#rock star Eddie

[aidaronan]

The years go by. The retail jobs that Steve thinks are temporary keep piling up, but he has no idea what else to do with his life so he just keeps on keeping on.

Until a large tree falls on the lawn of the little house he managed to buy and he gets the quote on removal and the number literally hurts his soul.

He buys a small chainsaw instead. Over the course of a few weeks, he gets most of the branches cut up. He collects some large rocks from down by the quarry and digs out a fire pit in his backyard. On his days off, his friends come over and they sit out back and have a few beers. The pile of wood dwindles. The giant trunk is another story though. His chainsaw isn't big enough for it. Burning it would take forever, and Steve's terrified he'd disappoint Smoky the Bear. He's at a loss.

Until he sees another giant trunk in someone's yard carved into a bear.

He knows what to do then. Not a bear, but something else. Through trial and error, the trunk becomes the rough shape of a woman, the remnants of the branches like a crown on her head. It's not as amazing as the bear he saw, but it's his. He finds he loves the smell of sawdust and the feeling of creating something.

Just like that, Steve realizes what he wants to do. It takes several months and a lot of yard sales, but he scrounges up the tools he needs to start woodworking. He learns to measure twice and cut once. He makes tables and chairs and carves them with art and designs that get better and better the more he learns. Shockingly, people actually buy his pieces.

Even more shocking comes the realization that he's making enough money to do it full time. He puts in his two weeks notice at Melvald's and hands in his assistant manager badge.

He's not sure he's happy, but he is content. It feels good to work hard and actually have things to show for it. It also feels good to work muscles he hasn't used since high school. He carries on for a few years like that, creating and learning and creating some more. Then Eddie Munson blows back into town. Invited back so Hawkins can have their most famous alumnus sing the national anthem at homecoming. Steve's honestly surprised he shows at all. "Can't believe you didn't tell them kiss your hairy ass," Steve says. Because of course Eddie ends up around his fire pit, sipping on Steve's cheap beer like he doesn't have three Grammy awards on his mantel. The years fall away with each drink, reminding Steve of just how much it had hurt when Eddie left. He'd wanted Eddie so bad back then, more than he'd ever wanted anyone. He can feel the echoes of that deep ache across time.

"Pfft. Don't you know all famous people wax our asses now? All the rage in LA." Eddie cuts a look at him and smirks when Steve rolls his eyes, grateful for the lighthearted moment to snap him out of his maudlin nostalgia. "Really though I thought about it, but then I thought it would be way funnier to donate a metric fuckton of money to Hawkins High with the stipulation that it go to the theater and band programs. Kind of bummed they couldn't honor my other request though."

"Which was?"

"My old Hellfire throne. I miss her, but apparently she's not around anymore. Something about water damage."

"Oh yeah. Water main busted a few years back and flooded the theater. I remember that." "Yeah. Had to settle for the promise they'd make a game lounge and stock it with all the supplies a budding young nerd needs."

"That's really nice, Eds."

Eddie shrugs. "I've been known to be nice on occasion. You'll come to homecoming, right? Moral support?"

Steve hasn't been to homecoming in years because he sees the other people who stayed in town all the time, and he has no interest in seeing the people who didn't. He can only answer the same questions so many times. Oh, I'm doing woodwork now. Yep, I still live right here. Nope, still not married, no kids.

He goes though, and he answers the uncomfortable questions. Because Eddie asked him to. Because no matter how long it's been, Steve can't deny that some part of him still...

He says goodbye after, and Eddie leaves again, and Steve tries not to think about that too much in the following days.

He's halfway into the project before he realizes what he's building. He'd seen Eddie's throne quite a few times back when. What he doesn't have memories of, he makes up. He adds his own touches too, making it a throne fit for a rock star, a nerd, a friend.

He carves ornate patterns, he creates scenes of dragons being beaten back by a man with a guitar, crowds of people that could be knights or concertgoers.

It's his favorite piece he's ever done, and his hands are shaking when he dials Eddie's number. He gets an answering machine and stumbles through a message.

"I made you something. I guess it's kind of silly, but it's here in Hawkins if you want it. Or I'm sure you can afford the shipping if you don't want to come. Just, I made you a chair. It's more of a... Well, you'll see. Unless you don't want to... It's Steve by the way." He hangs up before he can embarrass himself even more.

Eddie doesn't call him back. One day passes and then another. Steve tries not to let it get to him. He works on orders and new projects. He enjoys his little backyard oasis. He rents a few movies and thinks they're okay.

He's debarking some wood in his driveway when the rental car pulls up, Eddie stepping out in ripped jeans and an old Metallica tee. "Hi again, Stevie."

"Oh." Steve clears his throat. "The thing's in the garage. I'll..."

Eddie doesn't say anything for a long time, circling the throne, running his tattooed fingers over each little detail.

"You made this whole thing?"

"I did."

"For me?" Eddie looks at him then, one hand still touching the wood like he doesn't want to let go. Even under the harsh lights of the garage, his eyes are such a warm shade of brown that Steve forgets to breathe.

He nods. "For you."

"Why?"

There are a hundred answers Steve could give, but he spent so long not knowing who he was or who he wanted to be. Too long. "Because you'll always be the one that got away. Because some part of me will always want to make you smile no matter how long it's been."

Eddie falls into the throne like he just got the wind knocked out of him.

"You don't have to respond to that," Steve says. "You can just say thank you and take the chair."

"I can." Eddie blows out a breath. "But that would be incredibly stupid considering half my early ballads are about you."

"What?" Unfair. Steve doesn't have a chair to fall into.

"Oh sure, I changed the hes to shes for a while there because..." Eddie waves his hand. "But they're about you, Steve. God, I should've asked you out. I just thought..."

Hearing those words is a lot like seeing that carved bear all over again, something clicking into place that wasn't quite right before.

"Go out with me now then," Steve says. "Or stay in. I've got a frozen lasagna and I rented Contact."

"Steve Harrington? Asking Eddie 'the Freak' Munson on a date? Did hell freeze over?"

"Pfft." Steve takes a step closer toward what he wants most. "Hell froze over in 1986, Eddie. You were there."

Five months and a lot of long distance phone bills later, Steve opens Harrington Woodworking in Los Angeles. That same day, Eddie takes photos for Rolling Stone posing in an ornate throne in his living room. He tells the reporter exactly who made it and what he means. At concerts, he starts singing those ballads the way he always wanted to. More often than not, Steve stands in the wings singing along.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Starving artist Steve Harrington just trying to pick up any job that’ll pay the bills so he can keep making art picking up a bartending gig at some album release event in LA because it pays a flat $500 for 4 hours of his time plus tips

The album ends up being a much-anticipated follow up to an extremely successful debut album for Corroded Coffin, a metal band that somehow made a huge dent across multiple genres with their Spotify Lounge cover session

The lead guitarist and singer, Eddie Munson, is known for being a charmer, but Steve doesn’t fall for it and that just makes Eddie work harder to impress him

Cut to Steve leaving well after the party wraps up, nearly $1000 richer (thank you drunk rich people who forgot they’d already tipped him $20) and running right into Eddie smoking behind the venue

He’s not supposed to smoke, messes with his voice, so he offers Steve his last cigarette and asks him how the night went. Steve’s honest and says he got enough money to pay off his rent for the month and have some leftover for groceries so he’s pretty happy

Eddie asks if bartending is what he always does and Steve unloads on him about his art, how he always knew it would lead to living thin, but that he didn’t mind if it meant he still got to create things that let people see the world differently

Eddie won’t admit it for at least four more months, but he fell in love with Steve that night, listening to the way he described his process and watching as his eyes lit up as he told him about a new thing he wanted to try with oils and clay pinch pots as soon as he had the money for studio time and materials

Eddie won’t admit it for another six months, but he “forgot” the nearly $5000 in cash in the jacket he let Steve borrow in hopes that his bills would be taken care of long enough for him to get whatever studio time he wanted

And Steve wouldn’t admit it for almost a year, but he knew all along that Eddie’s charm worked on him from the first time he ordered a fruity drink at the bar and called him Stevie

[sparkle-fiend]

Long distance relationships are hard (especially on Eddie’s band mates).

[trashcanniballecter]

Love rock star Eddie just being obsessed with his totally normal boyfriend/husband Steve. He has asked Steve for his autograph on multiple occasions despite the fact Steve is a teacher and is in no way famous and the fact that they have been together since high school

[estrellami-1]

Quite Miss Home

Had an idea. Wrote 2.3k words in a couple of hours. Pure fluff based on the James Arthur song. ❤️

“Helloooooo, Chicago!” Eddie yells into the mic, reveling in the roar he gets back from the audience.

It’s been ten years since it all; since the end of the world as he knew it and the beginning of something so much better. Corroded Coffin had taken off quickly, after the “earthquakes;” something about rising from the ashes like a phoenix, if Eddie had to guess, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, just enjoy what he’s given, and damn is he enjoying it.

“How are you?” He asks, grinning when the audience cheers again. “Alright, alright. Man, I’ll tell you, it’s fuckin’ awesome being here. But can I tell you a secret?” The audience roars again, and he grins as he takes his guitar off, hoisting it up. “Who’s this?”

“Sweetheart!” The crowd yells back.

“That’s right!” He quietly thanks the stagehand who darts up to grab it from him. “But it’s not my only sweetheart. In fact, my real sweetheart is at home. And this tour is so awesome, but I’m kinda starting to miss my sweetheart.”

“Aww,” the crowd says, and he grins softly at them.

“I know,” he says. “This next song is for my sweetheart. They’re at home because they get migraines, and tours aren’t very conducive to not getting migraines, so we both decided it would be better if they stayed home. So this next song isn’t Corroded Coffin’s normal sound. In fact-” he gestures at the stage behind him- “if you’ll notice, the rest of the boys aren’t up here anymore. This is an Eddie Munson original, and I want to thank them, from the bottom of my heart, for letting me be the dramatic sap I am, and letting me sing this song, on national television, for my sweetheart.” The stagehand comes up again, this time with an acoustic, and again Eddie thanks him. “So, sweetheart,” he says, facing the cameras, “this one’s for you.”

“I'm in the kitchen while you smoke outside. You're careful not to let the smoke inside. I always tell you it's poison, but I know it helps you take the edge off the day.”

Eddie knows exactly where Steve’s gonna be when he gets home from where he works part-time as a bartender. In through the front door, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter, straight through to the porch where Steve’s smoking.

“Y’know those things are poison,” he jokes, stealing it straight from Steve’s mouth and taking a drag before giving it back to him.

“I never want kids,” Steve says in answer. He’s a kindergarten teacher, so he comes home in one of two moods: he has the worst baby fever, or he never wants to see another child again.

“Yeah? What happened today?” Eddie asks, settling in close. He’s hungry, and was vaguely considering a stir fry, but instead he tucks in close as Steve takes another drag, preparing himself.

“Okay, so get this.”

“We get a drink before it's closing time, the one on High Street with the blinking sign. All these memories feel poignant. I won't be there to see the snow melt away.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, seeing someone settle at the bar in his periphery. “What can I get you?”

Then he actually turns to face the person, and-

Oh.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Steve grins, leaning over the counter. “And maybe… something else? A little later?”

A thrill of heat rushes through Eddie, but he rolls his eyes with a grin and pushes Steve back by a palm to his forehead. “Keep it in your pants,” he admonishes, “I’m on the clock for the next four hours. Someone didn’t tell me they were gonna drop in, and I took my break twenty minutes ago.”

Steve hums. “Y’know, a dull knife could be very dangerous,” he says. “I certainly hope the one you’re using to cut limes is sharp.”

Oh.

Eddie grins, always on board, and leans over the counter. “Steve Harrington,” he purrs, delighting in the flush racing up his cheeks and down his neck. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

Steve sits there for a beat, drains his whiskey, and hops off the stool with a dangerous smirk. “Careful on your way out. It started snowing.”

“Oh, yeah, I been gone on business. I gotta make some money. I really feel the distance.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Steve murmurs, clinging to Eddie like a koala. They’re still in bed, and Eddie doesn’t have to leave for another five hours. He’s gonna spend all the time he can in bed with Steve.

“I know, baby,” Eddie whispers back. “Tours are so long.”

“A month,” Steve agrees. “And then another three, after Indy.”

“But just think,” Eddie murmurs. “You’re still working, right? And those kids love you, and no matter what you say, I know you love them. And this tour is gonna be really good for us. We could get Wayne into a house, and help Hop with his payments-”

“He won’t accept the help.”

“No, but Joyce will,” Eddie grins. Steve laughs softly into his chest, then sighs and kisses a tattoo.

“I just wish I could be with you. I wish my head worked right.”

“Baby,” Eddie says firmly, “I love you. Regardless of if you can or can’t come with me. If you’re gonna be miserable the entire time—and we both know you would be, don’t even try to deny it—I’d be miserable, too.”

“I know,” Steve sighs.

“But hey. We’ve got time right now. And I’m not letting you move from this very spot until I’m gonna be late.”

Steve chuckles. “I’ll drag you out myself, Eds, much as I don’t want it I know you need to go.”

“I know,” Eddie says softly, turning so they’re both on their sides, facing each other. “But I don’t have to go right now. And I’m gonna spend as much time as I can right now with you.”

“I know.”

“No, baby,” Eddie says, eyes wide, “you don’t get it. I won’t even let you pee alone today.”

“So just like normal, then,” Steve grins.

Eddie squawks.

“And I quite miss home. And I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor, and the dirt drives you crazy. Yeah, I quite miss home, 'cause it feels like poetry. When the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms, and we're watching the TV. Yeah, I quite miss home. Yeah, I quite miss home.”

“Hey, Eds,” Steve calls as soon as Eddie steps foot inside. “Shoes off at the door, I just swept and I swear to God, if you track dirt into the house-”

Eddie chuckles, toeing his shoes off before walking further into the house. “I know, baby, it wreaks havoc on your bare feet to feel it. I get a free pass from that ‘cause I wear socks like a normal person.”

“Literally when have you ever been normal,” Steve says, “that’s not normal, you and your fuckin’ ice cube toes in the middle of the goddamn night on my calves-”

Eddie snickers. “‘S not my fault you’re a furnace, babe.”

“I will maintain that it is your fault until we can prove otherwise, actually.”

Eddie is in love with this man. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asks, laughing, wandering down the hallway and into their room, where Steve’s folding laundry. “Fuck, I love you.”

Steve grins and accepts a kiss. “I love you too.”

“I smell you cooking from the living room, and then I tell you that I love your food. I know it doesn't come easy, but you know it reminds me where I'm from.”

“Baby,” Eddie groans when he walks in. “Are you making the pork?”

“I’m trying,” Steve grumbles, frowning at the pan. “‘S not working. It’s not getting crispy like it should.”

Eddie walks closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and nuzzling the side of his head. “Looks amazing,” he murmurs. “And smells even better.”

Steve sighs. “I just wish it was easier for me.”

“You don’t have to do this, baby.”

“But I know you love it.”

“I mean, yeah. But I love anything you cook, Steve. Or anything you call in. It’s the effort, y’know? Even when you don’t have the energy for anything but calling in pizza.”

Steve smiles. “You’re a sap, y’know that?”

Eddie chuckles, kissing Steve’s neck. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been down bad for you for a while, baby.”

“Yeah?” Steve tilts his head to allow Eddie better access. “How long?”

Eddie hums, moving down Steve’s neck, worrying his collarbone. “Probably since the demobat, Big Boy.”

Steve moans as Eddie sucks a mark high on his neck, just beneath his ear. “Yeah?” He asks, high and breathy.

Eddie turns the heat off. “Yeah.” A little bite to Steve’s earlobe as his hand creeps around to the front of Steve’s jeans. “Lemme show you?”

Steve pants. “Dinner-”

“Can wait,” Eddie growls. “I want you tonight, baby.”

“Whoa, I'm in another city. I got nobody with me. And it just really hit me.”

“Hey, baby,” someone croons. Eddie thinks he recognizes her from the last stop on the tour.

“Um… hi?”

She giggles. “So coy. You don’t have to play like that with me, baby.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “I’m not your baby.”

“Well, no,” she admits. “But you could be. Or I could be yours, if you’re more into being a Daddy.” She runs teasing fingers up Eddie’s arm.

He jerks his arm away. “Look, I’m sure you’re nice and all, but I’m really not looking-”

“Not yet you’re not,” she says.

“I don’t even know what that means- look, lady, I don’t want anything, okay?”

“Oh, come on, now-”

“I said no,” he says, harsher than he maybe should have, for the way she steps backs in shock. “Please leave,” he continues, gentler. “Or I’ll call security. And I don’t want to have to do that.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You could’ve had a great lay.”

“I have a great lay,” he shoots back. “And I’m not willing to sacrifice it for a meaningless one-night-stand.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you’re a great lady. But I’ve got my other half at home.”

“Your other half?” Steve interrupts over the phone, delight evident in his voice. “Christ, Eds, you’re a sap, I miss you so fuckin’ much.”

“I know, baby, I miss you too, now I was in the middle of a story.”

“That I quite miss home, and I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor, and the dirt drives you crazy. Yeah, I quite miss home, 'cause it feels like poetry when the rain falls down on the window, while you're in my arms, and we're watching the TV.”

“Baby,” Eddie yells inside, “It’s raining lynxes and wolves!”

Steve laughs from the laundry room. “Why can’t you just say cats and dogs?”

“Because,” he stresses, “it’s not. It’s raining so hard, babe, it’s perfect couch-cuddling weather, can we watch a movie? Please?”

Steve smiles. “Dinner’s in the oven keeping warm. Labyrinth is in the player already.”

Eddie stills, staring at Steve, for a solid thirty seconds. “Fuck, I love you,” he murmurs. Steve grins and steals a kiss.

“Go get the food,” he says. “I’ll be there in just a minute, just gotta finishing moving this stuff from the washer to the dryer.”

He does, and Steve does, and soon the dirty dishes are abandoned on the coffee table and their feet are tucked up on the couch. Steve’s leaning on Eddie and Eddie’s hand is under his shirt, not for anything suggestive, simply just to feel.

He kisses Steve’s head with a content sigh, and Steve tilts his head back to look at him. “What’s up?”

“Y’know this is one of the things I miss the most when I’m touring?”

Steve smiles. “Just sitting watching a movie?”

“Well, anything with you, actually. But yeah. No expectations, just the movie, and the rain, and just. Us.”

Steve smiles and kisses his jaw. “This is one of the things I miss most when you’re on tour, too.”

“Yeah, I quite miss home. Yeah, I quite miss home. And I quite miss home. Yeah, I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor and the dirt drives you crazy. Oh, I just miss home, no, no, 'cause it feels like poetry, as the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms and we're watching the TV. Oh, I miss home, yeah, I quite miss home, no. Oh, I quite miss home. Yeah, yeah, I quite miss home.”

The last strum reverberates through the silent auditorium. Then, an anguished groan. “What the fuck, why are you perfect?”

Eddie laughs along with the rest of the crowd. “That’s quite the compliment, but no, my sweetheart will be the first to tell you I’m anything but perfect.”

Three and a half weeks later, Steve slams into him as he’s walking into the house. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “Hi, baby.”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, “fuck you and your song, I swear to God, Eds-” he tugs on Eddie’s shirt, pulling him away from the door, and Eddie chuckles.

“Baby, my shoes, the floors-”

“Fuck your shoes,” Steve growls. “Fuck the floors. If I’m not naked in bed in the next thirty seconds-”

Eddie grins and picks him up. “Say no more,” he murmurs into Steve’s ear, taking purposeful strides toward the bedroom.

As he kicks the door shut, he has one thought: This is my favorite part of coming home.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @mischivarien @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @inadequatecowboy @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

Also tagging @finntheehumaneater and @gloomysoup because I figure you might like it ❤️

[thorniest-rose]

i’ve been kinda stuck on the idea of rockstar eddie pulling a rob zombie and putting steve in all of his music videos/stage performances/eventually b-horror movies. he writes his own house of 1000 corpses with steve as the equivalent of baby firefly, complete with the tiny cut off shorts and nerve wracking laugh to be the perfect little murder bimbo for his boyfriend’s directorial debut.

oh my god oh my god oh my god I just want you to know how OBSESSED I've been with this since you sent it in, especially as I'm planning my own rock star Eddie fic where he's a bit of a narcissistic asshole. I can just imagine Eddie putting Steve in all his music videos like that, like I LOVE the Rob Zombie inspiration!! Like Steve's his muse but he heavily objectifies him too, so he always makes him appear as a stripper or a groupie or a sex worker he picks up on the street. And in one of his music videos he fucks Steve and it's never confirmed that it's unsimulated sex but everyone knows it is, and that Eddie had fucked Steve on set in front of the entire crew. And then omg Eddie directing a horror film and casting Steve?? And Steve being the hot bimbo who gets his clothes ripped off and then brutally killed? Like Eddie doesn't even have the decency to cast Steve as the final girl, of COURSE he just plays the slut who gets killed... and afterwards when they're doing press and Steve's standing next to Eddie, with Eddie's tattooed hand on his ass, he's asked how he feels about his role and if it feels offensive considering he's Eddie's husband, but Steve just smiles sweetly and says, "I'd do anything for Daddy."

[italiansteebie]

this was only supposed to be a paragraph im sorry

It was what Eddie so eloquently deemed “Prep Night.” The rest of Corroded Coffin thought it was kind of stupid, but entertaining, at least. 

It was almost show time, and in came the hundreds of fans dressed in their nerd garb, with hints of their regular fashion popping through the tattoos and piercings that littered their bodies. 

It wasn’t until halfway through the show did Eddie notice him. Soft wispy hair, thin framed glasses, and a soft yellow sweater that Eddie so desperately wanted to take off. It wasn’t a big show, 200 fans maximum, and the more intimate venues allow for some crowd work. And with sweet cheeks pressed up against the barricade, he knew just who he was going for.

—--

Steve walked into the venue, heart thrumming as he made his way to his spot against the barricades. Dustin was hot on his heels, Corroded Coffin being the first band that introduced him to the metal scene. To his surprise, none other than jock, Steve Harrington, loved the band too. He says jock with love of course, the guy had been his babysitter for forever, so, who better to go to the concert with him? 

They were practically shaking with excitement, once in their places at the barricade, Steve manages to finally take a look around. “Hm. Not what I expected people to be dressed like at a CC concert…” Dustin snorts at this. He’d seen the “Prep Night” flier on instagram, and happened to forget to tell Steve about it. But it doesn’t matter, he fits right in. The crowd was buzzing, “Oh, yeah! It’s Prep Night!” Dustin yelled over the noise, and right as Steve was about to reply, the house lights dropped, in lieu of a reply, an excited scream ripped through Steve’s throat.   

They’d made it through half of the show, ribs pressed against the metal, it hurt, but the music made all the pain worthwhile.  

“What’s up, Indiana?!” 

A wall of cheers responds. 

“What an amazing turn out for our annual prep night! Woo!!”

From the stage Eddie watched as yellow sweater screamed. ‘He really went all out for tonight,’ Eddie thought as his gaze locked on him. He watched as he screamed, shaking the guy beside him by his shoulders. That’s when he caught the flash of silver poking through his tongue, and Eddie almost dropped to his knees. He’d been looking for the guys' metal scene fashion sense and hadn't been able to catch it until now. He almost regrets looking for it. Almost. 

Eddie shook himself back into the frontman role. “Now! One of you… Really nailed it for prep night. And lucky for you, tonight we celebrate it!” 

The crowd cheered louder than it had all night, a surprising feat from the already deafening noise level. Eddie smirked, gaze returning to yellow sweater, “Will the man with the fluffy hair, in the yellow sweater PLEASE, come up on stage?” He watched as his mouth dropped, the kid besides him screaming, twin smiles across their faces. 

The crowd screams again as yellow shirt is helped up on stage by a security guard. It was no secret to their fans that Eddie is gay, and with yellow sweater in such close proximity, he just couldn’t help himself. “Damn, gorgeous.” This time he did fall to his knees, holding a hand up towards yellow sweater, catching his red cheeks in the stage lights. He brings the mic close to his lips, “What’s your name, baby?” Eddie hands him the mic, “It’s Steve,” his voice comes out breathless and Eddie struggles to rise to his feet. 

“Give it up for Steve!” 

Eddie’s been handed another microphone, “Congratulations on winning Prep night, I gotta say…” Eddie’s eyes flick up and down taking in Steve’s whole look. “You really nailed it, you look like you dress like this every day.” Steve laughs, holding his own microphone up to his lips, “I do!” He cheers. 

And Eddie thought he was intoxicating, but Steve. Damn. The crowd went wild for this prep, and he couldn’t blame them. 

And if Eddie was dead before, he was in heaven now, because Gareth and the guys had started the next song, and Steve had taken it upon himself to sing in Eddie’s place. And fuck. He was good. 

Style really means nothing because Steve was going wild on the stage, ending note ringing out as he landed on his knees, chest heaving, eyes flicking around the crowd, a tinny smile spreading across his face as he held his arms out. 

Shaken from his state, Eddie saunters over to Steve, smirking as his arms drop to his sides. Eddie places a finger under his chin, lifting it ever so that Steve is looking into his eyes. “Wait for me in my dressing room after the show,” He tells him, smirking as he tries to subtly adjust his pants. 

Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun. 

[scoops-aboy86]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @lingeringmirth, and look, I'm actually doing it instead of opening a tab "to do it later" and then forgetting! 😂

This snippet is from an ask response I'm currently working on.

cw: chubby Steve, belly kink, stuck

“Steve,” Eddie sighs. “Stevie Stevie Stevie. What am I going to do with you?” He pushes off from the door and walks forward—stalks, really, in boots that add a few inches to his already intimidating height. If Steve were standing, Eddie would be taller than him. But Steve can’t stand right now, can he? Poor thing is only able to face him because the chair swivels. “I made special arrangements for you to be comfortable during the show, baby, and yet here you are.” It’s either the being wedged or the way he’s rounded out while eating his fill, but Steve’s belly is peeking out through his clothes from between the arms of the chair. Pants undone but boxers still clinging for purchase, hanging in there a bit below his belly button, and shirt riding up because it’s one of Eddie’s old band tees, the original Corroded Coffin design from their first tour. A trail of dark, unruly hair connects the dots between shirt and navel and boxers, obscuring some of the constellations of moles Eddie knows are there. That fuzzy line—the lower half—is the first thing Eddie’s hand goes to once he’s in touching range, twisting and bending his fingers just enough to give a light tug and getting a breathy groan for his trouble.

No pressure tags: @steviewashere @hotluncheddie @pearynice @tangerinesteve

Also @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax, I cannot for the life of me remember right now if you write (June is gonna be a long and busy month, work-frazzled brain no go) but you're on my permanent tag list for reading stuff so. Hi!

[just-a-tiny-void]

Omg I just found out about the dive bar In Sacramento, where they literally have live mermaids on top of the bar. So now I just have mermaid Steve with like the lil bows round his neck. N rock star Eddie goin there for the fantasy aspect of it n just come love at first sight.

Ofc robin works down at the bar n they just talk during their shifts together cuz sign language (n I just love hoh steve). N Chrissy is Eddie’s manager/best friend. N obviously both girls have to witness both of em being frustratingly oblivious n hear em just gosh about each other. N then they also start to fall for each other n now we have double gay messes.

Then here just comes Jonathan n Nancy doin a post bout the bar or something n just like finds gay panic everywhere n just decides to do something about it cuz this is just ridiculous. N just Jonathan taking pics of em being all cute n flustered toward each other.

[longclawislightbringer]

Chapter One: Unworthy

Rating: T

Relationships: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson

Summary: College Freshman Chrissy Cunningham’s best friend, Eddie, is a rockstar. So what if she’s in love with him, and he’s writing gorgeous metal love songs for some cool chick in LA? She’ll still be his number one fan, supporting from the sidelines, even if that means breaking her own heart.

On the night before the band’s first show opening for Metallica—at which Chrissy plans to surprise them—her roommate shows her an interview in the latest issue of Rolling Stone that changes everything.

Hello lovely readers! This is my first foray into Hellcheer, although if you are an author you may have seen me lurking in your comments section. I also kind of jump around fandoms depending on where my muse takes me, so you may have seen me somewhere else before. I’ve been obsessed with Hellcheer since I watched the first episode of Season 4 last year, and had the idea for this last summer. Unfortunately, I’m the world’s slowest writer. Like George R.R. Martin levels of slow. It also doesn’t help that I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I’m trying to let go of my perfectionism and just be happy to get my writing out in the world. This is a short little story, only two chapters. The next part is already written so it should be posted by next week. I’d just like to take a moment now to thank my beta, ry, for looking over this for me. Ry is super awesome and you can find her at ryleighjosephine on AO3 or at @dustinswill on Tumblr. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks for reading. :)

read on AO3

Chrissy tapped her foot to the beat of “Uptown Girl” as she grabbed a clean index card from the perfect stack at the edge of her desk. Dancing in her chair, she turned up the volume on her Walkman as the song reached the chorus. Softly humming, Chrissy wrote out “mitochondria” in big, blocky letters with her favorite rollerball pen. She bobbed her head as she waited for the ink to dry, checking Professor Miller’s study sheet to make sure she remembered the correct definition. Once she finished her list of vocab terms, she could start working on her poster for the concert tomorrow.

“As long as anyone with hot blood can,” Chrissy belted out without a care for any of the other girls still left on her floor on a Friday night. Even if her roommate, Stacey, was home, she wouldn’t care anyway. “And now she’s looking for a downtown man. That’s what I am!”

Although she would tease Chrissy for listening to Billy Joel.

When the pink ink had dried, she flipped the card over. As she wrote down the function of the mitochondria, she heard Professor Miller in her head, repeating, “The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

Placing the finished flashcard on her stack, she snatched another blank card as Billy Joel’s vocals faded into the searing electric guitar of Corroded Coffin’s new single. Her heart skipped a beat as Eddie’s fingers danced across the strings. She stilled, placing her pen on the table before she broke it.

“Starlit eyes, cherry gloss lips. You are perfect,” Eddie sang on the track, voice raspy. “And I am unworthy of you.” Chrissy clenched her fists. It was Eddie’s only line in the song before Jeff took over lead vocals. Chrissy could listen to him sing for hours, though.

She fiddled with the cassette case, running her fingers over the label “Chrissy’s Mix” in Eddie’s chicken scratch as she glanced at the photo of them together at prom last year tacked to her bulletin board. Arms circling her waist, Eddie stared down at her. The pink rose corsage on her wrist matched his boutonniere, and his tie matched her dress—Eddie insisted, even if it wasn’t an actual date.

When he sat down at their booth in the diner to give it to her one day while he was visiting Hawkins before she left for college, his leg had bounced up and down like he had drunk too much coffee. He dropped the tape in between them, the liner notes facing up.

“What’s this?” Chrissy asked, pulling it to her side of the table.

“It’s a mixtape,” Eddie said.

“I know that,” Chrissy smirked. “But what’s it for?”

Eddie wiped his hand on his leg. “It’s got some of our new songs on it. The demos, at least.”

“No way!” She exclaimed, picking it off the table to scan the notes. Three of the songs listed Corroded Coffin as the artist.

“I want you to tell me what you think of them. No holding back.”

“Of course.” Chrissy winked. “I wouldn’t dare think of lying to you. What’s the rest?”

“Just a bunch of your favorite songs. And mine. I thought they all kind of fit together.” Eddie scratched the back of his neck and flashed her a shy smile.

“Cool.” Grinning, Chrissy pulled her Walkman from her backpack.

“Don’t listen to it now!” Eddie nearly leaped across the table. “Wait until I’m gone.”

“Alright,” Chrissy smirked. “I’ll wait.”

At home that night, Chrissy shoved the tape into her Walkman and eagerly awaited the first new song. She grinned from ear to ear as the first base notes ripped through her, followed by Eddie’s dazzling guitar work.

And then that line.

“You are perfect, and I am unworthy of you.”

Her stomach dropped. A love song. Corroded Coffin had never released a love song before. Tightness bloomed across her chest as her stomach twisted itself in knots. She twisted her ring (Eddie’s favorite that he’d given to her right after graduation) and bit her lip as the song continued. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes when she listened to the other new songs—also love songs.

“Did you write all of these songs, Eddie?” she quavered, her voice small, on their scheduled weekly call.

“Yeah,” he answered. The phone crackled. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

His voice hitched before he continued, “What did you think of them?”

She swallowed back her tears, her rage at the subject of the songs, and replied, “They’re beautiful, Eddie.”

The cassette case clattered to the desk, breaking her from her reverie.

A tear rolled down her cheek as the song crested into the melancholy guitar solo. She wiped it away. With one final crescendo, the chorus began for the last time.

Chrissy picked up her pen again. If she ever found the girl who made Eddie feel so—

The door to her dorm room banged open.

“Hey, Chrissy,” her roommate Stacey barged in, letting the door slam shut behind her. She flopped on the bed across from Chrissy with a sigh, her long black braids fanning beneath her like a halo.

Chrissy paused her Walkman as “Take a Chance on Me” started and removed her headphones. “How was your date?”

“Another dud, as usual,” Stacey groaned. “I don’t know what it is about me that seems to attract the worst types of men. “ She rolled onto her stomach and rummaged through her purse. “He didn’t even have the manners to give me a decent good night kiss. Just slobbered all over me.” Shivering, she took out her lipstick for the night, a bright berry red, and placed it back on the shelf next to her desk. “Such is my lot in life.” She looked over at Chrissy. “What about you, Cunningham? Are you still hung up on that guy who calls you every week and wrote multiple songs for another woman that he put on your mixtape?”

A flush crept over Chrissy’s face. “He just wanted my honest opinion.”

“Girl, if that man can’t see that you are head over heels for him, he’s as blind as a bat.” Stacey pulled some wadded-up tissues from her purse and tossed them in the garbage. She grabbed a fresh one from the box on her nightstand and wiped her lipstick off, smearing it all over her dark skin.

“It’s not like that,” Chrissy protested, driving her pen perhaps a little too hard into the index card as she wrote the following definition. “We’re just friends.” Stacey folded the tissue, removed the rest of the lipstick from her face and dropped it in the trash.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Stacey quipped, pulling the new issue of Rolling Stone from her bag. “I can’t believe you’re studying on a Friday night.”

“I have to study today,” Chrissy explained as she tossed the card to the side. “We’re going to the Metallica concert tomorrow. I’ve got cheer practice Sunday afternoon, and my club meets Sunday nights.”

Chrissy scribbled out another word from her vocab list on a fresh card.

“Right,” Stacey rolled onto her stomach and unfolded the magazine. “I forgot you have your nerd club.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “I still think you would like it. You could pretend to be one of those barbarians from those Conan movies you’re always going on about.”

“Speaking of the concert tomorrow,” Stacey flipped the page of the magazine, “one of the opening bands has an interview in Rolling Stone.”

“That’s cool,” Chrissy remarked without much thought. She froze, pen hovering above the desk, as she recalled that Eddie had mentioned that the band had done an interview with a big magazine during their Thursday phone call. She shook her head. It probably was the other opener—they were much more famous than Corroded Coffin. “Let me know if there’s anything interesting.”

“Will do,” Stacey nodded and turned her attention to the glossy pages on the bed in front of her. Comfortable silence blanketed the room, the only sound the scritch of pen on paper and the flipping of magazine pages until one of their noisy neighbors arrived back home. The slamming door next door and ensuing clatter, as the girl stumbled through the room, jolted Chrissy from her work. She shook her head and grabbed another index card from the pile.

“That’s so sweet!” Stacey cooed, stroking the magazine page.

“What’s sweet?” Chrissy asked without missing a beat.

“The guitarist from that band I mentioned earlier,” Stacey popped her bubblegum. “He writes their songs, and get this—they’re all about the same girl.”

“Hmm,” Chrissy sneered, driving the pen into the index card with a little more force than was necessary. “I’m sure she loves having such a wonderful boyfriend who writes her amazing love songs.”

“They’re not together,” Stacey corrects her, flipping the page.

Chrissy stills. “What do you mean they’re not together?”

“They’re apparently just friends even though he’s been in love with her since middle school. They performed in a talent show together, and he’s been stuck on her ever since.”

Her heart leaped into her throat.

“She gets all of their demo recordings before the public,” Stacey continued, eyes widening as she took in the photograph on the opposite page, “so she just must want to stay friends because if I was her and I had a friend that looked like that who wrote me beautiful love songs, I’d climb him like a tree and maybe—“

Stacey rambled on, but Chrissy couldn’t hear her over the hammering of her own heart, beating against her ribs like a wild bird against the bars of a cage.

“—you know, I never pictured rock stars being into cheerleaders,”

Time stops.

Chrissy’s pen clattered to the floor as she whipped around.

“—but what do I know. I mean, you’re a cheerleader, and you like metal,” Stacey blathered.

“Stacey,” Chrissy stammered, “which band are you talking about?”

“What?” Stacey finally noticed her. “Corroded Coffin, why?”

“Can I see that article?” Chrissy choked, holding back the deluge of tears.

“Sure,” Stacey quirked a brow and handed the magazine over.

Chrissy flipped the magazine open to find Eddie Munson staring up at her from the glossy page flanked by Gareth and the rest of the band. Gasping, she dropped the magazine onto her desk.

“I am an idiot,” she murmured, and a tear slipped out before she could stop it. It rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the magazine.

“Hey,” Stacey bolted upright. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m so happy,” Chrissy hiccuped as the waterfall she’d held back for months came crashing down.

Stacey furrowed her brows until she alighted on the graduation and prom photos tacked to Chrissy’s bulletin board. She jumped to her feet, her gaze darting back and forth between the photos and the magazine spread.

“Oh my god!” Stacey exclaimed. “You’re her. You’re the girl from the article.”

“Yep,” Chrissy nodded, wiping her tears with a tissue.

“Which means that the Eddie that calls you every week is a literal rock star who’s been in love with you for years?”

“Apparently,” Chrissy shrugged. She slumped over the desk. “I should have just asked him out months ago.”

“Wow,” Stacey collapsed back on her bed. “That is a lot to process. How in the world did I not put it together sooner? You told me he was in a band. And you made sure we were going to this show so I could meet him.”

“I wanted to surprise him on opening night of his first big tour…” Chrissy said.

”I just thought your Eddie must be a colossal CC fan.” Stacey mused. “To think you’ve know them this whole time… Wait a minute.” She bolted upright. “How did you not know all those songs were about you?”

Chrissy shrugged. “I convinced myself he met some cool metal chick in LA.” She picked at the hem of her shirt. “I was going to ask who she was at the show tomorrow.”

“This is too funny,” Stacey laughed.

“I’m glad you find my emotional turmoil amusing.”

“What are you going to do when you see him?” Stacey asked.

Chrissy turned to the blank poster and art supplies waiting on her bed and grinned.

“I’m going to get my man.”

[hellcheerficdatabase]

Love Is Just A Currency

Author: @astorytotellyourfriends

Rating/Warning: Explicit, referenced ED

Chapter Count: 8/?

Description: When she graduated high school, Chrissy Cunningham thought she knew how her life was going to turn out: college, marriage, the whole nine yards. But now it's five years later and nothing in her life went according to plan. Least of all running into Eddie Munson in a way she definitely never saw coming.

or … a HellCheer OnlyFans AU.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, alternate universe- modern au, Rock Star Eddie, Aged-up, slow burn, angst, comfort, miscommunication, alternating POV, multiple chapters, Status: WIP

[dynamic-power]

Steve calls in to the radio show because he's pretty sure Dustin has mentioned Corroded Coffin before - something about them getting their start in Hawkins, of all places - and no one is more shocked than him when he actually wins the tickets. Four seats on the floor, right in front of the stage, and backstage passes for after the concert. Dustin loses his shit when Steve calls him that night and immediately decides that Steve needs to come. Steve has to admit he's intrigued. Dustin mentions Eddie Munson, and Steve vaguely remembers curly hair and speeches in the cafeteria.

He's not prepared for tattoos and rings and piercings or the way the man struts shirtless around the stage like he knows he's hot shit. Every word he says or sings drips sex appeal, and from the moment Eddie catches Steve's eye, does a double take, and fucking winks, Steve is a goner.

Eddie, in that moment, recognizes Steve immediately. How could he not, with the signature hair and perfect face and pretty eyes? He makes it his mission to show off as much as possible. To show perfect Steve Harrington how much better his life has gotten; that the loser is selling out stadiums.

He siezes the opportunity when Steve ends up backstage, flirting shamelessly and even slipping his room number into Steve's back pocket. Showing Steve up is great, but maybe getting sex out of it, too? Even better.

What Eddie isn't prepared for is the way Steve works into Eddie's life like he's always belonged there. An offer for another night when Eddie is in town next turns into late night phone calls and surprise visits to Hawkins and weekends away whenever Steve can afford it. Eddie doesn't expect to end up actually falling for Steve Harrington.

[xoxoladyaz]

Eddie Munson, frontman and lead guitarist to the four-time Grammy award-winning metal band Corroded Coffin, is notorious for his incredibly complex and hard to replicate guitar solos. Naturally, when the creators of "Guitar Hero" announce their collaboration with Corroded Coffin in their next game, fans are eager to see him easily win the game.

It turns out that he's actually terrible at Guitar Hero, though, and it becomes a huge meme.

(Especially when his normie husband Steve, fed up with Eddie's days of whining while live-streaming on Twitch, picks up the guitar, scores a 96% on expert mode and walks out of the room without another word.)

[trashcanniballecter]

Eddie is a world famous rockstar so of course there are rumors and theories about him. They are almost all completely ridiculous. Very few, like how he used to be a drug dealer, are actually true. There is one theory that Eddie and everyone who knows him find absolutely hilarious. The theory that Eddie is a Nepo baby. The only son of an extremely rich and prominent family in Indiana. Sure that particular Couple is fairly secretive and the name of their son isn't publicly available. But Eddie is from their home town and he shares their last name! And it's not a common last name at all! They must be his parents and they must have some strong connections in the music world. How else could Eddie Harrington and his band have blown up so fast?

[steddieas-shegoes]

pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

rated t | 964 words | cw: language | tags: famous corroded coffin, pop star steve harrington, flirting, getting together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"No fuckin' way are we working with him," Eddie argues with their manager. "You're always so worried about our image and then you go and have us doing a song with a fuckin' pop artist?"

The manager, Anthony, rolls his eyes. "It'll broaden your fanbase. You know who spends money on shit? Women. You know who likes Steve Harrington? Women."

"Does he even write his own shit?" Gareth asks.

"Does it matter?" Eddie turned to him with a glare. "Even if he writes it, it's not our style."

"Maybe we could at least hear what he's trying to work with us on?" Jeff, always the calming presence, asked towards Anthony.

"He sent over a sample before we sign any agreements."

Eddie sat down in the chair furthest from everyone else, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, this isn't an official recording. Just what he did on his phone on his tour bus with his acoustic guitar. He arranged the bass already for Frankie, too, but said he's open to whatever Gareth feels is right for the drums." Anthony pressed play on his phone and the room was filled with strumming and a surprisingly raspy voice singing what was clearly a chorus.

Eddie could pretend he hated it, and maybe the guys would agree with him and they'd never have to speak of this again.

He couldn't hide his reaction fast enough, though.

His jaw dropped as he listened to the lyrics, surprised to find that they weren't just about going to a club and dancing or being in love.

Steve's voice broke at the end before there was shuffling and the recording stopped.

Eddie felt everyone's eyes on him. He closed his mouth and looked down at the floor, tapping his fingers against his arm.

"It's not bad," he finally said. "Not sure why he needs us, though."

"Apparently, his brother is a huge fan of you and suggested he try to work with you."

"I think we should do it." Jeff said, a note of finality in his tone that Eddie knew he wouldn't try arguing with.

"Yeah, can't hurt." Frankie shrugged.

"If he's giving me creative freedom on the drums, how can I say no?" Gareth smirked.

"Guess we're working with the pop diva, then."

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

He showed up to their studio in sweats and glasses, holding a tablet and a bottle of Tylenol. They started to introduce themselves as he found a spot on the couch.

"I'm really glad you guys were willing to work with me," he said after he shook everyone's hand.

Eddie stared.

"My uh, my brother, Dustin, he's kinda why I wrote this song and I know it means a lot that you agreed to be on it," Steve continued. "So, thanks. Hopefully it doesn't ruin your vibes or anything."

Eddie felt every wall he built crumbling with every word Steve spoke. God dammit, this man just had to be sincere and hot and talented, didn't he?

"Nah, we're gonna sound great together." Eddie smiled at Steve's wide-eyed look. "You wanna show us the whole song?"

Steve nodded, pulling something up on his phone. Another recording, this one more professional and included an electric guitar.

"Robin was the stand in for the electric while I did bass."

"So you can play bass?" Frankie asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, but my preferred instrument is piano. I just don't do a lot of slow songs. Guitar is what gets the women interested, or so they tell me," Steve smiled awkwardly. "But feel free to change some things up. I'm totally open to suggestions."

But really, it was damn near perfect as it was. Frankie made one tweak during the bridge, but Steve ended up loving it more than the original and told him so with a grin.

"You're a fuckin' genius!" He exclaimed.

Gareth started messing around on the drums while Steve and Eddie worked on the first couple of lines.

"Something still doesn't feel right," Steve mentioned.

"Maybe we change the rhyming pattern?" Eddie suggested. "You've got ABAB. Might work better to do AABB. Some of these words can be moved around to make that work."

Steve stared at the notes app for a moment, then looked back up at Eddie, beaming smile making his eyes squint.

"I could kiss you!" He shouted. As soon as he realized what he said, he blushed, looking back down at the phone. "I mean, thanks. That's a great suggestion."

Eddie searched Steve's face, coming to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Steve didn't care about what women liked when it came to his music.

"I have a pretty strict rule about kissing people I work with," Eddie said slowly, quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Yeah, no, that makes sense. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-"

"But we won't be working with each other for long, right?" Eddie continued, letting his hand rest on Steve's thigh. God, he was muscular.

"Um. No I guess not."

"Rain check, then. Until we've finished our professional relationship." Eddie couldn't believe he was suggesting this. Showing interest in a pop star. What's next? Dating one? Marrying one?

"Are you saying you wanna kiss me, Munson?" Steve suddenly sounded more confident.

"I'm saying we've got work to do before I can get my hands on you." Eddie tapped his thigh before pulling away. "So let's get to it."

"Dude! I got it!" Gareth yelled, interrupting their moment.

"Be right there!" Steve yelled back, not looking away from Eddie. "Might break a record for fastest recording time ever just so I can kiss you," Steve added quietly to Eddie before standing and walking over to Gareth.

"Well, fuck." Eddie sighed, smiling to himself.

[thorniest-rose]

rob zombie/rockstar eddie anon again! I’m so glad you liked the idea because I think it fits in the certain gross metalhead specific brand of dirtbag that eddie is. also this is a bit of a dump of metal/b horror lore, but the rough draft cut of house of 1000 had an extra 40 minutes of b-roll that the studio cut for being too violent and sexual. almost all of that footage was filmed after production just by rob in his basement with his friends, and it included his girlfriend’s character using a skeleton to get off and a whole kidnapped cheerleader subplot. like. I’m not saying eddie would try to sneak his homemade hardcore porn into a major studio motion picture, but that’s also exactly what I’m saying.

also the idea of a steve harrington version of the American Made Music To Strip By album art driving every metalhead in the world just a little bit off the deep end is too good

Oh my GOD but no honestly I love all of this?? I didn't know any of this but it's SO interesting. Just imagining Eddie and his crew in the basement of his mansion filming Steve getting fucked?? Maybe he's playing the cheerleader who's been kidnapped?? Oh my god and then the studio are like "Eddie we can't release this, it's porn and looks like a snuff film" so Eddie just puts it on the internet instead but maybe only for an hour or something and the film becomes this fabled thing and people argue all the time over whether it's real or not. While Steve just continues being Eddie's muse and put in all his music videos and covers of his albums.

Also ugh thank you so much for describing Eddie as a dirtbag??? I see him portrayed as so delicate and fey a lot (which is fine of course if that's what people like) but in my head he's a gremlin and a creep and a complete dirtbag so THANK YOU for agreeing with me!!!