#eddie cooks

[eddieintheocean]

the first of my cooking posts!

Lemon and parsely orzo

this is something i make all the time, along with variations on it. it's fairly easy to just swap certain ingredients while keeping the method the same so you can get some different meals while basically being the same stuff.

Orzo is essentially if rice was pasta. i know that not everyone likes the texture but i find it really tastie. also there are probably more traditional ways of cooking orzo but this is just how i like it.

Prep time is minimal if you're not cutting any vegetables/using preprepared veg, probably no longer than 10 minutes (for me at least, I know some people will have different timings)

Cook time is roughly 30-40 minutes, this is something i make for dinner and not when I'm in a rush to get to lectures

Price wise, this is specific to my area really, and also i shop at lidl so things might be cheaper (the orzo was from sainsburys but i didnt pay for that so)

Orzo from sainsburys (500g bag) - £2 ,

lidl prices - cream 99p , chicken stock 65p , cream cheese 85p, butter £1.69 , frozen peas 99p , red leicester cheese £2.49, carrots (1kg bag) 65p

i can't find the prices for parsley, garlic powder or lemon juice but those are things that i have in my store cupboard type ingredients.

Equipment

one singular frying pan, something to stir with, a measuring jug/literally any container that can hold liquid, cheese grater (or your hands if you like maiming the cheese)

Ingredients

75g (ish) of Orzo

a couple chunks of butter

chicken stock in some boiled water (this is something you can swap, vegetable stock etc)

vegetables of your choosing (i used a carrot and some frozen peas)

garlic (i used garlic powder), salt and pepper

parsely and lemon juice (this is the main combo for this, but you can change this out if youre using vegetable stock. When i use other stock i use mixed herbs instead of parsely and lemon)

cream cheese , regular cheese (doesnt matter what type)

cream

Method

heat the butter in the frying pan on a medium heat, and add the orzo when its melted. let the orzo absorb some of the butter

add the stock and water, along with the carrots if you're using those. (if youre using something like mushrooms, fry those first before adding the orzo until they've shrunken down and nice and brown)

add some garlic powder, salt and pepper (check before adding the salt, the stock will probably be salty enough)

let the liquid boil and then turn down the heat to low/medium and just let it bubble away. the packages usually say it takes 10 minutes but they're lying and itll probably take 30 minutes (it does for me anyways)

when the orzo is nearly ready (when its ready itll be all soft), add the peas or whatever veg youre using. green beans could probably be another good sub.

the water will absorb into the orzo, so if the liquid starts getting low and its still crunchy then add some more water.

add the lemon juice and parsely

leave it for a couple minutes to absorb some more.

grate some cheese in

this is optional but you can stop here if you want, but i like to add some cream cheese and some cream just to make it nice and slop.

Yummy :)

[momotonescreaming]

Cooking Youtuber Steve; who has series where he makes good family friendly meals, dishes for picky eaters, tips for everyday cooking. As well as series where he tries to make historical dishes, food and drinks from games and TV.

DnD Youtuber Eddie; who has a long actual play series, videos about his characters and the world he's built. Videos about tips for your role-playing, getting immersed. A series where he tries other TTRPG's and board games.

Dustin persuades Steve to make videos about medieval inspired, DnD friendly meals. And because it does actually seem like a fun challenge, he does it. Dustin looks horrifically smug about it when the videos are a hit, the bastard. (Steve will make him eat something gross as payback. Its fine. Gotta keep him humble.)

And because obviously, Eddie sees the videos. He's always on the search for good DnD shit. But the guy is so fucking hot Eddie doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Except daydream about those eyes, and that hair, and those hands.

So Eddie records himself trying (and only sort of failing) to recreate the food. It comes out sort of ugly but actually nice tasting, so Eddie calls it a win. References the Hot Chef Steve in his video, adds a link to his channel, and tries not to feel his heart beating out of his chest when he sends @'s him with a link to the video. His channel is way bigger than Eddie's, he probably won't see it, Eddie's fine.

Except the Hot Chef does see it, and Eddie sort of loses his mind when he gets a comment or a message from him, thanking Eddie for giving his recipe a go, and giving him credit for the recipe. Eddie's not fine at all, this guy is way out of his league, and Eddie can feel the crush bubbling up under his ribcage, and Oh Fuck he's messaging Eddie.

[nex-has-gender-envy]

Two losers entwined ~🖤

More symbrock shenenigans

Process ↓↓↓

[hotluncheddie]

‘No.’ eddie says, standing from the table and puffing his chest out. Clenching one fist and holding the other up like a freaky Halloween version of a traffic warden. He brings the outstretched hand to his chest, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘Allow me.’

Steve stares at him. Stack of plates in hand, half up from the table and confused. ‘Uh’ he manages before Eddie steps over and takes the plates from Steve, their fingers brushing as eddie squishes his thumb into a leftover dollop of sauce and grips them tightly. He then hip checks Steve back into his chair and waltzes over to the sink.

‘Munson’s on dish duty I guess.’ Robin says, smirking at Steve and finishing her soda.

Steve schools his slack jaw expression, closing his mouth and going to stand again. ‘Eddie, it’s fine, really.’ But Eddie’s sudden outstretched palm stops him, has him sinking back down onto the dining room chair.

‘Stevie, please.’ Eddie says from the sink, eyes closed and head bowed. ‘You cooked, therefore, as your humble knight, I will conquer the dishes.’ And he brings his hand back to his heart again, looking up at the ceiling with reverence and verve. Side on from the table and Steve thinks he looks like a painting he saw at a Chicago art gallery Robin dragged him to. Heavenly in his light and shadows, cut from glass, shrouded in sun rays and glowing with a quiet, broken sort of intensity.

Steve clears his throat. Feels a blush run up his neck and he readjusts the legs of his jeans. Scooting his chair so he’s sitting back flush against the dining room table; he avoids Robin’s eye. ‘If you like.’ He rasps, fiddling with his used napkin, tearing off a corner and letting it flutter onto the tabletop.

Eddie does like. He turns the tap on, pouring dish soap into the filling basin before pulling Steve’s Marigolds on slowly, one at a time, as if he really is a knight - gearing up for battle.

‘Love the new look.’ Robin heckles and Eddie flashed her a grin before going back to serious; pulling at the gloves one last time and tuning the tap off with a flourish. Then he stalks back over to the table, Legs long and striding, arms bowed slightly from his body with adrenaline filled tension.

He steps up to the side of Steve’s chair, looming over him, tilting Steve’s head up slowly with one bright yellow, slightly damp finger under his chin. ‘Rest now, my leige.’ He murmurs lowly, reverently, gazing down at him before dipping to place a slow, soft kiss on Steve’s lips.

A embarrassing, needy, wounded sort of sound, whine, extracts its self from Steve’s throat. Chest heaving and throat bobbing as Eddie smiles at him softly, stepping away again to scoop up the remaining glasses and utensils in his capable, rubbery, hands.

‘…Your boyfriend is weird dude.’ Robin says from across him, eyeshrows raised and the corners of her mouth dropped in pinched distaste. Her eyes dancing with glee.

‘Yeah.’ Steve breaths, voice reedy and he blinks a few times, his fingers feeling tingly and numb, all of him syrupy and slow moving. His boyfriend is a freak.

And Steve has never once felt so loved.

(Tag list (open): @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @tangerinesteve @marvel-ous-m

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots )

[melonalemonade]

@steddie-week day 5: “established relationship“ 🏡🐕

[steddieas-shegoes]

Mama Munson cannot cook.

She cannot bake.

She can barely make a grilled cheese without burning it.

But Wayne can cook.

He can bake.

He makes grilled cheese with tomatoes and garlic butter.

Eddie is raised with Wayne’s superior cooking and baking skills, and until he’s a teenager and goes to other friend’s houses, thinks that the “men of the family” are responsible for cooking and baking.

Wayne’s gotten aprons, and cooking utensils, and baking pans for Christmas and his birthday as long as Eddie’s lived with him.

Up until he’s too old according to his friends, he helps him in the kitchen.

Mama Munson watches the shift, but her and Wayne agree not to push.

They watch his diet do what most teenage boy diets do: turn to cereal and sandwiches at all hours of the day and night, some pizza sprinkled in when money allows.

Wayne still cooks, but his shifts turn into overtime hours, and then doubles, and he spends most of his time at home sleeping.

Eddie doesn’t seem to care, or at least not visibly.

His lunchbox is never stuffed with any food anyway, his mama isn’t dumb enough to not notice what he’s doing after school two or three days a week.

And then she almost loses him because the town turns upside down, almost literally, and everyone shuns them even more than they already did.

Not Steve Harrington, though.

He shows up every day after his volunteer shift with a grocery bag or two of fresh produce and jars and boxes and gets busy cooking. Nothing is ever that lavish, but there’s always a pop of flavors coming through even in the most simple dish.

She pretends she doesn’t see the way Eddie’s eyes widen after the first bite of whatever dish Steve’s made, reminiscent of when Wayne used to be able to cook for them almost every night. She pretends not to see the way Steve watches, waits for Eddie to show he likes it, relaxing into his chair and taking his own bite only after Eddie takes a second one.

She looks at Wayne, who’s pretending the same thing, but not hiding it well behind a knowing smirk.

Eddie starts spending more time in the kitchen with Steve, helping cut up vegetables and stirring as they talk, like he did with Wayne when he was younger.

Wayne goes back to work, but Steve always has a lunch packed for him with the leftovers so he doesn’t feel completely left out, blushes when Wayne hugs him on his way out the door. Eddie watches with a fond smile, and Mama Munson doesn’t say anything even though she should.

She’s seen what happens to boys who like straight boys firsthand, can’t be completely certain Steve’s a safe bet yet, even with the looks he throws and the care he gives. She thinks maybe he’s just a nice kid who loves his people.

But she wakes up one morning to whispering in the kitchen, and she knows Wayne isn’t home yet from his shift, so it has to be Eddie and someone else.

She sneaks out of her bedroom to see Eddie sitting on the counter, sweatpants on without a shirt, and Steve standing between his legs, cupping his face in his hands.

She’s certain that Steve left last night after she went to bed, she heard the front door open and close. But she looks closer and sees Steve’s wearing one of Eddie’s band shirts and the Christmas flannel pants Eddie got last year in his stocking.

So Steve didn’t leave, maybe wouldn’t leave ever if she was reading their faces right.

She decided not to interrupt them, sneaking back into her room and getting ready for work.

There’d be plenty of time for her to question Eddie about it, about Steve, about his feelings and if he was happy.

When she did finally go out to the kitchen, Steve was frying bacon and flipping an omelet in a pan while Eddie was sipping on a cup of coffee.

She kissed the top of Eddie’s head, then pulled Steve down to her level so she could kiss the top of his.

“Guess it’s about time we try your breakfast since you’ve been spoilin’ us with dinner for so long.”

Steve and Eddie’s matching red faces told her everything she needed to know.

[lexirosewrites]

alpha eddie gets his dream job as a chef in a five star restaurant and immediately fucks up when he meets pretty omega Steve on his first day and assumes he’s a waitress

he’s actually the head chef

steve knows it was an honest mistake, but he still makes eddie learn his lesson and pay his dues as the fresh meat

eddie’s put through the ringer with literal weeks of polishing spoons and chopping carrots before steve even allows him to touch a single pot or pan in his kitchen

by the time eddie breaks down and comes to beg for forgiveness from the omega, steve has new ideas of how eddie can make it up to him…

ones that involve the alpha crying out “yes, chef” while steve rides his knot into oblivion

[clownmovieyaoi]

good evening itblr i forgot i have a 9 am tomorrow . take some guys

[k3nnyonly1]

I’m going to infect yall with this new silly style…

[matchingbatbites]

Server!Steve sending messages to Line Cook!Eddie through order tickets, little smiley faces :) and hearts <3 and 'i miss you :(' during the rush when they haven't seen each other in 30 minutes, and 'i know this order is dumb af please just make it this lady is a bitch'.

Eddie always gives Steve free food to snack on and when Robin complains about it Eddie just says "He's my boyfriend, Robs, so unless you wanna suck my dick-" and she just walks away.

They've been caught making out in the walk in fridge more than once and probably would have been fired already if 1) the restaurant wasn't a little locally owned place and 2) they weren't both the actual best at their jobs.

[eddieintheocean]

Would people be interested if I started writing down what food I make in uni w/ vague recipes so people might find something they would wanna make?

Its mainly pasta and noodles but sometimes I do other stuff

[1doesnotsimplyhavejust1fandam]

This has most definitely been said before, but we were robbed of the core four quarantining on-screen together at Buck’s place. ROBBED I say

[watchyourbuck]

Re: 7x05 preview. Every single 911 fanfic writer getting it correct that Buck calls men he has a crush on “dude.”

[lonelychicago]

buck with taylor: want frozen waffles from the fridge?

buck with his parents: i got takeout!

buck when eddie: hey babe! hi, love of my life! 🤩 i perfectioned this lasagna and it took me three tries but i hope you like it, baby! 🥺 eddie, look! bobby gave me his secret ingredient! do you want me to cook it for you? imma cook it for you. i'll be so good and cook for you all the time. 🥰 just— hi, i know how to cook! eddie, eddie! look, i'm cooking for you! 💍😌👨🏼‍🍳

[ghost-proofbaby]

NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

☆ WC: 3.2K+

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely. 

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon. 

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms. 

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt. 

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head. 

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called. 

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face. 

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it. 

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing. 

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?” 

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do. 

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause. 

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.” 

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe. 

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with. 

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous. 

And it was. God, it was. 

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe. 

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?” 

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone. 

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer. 

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now. 

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him. 

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem. 

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you. 

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt. 

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open. 

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears. 

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back. 

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?” 

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?” 

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build. 

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said. 

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.” 

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed. 

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on. 

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers. 

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.” 

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?” 

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you. 

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear. 

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch. 

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.” 

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl. 

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat. 

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how? 

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next. 

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here. 

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead. 

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point. 

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems. 

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.” 

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind. 

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you. 

“I care about what you are to Eddie.” 

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.” 

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?” 

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.” 

What’s about to be asked of you. 

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility. 

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming. 

“More than an NDA, dear.” 

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?” 

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further. 

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest. 

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.” 

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words? 

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.” 

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York. 

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt. 

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi. 

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option. 

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.” 

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building. 

You have your answer, it seems. 

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.” 

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson. 

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[soupinaboot]

Fuck it. Every Steve Harrington headcannon I have because I've been rotating that boy in my head like a pig on a stick

- Has had glasses since he was young but mostly wore contacts throughout high school due to being bullied in middle school for looking like a nerd

- Plays the piano or the violin, your pick

- In addition to the piano, he mostly plays jazz cause thats my favorite genre and I think it would be his too

- Has ALWAYS had horrible migraines but have since been a lot more difficult to deal with due to you know all that other shit that's been going on

- Does not know popular culture, I know it's very popular within the fandom that he only listences to what's on the radio or watchs only the recent released movies but that boy could barely name a single movie he does NOT know popular shit (this also goes with my jazz headcannon that he mostly just listenes to jazz in the car or at home)

- Surprisingly amazing at chess, no one in the party has managed to beat him

- Horror fan(books,shows,movies,etc)

- His best subject in school was math and I will die on this hill

- Between him and Eddie, he is the black cat

- Bisexual obviously, but a really do like the headcanon that he kinda knew he liked boys when he was younger and doesn't need Robin or Eddie to tell him(he was the one telling Robin that Vickie could like both just saying)

- Also asexual maybe

- Can cook

- SMOKER!!! He smokes in the first season, and in the third he makes a reference to smoking marijuana, he is NOT new to this

- Has really bad bedhead

- I can see him as having some form of OCD or ADHD

I'm forgetting most so be prepared for a part 2

Part 2