Ao3 Comments Will Be Like I Like This Line Of Your Fic And My Reply Will Be Like Fantastic Thank You

ao3 comments will be like “i like this line of your fic” and my reply will be like “fantastic thank you here’s my entire thought process about how i ended up with that particular line and also an outline for another fic i have and fifteen resources i used to research 1980s politics” and nobody asked for that chill

Eddie posts a TikTok one weekend that’s essentially just a thirst trap of Steve.

They’re in Dustin’s apartment because Steve is helping him reorganize his living room to accommodate this huge fish tank he bought on Facebook Marketplace. Eddie is there but as a long time sufferer of chronic body pain, he is not allowed to help.

And also, he doesn’t want to.

He just chilling on the couch with Dustin’s snake, Monty, while he zooms in and out on different parts of Steve.

Steve lifts one end of a heavy bookshelf and Eddie zooms in on his biceps. Steve hangs a picture frame on the wall and his shirt rides up, Eddie zooms in on the dimples on his back. Dustin says the picture needs to be moved over two inches after it’s hung up and Eddie zooms in on the annoyed way that Steve’s hands rests on his hips.

Dustin asks for Steve’s opinion and Eddie zooms in on the cute little pensive look on Steve’s face. Steve bends over and Eddie zooms in on his ass and “-Are those my jeans?”

Steve: Did you switch over my laundry like I asked you to do yesterday?

Eddie, who did not do that:

Eddie, about to cause a problem for fun:

Eddie: Bit weird to wear my pants, right? It’s like our dicks are touching.

Steve, instantly offended and outraged: Oh, you can have my dick in your mouth but not your jeans? That’s too weird for you, Eddie “The Freak” Munson???? Huh?

Eddie grins like this was exactly the outcome he wanted and opened his mouth to respond, but Dustin cuts him off like, “Guys, the rules.”

*Dramatic zoom to the letter board by the door that says BANNED (1) magnets, (2) talking about Steve’s dick*

Eddie has always loved music

Metal doesn’t entirely define who he is, but it helps him express who he is better than any other genre he’s known yet. Still, he loves other music, too. He loves the old country songs Wayne taught him, he loves the rock that crackles through on Hawkins’ only cool radio station, he loves the pop songs his mom would play in the car when she was still there to drive around with him in it

More than anything, though, Eddie loves the music of people

It sounds kind of dumb when he tries to explain it out loud (Wayne had at least humored him; his friends had looked at him like he’d been trying to sell them on a particularly outlandish D&D campaign), so he’s stopped trying, but every single person brings with them their own personal soundtrack – the little noises that come together in a way that’s unique to just them

Wayne has the rasp of sturdy denim, the gurgle of their old coffeemaker, the click of his lighter. It’s solid, earthy music, but not to be mistaken for anything common

Gareth’s is much faster-paced; a staccato beat. The rapid clicking of a pen, the squeak of slightly too-large boots, the constant drumming of his fingers on whatever surface he’s nearby

Dustin’s got paper: the whisper of turning pages, the crinkle of a crumpled sheet, the occasional, jarring pitch of its ripping into pieces. Something regular and constant that feels like it’s always building

Chrissy – Eddie hadn’t known her long, but he’d been left with the impression of something bright but… sad. The jingle of her jewelry, the gentle swish of her skirt, and the soft underscore of her tired sighs

But Steve’s– Steve’s is hard for Eddie to pin down. It’s hard to tell which parts are really his music. The clatter of pots and pans as he cooks, the sound of him mumbling to himself when he thinks no one can hear? The wood-metal clatter of a nail-studded baseball bat hitting the ground, the slam of car doors? Sure, steady footsteps and the absent, nervous knocking of knuckles on wood?

(The comforting rustle of bed sheets, the pitch of his voice when Eddie touches him just right?)

Eddie can’t pick just a few defining sounds. He can’t leave any of them out, he can’t bear to. He hears what Steve sounds like when he laughs—really laughs—and realizes he’s too greedy for all of Steve’s noises to settle for anything less than a symphony of them

“What?” Steve asks one night in bed, in the after, leaned back against the pillows and catching his breath when he turns his head to see Eddie staring. “What’s the look for?”

Eddie shrugs. “I like the way you sound.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, smiling like that wasn’t a weird thing to say, like he’s delighted that Eddie is saying anything at all, and isn’t that a fucking revelation? “What do I sound like?”

Eddie smiles back. “My new favorite song.”

Eddie: When you're on public transit and start thinking "let me just rest my eyes a bit", that's the devil talking

Eddie: But she is very persuasive

Eddie: Where am I

Steve: ... Eds, do you want to talk about it?

Eddie: *laying face down on the floor* Why would you automatically assume that something is wrong?