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he's literally just a guy™️

Our two wicked Emperors!!! 🥵🥵

🥺 Spotted in the ST5 set tour released during Geeked Week '24 🥺

Eddie after wisdom teeth removal

“Babe…baby. Babe…baby!” Eddie calls out with his mouth tucked full of gauze. His mop of curls are tied back as he’s perched against pillows on his bed, pillows you’d re-fluffed for him three times already.

Eddie, you’ve never asked for fluffed pillows in your life.

They just don’t feel the same, babe. They gotta be just right.

And now you’d been gone for ages. An entire sixty seconds of time not being spent with your loopy boyfriend, as you grab him a glass of electrolyte water, along with an extra blanket for good measure.

“I’m right here, baby,” you assure him, padding in and setting his drink on the nightstand.

You move to unfold the blanket, setting it over Eddie’s lower half, being sure to tuck it in nice and cozy.

You admire your boyfriend from the foot of the bed, giggling as his sock covered feet poke out of the blanket as his taps them against the mattress.

He looked so cute sitting there. His stuffed pink cheeks that made him look like a cute little chipmunk, his eyes that struggled to remain fully open everytime he would speak, and the way he’d whine for any request he had, acting like the removal of his wisdom teeth was a major holiday.

“Doin’ alright?” You ask as you grab onto a foot, squeezing it gently.

“I’m doin’ good baby, just fine. Fine as a paintbrush.” He half-smiles as a corner of the gauze pokes out of his mouth. You manage to hide your laugh.

“Yeah? I think we might need to swap your gauze soon.”

“Need to swat my what?”

“Nothin’, baby,” you smile. “You sure you’re comfy? Need anything else while I’m up?”

“Don’t need a thing, my little apple pie of my eye.”

“Oh, that’s a new one,” you giggle as you climb into bed next to him. He makes grabby hands as you get comfy, nabbing just one pillow for yourself.

“Cuddles,” he groans.

“Okay, honey. C’mere, just be careful.”

He gets settled against your chest, as you pull over the blanket again, making sure you’re both nice and covered.

“Mmhm,” he sighs, content as can be.

“Get some rest, baby. I’ll give you some meds when we wake up from our nap.”

“Kay, goodnight. Or afternoon.”

“Sleep tight, Eds.”

A few moments of silence pass when Eddie lifts his head, “hey baby?” he whispers.

“Hmm?”

“Can you make me a snack?”

GIRL you are KILLING IT! GIRL i don’t think it’s MOVING ANYMORE. GIRL you can STOP BITING

Nonconsensual Sexless BDSM (Beating The Shit Out Of You In An Alleyway)

How to Get a Hot Date Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman run into a little jock trouble… but she'll snark their way out of it. And into something else. Contains: O'Donnell, an assembly, jocks being jackoffs, Evil Woman snark, discussion of dick size. Words: 1.1k

"Everyone, please make your way to the field for a special assembly," the dull voice of Higgins drones over the intercom.

"What now?" you groan, slamming your book shut and looking at Eddie in exasperation.

He thinks for a moment, narrowing his eyes and racking his brain.

"Aw hell, I think it's time for the Mothers Against Drunk Driving to make the rounds." You raise an eyebrow, and he continues. "They come through every year to tell sad stories about kids who drank and drove and died. Then somebody from the fire department tells stories about scraping bodies off the pavement. Real fun stuff."

"Sounds great," you smile. "Would be a real shame if we got lost on our way to the field."

Eddie grins, and you start shoving your stuff into your backpacks.

"Leave your things here," Mrs. O'Donnell instructs. "We're going as a class and returning here afterwards. Mr. Munson!"

"Yes, Mrs. O'Donnell?" he asks innocently.

"Attendance will be taken again when we return. No disappearing."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mrs. O'Donnell," he says seriously.

She keeps her beady little eyes on him all the way to the field anyway. You settle in on the rickety aluminum bleachers used for sporting events and watch the other classes fill in. If this had been a regular assembly held in the auditorium, Hellfire would have gathered in their usual spot and already been playing cards or something. But you're guessing that due to the serious nature of this one, as opposed to a pep rally or awards assembly, they're going for silence rather than camaraderie.

When everyone is seated and the assistant principal starts the introduction, Eddie starts to fidget. It's a good thing you came prepared. You pull a pen from your pocket and draw a hangman game on the exposed flesh of your leg, thankful that you decided to wear shorts today. Eddie grins, and the game is afoot… eh, a-leg.

Approximately one hour later, your legs are filled with games of hangman (featuring creative phrases such as "Higgins sucks balls" and "we should be fucking in the van right now") and tic-tac-toe. The games take place on your legs. The scoreboard is on Eddie's arm. He's slightly ahead, and being quite smug about it. He smirks and adds another slash to the EDDIE column, making you roll your eyes.

"Do you smell something burning?" you ask suddenly, a strong smoky smell invading your nostrils.

"Just me smoking your ass," he grins.

"No, seriously," you say, looking around. Eddie does too, and pops out of his seat with a yelp.

Eddie's bandana is on fire.

He jerks it out of his pocket and drops it onto the bench, stomping and attracting the attention of everyone in the surrounding rows. They stare curiously or hide snickers behind their hands.

"Munson!" O'Donnell hisses. "SIT!"

Laughter erupts from below. You look just in time to see several green and white blurs streak from beneath the bleachers. The color of sports jerseys and letterman jackets, of course. Eddie sees them too, and his body tenses. He balls his fists.

He takes one step before you reach out and grab him by the belt, tugging him back to you. His ass lands on the aluminum bench with a thump. His face is red. He's fuming.

"Too many eyes," you whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

Eddie huffs out a short breath and reaches for his poor singed bandana. The corner has burned off. He traces the charred edge with a sigh.

"Would you believe me if I told you it looks even more badass now?" you whisper.

He leans his head toward you and knocks it against your own. You keep your arms around him for the rest of the assembly, partially for comfort, but mostly because you're fairly certain that if one of the jocks so much as looks at him, Eddie's going to take a flying leap off the bleachers and come out of it with a murder charge.

The assembly concludes soon after. You manage to get back to class and get your stuff without incident, foolishly thinking that today's drama is over. You're at your shared locker, swapping books and getting ready to meet Hellfire for lunch when something hits Eddie in the back of the head. He flinches, and you both look to the ground.

A matchbook.

"What's for lunch today, boys?" an unmistakably jock-y voice calls from across the hall. You turn to see five of them watching you with nasty smirks on their faces. "Smoked freak?"

"Singed psycho?"

"Charred cunt?"

Eddie's fists clench.

"I wouldn't touch it even if it was charred," one of them laughs. "Even fire can't cleanse whatever Munson's spreading."

Your fingers close around the lapel of Eddie's battle vest. They're trying to provoke him. They want him to get himself expelled before he can graduate. That's all this is. You're not going to let that fucking happen.

"You think she spreads her legs for all of the freaks, or just Munson?"

Eddie's body is beginning to vibrate. Not good.

"Sorry to disappoint you, boys," you say, putting yourself between them and Eddie. "But you must be at least this big to ride The Freak Express." You hold your hand up in a pinching motion, with only a few centimeters between your thumb and forefinger. "I don't believe any of you qualify. I hear they're working on some kind of procedure to help out guys like you, though, so don't give up hope! I'm sure you'll see some action outside the boys' locker room someday!"

"What does that mean?" one of them mumbles to another.

"It means you've all got micro-dicks," Eddie says loudly, his voice echoing through the nearly empty hallway.

"The term micro-dicks seems very generous in this case," you smirk, eyes darting around the hall and planning a hasty retreat.

One of the boys clenches his fists and steps forward, but freezes when a sharp "HEY!" sounds from the end of the hall. All eyes land on Mrs. O'Donnell.

"You two," she huffs, pointing to you and Eddie. "Will be writing me essays about why foul language has no place in Hawkins High this afternoon in detention. And you," she says, turning her focus to the jocks, "have five seconds to get out of my sight, or your coach will be hearing from me."

They scatter. Mrs. O'Donnell gives you each a severe look over the top or her glasses and stomps back into her classroom.

Eddie seethes. De-escalation, stat!

"C'mon, Monster-Cock Munson, let's go get lunch," you say quietly, sliding your arm around his middle. "All this foreplay is making me hungry."

Eddie laughs and slams the locker door shut. He throws an arm around your shoulders and steers you toward the cafeteria.

"Good thinkin'," he says, voice low and lips close to your ear. "Gotta refuel before our hot date with O'Donnell."

Brawl in Hallway B Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: You mess with the Dungeon Master, you get the Hellfire Horns… or something. Or: Eddie, Evil Woman & Co. have had enough. Contains: Jocks saying awful things, Hellfire retaliating, lots of violence, brief appearances by lesser-seen Hellfire Parents. Words: 1.7k

"This is your final reminder to have your parent/teacher conference slips filled out and returned by tomorrow," Higgins drones during a special post-bell announcement that nobody cares about.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Eddie mumbles, dumping his books into his locker.

"You should show up as your own guardian," you joke. "Not as Student Eddie, but as Guardian Eddie. Do not acknowledge that you're the same person. Demand to know how young Edward is doing in class."

"Higgins," he says in his deep Dungeon Master voice, "Your treatment of Edward Munson is despicable. In fact, the bias you show toward every non-bootlicker in this school is downright disgusting. If you do not issue a formal apology and resign before the end of the week, you will be hearing from my lawyers."

You snort.

"I guess the freak doesn't have to worry about parent/teacher conferences," a loud voice calls from down the hallway. You and Eddie slowly turn to see a crew of goons in letterman jackets approaching. "Since he's the same age as the teachers."

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns back his locker. Yet another pathetic attempt to provoke Eddie into getting himself in trouble and prevent him from graduating. He's used to it. He knows better.

"I thought it was because his parents are dead," one of them smirks.

Eddie freezes.

"Just the old lady," someone corrects him. "I heard his old man beat her to death. Too bad the cops came before he had a chance to finish the job."

Steam begins to pour out of Eddie's ears.

"But no, the freak survived, and his creepy old uncle took him in. Wonder what was in it for him?"

Eddie's fists clench. You can feel your own blood pressure rising. Graduation. Think of graduation.

"I heard they share a bed in their shitty little trailer," one of them laughs. "Maybe that's why the freak's hair is so long. Closest thing to a woman the old man can get."

"Nah," another guy cuts in. "Why do you think Munson keeps making friends with the underclassmen? He's bringing home new holes!"

You and Eddie both snap at the same time, dropping your shit on the floor and advancing with balled fists.

Your eyes lock on the one doing most of the talking, but before you can reach him, a red blur tackles him to the floor. It takes you a second to realize that it's Gareth. Gareth threw the first punch. Er, executed the first tackle. Jeff and Grant rush in, too. Eddie's locked in combat with someone twice his size. You pick another target and fling yourself at him, fist first.

You know in cartoon fights, where it's just a cloud of limbs and someone sticking their head out to gasp for breath every once in a while? That's how it felt. You bite, you scratch, you claw, you think you might've heard a bone crack. You definitely caused a black eye. And got one, too.

Next thing you know, someone has a death grip on your upper arms and is dragging you backwards through the hallway. The rubber of your sneakers catches and squeaks on the floor. You watch them in a daze, feeling them pull at your legs when they stick on the over-polished floor.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" Eddie roars. You twist, trying to locate him in the chaos. A teacher has Eddie shoved against a locker; one of his meaty hands holds the back of Eddie's neck and squishes his face into the metal, and the other holds his twisted arm behind his back.

You start to fight again, trying to lose your own captor and get to Eddie.

"Young lady, you stop that!" You sink your teeth into a hairy wrist, and he yowls and lets go. You scramble off the floor and run toward Eddie, hunching over and letting your shoulder do the work; you catch the teacher holding him in the side, and he stumbles out of the way.

You and Eddie hold onto each other and survey the carnage. The jocks are standing together, like good little boys, across the hallway. Nobody's trying to restrain them.

Jeff, Grant and Gareth are out of breath and leaning against the lockers near you, two teachers standing in front of them with hands at the ready in case they try anything. They all have bloody noses, blooming bruises, and look like total bad-asses.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Higgins roars, skidding into the hallway in his cheap loafers.

"Those freaks attacked us for no reason!" one of the jocks cries.

Gareth spits, and - from across the fucking hallway - lands his bloody glob of saliva on the H of a Hawkins High letterman jacket.

You don't even have time to be proud of him; it's back on. The freaks and the jocks take another run at each other, and by the time your bruises have bruises, the coach is blowing his whistle and you're being shoved face-first against a locker by what you assume is a teacher who tells you to "calm down, young lady." You respond with a stomp to his foot that makes him grunt.

When you're all separated again, the groups are escorted in opposite directions. Well, the jocks are escorted. The freaks are hauled to the front office by shirt collars and too-tight grips on arms. You hope it fucking bruises so your mother can threaten to press charges.

You're dumped in a conference room, told to "sit down and shut up," and left there to rot. Higgins is probably getting the jocks' side of the story first.

Nobody sits in the chairs.

Grant hovers by the door and glares out the tiny window pane. Jeff and Gareth lie back on the table, resting their feet on the chairs. You sit on the edge of the table, letting your legs swing back and forth. Eddie paces.

"C'mere," you mumble when he starts to drive you crazy. Eddie comes to stand between your legs, resting his hands on your knees. You wince, and he slides his palms to your hips instead. You reach up and brush his hair out of his face, revealing a bloody cut near his hairline and a blooming black eye. He cradles your face, fingers tracing your split lip.

"You okay?" you whisper. He nods.

"You?"

"Be a lot better if I knew there was at least one jock casualty," you wink. With the eye that's swelling. "Ow."

Eddie grins, stretching his own split lip. "Ow."

You're both hit with a tragic case of the giggles, and he wraps his arms around you so you can lean your head on his shoulder and shake together.

"Alright," you sigh when you pull it together, "You're an expert in this field. What happens next?"

Eddie blows out a long, slow breath.

"You're all getting calls home and probably suspensions. I'm history."

"Like hell, you are," you grumble.

"It's okay," he says quietly.

"No, the fuck it's not," you argue.

"I had a good run," he shrugs and winces. "Ow. Your mom's gonna hate me for getting you guys in trouble."

"No, she's not," Gareth grunts, sitting up. "You protected us, like always. She's gonna rip Higgins a new one if he tries to expel you."

"He's right," you smile at Eddie, straightening the crooked battle vest he'd been dragged here by. "For once."

Grant backs away from the door, and the vice principal steps inside. You all cross your arms and glare in his direction.

"Your parents are in the process of being notified," he informs you. "You'll be called in one at a time as they arrive to discuss the repercussions of your behavior." And then he walks out and closes the door.

"Kay, guess we'll just wait here, then!" Eddie yells.

The room is filled with cackling.

After half an hour, you start guessing whose parent is going to spring them first. Which is no fun, because the answer is obviously Grant's mom. After forty-five minutes, you start to wonder what's taking so long. An hour into your detainment, Gareth's contemplating peeing on a fake plant. As soon as he reaches for his zipper, the door opens.

"You're all free to go," Higgins says tensely. "Your parents are waiting for you in the lobby."

"What's the damage, Hig-Man?" Eddie asks.

"One week of detention, and you'll all be helping out at the school carnival."

"…that's it?" you ask.

Higgins eyes land on you and narrow.

"Yes," he says bitterly. "Get out."

You don't have to be told twice. You all rush toward the door, down the hallway, through the front office, and into the lobby. Everyone's parental units, minus Uncle Wayne, are waiting. You all cautiously approach your parents. Eddie comes with you.

"What just happened?" you ask your mom quietly.

"Oh, nothing," she shrugs. "Just fumed all the way over here and happened to catch everyone's parents before they went in. We presented a united front. Mentioned how shitty a job that snotty little man has been doing at disciplining the athletes for their constant harassment. Did you know that Grant's mother keeps an actual log of things those pricks do to you guys? Those little assholes' reign of terror really adds up on paper. No wonder you guys finally snapped."

You and Eddie and Gareth stand there in shock.

"What do you say we grab a pizza or two on the way home?" she asks.

"Uh…" the three of you glance at each other, still processing.

"I'll take that as a yes." She turns to the rest of the group. "Since the bulk of the delinquents belong to me, I'm buying. Anyone else want to come along for pizza at our place?"

"I should get my son to the doctor," Grant's mother says worriedly, reaching out to touch his bruised face.

"Mom!" he huffs, embarrassed, shooting her a warning look with his eyes. The rest of you try to hide your smiles, for Grant's sake.

"Well…" Jeff's parents look at each other and consider it. "Sure, why not?" his dad laughs. "We'll stop by the grocery store on the way and grab salad fixings."

"Come on, Gertie," your mom smiles at Grant's mom. "I've heard that pizza with your friends can really expedite the healing process."

She caves.

And that's how you kicked ass, ate pizza, and… had to work the school carnival?!

Going to the diner with Eddie and while you’re looking at the menu, the wrapper of the straw hits your chest and rolls down in between your cleavage and into your bra.

Eddie slaps the table with his hand and laughs in victory at his aim.

this scene is so chaotic, but Eddie getting sassy with Robin is the best thing ever, even two years later.

Gonna Need A Bigger Bathtub Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman, Eddie, and the rest of the Hellfire nerds have been sentenced to helping out at the school carnival. There will be casualties. (EW kinda hijacked this fic, but it's still a wild night for all!) Contains: Everyone's own personal hell, violations of child labor laws, carnival games, heroic rescues, new pets, a happy ending... for most. Words: 2.8k

"This is such bullshit," Eddie growls, slamming the front door of his van.

"It's one day," you remind him as you slide out of the passenger's seat. "Half a day, really. It's the price of a diploma."

You meet at the back doors, where the rest of Hellfire is piling out into the sweltering parking lot of Hawkins High. On a damn Saturday.

"Eddie?" He turns to you, misery on his face. It's still decorated with traces of fading yellow bruises from the rumble with the jocks. So is everyone else's. "I tell you this with all the love in my heart, but: Suck it up, buttercup."

"Easy for you to say," he sighs, stripping himself of his battle vest and emptying his pockets into an old coffee can. "You're not in the dunking booth."

He slams the back door, locks it, and looks at his keys with hesitation. "I'll hold 'em," you offer. You pocket Eddie's keys, and he throws an arm across your shoulders as you walk toward the field behind the high school where the carnival is being held. The rest of the boys reluctantly follow along behind you.

Your official assignments were distributed last night, after you helped set this shit-show up. Now you're here, at the damn Hawkins High Carnival Fun-Raiser, ready to raise money (and fun!) for the stupid school you're leaving behind in just a few weeks. Eddie's graduating, you remind yourself. This is a small price to pay for that diploma he's been working so hard for.

"Where have you been?" Miss Click screeches when she spots you, waving her clipboard in frustration. "It's almost time to open! Go get set up! Now!"

You answer with mumbles and half-assed salutes as you pass. Today is going to majorly suck.

"This is me," you sigh mournfully, stopping at your assigned booth. The rest of the boys keep trudging toward their own personal hells, but Eddie stays with you to say goodbye. "Close your eyes, hold your nose, think of Ozzy."

"Who told you the secret to giving great ora—" You cut him off with a shove in the direction of the dunking booth, and he turns around and walks backward to grin at you. And then he stumbles, catching himself just in time to avoid a fall. You cover your mouth to hide a laugh, and he flips you the bird before he turns around.

You have been awarded the honor of running the fish bowl game. It's a table full of fish bowls that people try to throw ping pong balls into. If they win, they get a live fish in a plastic bag. You're hoping for a quiet night, banking on the fact that most people probably don't come to the carnival for a new pet.

You're in a good location; you can see most of the boys from your booth. Jeff is in charge of the balloon game across the way, where people throw darts at balloons and pop them for prizes. Grant's manning the Lucky Duck Pond nearby, where toddlers will pick up a duck and feel like a little winner every time. Gareth is glowering at his popcorn cart a little to your left. And when you stand in the corner and lean out a little, you can see Eddie eyeing the dunking booth warily.

Assorted jocks are set up with easy-to-assemble sports games. Uniformed cheerleaders sell raffle tickets. You have Patrick McKinney with some kind of basketball game to your right, and Chrissy Cunningham in the Kissing Booth to your left. That seems sanitary.

"How are we doing over here?" Overlord Click asks.

"Ready and waiting," you deadpan.

"Why haven't you put the fish in yet?"

"What?" you ask.

"You're supposed put the fish in the fishbowls, silly."

You look from the massive bucket of goldfish in plastic bags to the fishbowls.

"You want people to throw balls at the fish?"

"Why do you think it's called the fish bowl game?" she asks.

"Because you toss a ball into a bowl and win a fish?"

"Put the fish in the bowls," she orders.

"And if I don't?"

"Then perhaps Principal Higgins will have second thoughts about letting you and your little friends off so easy," she says through pursed lips. "Now put the fish in the bowls, or I will put someone who can follow simple instructions in charge of this booth."

You'd like to put her in a fish bowl and let kids throw balls at her. Maybe let someone dunk their balls in her bowl, too. But the thought of Hellfire having suffered a week of detention for nothing gets to you. You reach for a fish bag, untie it, and carefully dump the poor little guy into a bowl.

"Every two or three bowls will do," she says. "We don't want to run out of prizes."

She walks away, and you want to chuck a fucking fish bowl at her.

You stare at the bucket of bagged fish and settle for staggering three of them across the front row of bowls so they're visible to people walking by. You apologize to the little guys as you pour them in.

You're surprised by how many people are willing to haul a goldfish around the carnival all day. But they get their dumb balls in and take their bagged fish and carry on. You take money and distribute fish until dusk, when your relief shows up to grant you fifteen minutes to eat and use the bathroom. How generous.

Since you have no appetite, you decide to check on the boys.

"Hey," you grin at Grant, yawning with boredom by his little duck pond. "Gettin' lucky yet?"

"Kill me," he mouths as a new herd of toddlers approaches. You back away from them with a horrified expression, and he laughs as he takes their mom's money.

"How's it going?" you ask Jeff, leaning against the plywood outside of his balloon-filled booth.

"Oh, just great," he rolls his eyes. "Love watching these degenerates throw darts in my direction. If I get hit, I will sue."

"As you should," you affirm.

"I'd rather be here than in the dunking booth, though," he says. "Poor Eddie, man."

You turn and look in Eddie's direction. He looks like a drowned rat.

Because the person trading money for balls is Jason Carver.

"Oh, no," you groan. "See ya," you say quickly. Jeff waves, then presses himself against the plywood wall as another wave of darts are launched toward the balloons.

There's a long line of jocks waiting for a shot to dunk the freak. It looks like he's barely catching his breath between drops, and exerting all his energy into crawling back on the stool.

"Look here, boys," Jason Carver says loudly when he spots you. "Does the little freak girl wanna play?"

"Maybe she does," you respond. "But her break's almost over, so she won't have time unless these gentlemen want to let a lady cut in line."

Jason gives his flunkies a look, and they part for you like a sea of dickheads. Eddie's breathing heavily on his little stool above the tank and still trying to brush his wet hair out of his face from the last dunk.

"Three tries for $3, miss," Jason says sweetly. Eddie's spotted you, and is shaking his head, but you hand over your cash. Jason gives you three balls.

You throw them quickly, before the pricks can figure out what you're doing. You launch them high and far, way over the target and into the woods. You almost wish the gym teacher could've seen it.

"You bitch," Jason seethes.

"And yet, you're the one who has to fetch," you smile, walking around him to the tank. You reach in and hand Eddie a hair tie. "It's almost over," you remind him. Eddie's in the process of tying his hair back when he's sent into the water again. You both yelp in surprise; Eddie at being dropped again without warning, and you from getting drenched by the splash. You turn to see Carver leaning against the target with a smirk on his face. He set it off manually.

"Thanks for that," you smile sarcastically. "It's really hot out here. I don't envy the person who has to suck Higgins' sweaty balls tonight. Maybe you should suggest he take a dip in the tank before the carnival closes."

You leave before he can work out what you've said, checking your watch to see that you need to get back to your fishy booth.

More fish have been put into open containers. Damn you, temp!

Business carries on as usual, until you notice that two elementary-aged kids are standing off to the side and watching you.

"Can I help you?" you finally ask, sick of being stared at like… a goldfish in a bowl.

"My fish died," Brace-Face pouts. His pal Glasses looks on nervously.

"What'd you do to it?"

"I didn't do anything to it!" he argues with a stamp of his little foot. "You gave me a bad one!"

"No refunds or exchanges." Is this an official policy? Probably not. Are you going to indulge this brat? Definitely not.

"Told you you shouldn't have taken it in the bounce house," Glasses mutters. Your eyes narrow.

"You took a live fish into the bounce house?" you ask.

Brace-Face freezes.

"Give it," you command, holding out your hand for the dead fish. He drops the bag into your hand. The poor little fishy is indeed dead; floating upside down in a plastic prison filled with too-warm water. You turn your gaze from the fish to the kids. "Scram."

They do.

"What was that about?" Miss Click asks, appearing out of nowhere.

"His fish died and he didn't want it anymore," you shrug.

"Did you give him a new one?"

"No."

"Good," she sighs. "We can return the live ones and get a refund when the carnival is over."

"The live ones?" you ask.

"There are bound to be casualties," she shrugs. "Anyway, I'm here for a cash pickup."

You take a fistful of bills out of your apron and hand them to her, concocting a plan as she counts the money and writes on her clipboard.

When she leaves, you dart over to Gareth.

"Give me some popcorn bags."

"Why?"

You huff in annoyance. He puts on his customer service voice.

"Small, medium, or large, ma'am?"

"Large."

He hands you a stack.

"Come see me when you get a break," you instruct, tucking them under your arm and returning to your booth.

Fun fact: You can fit four fish bags into one large popcorn bag.

The first batch of refugees (and Eddie's keys) are smuggled away by Jeff after a whispered explanation. He walks away with a grin and a popcorn bag held to his chest, looking like everyone else walking around the carnival with a snack.

Grant and Gareth's breaks come next, and eight more fish are rescued. They seem pleased to be sticking it to The Man and saving lives. Eddie is the last person to get a break, only an hour before the carnival is scheduled to close. This event is violating so many labor laws.

"This is the worst day of my life," he groans, stepping over the side of your booth and collapsing in the grass beside you. He's still dripping from his last dunk.

"Then I really hate to ask, but…" you bite your lip. "I need a favor."

Your sweet Eddie, soggy and wet and miserable, is the hero of the day. He transports twelve fish to the safety of the van. After his last run, he comes back with flushed cheeks and a twinkle in his eye.

"What about these little guys?" he asks, pointing to the fish in the bowls.

"I think their fates have been decided by a crueler god," you sigh.

"Munson! Your break is over! Stop loitering and get back to your booth!" the aforementioned crueler god barks, chasing him off with a threatening wave of her clipboard.

That's alright. Less than an hour to go, twenty-four fish saved, and a diploma with Eddie Munson's name on it being printed very soon. It's worth it.

When the time comes to pack up, Miss Click comes to collect the rest of your cash.

"How much do you get for taking the fish back?"

"How many are left?" she asks, eyes darting from her fistful of cash to the bucket that the boys of Corroded Coffin helped you empty.

"Just the ones in the bowls," you answer.

She performs a quick fish count and cringes. There are ten left.

"I don't even think it's worth trying to take those back," she sighs.

"Can I have them?" you ask. She eyes you suspiciously. "I've grown attached to the little fellas," you shrug, looking to the ground shyly.

"Fine," she laughs. "It's barely a dollar's worth of fish, and saves me an hour. You did a good job, moving so many! I bet there's a lot of happy kids out there, and a lot of dough in here!" She waves the leather zipper pouch containing the funds.

You smile, grateful that she didn't notice how few people were actually walking around with fish.

"We have to return the bowls though, so you'll have to put them in bags when you take them."

"That's alright," you grin. "I can handle bags."

You bag your remaining fish and present them to the boys with a grin when the post-carnival clean-up is complete.

"Look, guys! I get to bring a few fishies home!"

Your joy is met with eye-rolls and groans.

"What the hell are you gonna do with all those?" Eddie asks once you're safely in the fish-filled van.

"Eat them?" Gareth suggests.

"I bet if I put them into the tub with you, they'd eventually nibble you to death," you threaten.

"Nah, don't do that," Jeff says. "His funk will kill the poor little fishies." Gareth smacks him, and a playful slap fight breaks out in the back of the van.

You're all laughing as you pull out of the parking lot… but your smile soon fades. What are you going to do with all of these fish?

"Anybody want to take a fish or two home?" you ask hopefully.

"Nope," the boys in the back say in unison.

"Eddie?"

He puts his hand up, blocking his face from your view so you can't work your puppy-eyed magic. You roll your eyes.

"I'm gonna need a bigger bathtub," you sigh.

Thirty minutes later, after Jeff and Grant are dropped off, Eddie pulls into your driveway.

"How are you going to break it to Mom that you brought home a hundred fish?" Gareth grins.

"I had accomplices," you remind him. "And there are only… thirty-four?!"

Two Days Later

"Okay, babies, are we ready?" you ask, smiling down into one of two buckets full of goldfish.

Much to your surprise, your mother did not murder you for bringing home 34 mostly stolen goldfish. She found the situation hilarious, and declared that she'd always wanted a backyard fish pond anyway.

Your babies were freed from their bags and put into buckets for the night. The next morning, there was a group expedition to the home improvement store.

It took all weekend to get the hole dug and the liner laid and the filters installed, but you all had so much fun doing it.

(Except maybe Gareth, who hissed "I'll get you for this" every time he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.)

There's still work to be done with the overall landscaping, but flowers are your mother's department, so those can wait. Now, it's time to introduce your fishies to their new home.

You look to Eddie, standing on the other side of the little pond with a fish-filled bucket of his own.

"Release the fishes!" your mom calls, camera at the ready.

You both start to pour, slowly, and watch the little gold creatures plop into the pond and start swimming. When the buckets are empty, you set them aside and meet in the middle, kneeling beside the pond to peer down into it.

"They look so happy," you whisper.

"Well, yeah," Gareth grunts, dropping to his knees beside you. "They have a memory span of like three seconds."

"So do you," you and Eddie say together, looking away from your fish long enough to smirk at each other.

"That's good, though," Eddie says quietly, wrapping an arm around you. "Because they don't remember the carnival. They've already forgotten all the bad stuff. This is their life now."

"And it's gonna be a good one," you smile, leaning into him.

"How do we forget that fucking carnival?" Gareth mumbles.

Eddie glances back to see how far away your mom is. She's staring at a butterfly on one of her flowers through the camera's viewfinder.

"The good shit's in the van," he whispers. "Our memory loss comes later."

"a plastic star wars mug from 1977 (+ matching bowl)"

"cleen ‘kiss that frog’ set (accordion gnome mug)"

"campbell’s soup mug, likely 70s"

"white mug with cable knit sweater sleeve/warmer (no brand)"

"“don’t bother me, I’m crabby” mug (potential maryland souvenir?)"

"mcdonald’s garfield mug (double sided)"

"canadian mcdonald’s travel cup (the lid is missing so they probably just use it as a normal cup now)"

"Garfield “It’s Not The Valleys” 1978 Enesco Beer Stein" (edit: originally identified by @bienmoreau - dumbprep on twitter, source)

"early 1980’s garfield head mug"

"1950’s “coffee and” mug"

"1970’s morton salt girl mug, featuring the 1921 morton salt girl"

"maxwell house mug" identified twitter user meilkii (source)

(edit: OP is twitter user BIDERVERSE, as shown in the title and source, not me, all words within the quotation marks are his)

so for our first date i was thinking that maybe i could eat your heart like a pomegranate in front of you?

friends-to-lovers with eddie

cw: reader has body image issues, modern day

"scoot over."

"sorry, i'm too cozy," you grin smugly at eddie, wrapped up in fluffy blankets with your head perched against both of his only two pillows.

"it's my bed!"

"yeah, and it's real comfy, thanks. did you get the snacks?" you bat your lashes up at him.

"you are impossible," he rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, even though he eats it right up.

"but yes, you know i got 'em." he says, setting down the bowl of buttery popcorn on his nightstand before pulling the scrunchie from your wrist that hangs off the bed.

he wears a cropped black sabbath tee with sweats- the ones he always catches you staring at him in, so of course he smirks when your doe-eyed gaze inevitably lands on his happy trail...and follows up his strong inked biceps...to his pretty ringed hands that tie his hair back..

"want me to grab your phone? a picture'll last longer." he winks, pulling back the covers and bulldozing his way in next to you.

"very funny," you scoff, hiding your heated cheeks against soft worn cotton.

he gets you both settled and cozy, spooning you while you prop up your laptop making sure it's in a good spot for the both of you to see.

"still don't get why we can't just watch this on the tv. this screen is tiny in comparison!"

"oh hush, just trust me. it's a cozy experience, okay? all we need now is for it to start raining outside. then it'll be complete." you smile back at him.

"whatever you say, sweetheart."

and he would make it rain for you if he could.

you press play and shuffle your hands back under the covers, giddy in your contentment.

curious music begins playing as your selection of coraline starts up into the opening credits.

eddie smiles, happy in your joy, he reaches for the popcorn bowl and offers to feed you some "open up, get it while it's still hot." he pops a small handful into your mouth.

"thanks, eds. it's good."

"yeah?" he asks, not waiting for confirmation as he starts munching on it himself.

"let me know when you get thirsty." fuck, she has me whipped, he thinks to himself.

"okay," your voice mellows as your head falls heavier against the shared pillows. "are you comfy?" you ask him.

"yeah, sweetheart, i am." his voice is low.

"'kay," you let out a long sigh, molding closer to his body.

his hand rests carefully against your hip while he rests his chin atop your head, peering at the screen.

domestic bliss even though you're 'just best friends.' yeah, right.

"you like it so far?" you ask him thirty minutes in.

"yeah- it's quirky and creepy, i dig it."

"good. i thought you might."

he looks down and smiles, although you can't see it.

his hand that rested on your hip cautiously moves to your stomach, and before he does what he hopes you'll let him, he asks you "this okay, sweet girl?"

"mm-hmm." you respond, even though you don't know what he plans on doing.

tingles light throughout your body as he lets out a deep breath against your neck. that pretty ringed hand your were gawking at earlier gently presses and then grabs at your soft tummy.

you gasp but let yourself feel the emotions it causes. he's not judging, not criticizing- just feeling another part of you. a part you'd been so against anyone else ever seeing out of fear.

it also feels good to let someone hold you there. an area you'd been self conscious about for ages, only for eddie to swoop in and love on. it felt even more delicious knowing how much he enjoyed it as well.

"you're so pretty, you know that?" he whispers against your ear, sending another burst of tingles to sweep through you.

"i love your pretty body. your tummy-" he reaffirms, rubbing back and forth across the skin before pulling you closer into him, "your pretty face, pretty thighs, pretty arms..pretty much everything i could want."

you don't respond verbally, except for a small groan as you attempt to hide your face in the pillows.

"don't you go hidin' on me," he teases, "you're perfect. most perfect girl f' me, and i wouldn't change a fuckin' thing, baby."

he taps a finger under your chin, signaling for you to look at him. and as soon as you do, his curls are curtaining your face as you feel the soft press of his plush lips against your own.

"eds," is all you can whisper between kisses as he continues his lovin' on you.

bliss, bliss, bliss.

the forgotten movie plays until the end, long after you'd turned to face you body towards him, burying your head into his chest, and let out a few long-held tears.

the background starts to fill with the sound of the rain as it begins prickling against the roof, when you raise your head to look up at eddie; lovesick eyes shine back down at you.

"hi," he smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

"i think you're perfect, eddie. thank you for giving me room to grow, and making me feel safe enough to be me," you stroke at his palm.

"you're always safe with me, beautiful. i want you just as you are." he reassures.

"for now, get some rest, okay, sweet girl?"

"okay," you hum, nestling back against him as the rain and his hold on you soothe you to sleep.

I tried to understand Maria in this movie, but nothing.

corn maze, pumpkin patch then a scary movie night please i'm asking so nicely

Eddie Munson is a CERTIFIED lover boy. He is a cynical, abrasive and theatrical metal nerd, but he is so clearly a lover, and that’s why he’d love you regardless of your aesthetic. Metal head? Great. Girly girl? Spectacular. Tomboy? Amazing. Flamboyant? Astounding. More hip hop based? Hot as hell. Goth? Riveting. Chola like? Incredible. Skater boy? Sensational. Nerd? Phenomenal. Pick-me? Sure, why not…..

The aesthetic is just a plus to him, it doesn’t matter if you match, if you compliment each other, or if you fit some trope, it is not solely the reason he is in love with you. He. Loves. You.

It’s the person wearing the aesthetic that really fucking matters.

be mindful of why you're on tumblr to read fanfics readers, u see how i don't post hateful comments on other writers' works, cause that's very inconsiderate and not cutesy. instead, if i don't like the fic i simply stop reading it and move on to read another fic that i'll like, very demure, very respectful, very approachable. let's be mindful 🙄

Can’t get over the fact Eddie chose to pull down his shirt and show his tattoos instead of just pointing to the ones on his exposed arms.

in case you were curious about the book joseph quinn is currently reading

I love x reader because essentially I'm going "Hey YOU! You're in this story now. You are my character. You are under my control. Trust me trust me it's gonna be good. You'll nut like five times AND your fav blorbo is gonna be madly in love with you. "

"I wouldn't say that. I wouldn't do that."

I know. But you aren't YOU. You're MY character. and I SAID you said that. So go with it and enjoy the adventure.