#eddie munson head cannon

[madelynraemunson]

wake me up when september ends (eddie’s version)

it’s forced conforming. that’s what’s killing the kids. in hopes of a better future, eddie enlists in the military when he graduates high school.

[heythere-emberhere]

Eddie Munson would date someone who would force him to learn the dance for HOT TO GO! by Chappell Roan for sure. I have no doubt about it.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

I want Steddie to be very passive aggressive towards each other during high-school. I want them to “not care” about what the other thinks but their eyes are constantly looking across the room and finding each others. I mean Eddie doesn’t start jumping on tables until Steve is seated across the room sharing the same lunch period. Steve has bitchy comments but they are always passive aggressive when he responds to Eddie. But the thing is, you can’t get that passive aggressive with someone unless you know a lot about them. Little does anyone know that they are not so aggressively fucking each other any chance they get.

[kas-eddie-munson]

(This is inspired by this fic by @withacapitalp ! ^^ I wanted to do my own take on Steve with OCD ^^)

Content warning for a panic attack, OCD, and intrusive thoughts involving gore!

~ ~ ~

Steve always hated knives.

Well, not ALWAYS.

He was about five or six, and his nanny was in the other room, talking on the phone. He asked her for a penut butter sandwich, but she told him to wait, that this was important. Maybe it had been five minutes, or maybe an hour. His child brain couldn't tell, could only tell that he was hungry.

So he started rooting through the cabinets. He knew where a lot of things were. He'd seen his nanny in here often enough. He managed to pull out a plate, bread, peanut butter, jelly. He grabbed a butter knife, the final instrument, and began to work.

Spreading peanut butter and jelly was harder than it looked. He got frustrated as the bread ripped, and the ingredients barely spread. Eventually, he decided it was good enough and closed the sandwich to take the crust off. He wasn't a big crust fan.

Cutting with a knife was difficult, too. He pressed hard and moved the knife back and forth, but it still didn't cut very well. It also made an obnoxiously loud scraping sound as he worked. He furrowed his brow in concentration.

Suddenly came the clack clack clack of his nanny's footsteps, and, well. She wasn't happy.

"Steve!"

Her eyes were bulging and she lurched forward, yanking the butter knife from his grip. His stomach dropped and he froze. She never talked to him like that.

"Be careful! Knives are too dangerous for boys your age to use without a grown-up! You could have hurt yourself," she set the knife far away on the table, as though its mere proximity was a threat, and crouched down to look at him at his level.

He still felt frozen as he nodded and mumbled apologies.

When Steve was a few years older, and another nanny taught him how to use a knife safely, he was always careful with it. He never cut towards his fingers, as instructed, and he turned the sharp part away from his plate when he set it down, just to be extra safe.

When puberty hit, he taught himself to shave. It was an ordeal, but a necessary one. He worked slowly and carefully. He made sure to push the razor to the very back of the shelf above the skink when he was done, so it was less likely to fall and cut his hands.

Then the upside down happened. He wouldn't notice until years later that his distaste for sharp objects was getting worse. He always made sure to grip the bat tightly when he held it. To be hyperaware of where it was, where it was pointing.

Then he was at work. It was a normal day, until it wasn't, and then he was in the boathouse. He was up against a wall. And there was glass. Sharp. Ragged.

Pressed into his neck.

Dangerous.

And his heart was pounding and he was pushing his head as hard against the wall as was humanly possible and his friends were talking in the background but he could hardly tell what they were even saying because, somewhere in the back of his mind, a dangerous voice whispered, move forward.

He blinked hard. Pushed even further away. What the hell was that? Did he have a death wish or something?

Then Eddie pulled back. And Steve had to shake it off and get back to business.

The next few days passed in a blur of adrenaline and fear. Vecna was dead, but Max was hurt so bad, and Eddie barely made it out alive, and Steve, wracked with guilt that maybe they'd be okay if he had done something different, guarded their hospital beds like he needed the air in those stuffy rooms to breathe.

He didn't sleep much, or eat much, or bathe much, for about four days, until Eddie woke up.

He hated it in there, as much as he knew he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in that moment. Too many sharp things. He often found his gaze drifting to the IV cords inserted into the crook of Max's elbow and the back of Eddie's hand respectively, and he'd clench his fists thinking about the needle.

It was day four when he was doing this, half-eaten cafeteria food to his right from Robin, that he found his gaze once again drawn to Eddie's IV.

Yank it out.

Steve wanted to leave the room. He shook his head a little. Blinked hard. Tried to dismiss the weird thought.

Why did he think that? What if he did that on accident? He didn't want to hurt Eddie. Never, even if he hadn't fought so hard to get him here, would he want to hurt him.

That's when Eddie finally blinked his eyes open and woke up.

They had a tearful reunion. Steve reassured him that the others were okay, that Vecna was gone. He walkied Dustin and the kids in Max's room to come over, and they crowded around him, with hugs and tears in their eyes.

Steve stood on the other side of the room to give them space. He smiled fondly as he watched them catch up. He almost bumped into a poll attached to Eddie's IV. His mind flashed with imagry of him pushing it to the ground and stomping on the cord.

He decided to wait in the hall until they were done.

---

Steve and Eddie start hanging out. A lot, actually. Steve can't shake the feeling that the alternate dimension stuff can't be over yet. When he's not at work, Eddie is over. When Eddie's not over, Robin is over. When they're both busy he's with the kids. He doesn't give his fear the time of day to seep in with how busy he makes himself scheduling movie nights and trips to the arcade.

He keeps getting scary thoughts. Some of them are... new, though.

Steve starts to wonder what it would be like to hold Eddie's hand.

Steve imagines putting Eddie's hand in his mouth and biting down, hard, as he screams.

Steve wants to nudge his foot under the table.

Images flash of kicking Eddie in the balls, him doubling over in pain.

Steve finds himself getting lost in his eyes.

His head is filled with visions of jamming his fingers down Eddie's eye sockets.

He tries not to examine the thoughts too closely. Just shakes them off. Still... he wonders. Where was all this coming from? And is he gay? He goes over old memories. He loves Robin, but it's still a scary thought. Among the other scary thoughts.

All the thoughts get more and more mixed up in his head. He can hardly tell which ones are real anymore.

One night Eddie's over, and they're watching a movie, alone. Steve doesn't even remember which. Mostly they watch long enough for something to happen that prompts further conversation, and they goof around, ignoring the movie until the topic runs its course.

Eddie is wearing a new shirt. The sides are cut open, further than most of his shirts. The angle he's sitting at has it falling open even more, and Steve keeps finding his gaze drawn there when Eddie's eyes are on the screen.

It isn't too dark in the room. They have a dim lamp on, and Steve's eyes have adjusted to the lighting. So he can see a lot of detail.

There are stitches.

Steve digs his nails into the palms of his hands as grotesque images flash through his mind, and the commands start.

Tear them out.

Use your fork like a seam ripper.

Jam your fingers inside and pry his skin apart.

Steve feels like he's about to vomit. He wants to cry. He just wants this to stop. He wants Eddie to leave and he wants Eddie to hold him and he doesn't want any of that but most of all he doesn't want to snap somehow and do any of those horrible things.

He clenches his fists harder and shoves everything down and focuses on the movie.

Steve wonders if the thoughts will ease up as Eddie's wounds heal, since a lot of them are about that.

They do not.

They leave for a walk in the woods. Eddie wants to gather a bunch of rocks. For what purpose, Steve does not know. Steve is charged with lugging the rock bag around, since his bites never went as deep and are much more healed now than Eddie's.

It's ridiculously hot outside. Steve is sure his hair looks like ass in the humidity. Eddie is sweating through his shirt. Steve doesn't mind that part.

They find an open clearing with what Eddie deems "an especially exquisite selection" of rocks. Steve doesn't think they look any different, but he just smiles. Unfortunately, the lack of tree coverage makes it even hotter.

"Hey big sports guy, catch," Eddie calls as Steve feels something hit his backpack. He looks behind him and sees black cloth lying on the ground. He leans down to pick it up, then looks up at Eddie a few yards away.

Eddie is flushed, chugging down water from a bottle, some of it dripping past his mouth and down his chin and torso. His bare chest is covered with tattoos and scar tissue. Most of the stitches have been removed, it seems. Steve feels his face heat up, and then he sees it.

One of the deeper bites is still stitched up, and he has a drain attached to it. No bag is hooked up right now, but the drain is there, under the skin, peeking out. Steve wonders how deep it goes. Flashing images of yanking it out start coming and he feels nauseous as Eddie clears his throat and Steve meets his eyes in horror.

"My eyes are up here, princess," Eddie says as he smirks.

Steve ducks his head and runs his fingers through his hair. God, he hopes Eddie can't tell what he's thinking. About either topic, really. Or maybe he doesn't mind too much, about the one.

He tries to look at him, but his eyes keep trying to snap to the drain, and he knows he needs that out of his sight, fast, before the thoughts get worse.

"Dude, that's not fair." He shakes his head, still ducked down and eyes anywhere but on Eddie, as he makes his way over.

Eddie laughs bright and loud, and he pulls at his curls. "What's not fair, exactly?"

He shoves the shirt back at Eddie's chest, fingers buzzing with something as they make contact briefly with the skin of his pec. Eddie stumbles back a step and his eyes are wide.

Steve leans close and makes eye contact. "If I'm not allowed to be shirtless, neither are you, big boy." He gives his chest two quick pats before turning around and walking back the direction they came. He calls "for your modesty!" over his shoulder. It takes a few seconds before he hears Eddie's footsteps start up behind him to follow.

Eddie tells him he supposes they collected enough rocks for the day, anyway. Steve notes that Eddie didn't put the shirt back on, but he has it draped over his shoulder, and it covers the drain that way too, so Steve doesn't bring it up again. As they chat and walk home, Steve thinks Eddie looks redder than he did before. He looks cute flustered.

Is he flustered? Steve hopes so. Why does he hope so? Steve thinks he knows if he's honest with himself, but he's also scared, so he continues to try not to think about it.

---

"Alright alright! Settle down! I'll be back with snacks in less than five minutes. If you nerds haven't made a decision by then, we're putting on my pick."

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves the room and the kids' voices raise even higher in pitch, whining that his movies are always boring. The other "adults" chatter behind them on the sofa, as the kids crouch around Steve's VHS collection.

When Steve comes back, The Goonies' cover is flipped open on the floor, and the ads are starting up as the kids flip the lights and fight over the remote, messing with the volume and arguing about whether or not there was a skip button for the ads or if they just had to fast forward through them. He looks around, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes that the only seating choice left is to squish himself right next to Eddie.

Or Mike, but he was absolutely not sitting between him and Byers for two hours, or however long The Goonies was. He doubted they'd stay apart like that for long, anyway.

Eddie smirks at him from behind his hand as he sits down, their thighs pressing together, and Steve is glad it's dark in here because he's pretty sure he's blushing.

That's when he realizes what side he's sitting on. And he freezes.

Oh God.

Oh no.

This is the side with the drain.

It was touching him. It was touching him. It was right there. It was right there and if he moves the wrong way he'll hurt him. It'll catch on Eddie's shirt and he'll rip it out and blood will be everywhere.

Oh my God. He can't move, now. It would be weird. Where would he even go? He can't just sit on the floor.

Oh my God. What if he moves to leave and that's what does it. He's stuck here. He's stuck here indirectly touching the thing under Eddie's skin and his lungs feel smaller than they should and oh God he does NOT want to freak out in front of everyone.

He has to leave. He has to get out of here. How the hell can he leave???

Steve presses as hard as he can into the armrest and away from Eddie, scooting out of his seat, and looking back at Eddie's side to make sure it hasn't started to bleed. His eyes catch Eddie's and the man still on the sofa looks confused, still sitting comfortably against the back of the sofa with his arms crossed as Steve, as discreetly as possible, slips out of the room and up the stairs. He's suddenly grateful he's only wearing socks on his feet so his footsteps are quieter.

He gets upstairs and walks into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, running his hands through his hair, and taking deep breaths. He runs through the last couple minutes in his head, when. Oh God.

Did he look closely enough? Was he sure Eddie wasn't bleeding? What if it started slow? What if he didn't notice until Steve left and now he's bleeding out? What if he's on some sort of numbing agent and he WON'T notice until he PASSES OUT because it's dark and Steve isn't 100% sure he didn't see blood and he knows he must look feral right now but he just has to go check just to be sure and

He opens his door again to a surprised Eddie, hand half held up like he was about to knock. Steve's eyes drop down to his side and back again.

"Hey, Steve. Are you alright? You looked a little woozy back there." Eddie asks, uncharicatistically softly. Steve realizes he must still look wild and tries to shake away the crazy eyes.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, no worries." He runs his hand through his hair again, realizes that makes him look more anxious, and drops it. His eyes flit back and forth between Eddie's eyes and his side, and then he keeps them steady on his eyes.

Eddie eyes him skeptically. "Mind if I join you for a minute?" He gestures in the room, and Steve steps aside. Eddie closes the door behind him.

"Steve, I'm not gonna lie. I'm worried about you, and I don't think I'm the only one." Eddie steps closer to him and places his hands on Steve's shoulders gently.

Steve racks his brain. "How do you know something's wrong? Wait, what do you mean? I'm fine." Steve tries to shrug and Eddie levels him with a look. Steve feels his lungs shrinking again, and his eyes sting.

Eddie moves his hands up and down his arms a little. "Steve, you've been acting off for weeks. Flighty? You almost never sit next to me anymore. Basically the whole room conspired against you today. Is... did I do something? Did you," Eddie furrows his brows, and shakes his head, "did you, hear something about me?"

Steve shakes his head, very confused. He wasn't even actively avoiding sitting next to Eddie. How did he not notice he was doing that??? What else is he doing without noticing?

Eddie rubs his shoulders again. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Breathe for me. Slowly. Try to breathe."

Steve does try to breathe slower, and sinks to the floor. Eddie follows him, and talks to him as he tries to calm down.

"Stevie, you need to tell somebody what's going on so we can help you."

Steve shakes his head vehemently.

"Why not? I'm not going to force you, but. I'm not gonna judge you or anything. You're my friend, Steve."

Steve looks into Eddie's eyes and sees nothing but sincerity. He isn't sure what he'd see if he told him the truth.

"I don't think you wanna know," Steve says softly.

Eddie bites his lips and looks away for a second. "Are you scared?" Steve nods. Eddie looks back, nods, and looks away again.

"Look, Steve, if it makes you feel better, if you tell me the scary thing, then I'll tell you something scary, too." Eddie looks back at him, lip still between his teeth.

Steve feels something warm inside, and he smiles the tiniest bit. "You don't have to do that, Eds. I. I just," Steve takes a big breath. "I don't want you to hate me. Or be scared."

Eddie shakes his head and looks off into space again. "I kinda doubt my thing is the same as your thing, but either way. Steve, I don't think you can do anything to make me hate you. You're one of my best friends, Steve."

Steve isn't sure that's true, but he leans his head back against the wall. His breathing is more even now, and the tears have slowed. He thinks for a minute.

"I -" he closes his eyes, "I get these. These..." He tries to come up with how to word it. Eddie looks at him with the kindest eyes Steve's maybe ever seen, and he braces himself. "I get these words in my head?" Eddie tilts his head slightly, looking confused, but no less kind and patient. "Like. Someone is telling me to do something I don't want to do?"

Eddie's eyes widen. "Oh. Oh Steve. I'm so sorry. I, I think my aunt had something like that. Do you, do you see things sometimes? Things that other people don't see?"

Steve shakes his head again. He actually laughs a little in surprise.

"No! No, not like that. Not like, halucinations. Like. The thoughts are me. But they're not me? Like, they're the things that I would least ever actually want to do, but they just get stuck there? And they won't shut up? They're like, opposite thoughts. Like I think the opposite of the thing I want to do, and then I don't want to do it so badly but it still is just like stuck there repeating because I don't want to do it so badly?"

He looks at Eddie, who seems contemplative.

"Can I ask what the thoughts are about, Steve?"

He shakes his head.

"No. It's bad, Eddie. It's so weird, and gross. Like," he takes a big breath and continues, "they're about people getting hurt, Eds. People I care about. I just," he starts to cry again, looks at Eddie. "What if I do it on accident? What if I like. What if I hurt you, Eds? I don't want to; I'd never want to, but what if I did? On accident?"

He starts sobbing again. Steve feels Eddie's hands cup his cheeks, brushing away tears with his thumbs. He's honestly kind of surprised Eddie's still here. He probably shouldn't have said that much.

"Steve. I trust you. So much, Steve. I know you would never hurt me. And I can't say I know what's going on in your head, but I know you. You're Steve! You save people! You don't hurt them. And you won't hurt me."

Steve melts into Eddie's hands. He isn't sure Eddie's right, but he knows one thing. He cares about this man, so much.

"Thank you." He puts his hands on top of Eddie's. "Thank you, Eds." Eddie smiles at him, but looks close to tears himself.

"Did you, did you want to talk about it? Your thing?"

Eddie's smile falters. "I don't want to make it about me, but I suppose I did say I would. Do you want to hear it?"

Steve nods. "If you want to tell me."

Eddie nods. "Okay. Well." He closes his eyes. Nods again. "I'm gay, Steve."

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Oh my God." He's suddenly aware that their hands are still on his face. "Eds. I think I'm gay too."

Eddie's eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes.

Steve's not sure exactly what comes over him, but he leans forward and presses their lips together. Eddie kisses back.

They talk more about it, later. About the thoughts. Steve isn't exactly sure why, but just knowing that Eddie knows, and doesn't hate him, helps. And there are times when the thoughts are better, and the thoughts are worse. But knowing Eddie's on his side makes it a bit better.

~~~

Thanks for reading this!!! If anyone doesn't know a lot about OCD but is curious about Steve's presentation, here's some more info:

(He has Harm OCD, so you can also just google that, but this is a p thorough intro ^^)

[disastercomingfaster]

The Fruity Four would have all been grandma and grandpa Swifties and would have all gone together to the Eras tour. Yes, even Eddie would have gone in a metal Taylor Swit Etsy shirt. I am not taking any questions 😂

[listlessladylister]

Guys guys guys y’all omg

Imagine a Steve who has always been hard of hearing or was born with tinnitus and who’s hearing has been steadily worsening with each encounter with the upsideown, because he just keeps getting concussion after concussion like oh my god.

And he’s doing his best, he’s always known he would lose his hearing entirely eventually, but he’s also super bummed because he thought he’d have longer and there’s so many things that he knows he’s going to forget and that he didn’t appreciate enough.

And one day he’s getting high with our two favorite trailer trash men, Eddie and Billy and letting himself be not okay about it because he’s been putting on a strong face for the kids but inside he’s just spiraling into this really awful sense of mourning like ‘I know it’s really fucking obvious but god I fucking miss music. I really fucking miss music, and I’ll never hear it again and I kinda feel like I’ll never dance again either?? What if I just forget things like rhythm and beat and shit? Like what if I stop being able to tap little patterns with my fingers because I just lose all sense of tempo and melody? Like-'

And it is at this point that Eddie sits bolt upright and is forgetting all of the basic asl he’s learning for Steve in a fit of excitement and throng to mime ‘wait right here’ ‘I’m going to go get something’ and ‘I have a great idea’ all at once before he vaults off the bed and barely sticks the landing.

Steve and Billy are both confused but Eddie comes careening back in with a stereo and a cassette and Steve is like, ‘I’m the deaf one here jackass so I know you just heard me. Why are you bring music?’

Fast forward to Billy and Eddie introducing Steve to rock and metal and Steve for once being able to stand it, because he isn’t straining trying to understand what the lyrics are and he isn’t cringing from the wailing of the guitar. What he IS doing, is feeling the bass pump through his veins and cradle his ribcage, he can stomp and head bop and head bang and even though it isn’t really the same it’s good.

[sofiiel]

Vampire!Rockstar!Eddie has made it a tradition to feed from you on stage at some point during a show. It's to keep him full of energy but he's just using it as an excuse to publicly share an intimate moment with you.

He's basically showing off in a "yep this is all mine" fashion.

The crowd loves the theatrics of it all as well as the way he softly moans into his ear piece as he drinks from you.

But what they don't know is, it's not acting and that it's really happening.

With the final concert of Corroded Coffin's tour, you let Eddie and boys drink your blood as the final act of the show. The fans love it, if only for the visuals as they imagine themselves in your shoes.

To engage the fans further Eddie has released his own brand of hibiscus rum named after you. It is blood red and fans can feel like they're feeding just as Eddie does.

[userchai]

Corroded coffin doing a cover of Zombie.

[madelynraemunson]

somewhere in these eyes, i’m on your side

long overdue ex-husband!eddie mood board

[roadkillremi]

Everyone hear me out

Eddie X Witch!Reader during 1674

He's a tavern worker and plays his lute and sings and what not.

And word around the village is you are a witch.

He hides you away from the village at some point. And he's surprisingly not afraid of you.

[resident-gay-bitch]

okay, eddie munson may be big and edgy and scary, and yes he snarls at wankers on the street and has most certainly thrown more punches he can count on one hand, but… well, he’s actually not all that tough once you get to know him.

what’s his favourite movie, you ask? well, you’d think something like halloween or nightmare on elm street, right? wrong! he’s riding a fine line between grease and rocky horror.

what’s his favourite song? oh, yeah, it’s totally gotta be something from one of those angry violent demon bands he listens too, right? like… breaking the law, or run to the hills… or like, master of puppets, right? nope! it’s starman, by david bowie.

his favourite artist? we’ll, sabbath and metallica come pretty close to making the cut, but in truth, it’s the beatles.

and it’s not just his taste that has you fooled, it’s everything about him.

he throws punches, but he can’t remember the last time he won a fight. they all end up with him flat on his back, blood running from his nose or a gash under his eye, and he’s laughing at the asshole who’s serving him like dinner and making jokes, and then ends up crying about it once they’re gone.

and yeah, he wears a lot of edgy, dangerous jewellery. the spikes on his leather wrist bands are one thing, the chunky rings that he surely wears for punching people with are another. but… well, he wears the rings because they’re shiny, and he likes shiny things, and he gets very fidgety and they’re fun to spin. and the leather straps? they look so cool, and he likes rolling his wrist over his thigh or knee when sitting and feeling the spikes prod at his skin, and it tickles.

his mane is actually his top priority on his physical appearance. he will leave the house with teeth un-brushed if running late, but never with tangled curls.

and he wears dorky patterned underwear and matching socks. and he has tattoos of superhero emblems and lord of the rings references and what not. oh, and don’t forget his night time routine. he won’t get a good sleep without it.

say goodbye to wayne, sit on the couch with a good snack and watch an episode of garfeild or looney tunes, or if it’s a weekend a movie, and then shower, do his hair, brush his teeth, hot drink whilst he plucks at his guitar for a couple of minuets, goes to take a piss, puts on his bedtime socks, kisses his guitar goodnight, puts on his sleepy time mix tape, turns out the big light, snuggles down in bed cuddled up to his mangled old teddy from his youth, counts the glow in the dark stars on his roof, and goes to sleep.

but the best part of all - out of all the soft little things that make up eddie munson - is his ability to fucking scare like an ant under a boot.

it’s everyone’s favourite thing, scaring eddie. what’s not fun about making him jump out of his skin? he’s so easy to startle and the pout he pulls once he realises he’s not in real danger is the sweetest little thing the sky will ever see.

jumping out behind doors. blasting loud music right by his ear. creeping up behind him. jabbing his side when he’s deep in concentration. leaning right over him when he’s napping and saying his name.

but the best one of all, is his blatant fear of spiders.

it’s even more humours when you realise he has a tattoo of one on his shoulder.

he fucking despises the cretins. they scare the ever living shit out of him.

an abandoned spider web is left curled up in an old corner? get that the fuck away from him.

a strand of hair fell from his head and lightly brushed his arm or leg? he’s slapping himself until he’s sure there’s no way anything lived through that abuse.

a plastic spider that is so obviously fake is left on his pillow? he’s shouting and running back out of the door.

and god forbid a real spider crawl anywhere near him.

wayne is the designated spider guy, thank you very much. if one’s ever about when he’s not home, we’ll… let’s just say wayne will be lucky to come back home to find the trailer still standing.

he will scream and jump onto table tops, pull out his lighter and hold out the flame to the little bug crawling across the floor about three meters or more away.

or he’ll grab a knife if he’s in the kitchen and defend himself like it was near death.

a can of hairspray is about? well, that thing is going to have stiff fur for years if it doesn’t suffocate under the toxins like eddie does himself.

if someone’s around, he’s screaming and running behind them for protection, and makes them kill the damn thing before it breeds and comes to kill them all with its little army of eight legged beasts.

“it’s an ant, eddie.”

“are you sure-“

“yes, look at it.”

“i don’t want to… oh.”

he won’t let one be crushed under his shoe though, he does not want spider goup on his shoes.

if one touches him, he’s showering and washing all his clothes like the plague has come. if it’s a shirt he doesn’t care much for? he’s burning it.

he is the biggest baby when it comes to spiders and it’s the most adorable of all his features.

wayne’s favourite thing in the world to do is point at eddie frantically when he’s walking around shirtless and scream spider! big spider on you! and watch eddie go though every emotion known to man.

the kid will slap himself and scream like a three year old girl and run and just freak the fuck out, and wayne will just stand there, sipping on his coffee, laughing at the full blown theatrical comedy taking place in his living room.

it always takes eddie like five good minuets to realise wayne’s just talking about his tattoo.

it gets him every time.

so yeah, eddie munson may be a big scary metal head on the outside, but didn’t your mum ever teach you not to judge a book by its cover?

if ever in doubt, just mention the word spider around eddie and watch the tough act die.

but please, whatever you do, don’t forget to console him after because that man is having a heart attack, and will need a good cuddle to calm down.

[wein-bitte]

Eddie Munson falls asleep with his hand down his pants. Something about his fingers at the base of his cock made him feel at peace and he found he couldn't sleep without doing it. At any point in time you could barge into his messy room and find him like this, hair a mess around his head, mouth open in a loud snore and free arm above his head, palm up.

[vyncentevelyn]

My current project is a fic focusing on Eddie’s mom, because I can see her and she needs her story told. I call her, Winnie. In my head, she is Wayne’s sister. And today I’m plotting some upcoming events and these are my notes:

- Chuck takes Eddie to pickpocket at bar

- Wayne is alone

- Winnie & Mary (Are they gay? Yes. Do they know it? Who knows.)

This is unlike anything I have ever written. And I’m so close to sharing the first part. There will be plenty of Wayne and Eddie, especially very young Eddie. And I know we all have an image of Eddie’s parents in our heads, and maybe this won’t be exactly how you picture his mom but I am really excited to share my version of her. I will explain more when the time comes. Anyway…

Can’t wait to introduce you to Winnie. 💙

[elidoesntbreathwee]

Once upon a time,

Eddie got Steve some Hershy's kisses. It was almost Christmas and Eddie wants to give Steve something before Christmas, cuz Steve did it for him last year.

Eddie stole one, and opened it like a normal human, by pulling the paper string thingy. He enjoyed the taste if it.

Steve ate one. Eddie was mortified. Steve had opened it by taking the wrapper of like you would take off the wrapper of a mini reeces.

Steve didn't know why Eddie was upset. Eddie showed him how to open them "CORRECTLY, Steve!"

They ate chocolate, watched a dumb hallmark Christmas movie, and may or may not have made out for the majority of it.

[userchai]

Do you think Eddie has guilty pleasures? Like stuff he knows is so very not "metal" but he can't help it? Like movies or music or anything lol?

oh most definitely

the man would get caught listening to Blondie or Madonna, Steve and Robin walking in his room to see him swaying his hips and dancing in the most non metal way possible. I think with everything else he’d try to uphold his metal head persona, but in secret would listen to mainstream music, and love it.

[lightwoodbanethings]

(Not So) Platonic Touches

So I am attempting to turn my little head cannon drabble into an actual fic.

Here’s chapter 1 (out of 4?)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42171690/chapters/105878976

and here is the hc it is based off of

https://www.tumblr.com/lightwoodbanethings/695818621504634881/i-adore-the-idea-of-steve-and-eddie-getting-closer