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Disabled Rock Musicians up until the 80s- References For Your Disabled Eddie Headcanons (and fanfic)

I love reading fics that showcase Eddie’s physical recovery process post-Vecna. So, here’s a list of figures that Eddie can pull inspiration from.

This is a list of artists that I think would be relevant to Eddie, but note that this list is extremely limited because I want to focus on ~80s rock artists with physical disabilities. But! There is an articles with an extensive list called Disabled Musicians of Classic Rock that you should check out!

Paul Stanley was a guitarist for Rainbow and Kiss. He was born with a misshapen right ear and deafness in that ear due to a birth defect called microtia.

Black Sabbath’s guitarist Tony Lommi lost the tips of his fretting fingers (on his right hand) in a sheet metal factory accident, he was inspired by jazz guitarist Dango Reinhardt who played with only two fingers on the fretboard due to burn injuries. Lommi made prosthetic tips and tuned down his guitar so he could keep playing with less resistance. This gave Black Sabbath its unique sound.

Rick Allen, drummer for Def Leopard since 1978, was in a car crash on Dec. 1984. that left his left arm severed from the seatbelt. After a failed reattachment due to infection, Allen had to get his arm amputated on January 1985. (Most found out about this accident through mtv) With the help of a customized electric drum kit that allowed Allen to use with his feet, he was back on stage for his first live performance since the accident on August 1985.

Jerry Garcia lost two-thirds of his right middle finger when he was four. Garcia was the lead guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter for The Grateful Dead. He’s became a renowned guitar player and was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1994.

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Patre0n | Bsky

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(Personalization Mall)

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Eddie Munson vs. the World

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𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵

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More hellcheer sketches -- inspired by vintage Barbie art, which is quintessentially Chrissy. This is maybe after their first date, prelude to their first kiss. Anyway -- Eddie is shy.

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We all have that one mutual that doesn't follow us

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You can see the exact moment Tommy gets over Steve

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mike having will’s painting hanging up in his room in s5

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au where chrissy is a runaway bride and eddie is a stranger who happens to be driving by (or riding by on his motorcycle idk) and gives her a ride out of town

God, I love it.

It's a massive, overdone, circus of a wedding. The whole relationship, from start to finish, has been a circus. Chrissy hasn't had any say in any of it. She didn't have a say in dating Jason, in getting engaged to Jason, or even in mundane things like choosing colors or flowers or china patterns. She doesn't know who's on the guest list, but she knows that it's more people than she knows, or who really know her. She didn't even get a say in her own dress. Chrissy is a footnote in the social even of the season, and she feels like Bride Barbie, stuffed into a tulle monstrosity that is more or less an itchy, overstated cupcake costume. The veil she didn't choose has a mind of it's own. The underwear she didn't choose pinch. The shoes she didn't choose hurt her feet. Her jewelry, her hair, her make-up... Everything is wrong. And everything is shadowed by Laura Cunningham's gloating self-satisfaction, as she makes every decision for Chrissy, and as she hovers on the fringes of everything like she's Chrissy's stage director. (Or maybe even her warden.) She knows that Chrissy doesn't want this, and she knows that Chrissy isn't happy, but she doesn't care; Laura thinks she knows better, and that's that.

The bridesmaids (in their pink, poufy, satin gowns and silly little hats) disappear one-by-one into the church ahead of her. She's looped arm-in-arm with her stout little dad, who's decked to the nines in a tailcoat like he's escorting Princess Diana to Prince Charles. He's humming to himself, indifferent as always, situationally blind. Can't he see that she's vibrating out of her skin? Can't he see that she's a pig that he's leading to slaughter? Hasn't he noticed, once, in her twenty-one years of life, that she's not been able to make a single decision for herself? He gives her a reassuring little pat on the hand, and she grimaces.

They step up to the doors, and the organ starts in on the Bridal chorus. The massive, faceless congregation stands at their cue, and turns to face them. Jason is at the front with the priest, but he's not looking at her in all her fabric-smothered glory; he's elbowing his best man and guffawing. Jason isn't ill-at-ease, and he's not here today because of love. This is just another check on his list. Next comes the sex, and then the babies, and... then what? Then what? Everyone is staring expectantly. Laura's eyes bore into her. Her father is trying to tug her forward, is whispering, "C'mon pumpkin, lets go!" But she can't. She can't!

"No," she says, and she sees her chance. Her only chance. Chrissy slips her arm out of the crook of her father's elbow. She drops her massive bouquet of roses to the floor. She gives her mother a fraught look, as if to say this is your fault, and then she turns, hikes up her dress skirts, and she runs. Chrissy bursts out through the lobby, crashes through the front doors and into the afternoon sunlight. She hops down the church steps two-at-a-time in her stupid, stupid shoes, and she sprints as fast as she can through the parking lot, toward the road. She hears the commotion behind her--her mother screaming her name, Jason yelling--and Chrissy tastes the scandal of it all; it makes her gleeful, makes her smile despite the tenuousness of her freedom. She barely looks both ways before continuing, tearing across the street and through a busy children's playground. Little faces stop and turn to look at her with confusion and awe. Chrissy keeps going and going and going, doesn't look back; she doesn't stop until she's three streets away, through a back alley, pressed against a brick wall behind a dumpster, gasping for breath. It's just her, a grizzled looking cat on a windowsill, the dumpster full of foul smelling garbage, and someone's old motorcycle. She puts a hand on her chest, against her beaded, sweetheart neckline and the swell of her breasts, trying to will her heartbeat to slow. She takes deep, deep breaths. She closes her eyes. She did it. She left. But. ...Now what?

Chrissy isn't sure how much time passes, but eventually the clang of a door swinging open and then shut again startles her back to reality. She opens her eyes and comes face-to-face with a very confused pair of brown eyes, peering at her from beneath a curly fringe of hair. His hair is longer than hers. He's wearing a leather jacket, and a denim vest, and it's covered in patches and pins and logos of bands (she assumes bands) that she's never heard of. His jeans are full of holes. He's got a helmet in his hands, and he's wearing motorcycle boots. "Uh. Hi?" he says. She gives him a panicked little wave. "Sorry," he continues. "I didn't mean to scare you, but. Uh. Well. I don't typically find many brides back here. Are. Are you okay?" And just like that, he's the first one to ask her.

Chrissy tells him the truth. Tells him who she is, that she didn't want to get married, so she ran; she's still running. They're going to try and find her and make her go back, and she doesn't want to. "Well. That's some bullshit," he says. "Do you have anyone you can call? Anywhere you can go?" The answers is, unequivocally, no. The man seems to mull this over for a bit, chews on his bottom lip with hesitation. Then, he hands her his helmet. "I'm, uh. I'm Eddie. And I have a couple of friends who might be able to help. Nancy. And Robin. If you want." She takes the helmet slowly. He shrugs, the very slightest of smiles playing at his lips. "And we can go by the church, if you want. It's on the way. If you really wanna drive the point home." And oh, does Chrissy ever.

It takes some work to get her situated behind him on the bike in all her finery, but they pull it off. The helmet squashes her hair, and she wraps her arms around his middle with only the slightest hesitation. He puts on a pair of aviators, and revs the bike up. When they drive off, the layers of Chrissy's dress and veil billow behind them. When they get there, the church parking lot is still full of people, her mother and Jason in the middle of all of the confusion. Someone spots her--she hears the yell--and then the beautiful, aghast sound of Laura Cunningham's shock carries over the combined din of the motorcycle and the wind. Chrissy can't help it: She cackles against Eddie's back, smile big and broad and elated. She has no idea where she's going, or what she's gonna do, but it doesn't matter. She could die happy right here and now. "Ha! Fuck them!" Eddie yells back at her, and Chrissy laughs again.

It's the start of something beautiful.

I mean. I pretty much wrote most of a fic there. 😅

Thanks for the ask, anon!

Request comes from this post:

Send Me an AU & I'll Give You 5+ Headcanons About It.

UPDATE: I turned this into a fic!

You can read the scandal of it all on aO3!

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Imagine you're opening AO3 and search for a fic. Imagine you're finding one that fits all your criterias. Imagine it has the perfect length. Imagine getting lost in the story and feeling almost high when it's over. Imagine looking up the author and they have written. so. many. more. fics. exactly. like. that. Imagine.

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Relatable on a regular basis.

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y’all ever read a fanfic that you cannot believe an author just wrote for free?? what an honor it is to read a piece of someone’s soul they shared out of nothing but love for a piece of media. what a privilege it is to be allowed their talent because you share an interest!!

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gift art from yakpuu!