Anti-fascist androgyne camp counselor, loves arts and crafts
@arcanemoody
R.,Goth Auntie, They/she, the ghost of @alitbitmoody's past returned to agitate the living and kin smol nerds in Lovecraftian horror, kaiju and DC properties. * Instagram//Patreon * NO TERFS/TERF REBLOGGERS ALLOWED.
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7.7k, E: a fic which dares to ask "what if they hooked up the night of the haldeman debacle, before the titular debacle"
8.8k, G: ponderings on the concepts of: christmas vacation, meeting the parents, and marriage. I blame this on their real life couple portmanteau. they started it
2k, G: inspired by @rubber-garage's latest. if nobody got me, I know shower time got me; or, the day after the titular debacle
4k, G: justice 4 holiday babies, with a twist of post-dental anesthesia trope. just for funsies.
3k, gen, G: history happens in places people live everyday, a story is something that ends, and a best friend is somebody you sit on the curb and talk with
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the space race may be the funniest point in history period and i'll stand by that. the US is like "yes whoever gets into space first will prove once and for all that our economic model is superior and that we are, in general, the superior country of superior and smarter people." then the soviets just went and did it and the US freaked out and needed to cover their ass so were like "WE MEAN THE MOON, WE MEAN THE FIRST TO LAND ON THE MOON."
When I was a freshman in a red-state college, I had a professor who taught Newtonian physics with a super thick Russian accent. The student body was unusually conservative for a state college, so there was a sort of general bemusement about learning physics from a Russian, but even back then the Cold War was far enough in the past that not even the red tribe was inclined to stir up trouble about it.
He was aware enough of this to get off on trolling the class, though. Whenever some force diagram in a homework assignment needed to be weightless, instead of being some generic spacecraft it would be “Mir” specifically. And he’d always use ‘cosmonaut’ instead of ‘astronaut’, that kind of thing.
One day about halfway through the semester, he’s doing this with in-class examples on the board, and one of the students finally gets up the guts to troll back a little. So this kid shouts from the back of the auditorium, “Hey professor, what’s the difference between a cosmonaut and an astronaut?”
And this beautiful man spins around on one heel to face the class, whiteboard marker triumphantly over his head, clearly having been waiting for this moment the entire semester:
“Cosmonaut go to space first! Ha!”
An abandoned theater in Rochester, New York. Formerly a pornographic theater, then just a facade after the Walgreens next door gutted it to use as a warehouse. The Walgreens with it's shampoo and baby formula and half of the store locked in cages; the contradictions stare into you. You go because it is the nearest pharmacy, close in walking distance for you and your disabled loved ones.
The Walgreens shuts down and it too, is now just a vacant facade, next to a vacant facade. You stare into the large windows meant to advertise it's contents, now only showcasing absence. A wide open space with torn up floors. You think about how perfect the location could be for low income housing, for squatting, for anything other than standing as a constant reminder of the city's failures to her people. The parking lot is empty, save for the occasional cop car, to ensure no one uses the lot or the building for anything at all. The cop ensures the space will stay as useless as himself.
They add letters to the theater's marquee; a reminder and encouragement of surveillance. "If you see something, say something. In progress call 911, over and done call 311." They board up the doors, ensuring that the space will stay in it's intended form: empty, useless, an eyesore that reminds everyone of their place. The freshly boarded up door has been emblazoned with a message from those who lack.
"A man would shelter, if he could / in the nook behind this new plywood / the building, abandoned / the man is too / how I wish you'd imagine / that it were you."
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[image description: a painting of two crows perched on a yellow road sign with a swerving black arrow. the label beneath it is partially broken off, but the words “next” and “miles” are legible. behind the sign and the cawing crows is a darkening night sky.]
A question I get asked a lot while working at a public library is "how do you deal with homeless people?"
And the answer is, we don't.
The unhoused people who come here seeking refuge 99% of the time understand that they will be kicked out if they misbehave.
The people you have to watch out for are Jessica, who only came because the kid she didn't want had to visit for a homework assignment and she just *needs* to yell at her child for asking to borrow two books or stay an extra five minutes, or Michael, who came in to look at porn on our computers for whatever fucking reason, or Karen who just wanted to come by to throw a fit that the particular book she wanted was checked out and harrass our staff about our collection being too limited.
99% of the time, the people we need to ban are middle to upper-middle class white people while the homeless and mentally ill/disabled people mind their own damn business and are honestly some of the best patrons we have.
I bring this up because today we had a man come in. He stopped at the desk, pulled up a chair and said "I'm newly homeless and was living in my car. I'm disabled. It was impounded. It's raining. I don't have a phone and I don't know where to go tonight."
And we did what we could to help. He was incredibly kind and patient despite his obvious anxiety and stress, more than most able bodied, housed patrons are to us under much less dire conditions. I liked knowing that we were the first place he came.
We have so many people like this who come in everyday. Many are quiet and keep to themselves, but sometimes they talk to us.
They tell us about how they're taking a few courses on a scholarship they applied for from our library's computer at the local community college to get their diploma. Or ask about a manga or dvd or book we might have to help them pass the time.
One woman, who comes in daily with her tattered walker always says hello to me and likes to work on the new jigsaw puzzle with me when we set one out.
So like, treat unhoused people like people. Treat disabled people like people. I don't want my library to feel like the only safe space in the world, but I'm glad it can be one of them.
I'm so sick of hearing about how "the homeless are ruining everything" when they are some of the kindest, most respectful people here. Sometimes they mutter, might not have had a place to shower, and might need a little extra space for their backpacks but that's FINE. It Doesn't Matter Actually. None of that is a problem or any of my business to care about (unless they request help/services), and I also don't think it's any of yours.
libraries provide vital and lifesaving services and i will die on the hill you have to let people who are mentally ill and disabled and homeless and politically disagreeable to you still access those rescourses. its simply too important to society
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@steddiebbang 2026 project announcement | team #038
artist: @psychotic-nonsense | beta: @midwestharpy
SUPER excited (and terrified) to announce my first ever steddie big bang project! can't believe how lucky i am to have such a BRILLIANT artist and beta reader to work with on this!!! thank you for loving s2 aus with me <3
details:
rating: M
wc: 25k~
cw: graphic violence; detailed explorations of trauma; substance abuse
tags: S2 AU; canon divergence; eddie joins the party in S2; not-quite-enemies to lovers; angst/comfort; past trauma; past child neglect and abuse; canon typical violence; discussions of foster care; miscommunication; awkward flirting; happy ending
summary:
The funny thing about wearing a mask for so long is that eventually you almost forget you’re wearing it.
Steve Harrington has spent his entire life trying to be someone that people love. That people want to be around. That people want to stay for. He’s spent so long carefully crafting this persona that he’s not even sure who he is without it anymore.
Eddie Munson has spent his entire life just trying to survive. The best way he’s learned to do that is by not letting anyone get too close. By giving everyone some overly dramatized version of himself. Because everyone who’s ever gotten close to who he really is has either left or been ripped away.
One blurry night together bleeds into the jagged edges of the Upside Down returning. As the two of them fight off yet another wave of otherworldly forces while protecting some rather death-wish hungry barely-teenagers, their own demons suddenly demand to be confronted, leaving Steve and Eddie unable to keep hiding – from themselves and each other.
lil preview below the cut!
excerpt:
And for some reason Steve does not fucking understand.
For some reason he will continue to question for long after this.
For some reason he still won’t have an answer to years from now when they’re well and truly past this.
For some reason, Steve puts himself between Eddie and everyone else, says a quick “You might want to run” over his shoulder as he pushes Eddie toward the door with one hand, the other –
Well, in the span of approximately 1.7 seconds, Steve smiles, flips Tommy the bird, and kicks the leg out from the makeshift bar table.
The folding table holding a smattering of drinks.
The folding table holding the absolutely massive punch bowl.
Just in time for Tommy to collide with it.
And crash to the floor.
“Holy fucking shit.” Eddie laughs, hot on Steve’s ear.
Steve laughs too, actually, kind of shocking himself as he watches the punch bowl shatter – watches the greenish-red liquid spray everywhere. The fake eyes and dismembered candy fingers scattering across the floor. The partygoers shrieking as they’re coated in punch.
Tommy falls across the table as it collapses, getting completely drenched in punch and glass, the punch bowl half-beneath him as it crumbles.
Jason is hot on his heels, stumbling and falling on top of Tommy, the pair of them groaning in tandem.
“Oh–” Steve is laughing hard now.
Laughing as he watches Jason and Tommy writhe on the floor, helplessly trying to wipe the punch and glass from their…well, their everywhere, really.
Turns out glass likes to stick in things.
“Holy fucking shit.” Eddie whisper-laughs behind him again, a sentiment Steve wholly agrees with, except –
“Run, man, seriously.” Steve’s eyes are wide as he pushes Eddie a half-step towards the door, even as the laughter is still coursing through him, making him feel more alive than he has in who fucking knows how long.
“You’re fuckin’ dead.”
Which comes from a voice Steve has grown to loathe in a few short months.
Billy goddamn Hargrove.
Steve turns, watches Billy stop on the other side of the table catastrophe. People are still screaming and laughing and running around – mostly, they’re running away from whatever the fuck is happening. Forming a perimeter around the spectacle, circling them like they’re in a fucking ring about to face off.
“Running. Running now.” Eddie says, which, yeah – Steve told him to, so why the fuck is he still here?
“Dude, go.” Steve half-whispers over his shoulder, still trying to push Eddie toward the door. But, Eddie is more of a solid pillar than he would’ve imagined.
“Uh, yeah.” Eddie says with all the sarcastic merit of a 5th grader. “Let’s.”
“Wh–”
“Jesus.” Eddie’s hand wraps hard around Steve’s bicep, full-bodily yanking him back toward the patio door.
Billy is honest-to-god actually growling at them, mouth open, like, teeth bared and shit, fists clenched at his sides as he stalks across broken glass and spilled punch, when Steve…
Well.
Steve holds up a finger, somehow actually making Billy stop a foot away, surprise etched on his face. Then, Steve grabs a half-empty cup left forgotten on a shelf by the door.
“Sorry, did you want some?” Steve asks before taking a sip. “How rude of me. Here.”
Then, in some feat of King Steve of days past, he takes a big mouthful, pulls down his sunglasses just enough and winks at Billy, before spitting the drink all over Billy. “Enjoy.” Steve croons as he throws the rest of the cup at Billy and blows him a fucking kiss.
Steve laughs hard as he turns and tumbles through the patio doors and out into a run across the yard with Eddie motherfucking Munson still holding onto him.
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