Eddie Munson and the Rainbow Unicorn Tattoo of Doom
Let me just start by saying that this headcanon came to me at 1 am. I woke up in a cold sweat and knew I had to write it down before it was lost forever.
I fully believe that Eddie Munson, if given the time and support, could absolutely become famous. If not mainstream famous, then at least in a way where he's known throughout certain communities. He draws people to him; people that feel lost or different. He's got fans that are Queer, punk, metal. Fans that are young and fans that are old.
Fans that have just found out about him.
And fans that have known him for a long time.
And I fully believe that the fans that have known him a long time are the ones that will notice... certain changes.
Eddie Munson, as long as he's been in the spotlight, has had scars. They pucker and pull at his cheek and arms, some of the worst collecting around his abdomen that are in full view when he's lost in a particularly sick guitar solo.
The media uses these to their terrible advantage. He cuts a scary looking figure - at least that's what the conservative mothers and fathers in their button up blazers think - and he's got a certain haunted look in his eyes when he sings about demons and other worlds that can leave concert goers breathless.
And then there are the tattoos.
When he started his career, he had a few of them. There were bats, a scary little monster, a tiny dragon.
The start of his career was... rough. The tabloids talked about overdoses. About a man named Wayne - Eddie's father - coming and going from a rehab center. A month later, more people began drifting in. Unknown, young people who looked nothing like rock stars or metal fans. Especially the one wearing the polo shirts and pressed slacks and just so happened to go more frequently than the others.
It takes a year, but Eddie begins to get back on his feet. And that's when fans start to see it.
Eddie Munson looks a lot... happier. Bouncier, even.
And not only that, but he's got a new tattoo.
A nail bat appears down his ribs.
By the next year, an ice cream scoop appears over his heart.
Fans that have stayed long enough track his skin like its the pages of a particularly intriguing novel. There are zines and fan club Q&As and photographs following Eddie year by year.
They track when a little bird is added to his wrist. When a pen is added somewhere near his elbow. A 20 sided die makes it onto his shoulder.
There was a near uproar of intrigue when a kiss mark showed up against his neck. That grew tenfold when a tattooed ring appeared around his finger, an actual ring safely stored away in his dressing room.
But it was the tattoo that showed up ten years into his career that garnered the most attention.
Eddie's tattoo's have always changed, but they've always had at least one constant. They were always, always, without color. Shades of black were all that ever graced his scarred skin. It was the only constant the fans knew to be true in their wild collection of rumors and speculations.
And then the unicorn appeared.
Bright. Gaudy. A little sloppy. It showed up on his side one day; bright purple in a dark blue outline. Above its head was a very scribbly rainbow.
"Maybe its a creature of darkness," fans whispered. "Maybe it's like... the rainbow of doom or something..."
It was the best they could come up with.
This was mostly because Eddie, loud as he could be on stage, was actually a very private person. Which meant that no one but his closest friends (and one polo shirted husband) got to see the same scribbly little rainbow and purple unicorn tacked onto his fridge with a Hawkins, Indiana magnet.
"You know that people won't think it's very metal," Steve had pointed out one night, weeks before the tattoo had become a reality. They'd just finished dinner and he was handing washed dishes over to Eddie to dry.
Eddie admired the picture on the fridge, storing a newly dried plate into a cabinet. Down the hall they could hear their daughter singing along with Cookie Monster, probably scribbling another picture with her arsenal of crayons. There were lines on the kitchen doorway tracking how much she'd grown in her three years of life. Sticky fingerprints lined the walls and banisters. There were My Little Pony dolls scattered in every room.
"You kidding?" he'd said, looking back towards his husband, mundanely holding a glass, yellow gloves all the way up to his elbows. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing more metal in the world."
