now. I'll be there as soon as I can." And Wayne is once again floored by this kid's kindness.
"Steve, thank you. I owe you son. Whatever you need."
"It's no problem! I'll see you soon."
"See you." Wayne mutters in disbelief and hangs up the phone.
And to think... Wayne used to hate Steve. The thing about Steve Harrington is that his name is haunted, in a way. And the thing about Wayne Munson is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch who will hold grudges on Eddie's behalf longer than the kid himself will. There were countless days in high school when instead of shooting through the front door of the trailer after school with a devilish grin and music blasting from his headphones, Eddie would turn the knob slowly and he'd drag himself into the house, giving Wayne a small nod before disappearing into his room quietly. Wayne felt like crying or punching something when Eddie came home in low spirits. He knew how evil the kids at school could be, and he knew the names of all the bad ones. Wayne always gave Eddie 10 minutes of quiet before he'd knock on his door and gently ask if he wanted to talk. It was a routine they had. He'd ask and Eddie would say no. But then like clockwork, Eddie would open up about his day later in the evening usually while they ate dinner and before Wayne left for work. He'd complain about all the kids that made him feel bad: Hagan, Harrington, Perkins, Hargrove, Carver, and so many more.
So imagine Wayne's surprise on March 27, 1986 when he briefly left Eddie's hospital room to get coffee and returned to Steve Harrington, the bully son of Richard and Nicole, sitting next to his nephew's hospital bed. It had been a long week of worrying on Wayne's part, and an emotional 48 hours spent at Eddie's bedside, so Wayne had very little patience for whatever was happening in front of him. In retrospect, Steve Harrington was looking at Eddie... sweet and tenderly, even back then. But in the moment all he could think about was Eddie returning from school with hunched shoulders and his head hung low.
"The hell are you doing here?" Wayne asked using his gruffest and most intimidating voice, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. The way that Steve startled was like nothing like Wayne had ever seen. He jumped a foot into the air and folded into himself.
"Oh! Mr. Munson. I'm sorry I didn't know you were around. Just, uh, didn't want him to be alone in case he woke up." Steve had said rising from his seat. When Wayne didn't budge from the doorway or respond, Steve nervously fiddled with the zipper of his jacket.
"How do you know Eddie?" Wayne asked trying to keep his firm tone.
"From high school sir. But also through a mutual friend. Dustin Henderson? They play DND together. Dustin and I brought him in after we found him like this..." Steve lifted his head again gauging Wayne's still stern expression and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry sir I didn't mean to interrupt anything I'll get out of your hair."
And Wayne wanted to be skeptical of Steve, wanted to accuse him of doing this to Eddie, but the truth is that Steve sounded painfully earnest. And there's no human explanation for the tiny bite marks all over Eddie's body. Wayne stepped out of the doorway and let Steve take a few steps down the hallway before calling out to him.
"Hey, Harrington?" Steve turned around quickly, looking back with a startled expression, maybe surprised that Wayne knew his name at all. "D'ja see what happened? I mean d'ya know anythin about what hurt him?" Wayne asked more softly. Steve looked around the crowded hallway, with nurses buzzing from door to door. Steve shook his head slightly, apologized, and continued down the hallway.
But Steve didn't stay out of his hair for long. The kid was exasperatingly persistent in being around for Eddie. And while Wayne kept a watchful eye on him, he was starting to get the idea that Steve Harrington was not who Wayne thought he was. He cooked for, cleaned after, and tended to Eddie, asking for nothing in return. Often refusing to stay for dinner when Wayne was home, even if he was the one who cooked it, because he didn't want to interrupt family time. If he brought food from out he always brought something for Wayne, and never took the money Wayne tried to push into his hands for it.
"Here, Mr. Munson. I wasn't sure what you wanted from the diner, but Eddie said you're not picky so I brought you a burger and fries." Steve had said that first time, holding out a bag in front of him.
"You brought me food?" Wayne asked perplexed.
"Well yeah, of course. I wouldn't have shown up with dinner for just me and Eddie." Steve set Wayne's bag on the counter when he made no move to take it.
By now Steve knew Wayne and Eddie's order at pretty much every food place in Hawkins and Wayne and Eddie were getting real creative at finding ways to slip money into Steve's wallet.
On top of that, almost every other day, Wayne gets home from work to find a maroon bmw parked outside his place while Steve helps Eddie through bad dreams. So what could Wayne be, besides grateful, for Steve Harrington's slightly confusing devotion to his kid?
He's snapped out of his thoughts when said maroon bmw pulls up in front of him. Steve is wearing a pair of wired glasses and his hair is all ruffled from sleep. Wayne opens the passenger door.
"You were waiting for forty minutes in the cold? Why didn't you call sooner?" Steve asked pushing up his glasses as Wayne closes the door quickly. And well... Wayne doesn't know how to respond to that.
"I- I shouldn'ta had to call you in the first place, Steve. I'm real sorry" Wayne says as Steve pulls the car out of park and starts driving back towards the trailer park. Wayne glances over at Steve waiting for the kid to say something. They sit in heavy silence until Steve breaks it by clearing his throat.
"Just... I know you're probably mad at Eddie but- but don't yell at him. He's barely sleeping so he really just needs the rest. It's not his fault." Steve ends on a whisper.
A tidal wave of different emotions rip through Wayne. Affection for Steve's caring nature, immense gratitude that Eddie has someone like Steve in his life, disbelief that Steve would say something like that after being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. Wayne was sitting and staring at the most selfless kid he'd ever met. Steve fucking Harrington.
"You should date my nephew."
Steves eyes widen and the car swerves.
"Uh- s-sorry- what?" Steve stammers.
"If I could choose someone for him, the best option out there, I'd choose you." Wayne says honestly, and he didn't even know he'd been thinking it until this moment. But it's so true. After so many heartbreaks over truly terrible men that Wayne could never see the appeal of, Eddie deserves someone like Steve. Steve face softens before checking to make sure Wayne was being sincere. Steve cracks a smile and chuckles to himself.
"What, you think I'm jokin'?" Wayne asks defensively.
"No sir! Not at all. It's just Eddie and I have been dating for months already. BUT- but- thank you for saying that! It means so much to me and truly Eddie's the best thing-"
"You- what?" Suddenly Wayne is embarrassed. Blushing. How'd he... how'd he miss that? And well, he did have a few moments where he thought the two of them were awfully close for a pair of young men, at least one of which who was openly queer, but they'd been through a lot together.
"Why did no one tell me?" Wayne asks turning his face away from Steve who is desperately fighting a huge grin and losing.
"We thought you knew. We sleep in the same bed every night."
"You do what now? Thought you were sleepin' on the floor" Wayne knows he sounds like the protective dad of a teenage girl and not the uncle to an adult man, but his world was just turned sideways. Steve laughs at that and adjusts his glasses before stopping at the red traffic light which almost immediately turns green because no one is out at this hour.
"Oh well. Good, I'm glad then." Wayne says after his mind has stopped spinning. "And call me Wayne already, you basically live at my house." He punches Steve lightly in the shoulder.
"Okay." Steve agrees quietly. He pulls into Forest Hills and stops the car in front of the Munson's place. "Mind if I just check to make sure he's okay before I leave? For peace of mind?" Wayne opens the door and steps out.
"Oh so now you're playing coy about sharing a bed? Just sleep here, kid" Wayne closes the door and heads towards the house. Steve jogs a little to catch up. When they open the door, the sound of an obnoxious alarm comes pouring out from the back of the house which concerns both of them. But when Steve hurries to Eddie's room he sees that the idiot had fallen asleep with music blasting in his headphones. Wayne stops the alarm as Steve gently tries to remove the headphones from his ears pausing the tape inside.
Eddie suddenly stirs and blinks up at Wayne and Steve looking down at him.
"'S going on?" He croaks, rubbing his eyes. Wayne and Steve share a look before Wayne chuckles and pats Steve on the back once before thanking him and wishing him a good night on the way out. After the door closes behind Wayne, Eddie looks back up at Steve. "What's going on baby? What happened?"
Steve slips into the bed and scoffs, fondly. He curls around Eddie and pulls him into his chest. Once they've settled, Steve pushes his fingers through Eddie's until they're all intertwined.
"Did you forget something, Bambi? Was there someone you had to pick up from work at 3 in the morning?" Steve whispers into his neck. Suddenly Eddie shoots up and dislodges Steve where he was leaning against him. Steve groans.
"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit"
"Eddie it's okay c'mere. He's home now, it's all good babe." But Eddie just stares at the wall and pulls a hand through his hair. "No one is mad, just come back here. Let's sleep." And Eddie hesitantly lies back down.
"Did Uncle Wayne have to call you? I'm so fucking sorry Stevie." Eddie asks, sounding embarrassed.
"We had a nice conversation on the way home so it all worked out. You're okay. Sleeeeep."
And right before they both fall asleep, Eddie whispers, "Thanks Stevie, love you."
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neon-ufo · 6 months
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life has many doors, ed-boy
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sassydefendorflower · 11 months
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It's actually so important to me that the first time we see Ed actually cry in Fullmetal Alchemist (Brotherhood and Manga) - apart from the automail surgery - is when Hohenheim offers him his life to bring back Alphonse.
Throughout the entire story Ed doesn't cry because of his misguided love-filled promise to Al. No matter how horrible their odds, no matter how traumatizing their journey, Ed refuses to cry. He comes close. So, so close. When Izumi tells them it's okay to be sad, offering comfort after a long time without. After Nina dies and Ed and Al let the rain wash away their sorrow. When Hughes dies and guilt becomes an even heavier cloak weighing their shoulders down. When death comes knocking on Ed's door and he decidedly sends it packing.
Ed laughs and rages and smiles and screams.
But he doesn't cry.
Just because Al can't.
Ed was eleven when he made that promise. He was a child suffering through something truly horrific when he promised himself and the world that he wouldn't cry as long as his brother wasn't allowed to do the same.
Which is painful to watch - especially since it tells us that Ed knows how much crying is a part of life. He gave something up, not out of some misguided idea of masculinity, but because he knew it would be a sacrifice to keep himself from crying. A punishment since his brother could no longer offer his tears in the face of sorrow.
But by the end of the story Ed has cried. And it's not tears of joy, like the ones he promised Winry. No, Ed is angry when he cries - and Alphonse is no longer there.
In a way Ed kept his promise to Al - he only cried when the person he made this promise to (be it silent and secretive) was gone.
As far as they knew Al was dead.
But that truth alone didn't bring tears to Ed's eyes, though it certainly shattered his heart and made him quiver in desperation. No, in the end it was Hohenheim who finally allowed Ed to spill tears kept locked away for four long years.
And I love it.
I love that Hohenheim trying to do something truly loving, something completely selfish, something absolutely sacrificial was the thing that pushed Ed over the edge.
Because Ed never forgave his father for leaving, but by the end of the story he understands why he left.
Because Ed is so unbelievably angry with this man who abandoned him, and he still cares for him - partially because he knows Alphonse does.
Because Ed was never forced to forgive Hohenheim, but we still know that Hohenheim loves his children and his wife and would do everything for them.
Even, no, especially if it means dying.
And Ed can't take it.
So many others have died by this point, they are all painted in blood and pain, and Ed has lost his only constant - and now his father wants to make an ultimate sacrifice?
No.
So, Ed gets angry. And he cries. And he saves Al on his own - with the help of all of his friends, and Hohenheim.
Because no matter Ed's feelings on the man who gave him life, he doesn't want to see anyone else die. He doesn't want anyone else's blood on his hands.
And he wants Hohenheim to get a chance to be a rotten father - because at the end of the day Hohenheim is someone worth crying over even, no, especially by the boy who promised he wouldn't cry.
(there is something to be said about Hohenheim crying on their family portrait, only to be mirrored by Ed grinning while holding his own child - there is something to be said about Hohenheim willingly offering his life, only to be stopped by the tears running down his son's angry face - there is something to be said about Ed's anger and Hohenheim's soft grief and their shared past)
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steddieasitgoes · 4 months
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written for @steddiemas Day 1: Deck the Halls read on ao3 | ao3 collection
Steve’s annoyed.
More than annoyed, really.
He’s supposed to be at the Munson’s, sitting between Wayne and Eddie, watching the Hoosiers play. Well, trying to watch the game, at least. Eddie has a habit of dozing off before the first quarter ends, head thunking against Steve’s shoulder so he can’t move for the rest of the game.
But no.
His mom just had to call and demand he set up their stupid Christmas tree before she and his dad get home tonight because the annual Harrington Holiday House party is this weekend, and she doesn’t have time to do it herself. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s trusting him enough to decorate the thing. He can count on one hand how many times he was allowed to hang an ornament on the statement piece in their living room.
He can’t even celebrate the decorating victory, though, because he’s still trying to assemble the goddamn thing. Nine-foot trees really aren’t meant to be set up by one person. At least, that’s what Steve’s learning as he tries to balance the next segment of the tree over his shoulder as he climbs up the ladder.
Focused on not falling, Steve doesn’t hear the front door open or the stomps of boots coming into the room. It isn’t until Eddie tuts does Steve startles, nearly toppling over.
“Woah, there big boy,” Eddie teases, reaching out to steady the ladder. “Don’t fall.”
“Don’t scare me then,” Steve snaps. It takes a moment, but he manages to get the next piece into the slot before carefully climbing down the ladder.
“Christ, someone’s feisty today,” Eddie says, hands up in surrender. “I guess it’s a good thing you bailed on me and Wayne to uh…” He glances at the half-assembled tree in the middle of the room. “What are you doing exactly?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Building a stupid Christmas tree.”
“I’m sorry, you what?” Eddie asks, shaking his head. “You can’t build trees. You grow trees.”
Steve snorts. “It’s an artificial tree, Eds. My mom called as I was headed out to your place. Said I needed to get the stupid thing up and fluffed before she got home tonight because she needs a full three days to decorate the damn thing for the annual Harrington Holiday House party.”
“This thing is blasphemous!” Eddie says, circling it like a predator stalking its prey. “I thought rich people love Christmas trees. Don’t you like custom order the biggest one to show off your wealth?”
“Uh, no? My mom says real trees make too much of a mess.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie says, abandoning the tree as he stalks towards Steve. “You mean to tell me you’ve never had a real tree before? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“You’re being weird,” Steve says, shaking Eddie’s hands off his shoulder.
“I am not being weird. You’re being weird. You’ve never had a Christmas tree! Do you even know what they smell like? Steve, you haven’t lived until you’ve smelt a freshly cut down Christmas tree!”
“Jesus, I didn’t know you were so passionate about this,” Steve snorts.
“You think this is bad. Wait until I tell Wayne. He’s going to flip out!”
“Wayne has never flipped out in his life.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a first for everything.” Eddie crosses his arms and then immediately uncrosses them, clapping his hands instead. “That’s it. You’re coming with us this year. Don’t make plans for next Friday! I’m stealing your Christmas tree virginity.”
“Don’t say it like that,” Steve groans, wrinkling his nose. “But fine, I’ll go with you. If you help me with this thing.”
“I don’t think that’s a fair trade-off, Stevie.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t really give a shit,” Steve says, bending down for the next segment of the tree. “Now grab an end.”
Steve yelps when he feels a firm hand squeeze his ass. All it takes is one deathly glare over his shoulder for Eddie to stop cackling and get serious.
🎄 🎄 🎄
“I’m going to sue your family,” Eddie whines, collapsing on the couch a few hours later.
“Don’t be a baby,” Steve scolds before dashing off into the living room to grab a couple of beers.
“Excuse me! That thing attacked me! Multiple times! Look at the evidence,” Eddie shouts, yanking up the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt to examine a dozen or so scratch marks up and down his forearms. “And don’t even get me started on my hands! How am I supposed to play guitar, Steven!”
“I told you to wear gloves,” Steve shrugs, returning to the room. He passes Eddie the cold can of beer before sinking into the couch beside him.
“I shouldn’t need gloves because you shouldn’t need to fluff a tree! They already come fluffed because they’re not rotting away in a box all year.”
“You poor thing,” Steve playfully tuts. “Guess I can’t hold your hand now since they’re so beaten up.”
“I never said that,” Eddie squawks as he yanks Steve’s hand into his own.
They sit in silence after that. Nursing their beers as the Christmas tree stands in its makeshift glory in front of them. Steve can tell which side he fluffed and which side Eddie did. The giant gap between the top two layers is obvious, and he knows he’s going to have to climb the ladder and fix it before his mom gets home, but that’s a problem for future Steve. Right now, he wants to sit here with his boyfriend even if his boyfriend is gearing up for another faux Christmas tree rant.
“Don’t tell me your mom is one of those people who only puts those stupid decorative ball things on the tree, too.”
“What do you think?” Steve says, hiding his smile behind the can of beer.
“Jesus H. Christ!”
🎄 🎄 🎄
It takes a bit of convincing and a formal invite from Wayne, but Steve keeps up his end of their deal, joining the Munsons on their quest for the perfect Christmas tree for the trailer.
Eddie has a habit of embellishing when he tells stories, but Merrill’s farm lives up to all the hype. As done, the process of selecting and chopping down the perfect tree. Steve gets stuck being the tie-breaking vote when Wayne and Eddie end up arguing over which tree to bring home. Naturally, Eddie throws a minor fit when Steve sides with Wayne, whining that he likes him better than his own boyfriend, which has Wayne rolling his eyes.
Steve gets to make the first chop but passes the ax off quickly. He doesn’t want to impede on their tradition any more than he has. Besides, axes have never been his thing. He prefers to swing bats instead.
“See, isn’t this much better than building a tree?” Eddie asks, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulder as they stand off the side while Wayne pays.
“It definitely smells better.” Steve inhales deeply, scents of pine and hints of peppermint flooding his senses. Someone should bottle this stuff up and sell it as a cologne, he thinks. He’d definitely wear it.
“It’s easier, too.”
Steve scoffs. “Speak for yourself! You’re not the one who helped Wayne drag it all the way up here.”
Eddie laughs, eyes sparking mischievously. “Wait until you have to help him load it into the truck. That’s always the worst part.”
Steve eyes his boyfriend through squinted eyes. He ducks out of Eddie’s grasp and settles his hands on his hips. “You set me up! You just brought me here so you wouldn’t have to do manual work!”
“You wound me, Harrington,” Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart as he staggers backward. “How can you think so lowly of me.”
“Because I know you, Munson,” Steve teases.
“Alright, alright, fine,” Eddie says, slinking over to Steve. “Maybe I had ulterior motives, but it's only fair after what I suffered helping you with that abomination you call a tree. At least now you’ve experienced a true Christmas tree experience.”
Steve can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as Eddie beams proudly at him.
“Ready to go, boys?” Wayne asks, rejoining them. They both nod, watching as Wayne makes his way over to the heavier side of the tree.
“You don’t have to carry it, Wayne,” Steve says, mischievous flooding his own veins. “Eddie and I will carry it to the car.”
“You bastard!”
“Hey,” Wayne scolds, swatting Eddie’s shoulder. “No swearin’ ‘round kids. I ain’t raise you like that.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he watches Eddie sigh dramatically before carefully shoving Wayne away from the tree. He waits for Eddie to follow his lead, squatting down before he counts them off. On three, they hoist the tree over their shoulders and start heading back out to the car.
🎄 🎄 🎄
“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks later, passing Steve a mug full of Wayne’s signature hot chocolate. “Is it better than your tree?”
Steve knows the answer immediately, but he takes a moment. Wants to make Eddie squirm as he admires the tree in front of him. It’s not perfect. It’s a little crooked, and there are hundreds of pine needles littering the floor. The lights are bright, though, and the branches are full of homemade and sentimental ornaments that span decades. A homemade star sits on top in lieu of the traditional angel. A star, Eddie tells him, he and his mom made by themselves the year before she got sick.
It’s perfectly imperfect.
His own traditional, straight out of the pages of a Home and Garden magazine doesn’t stand a chance against this one.
“Yeah, Eds. It’s better than my tree.”
“Victory!” Eddie shouts, nearly spilling his hot chocolate all over himself.
🎄 🎄 🎄
A month later, Steve’s belly is full of the Munson Christmas feast, but instead of lazily lounging on the couch enjoying his food baby, he’s carefully taking ornaments off of the dead Christmas tree that nearly caught fire twice since he’s been here.
“I take it back,” Steve says, carefully taking an ornament off of the dead tree. “Artificial trees are better.”
“They are not!” Eddie whines, wrapping the ornaments Steve hands him in tissue paper.
“I don’t know, Eds. I’ve never had to take down a tree on Christmas before!” he grumbles, reaching for another ornament. “This sucks.”
“It’s all your fault. If you chose my tree, it would have lived for another week! I just know it.”
“Sure it would have,” Steve snorts.
“Look on the bright side, at least we have firewood for the New Year's Eve bond fire now. We can’t do that with your stupid tree.”
“Nope, because I get to use my tree again next year, and you have to buy a new one. Think that’s another point for fake trees.”
Eddie screeches, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and tugging him off the ladder and onto the couch. Despite their full stomachs and tired eyes, they wrestle and laugh as Wayne shakes his head from the doorway, a light cigarette perched between his lips.
“Cut it out, you too,” he scolds when things get more heated between them. “Need it out before it really goes up in flames.”
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deathbecomesthem · 3 months
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Trailer Park Blues (one shot)
MINORS DNI, STRICTLY 18+
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | wc: 3.7K
*This is a reupload from an old blog. It's one of my most favorite stories.
Summary: You've lived in the trailer park as long as Eddie has, and you've been frenemies the entire time. Today, though, the heat of the summer drives you into the cool arms of the air conditioned trailer next door. (I am horny for summer as well as Eddie Munson)
Warnings: Smut with feelings. Teasing, before the smut, nothing overly mean. Depictions of poverty. There are no body descriptions of the reader, BUT she is wearing a string bikini, her body "jiggles" when she walks, she has breasts (no size mentioned), and she starts the story sunbathing.
A/N: I feel the need to thank @blueywrites and @pinkrelish for the initial encouragement to write this story after only reading the first 200 words when I literally had no plot in mind. There are many other friends that also encouraged and tossed ideas at me while I was figuring out if I even had something. Thanks, I hope it doesn't suck!
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Hot days like this push you out of the stagnant air of the trailer. Stuffy smoke-filled rooms and the occasional fly buzzing around the trashcan in the kitchen. Some of the neighbors have little ac units sticking out of their windows, promising a reprieve from the unmoving Indiana summer heat – but not your hovel. No, that was an expense you couldn’t afford, and your mother wouldn’t.
The string bikini was your idea of rebellion, despite being too old to rebel against a woman that was never home and wouldn’t care if her adult daughter walked around the park in the nude as long as she brought home her rent money. The upside was less fabric to stick to your sweaty skin, the downside was that every exposed part of you sticks to the reclining beach chair you use for sun tanning.
The baby oil you have slathered all over your body has blocked every other summer scent your nose might seek out while you let the sun beat down on you. You already know you won’t last long and begin to think about heading down to the Hawkins Public Pool for a dip, as long as you can scrape together the couple of bucks for entry. A movie was always a possibility, but that would cost you even more of what you don’t have. You’re ready to start digging a whole in the ground to settle into, any relief.
Just as you push your sunglasses to the top of your head, trying to mentally work out your path back into the hell that is your home, you feel a presence behind you. You know who it is, your bikini is his siren call. You also know that he might have a little scratch today, since last weekend was full of grad parties that needed some herbal refreshments provided by Hawkins best boy.
“Whad’ya want, Edward?” It doesn’t even require a turn of your head to know his presence, it’s second nature to recognize him. Every day of your life in the park since the age of 9 has included him, for better or worse. Never a real friend, and never a true enemy, just Ed.
“Booboo, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea in that thing,” playful and light but tinged with venom, his words are what finally draw your attention. The shorts he’s wearing are an old pair of jeans cut just above the knees, and the shirt an old tee that he hacked the sleeves off of. You two are a match made in white trash heaven.
“Wouldn’t want that, huh?” You flick your sunglasses back down against the bridge of your nose to obscure your wandering eyes, but Eddie makes no attempt to hide his own. “You didn’t answer my question, Edward, what can I help you with?” Your impatient hand twirls in a come-on motion while your hot eyes rake across his exposed biceps traveling down to his boney wrists and big hands.
“I’m bored and I saw my old friend Booboo outside, obviously desperately seeking the attention of someone in the tiniest bikini known to man.” Eddie reaches a hand out to play with the string at the base of your neck where the halter ties before pinching the edge of your sunglasses and tugging them off your face.
“Wow, you’re really hung up on that. You’re lucky I’m wearing anything, it’s so fucking hot today.”  No words about it exchanged, but you start to reach back for your glasses while Eddie’s long arm reaches above his head to hold them out of your arm’s length. It’s a natural thing, what you do next. Something you’ve done so many other times you don’t really think about how much older you both are now. How inappropriate it might be. He has something of yours and you want it back. Your quick hand reaches easily into the loose arm hole and find its prize on instinct. Pinch hard and twist.
A swat, a yelp, a leg kicking yours out, and you find yourself wrapped up in Eddie’s much stronger arms. A sudden thought, the fact that you’re wearing nothing more than strings with small patches of fabric covering your most sensitive places, flashes in your mind. It makes your knees want to buckle. A small stumble met with a firmer grip from the boy standing behind you.
“Woah there, you alright?” A strong hand moves to steady your elbow and you sink back into your chair for a moment, and he’s crouching down to take a look at your face. His concern makes you heat up even more, because the face so close to your own is not that of the boy that used to tease you and chase you around. No, this is the face of a young man, and you’ve noticed those changes so much in recent years. Those big brown eyes have remained the same, open and full of shared memories.
It's your chance, so you take it, grabbing the frames from his hand while he’s still searching your face for any sign of distress. You put them on your face again, letting them shield any secrets you might not want him to see.
“Listen, Edward,” you give him a light shove to his shoulder making him wobble a little, “It’s hot, and I’m fine. Unless you have some sort of brilliant plan to turn the heat down, I’m gonna go take my third ice cold shower for the day.”
“Uh,” he’s turning a skeptical eye at the trailer behind you, the one you share with your mother, while you stand again using him as leverage. He stays where he is, his face level with the front of your bikini bottoms. You can see a thought, not unlike the ones you try to hide from him, scuttle across his face, “you guys still don’t even have one unit in that trash compactor you call a trailer?”
A jab and a miss, you know how everyone looks at your place. Even for the park, it’s low living. It’s been a rough go for your mom, and you both make do together. “Sorry, Edward, some of us don’t live in the lap of luxury.”
His laugh, a bark of joy, rings out. He looks like the boy right now, the boisterous laugh turned giggle fit at the absurdity of considering the Munson trailer the “lap of luxury.” He’s on his feet in a flash, suddenly close again, face still beaming.
“How about you spend some time with me in the Munson mansion, eh? Have a little smoke, you can read or watch a movie,” Eddie subconsciously licks at his lips, giving away the thoughts behind the words, “whatever you want, Booboo. I’m not doing shit anyway.”
Whatever you want is what he says. None of it passes your notice, the looks, the lips, the subtle leaning into your space, the hand at your shoulder absentmindedly rubbing your baby oil slicked skin. He probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it, the summer sun boiling his brain right along with yours.
“Yeah, ok.” The gaze between you lingers for another moment until a mosquito lands on his cheek. He doesn’t notice, but you smash it with a slap and laugh at his reaction. You show him the residual bug guts on your palm as explanation, “sorry, didn’t want it to bite you and mess up that pretty face.”
A spin of your heels and a job back to the porch of your own trailer gives Eddie the perfect view of your ass. You make sure to exaggerate the movements of your hips, letting his imagination run off to thoughts of his face between your soft thighs. The way your sweaty skin would taste against his tongue. By the time you’re jogging back towards him with the other half of your jiggling body on display, he’s sporting a semi and wishing the shorts he chose gave him a little more wiggle room.
“Edddddddiiiieee,” you’re pulling an oversized t shirt by the time you reach his side, and you find him a little dazed, “let’s go inside. We can order a pizza later, as long as you don’t kick me out by then.” Your elbow is hooked in his, an old habit from the days of tromping around the woods together when you were kids, as you lead him up the stairs to the sweet relief of the dark and cool Munson trailer.
“Oh, Booboo, you can stay as long as you want.” His admission is a light exhale of breath as he watches your hips sway up the steps in front of him. And you think, you’ll stay for pizza, you’ll stay for a toke, and you’ll stay for whatever else might be on the table.
--
You had greatly underestimated the effect the cool air would have on your sweat slicked skin. Your mostly bare ass is sat on the carpet of Eddie’s room where a small window air conditioner is clanking out polar air into the room. A sweet and acrid smell hangs in the air, no doubt a leak from the unit, along with stale smoke and dust. Crumbs cling to your skin as you shift your position, and your nipples are pebbled standing out against the layer of swimsuit and cotton.
“Goddamnit, Ed, have you ever heard of a vacuum cleaner?” You brush off what appears to be Cheeto crumbs from the backs of your thighs when a head appears next to your own hanging off the side of the bed. His hair tickles your shoulder where your shirt hangs off, and he’s close. He always gets so close when he talks to you. You can see every individual hair across the pale skin of his cheeks, every freckle scattered across the bridge of his nose.
“Sorry, the maid’s on vacation. Uh –“ he scans your body awkwardly from his current position and clears his throat, “You feeling a little cold, Booboo?” Poniente, the question hangs for a moment until he nods his head to your chest where your body has betrayed you, and you feel your nipples peak even harder at the implication.
You give his head a weak shove as an effort to break the tension he created. He grabs his cheek in mock agony, and you stand letting your shirt drift over his face giving him a prime view for the briefest moment. You think you hear something akin to a snarl from Eddie before you crawl onto the mattress next to him. You grab the crochet blanket that rests off the far edge of the bed and wrap it around yourself.
“Much better now, thank you.” Your painted toes wiggle under the skin of his calves in an attempt to steal their warmth and you find that there’s a chill to his skin too. “You can turn that thing down, can’t you? You’re freezing, Edward.”
“Oh, we’re back to Edward again, hmmm.” He crawls his way up next to you, throwing back his comforter and covering himself. He holds it open in invitation to you, patting the spot next to him. “It only works on high, we can get warm under here if you want.” That tension is back, you both know what comes next, and your heart is thudding in your chest along with a deep and hard pulse in your cunt.
But this is Eddie, your Eddie Spaghetti, and he can’t take the tension either. A quick wiggle of the eyebrows at his obvious attempt to get you close to him, and you giggle and work your way under the big blanket. A reward he deserves for being his goofy self.
“Is this ok?” a quick and quiet whisper against the top of your head while a hand snakes around your center. You nod, not trusting your words at the moment. It’s so natural, the way you shift yourself into him. The way you tuck your nose into his chest and breath in the smell of him – sweat, smoke, old spice – distinctly Eddie. The rough pads of his fingers move along the exposed skin at the top of your hip and you’re feeling bolder, now that you know – this is real and so is he.
“I can’t believe I’m in your bed, Edward. How long have you been planning this, hmm?” Your own hand snuck its way through the wide arm hole of his shirt, and it’s playing with the guitar pick that always hangs at his chest. You let the back of your knuckles brush against his soft skin eliciting a little gasp from him.
“I wish I could say I planned this,” both of his hands find your hips to shift you, make you face him, “I never thought this was a possibility, Booboo.” Every inch, the turn of his face, hot breath on your lips – his eyes stay on yours watching to make sure it’s real for you. You want this too. He sees no hesitation, no concern, no confusion; only your honest to god lustful eyes and pretty lips hanging open in anticipation.
The kiss starts small, lips moving cautiously. Feeling each other with the tender skin, testing the waters until, until, until in unison your tongues enter the silent conversation and permission to move freely is granted. Eagerness quickly overtakes caution, your leg thrown over his sharp hip to pull him into you and press himself against you and your aching need.
Years of sexual tension and childhood crushing explode between your bodies. It’s not soft, the way his teeth bite at your lip, the way your hands scratch at his chest. It’s hungry and needy. You run your fingers through his soft curls and give a tug increasing in strength at the soft whimpering moan he lets go of at the action.
“Off.” Firm words from Eddie and a firm grip at the edge of your shirt, his eyes are black, lips red and kiss bitten. You sit up, and he plays with the folds of your soft stomach while you lift and toss the shirt, adding to a pile of clothes already in the corner of his room. He’s pulling you in again, fingers running against the small string that is the only remaining barrier between Eddie and your bare chest. “This is real cute, ya know? Real fucking cute.” He finds the knot at the back of your neck and expertly unties it with his nimble fingers, freeing you.
An immediate slow down happens as dark eyes wash over your form and fingers softly stroke up and down your torso, barely ghosting touches across your hard peaks. You feel your back lift from the mattress, chasing his touch, but he keeps moving lightly across your skin savoring the moment unbothered by your obvious need.
“Eddie,” the desperation in your voice would be embarrassing if not for the fact that the bottom of your bikini is so drenched with your arousal it’s sticking to your lips. It’s uncomfortable, and his barely there touching has is deepening the ache inside. His eyebrows are knitted together at the sound of your voice. He’s lost in you already, just the sight of you laid out before him in his bed, something he’s wanted since the first morning he woke up surrounded by wet drenched sheets – a memory of a dream that featured you in a yellow sundress you wore so often a few summers ago.
“You really want this with me?” His touch is gaining surety while he waits for your answer, gripping at the soft mound of a breast while you rock your hips against nothing. “How do you want me, my sweet Booboo?” The sound of your nickname on his lips, a name he’s used to playfully ridicule you with for ages, is almost enough to hurtle you over the edge.
“I just want you, Eddie. Anyway, everyway.” Your words are a gasp, his warm and soft mouth take a nipple in your mouth, juxtaposed against the chill that still settles over the other from the overly cold air of the room. His lips suckle and nip at you, and again you find your body is pushing its way closer to Eddie. It’s not possible to play a game, no amount of willpower can hide how much you’ve wanted this. How long you’ve dreamt about him taking what he wants from you. A flitter of a thought, this is a dream, floats in front of you and quickly vanishes as the slight pain of teeth dragging across your sensitive skin bring you right back to the present and obvious reality.
It won’t do, this won’t do. Your hands tug at his shirt and shorts simultaneously. It all needs to go, and you can’t choose what goes first. Your brain is swimming in a lusty haze, but Eddie is still steady in thought.
“Hey,” his hand has a firm grip on your chin, calling you back to him, “you gonna stay with me? Where are you?” His eyes dart back and forth between yours until you’re back and focused on him. “I need you here with me, ok?”
You nod, breathe deep, and with more calm pull at his shirt. It’s gone in a flash, landing on top of yours in the corner. Your hand finds the waist of his shorts, and fiddle with the top button. You keep your eyes on his, staying with him. His mouth opens as the button *pops* and you unhook the teeth of his zipper.
“I’m here, Eddie. I’m right here, and I want you. Did you know that?” It’s his turn to look hazy and unsteady. Your words and your hands working his shorts and boxers off in one movement, leave him speechless. He’s putty in your hands, elbow drops and now he’s laid flat on the mattress while you work your way down his body.
You’re careful with the nipple you badly abused earlier, kissing around the still reddened and slightly purpling skin. Whispered apologies against his body, not just for the pain, but for waiting so long to let this happen. You lick your wet tongue across the black ink scratched across his torse moving closer to your goal.
His beautiful cock stands firm against his abdomen, already leaking in anticipation of your touch, matching your own need. Your bodies slick and ready for each other, begging, please let us do what we’ve been wanting for so long. Your intention is to meet his need with your own as you throw a leg over him, finally letting him feel how much your body wants this.
“Oh my god,” his fingers move to find out for themselves, not trusting the skin of his thigh to tell him, moving the fabric of your swimsuit to the side, and dipping between your lips to feel. “Oh you’re so wet.” His cock twitches in answer to your own drenching arousal. He doesn’t make a move, he waits for you.
Your fingers reach for one of the knots at your hip, free yourself completely from the ruined suit, but his hand stops you. It’s your Eddie in front of you, and he’s shaking his head eyes wide a grin spread across lips that mouth, “keep it on”.
You’re giggling again and kissing him against your laughter. Until he undoes it again with a rock up of his hips, the length of his cock rubbing against your slit and your laugh ends in an obscene groan.
You sit up, eyes narrowed down at the smirking boy as he rocks up again into you. You reach your hand behind you, gripping him and watch his mouth open in a gasp. You don’t need anything more, you’re soaked already. You push the suit aside, and run him against your slit once, twice, three times before you twist your hips up and slowly sink down onto him.
“Oh my god,” an exclamation in unison as your bodies connect. You let yourself take him in completely, fluttering at the full feeling. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, the slightest curve of his tip touching that hard-to-reach spot hiding deep inside of you.
It’s sloppy and unpracticed, but you’re both so drunk on one another it doesn’t matter. The sounds of skin on skin, whines, and moans while you rock into each other. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your aching nub send you hurtling towards a powerful orgasm.
“Eddie, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you’re uttering on an inhale, and Eddie is practically crying at the sound of your voice. He’s pulling you down chest to chest, mouth at ear.
“Cum with me, baby, cum with me,” he’s panting against your skin, arms holding you tight against him and a flash of white spreads across your vision. Every part of your body is screaming out for him, and you only vaguely hear the literal scream coming from your mouth as your body tenses and you pulse around him. Every flutter of you around his cock brings his own release pumping deep inside of you, warm and sticky.
You stay with his arms wrapped around you and your pussy wrapped around his cock as you both ride out aftershocks and you slowly come back down to earth, to Hawkins, to this bed in this too cold trailer on the hottest day of the summer of 1986.
You eventually lift your hips enough to release him, letting his softened length rest against his thigh, but you stay in his embrace. He pulls the comforter, lost at some point while your connected bodies sought out pleasure, over your shoulders. His mouth is still close to your ear, and he’s humming in satisfaction. Neither of you care about the sticky and cooling mess between your bodies.
--
When you rouse, you find Eddie sitting in a folding chair, fingers moving against the strings of his acoustic guitar in silent and careful movements. You don’t move, watching the tendons of his fingers move, his lips singing a barely whispered tune. You think that maybe the summer’s not so bad, maybe the trailer park is actually the only place you’ve ever wanted to be. No where else has this perfect view.
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steddielations · 10 months
Text
“Evening, sir.”
It’s the Harrington boy. Again.
“I told you, son, it’s Wayne,” he manages a smile, harder to do these days, like chipping it out of cement and dusting it off. But he gets it done.
Steve doesn’t have the Henderson boy with him today, that’s a first.
“Where’s the curly one?” He steps aside, letting Steve into the trailer door, more rickety than before. No money left to fix it after repairing the bulk of the earthquake damage.
“Dustin? He doesn’t wanna watch the game, and trust me, you don’t wanna listen to that kid complaining the whole time,” Steve walks by, sorta chuckling to himself, “I always miss the replay ‘cause he makes me change the channel to those D&D cartoons during the commercials, just like—”
He stops in front of the couch, looking over his shoulder at Wayne like he’s afraid he messed up somehow. Wayne noticed that look often from him, less and less, but still often. All that confidence he carries can drop on a dime, sorta reminded him of—
“Like Ed?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“S’alright. I don’t mind talking about him if you want,” Wayne manages another concrete smile, but he means it. Steve always waits for him to bring up Eddie first, like he doesn’t want to remind him if it ain’t on his mind, but Wayne likes to be reminded. It’s nice to feel like he’s not the only one missing him. “But the game was yesterday and y’know the cable’s out.”
“Yep, got it covered. I uh, I taped it,” Steve fishes a VHS tape from his back pocket. Fancy. Wayne would worry about him using that for his sake, but he has a feeling Steve’s folks aren’t around enough to notice.
“The Colts win?”
Steve flips the tape around, “Haven’t watched it, so we can bet on it if you’re feeling lucky.”
It doesn’t feel so dry and heavy when Wayne laughs a bit then, waving Steve to go ahead and start up the TV. He already caught the game on the radio, but he bets on the Colts anyway. Loser’s supposed to do the dishes after they scrounge together some soup, but Steve does them anyway.
Wayne would make a stink about it but he can tell Steve just wants to help, to feel like he’s helping. Same thing when the Henderson boy comes around to see him, wanting to hear all the stories, even the scary ones. So Wayne doesn’t mind letting Eddie’s friends feel like they’re helping him.
His nephew didn’t have many friends. Real, cover-your-six kinda friends. The boys he played his music with, they’ve come by a couple times, Wayne always liked Jeff despite the racket. That older fella that’s doing time now, Wayne wasn’t too fond of. And some of Eddie’s dungeon buddies he talked about were the only few.
Now, casual acquaintances? Anybody who didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he had an empty spot at his table? Sure, Eddie had those in spades.
His boy was good at that, putting on a good old show for his crowd, on a stage to keep his distance. That damn Al did him in good, never could trust easily, having his old man pop up and drag him into his mess before he took off again. And Eddie’s poor momma would’ve done right by him, if she hadn’t gotten sick so young.
Took Wayne a long time to get Eddie to depend on him, to trust this was his place to stay and he didn’t have to earn it, Wayne wasn’t just filling his head to scheme something out of him.
Love ain’t a transaction that way. He wasn’t ever any good at saying it, but he tried to show Eddie the best he could.
His boy though, always carried a debt with him. Like he owed Wayne something for taking him in, had to graduate quick and make it outta here, do something with the better life he gave him. Al dug him in so deep, Eddie stayed roped into whatever his latest scheme was (the cars, the dealing, the gambling, thank God Eddie wasn’t there when the goddamn robbery went wrong, 25 to life) like maybe it’d be enough to keep him from running off again.
The odds have never been in favor of people like them, poor folk in a town that’s stuck in its ways, where everybody’s just like their old man, but Al made his choices and Wayne made his. Rest their mother’s soul, she did her best. Part of Wayne was relieved when Al got locked up, at least Wayne had a better chance of keeping Eddie from going down the same path, try to raise him right.
Being a Munson wasn’t a crime. He didn’t owe a darn thing to anybody. Eddie could graduate at his own pace, play whatever games and music he wanted, dress however, that didn’t mean he was up to no good. And a lot of boys get into dealing for a little easy extra money around here, he was gonna grow out of that just like Wayne did.
It worked until all this mess.
That’s why Eddie ran off after what happened to the poor Cunningham girl. He gets spooked when something goes wrong, like it’ll be the last straw he can’t make up for so he runs off. Like the first time he didn’t make senior year, went and hid out with that Rick fella that Wayne never did like, got Eddie deep into that business he tried to keep a secret.
‘Course Wayne knew. He knows exactly what and where his boy hides. If those damn cops weren’t tailing him, he would’ve gone straight to get him.
That was before he knew it would turn into all of this. Now he wishes he would’ve done it anyway. Gone right to Eddie, told him it wasn’t his fault that everything got all turned upside down. Told him he knew he was innocent right from the get-go, and got him away from this rotten old town.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t go get his boy.
So now he’s just trying to be there for Eddie’s boys, since he can’t.
“You have a night shift tonight right? Gonna put on a pot of coffee,” Steve says once he’s finished up the dishes.
Wayne hums. There’s usually more noise going on during these visits. Steve’s still alright at carrying on, even without the Henderson boy’s chatter to fill any gaps.
It was strange, the first time the two of them showed up. Wayne knew Eddie was close with Dustin, but he didn’t have a clue that he was chumming it up with the Harrington boy. Just don’t seem like the same type of company. He might not believe it if it weren’t so obvious that Steve cared about his boy. He suspected before, but now with Steve showing up here alone, he knows.
Steve misses Eddie in a different sorta way than Dustin.
“No cream or sugar, right?” Steve looks humored by that as he passes the mug of black coffee to him, “How are you related to Eddie again?”
Wayne’s mouth turns upward, remembering his nephew’s god awful sweet tooth. He picked up a box of Honeycombs the other day in the store out of habit. “Just happened to be standin’ there when they beamed him down.”
That gets a good chuckle out of Steve. Nothing wistful weighing it down and Wayne’s glad, watching Steve pour himself a cup of coffee too.
Then bitter-sweetness swirls in his chest, seeing the mug that Steve chose for himself. Must’ve dug it out from one of the boxes Wayne hadn’t hung back on the walls yet. The earthquake did a number on his collection. That Garfield one was the only one he’d gotten around to gluing back together.
“What is it?” Steve asks, cup paused at his mouth.
“Ah nothin’ just,” Wayne waves it off, “That’s the mug Ed always used.”
“Oh, I can use a diff—”
“Nah, nah go ‘head. It’s fine.”
Unconvinced, Steve takes a wary sip.
Mostly these days, Wayne just feels like a watch without a ticker, a chest with nothing beating inside it. He can’t name the feeling he has at seeing Eddie’s old mug being used by someone else, but at least it’s something.
“Y’know, he used to put everything in that sucker. Soda pop, soup, cereal, you name it,” Wayne shakes his head, mouth twitching into a smile, “I’d have to wrestle it away from him just to give it a good washing. It’s well loved, alright. Leaks now.”
As if on cue, Steve has to grab a napkin to sit underneath it.
Wayne lets out an amused hum, “He uh— Didn’t have much stability ‘fore he came to live with me, so he’d get real attached to things like that.”
Carried around a stuffed dragon they picked up at a garage sale ‘til Wayne couldn’t sew the wings back on anymore. Never wanted to throw anything away. Got real anxious about Wayne going to work sometimes, even when he was too old for a sitter. Held onto him saying “Stay home just today, Dad, please.” Which, he didn’t mind Eddie calling him that. It always softened him up, made him give in. Wishes now that he’d told Eddie upfront. Maybe he never would’ve stopped.
“Thought for sure he’d marry that damn guitar one day.”
Steve nearly sputters his coffee, laughing at that, “Yeah, those two are made for each other.”
It’s nice, seeing the way that story lit Steve up. Sorta like his boy can still make someone happy. Hurts like hell that he ain’t here to do it himself, but Wayne was always good at telling stories. That’s where Eddie learned it from.
“I’m uh,” Steve deflates after a minute, looking down at the mug, “God, I’m just really sorry, Wayne.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Steve,” he says, because, well.
Wayne gets the feeling that his boy was Steve’s boy too.
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