#also this year one of the most heavily eddie munson coded songs of our time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

powderblueblood · 5 months

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🎵+ Eddie pls

send me 🎵+ character name and i’ll write a lil blurb inspired by a song from their playlist (you can also request songs and i will do my level best. god is a dj and i'm god)

▶ THIS YEAR - THE MOUNTAIN GOATS

six cylinders under the hood crashing and kicking, aha! listen to the engine whine or eddie takes the van out alone for the first time and feels free

an: some younger!eddie angst for your nerves!!! i love writing about the Munson Men so i hope u enjoy this anon word count: 1k

Keys land with a coolness in Eddie's outstretched palm, sweaty and warm, blood pumping under the skin like a crimson whirlpool.

"I'm not about to argue with you any more, son," Wayne mumbles, shoulders slouched in surrender, "You wanna cruise around in that deathtrap, that's on you."

Eddie's mouth opens to bark out yet another instance of but it's not gonna be a deathtrap when I'm done with it! and recount all his promises of becoming a bonafide grease monkey, taking all the necessary measures to make the van good as new.

The van. His van.

He drops the argument, since Wayne's suit is always a good one to follow, and closes his fist around the keys. He's won this round. A ball of fire begins to ignite in his chest and if he's not totally hallucinating, Wayne, grumpy old Wayne, is fighting back a smile.

"I'll stay the speed limit, I swear."

The fuck he will.

"The fuck you will."

Eddie's guffaw echoes in the empty doorway as he trips over himself, running outside the trailer to embrace his new four-wheeled glory. Well, not new-- far from new, of course. She's a girl with a lotta miles on her, showing up and out in the paintwork he's going to make sure he manicures. She's no Impala but she is a Chevy, a beautiful broad-assed 1971 Chevy.

She's got the same birthday as Killer by Alice Cooper and Eddie is head over heels in love with her.

Eddie is also an incredibly reckless driver, so something this hardy is necessary. Evel Knievel over here would turn a Beemer into a pretzel soon as look at it, as evidenced by the Beemer he almost rams into while he's gunning it into Hawkins.

"Fucking watch it, freak!"

Eddie flings his head out the window as Alice keens from the stereo (that big, bumping, beautiful stereo) and wags his tongue in the direction of an irate Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, who'd just got that new set of wheels for his birthday. Eddie knew that--everyone knew that--because he wouldn't stop peacocking it around the parking lot at school.

Well, compared to Eddie's ol' beauty, that fucking thing was puny.

"Eat my dust, pretty boy!"

He cruises down the main drag of Hawkins, marveling at his view from the driver's side. His elevated seat. His hands clutching the wheel. He even tosses a gentlemanly salute to a young mom and infant daughter that crane their necks to stare at him rolling on by.

Ladies.

See this, this is what it's all about. He's finally got the war machine he deserves. His ticket to the open road, his getaway car out of dodge, his method for hauling assloads of equipment around (once Ronnie gets that drum head fixed). Even his--dare he even think it--chick magnet.

Chicks love dudes with cars. Chicks like dudes with vans even better, because there's room in the back. Privacy. Shit like that is hard to come by when you spend most nights sharing a trailer with your aging uncle whose night shifts keep getting cut.

Not-- not that Eddie is exactly drowning in missed opportunities, but should the opportunity ever present itself, he'll be ready.

He's sourcing a shag carpet.

Eddie makes a couple more turns around town, even cruises by the school for good measure-- you never know which cheerleaders are hanging around after hours.

The most important thing is he feels completely unshackled in the confines of this van. Totally impenetrable. This is a space that he doesn't feel guilty taking, a space he doesn't feel odd or inferior in. Motherfucker, this is his all his.

He slows down his speeding on purpose when returning to Forest Hills, as if Wayne doesn't already know he's assaulting those gas pedals.

He slows down as he approaches the Munson trailer. He slows, and slows, and slows, and whines to a halt where Al Munson slaps both hands on the front of the van.

"Hey, kiddo."

Al Munson, his father, has been locked up in Blackburn Correctional in Lexington, Kentucky for the past eight months. Eddie's forgotten what for, or he didn't care to listen in the first place. Al Munson was not supposed to be out for a long, long time.

Al Munson always manages to find a loophole.

He reaches through that loophole, and he takes and takes and takes.

Eddie holds his breath.

"What, your old man doesn't get a big hello? Maybe a congrats on flyin' the coop, jailbird?" Al laughs and it's warm like the whiskey he sometimes lets Eddie drink with him. Al laughs and the fucking nightingales sing, the world shakes, everything becomes technicolor except the cloud hanging over Eddie's head.

Because, as Eddie so observantly notices, Al didn't come here with a car. He probably walked his ass all the way to Forest Hills, or hitched with some poor sucker he buttered up with stories and cigarettes and charm.

Wayne lingers in the doorway of the trailer. He can't meet Eddie's eyes.

He knew this was the one thing I had going for me. He knew this was the one thing I had left. The only thing that's mine.

Except the papers for the van don't say that. The papers say Al Munson.

He was supposed to be gone for so much longer that Eddie had hoped he'd forget about the van. About Hawkins. Maybe even about him, once and for all, and Eddie could inherit the only truly good thing his shitheel father ever had going.

Al, while remarkably charming, is not a man with a lot of patience. He slaps the side of the van-- not hard, but smart. "Out of the chariot, Ed," he commands. "Let's go, boy. I gotta jet someplace."

It occurs to Eddie that he has an opportunity on his hands right here. A massive fuck-you type opportunity. He could just peel out. Throw the finger to Al, and to Wayne for betraying him and not warning him about this in due time. Speed off. Take off for Indy and figure it out from there. He's got a full-ish tank of gas.

The one thing he's missing is his father's charm. He won't get far without it. It's the kind of thing you can't say no to.

No one says no to Al Munson.

Eddie, Eddie with his hair growing long around his ears and his seized shoulders and his cloud hanging heavy with rain over his head, is not about to start now.

"Just warming her up for ya, pops."

#powder room talk #Anonymous #e. munson by powder #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #al munson #eddie munson angst #i want to talk about the empty shell wizard of oz ass of al munson for 400 years and i'd love to be sorry for it but i'm not?#also this year one of the most heavily eddie munson coded songs of our time

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