#under 500

[regulus-books]

183 words - spring - @jegulus-microfic

Regulus wakes up in the morning to a rough crashing noise, startling him. He immediately rushes out of the warm covers, skipping steps down the stairs and swinging into the kitchen.

His unruly haired husband is standing in the middle of the room, face paused in a grimace, his hands stuck in place. A pot is shattered on the floor, shards of terra cotta clay are scattered all over the room. The anxiety that was settled in Regulus' stomach withers away rather quickly.

James' eyes finally meet Regulus', an apologetic look in them. "I'm sorry, Reg, it was supposed to be a surprise." He frowns, standing back up to his full height.

"What're you doing, hm?" Regulus walks up to him, wrapping his arms around James' neck, as James' fall to his hips.

"I was gonna plant your apples, you know? Spring's coming up."

"That's okay, Jamie. Now we can do it together. But you're cleaning this up first, okay?" Regulus smiles, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on James' lips, a wink and then back up the stairs to brush his teeth.

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #regulus books #jfp #james fleamont potter #rab #regulus arcturus black #james x regulus #regulus x james #fluffy #fluffshot #jegulus fluff #jegulus microfic #jegulus microfics #under 500

[adkanatzar]

the minotaur was punished just for existing, for being born a “monster”. sitting in his labyrinth, roaming day after day. sometimes he fights intruders, men forcing their way through the only home he’s ever known. there are cracks in the labyrinth, little holes to see through and into the beyond.

do you think you can see the sun through the cracks?

the question is a trick, trapped underground. he will never see the light of day, do you think he even understands what he’s missing? locked away for the act of being born. he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand.

the minotaur met a big, strong man one day, an army with him. he had never seen so many people, armed and ready. his home, his poor home, trampled and invaded.

the minotaur fights back, it does nothing. he feels every bit of it as he’s torn apart. and as he falls to the ground, head looking to the side, he sees another crack. there’s a light, glowing and bright, shining from the other side, a warm sun welcoming him with open arms.

#greek mythology #the minotaur #under 500 #179 #writeblr #untitled

[sweetdreamfallx]

I made a funny meme about me playing Terraria

#artist on tumblr #terraria #meme #under 1k #under 500

[tumbwerewr]

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#shoes #shoes for men #shoes for women #under 500

[seikumo]

5 Letters

Nonfandom, under 500 words, Concept, Stranger Danger

 Leaving is something Andania does in stages.

It starts with the letters. There's at least one every day in the mailbox, sometimes two, that no one ever seems to notice. They're just carried inside and left on the kitchen table until she eventually stumbles across it. Usually at dinner. Each one is filled with a plea from someone Andania's never actually met, begging them to take on some kind of divine power and go traveling across all of reality like some kind of Doctor Who knock off.

None of them explain why they want her specifically, or why they want to be rid of this mysterious power in the first place. They barely even give a location if they did want to accept the power.

But the thing is, each letter is also curious. The strangers- and she's counted five of them total at this point, based on the handwriting since they don't introduce themselves- ask all kinds of questions about her life. They ask about what shows she's watching, or the books she's reading, or even ask for fanfiction recommendations. She can go on a babbling rant about a fanfic they read the night before in an unmarked letter, and they'll send back a response despite the lack of address.

Which is weird, and kind of making her paranoid- especially after they took one right off their desk, in their bedroom- but it's also the closest thing to genuine human interaction that they've had in quite a while.

She wants to call them her friends, but she still doesn't know their names. Is this how people end up in cults? It sounds like the kind of thing that drags people into cults.

If it is, then it's working. Staying at home all the time has done absolutely nothing for their mental health, and with four other people crammed into one house, things were getting tense. Andania couldn't help lighting up at the sight of a new letter every day. It was something lighthearted to look forward to.

#writing #nonfandom #under 500 #unfinished #Concept

[elitheaceofalltrades]

Containment - double drabble (211 words)

A full moon illuminated my room through my window. Usually I would have sat in my window seat awed by its beauty but I was curled into a tight ball on my bed. I was too focused on my own tormentto spare the moon a passing glance.

I felt my eyes water as I dig my nails in so tight I felt blood, but I couldn't let he pain bother me. I gasped out, squeezing my eyes closed as I tried to contain the darkness within me. It was impossible to contain, and foolish of me to think that I could do so without the aid of the demon. Yet, I had no choice; if I let it loose then they would find me. I bit the spot above my knee, tears falling as I desperately tried to keep it all in. I was grasping at straws. Despite the blood and pain, despite closed eyes and clenched teeth, I couldn't keep it in.

There was only one thought on my mind as it bursts out of me, unleashing itself. The sheer force of it's freedom causing me to fall flat on my back. As I lay there, slowly losing my grip on consciousness one thought lingered. One single thought.

They're coming.

~Eli

Ace of All Trades, Pro at None😆

Buy me a coffee

#Edit of something I wrote in 2016 #slightly improved but not my best #looking back my teenage self was not as good a writer and they thought they were #writing #short fiction #under 500 #under 250 #double drabble #rewrite #old work made better #work: dark side #might actually write this one day #might not #Ace of all Trades #ko fi account

[smokestarrules]

these are four different characters idk what to tell you 

#technically 5 bc hooty but. yk #filed under Things I Am Emotional About #toh #toh spoilers #the owl house #the owl house spoilers #amity blight #lilith clawthorne #smokey speaks #500 #1k #10k

[amendup]

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#GorillaTripod #DTR260GT #MiniTripod #MobilePhoneTripod #PhoneMount #RemoteControl #FlexibleStand #DSLR #ActionCameras #CompactTripod #Stable #Versatile #Portable #Affordable #under 500 #under rs500 #amendup

[theparallaxview]

I feel like both internet liberals and leftists have a tendency to reverse-Great Man Theory Ronald Reagan at the expense of any insight into the history of his policies or the conservative movement that led up to him.

#YOU CAN’T JUST BLAME EVERYTHING ON HIM WITHOUT TACITLY ABSOLVING COUNTLESS OTHER MONSTERS AND THE WHOLE FUCKING SYSTEM OF ITS GUILT. #IT’S DEEPLY INDIVIDUALISTIC AND ARGUABLY ANTIHISTORICAL. #Anyway this is because I saw a post that blamed him for the US backing brutal regimes in the global south under the guise of anticommunism. #When that famously started back in the post-WWII era and has its roots in Monroe Doctrine ideology. #FYI I fucking hate him but he’s a part of a larger picture. #(Anyway I study American politics during the Cold War with a focus on the rise of the far right.) #original content #100 #500 #1k

[teddypdf]

my butch mother, annie, and their friends (70s - 80s)

#moms #they let me go through a shoebox full of pictures and I cried multiple times #they said their gf at the time took that picture of them hiding under the blanket on the day of graduation and that they didn’t wanna go #cause none of their family were coming to see them #but their gf made them go anyway and they were happy they did :) <3 #anyway. they’re my inspiration i adore them #mios #mis fotos #butch #butch history #butch lesbian #lesbian history #500 #1k #5k #10k

[brookheimer]

shiv was not being altruistic nor intellectually self-interested when she voted against kendall. that was pure raw visceral desperation to maintain some semblance of dignity that she felt kendall being ceo would shred her of. sometimes people do not act in other people’s best interests or their own best interests. sometimes people do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons just because it feels like the right, the only, thing to do. shiv could not let kendall be ceo. she just couldn’t. not because she wanted to sacrifice herself to “stop the cycle,” not because she made a calculation and decided tom was her best interest — because the thought of kendall being ceo and acting like That the rest of their lives when shiv earned that job, she fucking earned it, that was too much to fucking bear. watching him sit in dad’s chair, conduct that vote, grin with entitlement and cockiness and certainty — seeing that elicited a visceral painful all-consuming sensation not dissimilar to overwhelming nausea that, summed up in two words, would simply be: fuck. no. she couldn’t live with that. she just couldn’t. it’s not kind. it’s not smart. it’s just human. painfully, destructively human. because sometimes, that’s all there is to it. not just for shiv, but for everyone. god knows roman and kendall have had those same feelings, made those same self-destructing yet necessary-feeling decisions throughout the show. why does it have to be different for shiv? why can’t she be painfully destructively human, prone to impulsive ill-conceived viscerally felt actions, like everyone else? why are we incapable of allotting her the same nuance and humanity (the good and the bad), the same trauma-informed self-destructive life-ruining hamartias, as we do her brothers? why can’t we fit a whole woman in our heads?

#very surprised to see so many ‘shiv stopped the cycle on purpose blah blah blah’ takes like that didn’t even cross my mind as a motivation #of hers #it wasn’t calculated — i mean kendall winning would be to her benefit in terms of power and respect. that would be best for her #it wasn’t just jealousy or anything either; it wasn’t a coherent thought or plan #it was just I Can’t Fucking Do This #i can’t sit there while he smiles like that when he sits in dad’s chair and hisses that’s fucking right under his breath when someone votes #his way. not when that job was fucking MINE. it was MINE. i can’t- i can’t fucking do it #it’s about preservation of emotional dignity #it’s about self-respect #it’s ironic though because there are few things more undignified and less respected than being a quiet betrayed trophy wife to a weak ceo #husband who earned his position even less than kendall #but she’s not thinking clearly. she’s not Thinking. she just acted because there was this visceral need to act #succession #succession spoilers #shiv roy #100 #500 #casey shut the fuck up about shiv roy #1000

[sshirakumo]

"Let's go, Eren."

"...Okay."

#these came out more magenta than i expected but i like it #i needed to see them under the stars i NEEDED it #eren jaeger #eren yeager #armin arlert #eremin #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #shingeki no kyojin final season #h.gif #500 #1k #userdabiluna #useradrienne

[low-numbers-game]

What I Had Today *getting over the Flu*

*1 Tumeric ginger tea with a spoonful of raw honey

*1 chobani zero sugar yogurt cup (strawberry) topped half a banna, half tablespoon honey and 1 small orange

*Ginger tea with lemon juice and honey

*1 cup chicken bone broth,mixed veggies, and a small spoonful for white rice

*1 Tumeric tea (same from earlier)

*¼ cup of cottage cheese,blended topped with spices and served with sweet peppers

Total: 486 kcal

***This does not include the medicine I took (just some cough syrup and tyneol tbh) ,nor the pedialyte I was drinking to make up for my sweating and upset stomach.***

#under 500 #lowcal #flu

[pearlcaddy]

locklyle + hands: part 2 [part 1]

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwoodandcoedit #anthony lockwood #anthonylockwoodedit #lucy carlyle #lucycarlyleedit #locklyle #locklyleedit #smallscreensource #tvedit #userpickles #pearlcaddyedit #pearlcaddy l&co #500 #about to be in a three week intense deadline mode for final thesis submission so idk how much giffing i'll be doing but wanted to post this #all the casual arm touches get to me #esp gif five the black library one where she grips his arm only for them to go in different directions?? #the intimacy and trust in their hands!!! like her dragging him up the stairs in gif seven #the hands under her arms as he lifts her up in gif nine #god his hand on her shoulder in gif 13 as he tries to stop her choking--esp the gentle hand in contrast to how frantic his face is #their hands touching on his thigh in gif 14 #and then her holding his hip in the last gif which i don't think people have lost their minds over enough

[seikumo]

A Plan

Nonfandom, under 500, more an idea dump than actual writing.

A plan like this? It's difficult to know where to start. I think, in this case, it starts with a child.

The child and the gods that will eventually claim it aren't related. That family is found, rather than born. The child grows up in a perfectly ordinary home, with a loving family. That doesn't stop them from feeling alone, though.

It's a consequence of being human, in the end. People need other people who can understand and relate to them, and Andania has never felt much of that, for one reason or another. Their own neurodivergence drove others their age away, and made it difficult to connect with their siblings and parents. The large family made it difficult to find the time to snag any one on one interaction with them anyway, and in the end they withdrew. They satisfied themself with being alone, wrapping stories and imagination around themself like ribbons, pretending it made up for the lack of anything real.

Andania moved out later than most of their peers, seeing no reason to isolate themself more than necessary as an adult. They'd noticed how the siblings who had moved out rarely called or visited, and knew that they would bother even less with them. Eventually, though, the need for privacy won out.

#writing #idea #under 500 #nonfandom #idea dump

[steddiehyperfixation]

not so tragic a thing after all (steddie ficlet)

Eddie has an essay due in two days. It’s a big one, the last one of the semester, of the year, the one that will make or break his grade and determine whether or not he finally gets to graduate high school. 

And he can't write it. 

As in, he's been sitting at his desk and staring at a blank piece of lined notebook paper for hours, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and twirling his pencil but not producing a single word. It's not that he doesn't understand the prompt or that he doesn't know what he's going to write about, because he does understand it and he does have ideas, he just can't write it. There's some block in his brain, something that keeps him stuck there and anxious, feeling each unproductive second slipping by like a physical thing brushing past him, but still unable to make himself write. 

Eddie's always struggled with essays. Out of all the subjects, he has the lowest grade and the highest number of missing assignments in English Lit. Which is such counterintuitive bullshit because that's his favorite subject, and it's because it's his favorite subject that he's failed it every year. 

It's like this: If Eddie doesn't understand a math assignment, he doesn't care, he'll just scribble in some bullshit numbers or turn it in incomplete and take whatever grade he gets with an impassive shrug and zero damage to his self-esteem. He's just not a math guy, and that's fine. Same with science or history. But he is a words guy. Eddie is a storyteller, a writer, a lyricist; words are his weapons, his outlet, his safe space, his identity. He takes pride in his ability to artfully string his words together, and a shitty grade on a shitty essay is something he takes personally. He'd rather not turn in anything at all than turn in a collection of words he's not proud of. 

Right now the words aren't coming together just right in his head and so his hand refuses to move to write them. He tries to tell himself that it's okay if it's not quite right, that something written, even badly, is better than nothing written, and that he's only guaranteed to fail if he fails to turn this in. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be done. He tries to force his hand to move, to write something, anything, but the signal isn't getting from his brain to his hand because his fingers continue to twirl his pencil between them rather than curl around it and press the lead to the paper like he wants them to. He just keeps sitting there and staring and fidgeting and not writing like he's been doing all day, all week, all month. 

Eddie berates himself for being so stuck, yells and shouts and curses at himself to get his shit together and just write. But he doesn't, won't, can't. The seconds keep pushing past him and the deadline inches closer and closer and his page remains blank and he's so goddamn frustrated he's on the verge of tears. 

There's a knock on the front door that makes Eddie jump and then a knock on his bedroom door that makes him shove his shamefully empty paper under a book and out of sight as Wayne pokes his head into the room to tell him, “Your boy’s at the door.” 

“For Christ’s sake, Wayne, he's not my boy.” Eddie rolls his eyes at his uncle. He drops his pencil and stands, grateful for the distraction. “Told you a million times, he's just a friend.” 

“Uh huh,” Wayne says, which isn't an argument but very much sounds like one, the way he drags out those syllables with a sort of deadpan disbelief. 

Eddie valiantly ignores him and pushes past him to open the front door for Steve. “Hey, Harrington. What're you doing here?” 

“Uh-” Steve shrugs, looking almost like he doesn't quite know what he's doing here himself. “Missed you, I guess? It's been a minute.” 

Eddie's been isolating himself the past couple weeks, canceling on Hellfire and band practices and hangouts, insisting he needs to focus on his essay. He didn't realize any of his friends had taken notice. 

“Oh, and I brought snacks!” Steve adds brightly, holding up the bag of chips in his hands like he just remembered it was there. “Thought you might need a break from your schoolwork.” 

“Oh.” Something warm blooms in Eddie's chest and tugs a smile from his lips as he moves aside to let Steve in. “That's sweet, thank you.” 

Steve returns the smile, stepping inside. “Anytime. So - how's the essay going?” 

“Uh, yeah, it's kind of not,” Eddie admits with a self-deprecating sigh, running frustrated fingers through his hair. He nods for Steve to follow as he heads back to his room and pulls the stupid blank page out from its hiding place to show off his failure. “Been at it for weeks and I still can't seem to get a single goddamn word down.” 

“Hm.” Steve frowns a little at the paper for a second, but his attention appears to be far more focused on the book the page had been shoved under: a well-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. He smirks as he picks it up and reads the title aloud, teasing, “Didn't take you for a romantic, Munson.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It's what the essay's on.” He snatches the book back before Steve can start to flip through it and read anything he's written in the margins. “And it's not a romance, it's a tragedy - which is exactly what I was going to write about, actually, if I could just write it.” Eddie sits down heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the blank paper. “Was gonna argue that people tend to focus too much on the romance of it all, but they're missing the point entirely, and this tendency to over-romanticize the story completely overshadows and trivializes the actual themes of the play. It’s not about love, not really, or at least not in the ways people think. It’s-” 

His tangent stops short as he notices Steve beginning to rifle about his room - setting the bag of chips down on the nightstand, grabbing a pencil off the desk, scooping a random spiral notebook (his math notebook, as it happens) off the floor. Eddie turns sideways in his chair and looks at him strangely. “What are you doing?” 

Steve turns the notebook to a blank page and sits down on the edge of Eddie's bed, already starting to scribble words across the paper. “I'm taking notes,” he says, like it's obvious. “Don't let me interrupt you.” 

Eddie's eyes narrow. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Steve's reassurance is quick and comes with a rapid shake of his head. He looks over at Eddie, expression earnest and genuine as he says, “I’m just interested in what you have to say. I wanna know what you think Romeo and Juliet is about. If it's not romance, what is it?”

Eddie regards him skeptically at first, answers in a measured tone and glances warily at the pencil continuously scratching ‘notes’ onto Steve's paper. But the more he speaks and the more Steve engages with such honest reactions of interest and encouragement, the more Eddie gives into the tide of thoughts in his head and lets them spill from his mouth with increasing enthusiasm: He describes the inherent tragedy of a life cut short which could've been prevented, rambles about the reality of being young and stupid and consumed by emotion, rants about the mortality rate of blind bigotry and prejudice, and waxes poetic about love itself being something tragic and dooming, occasionally grabbing the book and reading out lines of the actual poetry to illustrate his points. 

When Eddie's well of words on the subject eventually runs dry, Steve continues writing for just a few seconds longer before he glances up with a grin and stands to toss the notebook and pencil onto the desk next to Eddie. “There's your essay,” he announces. “Well, kind of. You might want to rearrange it a little-” 

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, staring at the open notebook covered in the scrawl of Steve's handwriting with wide-eyed disbelief. He looks back up at him. “You wrote my essay for me?” 

Steve shakes his head. “You wrote it. I mean, it's all your words exactly as you said them, all I did was transcribe it.” He shrugs. His tone and expression are still casual and light, but the hunch of his shoulders and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets now speaks to a sudden shyness as well. “You said you just couldn't get the words down, I know what that's like. I get that way too sometimes - just…stuck - where the thoughts and the intention are there but the action is just frozen. It helps to talk it through, but it also helps to kinda separate yourself from the task a little too. I thought if I could do that first step of getting the words on paper for you, it might make it easier for you to copy some of it down and then start to write it and reorganize it on your own, might get you past that block…” 

Eddie kind of really wants to kiss him right now, feeling young and stupid and consumed by emotion. He leaps to his feet and hugs Steve fiercely instead. “Thank you.”

Steve nearly stumbles from the force of the hug and lets out a startled laugh before returning the embrace. “Don’t even know if it worked yet. Thank me after you finish your essay.”

Eddie shakes his head against Steve's shoulder. “Thank you just for trying - just for being here, even. I’m sure there are much better ways you could've spent your Saturday than listening to me ramble about Shakespeare, but you stayed here anyways and made an effort to help me when you didn't have to. I appreciate it.” 

“Nothing else I’d rather do. I like listening to you talk; I like how passionate you are about your opinions, even if they are a bit cynical.” Steve pulls back with a smile, squeezing Eddie's shoulders for a second before dropping his hands. “It's gonna be a killer essay.” 

Eddie beams at him, the warmth in his expression a reflection of the glow that's unfurling in his chest again.  He plops back down at his desk and picks up his pencil, hovering it over his own blank paper as he looks over the words - his words - that Steve had written. He takes an anticipatory breath…and starts to write. 

Steve was right, restating the words once they've already been written down by someone else does depersonalize it enough to make Eddie finally able to write it and it does get him past that initial block. Soon he's able to move on from simply copying down the words and begins to add new ones and make edits. A laugh escapes him like a cheer, a short burst of something giddy with satisfaction and relief. He's writing, and writing and writing and writing, the words flowing from brain to pencil to paper perfectly and with ease, the way it should've been from the start. 

Steve hangs off to the side at first like he's trying to give Eddie space to work, but ends up slowly drifting closer. When Eddie cheers, Steve's hand goes to his shoulder again, giving it another squeeze, encouraging and proud. His hand then stays there, thumb idly rubbing across Eddie's shoulder blade as he watches the other write. Eddie feels like he's got electricity running through his veins.  

Somewhere within the next hour or so, three pages and two sheets of paper later, Eddie slams his pencil down and sighs with finality, “Done!” This earns him another shoulder-squeeze from Steve and a bright smile when Eddie looks up at him. “You are a fucking lifesaver, Harrington, I don't know what I would've done without you.” 

“Glad I could help,” Steve says, his smile turning sheepish and his hand finally dropping from Eddie's shoulder as he gives a modest shrug and adds, “I’m sure you would've managed on your own, though.” 

“I wouldn't have. I would've failed,” Eddie says seriously. “I was fighting an epic battle against my brain and I would've lost, would've doomed myself to yet another year of pointless high school existence, if you hadn't swooped in and saved me like a goddamn knight in shining armor.” He cracks a grin and stands to dip into a melodramatic bow. “I am forever indebted to you, my liege.”

Steve laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. “You're being dramatic.” 

“I’m allowed to be.” Eddie straightens and grabs his essay off the desk, holding it up and shaking the papers. “This is my golden ticket out of high school, man, you have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“Well then, we should celebrate.” 

“We can finally eat those chips you brought.” Eddie moves around him and reaches to grab the bag of chips on the nightstand, but Steve catches his hand. 

“Screw the chips,” Steve says. “This calls for a proper celebration. How about we go get dinner somewhere? My treat.” 

Eddie glances down at his hand in Steve's. “Are you asking me out, Romeo?” he asks as he looks back up, a teasing edge to his grin so he can play it off as a joke if he needs to. 

“Depends.” Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, eyes flicking across the other's face almost nervously. “What would you say if I was?” 

Eddie’s smile softens and he finally curls his fingers around Steve's hand. “I'd say yes.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then yes,” Steve says, his face breaking into a bright and beautiful grin, “I am absolutely asking you out.” 

Another cheer of laughter bursts out of him, giddy now for an entirely different reason. “What are you waiting for then, big boy?” Eddie holds Steve’s hand tight, already starting to drag him from the room. “Where are you taking me?” 

Steve laughs as well and lets himself be pulled along for a second before taking the lead as they head for the front door. “You’ll see.” 

To Wayne sitting on the couch watching some game on the TV, Eddie shouts over his shoulder in passing, “Finished my essay, we’re going out to eat!”

Wayne nods in acknowledgement. His eyes flick to the boys’ joined hands, a knowing smugness in his expression as he mouths subtly to Eddie, ‘Your boy.’ 

Eddie just grins in response, and then he’s out the door. 

Steve takes him to a diner, Eddie’s favorite one, and it makes his chest warm again that Steve knows that. They grab a booth in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. Steve makes fun of Eddie for dipping his fries in his milkshake, Eddie makes fun of Steve for covering his directly in ketchup. It’s all talking and laughing and easy banter, same as it’s always been since they’ve been friends, except now Steve holds his hand and hooks their ankles together under the table and peppers smooth compliments into the conversation that have Eddie grinning and blushing like crazy. The famed Harrington charm is in full effect, moves and lines he’s sure Steve’s used hundreds of times on hundreds of girls, but now they’re just for him, woven so easily into the dynamic that already exists between them, and Eddie basks in it. 

It’s the best first date he could’ve asked for. 

Perfect gentleman that he is, Steve even insists on walking Eddie to the door when he takes him home. Steve kisses him on the porch then, soft and sweet and promising, and Eddie’s starting to think that maybe love isn’t so tragic a thing after all… 

Maybe he needs to rewrite his essay. 

#in which i project my own academic struggles onto 3x highschool senior eddie munson #the first 500 words of this is literally just me venting lmao #wrote this instead of an essay if you couldn't tell #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ficlet #mine #(now also on ao3 under the user brokenfandoms)