Mundus sine caesaribus
we are not a free people until all people are free! highly political / human rights mixed with fandom (particularly stranger things) all pronouns
First things first... FUCK ICE. FUCK TRUMP. FUCK MAGA. FUCK TRANSPHOBES. FUCK HOMOPHOBES. FUCK PEOPLE THAT DON'T AGREE WITH THE INHERENT RIGHT TO SHELTER, FOOD, HEALTHCARE, AND THE RIGHT TO LIVE. Hit the fucking block button if you don't agree with any of those things because this is not the place for you and I want nothing to do with you. This isn't a 'oh, but I agree with everything but one' kind of statement either. If you don't agree with all of that, get away from me.
Now:
If you could have sworn you'd been here before... I deleted my account in 2024 and have had been operating on the DL since (liking a lot, reblogging like crazy, and occasionally leaving comments but otherwise I've been hiding in my little hobbit hole). Now apparently I'm posting shit people like again.
I lost a lot of my tumblr short writings, HCs, and mutuals. Some days I don't feel like I am ready to be back here but that doesn't matter. My page is where I post my own works, I vent, and I share (maybe too much) political things.
Do NOT share any of my shit with AI, I will find you and it won't be pleasant for any of us (I cried when I hit a squirrel with my car, it will likely be more unpleasant for me). Fuck AI.
A note for ANY fandom: here and here
Here's a list of my works (I'm building it back up with new works as well as reposting old works).
You can also find me on AO3 here.
Mental health links (or random links) here!
WORKS IN PROGRESS:
what if instead: master list | ao3 temporarily on hiatus
you sound like i know you: part 4 in the Trapped with You series that I will one day finish - not on tumblr yet | it's on ao3
Hunger Games AU: it's only here on tumblr and it may not be continued extra sad version here.
Smash: AO3 | Part 1 Absolutely Smash | Part 2 Famous My ASS | Part 3 Drip Trip
COMPLETED WORKS:
The Ghost of You: coming to tumblr sometime | ao3
Silence: not here yet | here on ao3
i wouldn't be caught with you: part 1 | part 2 (coming sooon!) | ao3
light in my darkness: apparently, I like to title my works in lower case - soon to be on tumblr | ao3 has it!
Don't Stop Me Now: Another fun one slotted to join tumblr soon | ao3
HOLD THE BUS: Look, this one is all caps and not here yet | A-OH-3
Can You Handle It?: Well, can you handle waiting??? | AO# (jk AO3)
All I Need: is for this to be here already! COME ON TUMBLR! | a03
One Penny: Ouch... Maybe? | ao3
Every Inch: is it done yet? Omg.. more?! | AO3
Trapped With You: it's about to get real... cozy when this gets here | ao3
Stuck with the Thought of You: PART TWO TO TRAPPED WITH YOU WAITTTT - Read that first. (still not on tumblr???) | AO3
Darling Angel: Part 3 of Trapped with you (read 1 first!) (then read 2, obviously) | AO3
Did I have too much fun with that? Yes. Does it matter? Ye-! No, not really. :D
Tumblr Only Works:
Hot Steve
🎵There's something about me that is so poisonous, it's dangerous. I can't be enough.🎵
That’s Louis Rossman, a repair technician and YouTuber, who went viral recently for railing against Apple. Apple purposely charges a lot for repairs and you either have to pay up or buy a new device. That’s because Apple withholds necessary tools and information from outside repair shops. And to think, we were just so close to change.
This guy inspired me to repair my own macbook. First of all, you should know that I am not… like, I have to look up HOW to look up what my computer specifications are. Tech, that ware either soft or hard, is not a subject in which I experience comfort or competence.
But my puppy peed on my keyboard, and I asked the apple store, or the fucking mac cafe, or the godsdamn Computer House Chill Zone or whatever cute ass name they have for their bullshit store, and they said it would be TWELVE HUNDRED DOLLARS TO REPLACE MY KEYBOARD. I’m not even exaggerating.
So I asked the internet, well how hard IS it to repair? And I saw this guy’s video, and while I am no techie, I AM fueled by spite, so I was all “oh, they do that shit on purpose specifically so they can charge me $1200 bucks or make me buy a new computer hunh? FUCK THEM” and I bought all the tools I needed for about $25 and I bought all the parts I needed for about another $25 and I watched a few tutorial videos, and I replaced my own keyboard.
So, once you are doing the actual deed, it becomes pretty obvious that they are finding creative ways to make this much harder than it has to be on purpose. On thing that stood out to me is, instead of all the tiny screws being the same size, there are about two dozen very slightly different sizes. They could easily be all the same size, or like, two sizes at most, but no.
These mother fuckers will take a panel that screws into place and they’ll use a different size screw for each corner. They are so close that you almost cannot tell them apart visually, but they each will only screw into the matching corner. Like, it’s a pretty clear “fuck you” to anyone trying to do repairs.
anyway, this guy is also fueled by spite, and doing holy work, and I have mad respect
ifixit also makes kits and instruction for nearly every part for consoles, computers, phones, tablets, just about anything. We’ve replaced multiple parts on our old 3Dses at this point. It’s not nearly as hard as you might assume and very worth it to learn how to repair your own electronics.
[Image Description: Text of the poem “To the Young Who Want to Die” by Gwendolyn Brooks, next to a black and white photo of the poet. Poem reads as follows:
Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.
You need not die today.
Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow.
Graves grow no green that you can use.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.
[Image Description: Text of the poem “To the Young Who Want to Die” by Gwendolyn Brooks, next to a black and white photo of the poet. Poem reads as follows:
Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.
The gun will wait. The lake will wait.
The tall gall in the small seductive vial
will wait will wait:
will wait a week: will wait through April.
You do not have to die this certain day.
Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.
I assure you death will wait. Death has
a lot of time. Death can
attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is
just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;
can meet you any moment.
You need not die today.
Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness.
Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow.
Graves grow no green that you can use.
Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.
It lets people access scientific articles for free. This is dangerous. It helps the free flow of knowledge and reduces the competitive edge of all the people who worked really hard to have been born into a wealth.
Like, it’s literally a website where you can type in the DOI of an article and read it, without ever having to pay the publisher who exploited the author.
So, again, do not, under any circumstance, use Sci-Hub. I mean, can you imagine a world where knowledge is free and easily accessible to everyone? Even, y'know, poor people?
Libgen also has many books online, including textbooks, searchable by name, author, and ISBN. Can you imagine textbook companies not getting their hard-earned income from poor college students? Here is the link just so you make sure that you never accidentally stumble across this horrible, unethical website.
Oh, and while we’re talking about books, if you’ve managed to stay clear from Libgen, definitely don’t go to zlibrary, where you can also find a lot of textbooks, but unfortunately they’re completely free.
Another inside tip from academia: Those papers in really expensive journals that are effectively inaccessible to anyone not in a university network? Depending on the discipline it’s very likely that same paper is on a “preprint” server somewhere, with no access restrictions.
Like if you want to read basically any physics, math, or CS paper, arXiv.org will have you covered, because everyone uploads their papers there before submitting to a journal (and generally updates it after peer review). I know all of my papers are on there. This is such common practice that journals have it baked into their licensing agreements that authors retain the right to upload their work to these places.
So the next time you get hit with that paywall, you may not even need sci-hub, just click the arxiv link on google scholar instead.
if for some reason none of this works, the old “send a email nicely asking for the paper to the author” is always a good trick. remember most scientists hate the commercialisation of scientific knowledge
Many authors of papers are on ResearchGate! You can ask for papers there, if they don’t just post a copy to download. If they’re associated with a college, you can usually find their email addresses in the department directory, also.
Prompt #22 - "Clap On, Clap Off, The Clapper!" | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Sexual Content, Talk of STIs | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Established Relationship, 1990s, Sex Ed Teacher Steve, Idiots on Parade, Silliness
It's a hard call to make.
Steve picks up the phone several times, making a big production before hanging it back up again. Not quite ready to commit to the action. He clearly knows what's best, and knows it's his obligation to follow through with this, even if he's embarrassed.
And he is embarrassed. He dramatically touches his face, patting his own cheek, as if he's feeling heat there. Talking to himself:
"It's okay. It happens to lots of people, and you were smart, got tested, and sought treatment. You didn't ignore the signs. That was responsible of you. Now, it's my obligation to tell all my recent partners that they should get tested, too."
He dials again, and this time it connects.
"Hello. It's Tommy. From the bar. I know this is awkward, but I need to tell you that I have tested positive for a sexually transmitted disease and you should be tested, too."
There's silence, as Steve stands there, acting like he's listening.
"Of course. You're welcome. It was the responsible thing to do."
Then, he hangs up the phone with a smile.
"Cut!" Jonathan shouts, and Eddie is finally able to let out the laugh he's been containing for the past twenty minutes. This script is terrible. Steve's acting is terrible.
It's just terrible all the way around.
"Fuck off," Steve says, and Eddie just grins. "Do we have anything to work with?" Steve asks Jonathan, redirecting his attention.
"I mean, I'll see what I can do," Jonathan says, and Eddie supposes that's all they can ask of him. Steve ain't giving him shit.
Steve volunteering to make a series of sex education informational videos is objectively a terrible idea. Get him behind the camera and he's so wooden.
And Robin? She's even worse.
The two of them together? Oh boy.
But Eddie's keeping his mouth shut. He has no interest in being the face of VD, especially not at Hawkins High, thank you very much. Even if he feels like he could make this come across far more natural.
"This is stupid," Max says, and Steve deflates. Eddie wants to wring her neck.
"It's not stupid. It's a teaching tool and he's doing a great job," Eddie says through gritted teeth.
He gives Steve two thumbs up.
"Nobody believes Steve's got the clap acting like that," she argues, and Eddie doesn't think she's wrong, per se, but she's definitely not being helpful either. "He sounds like a professor! Nobody is gonna thank him for calling. They're gonna yell! I'd yell!"
"We can't scare kids into not calling!" Steve snaps. "We have to make it look painless."
"It's a lie!" Max yells even louder.
"Max," Lucas says.
"These videos will be helpful to kids. We can't have them all out there spreading around the clap," Eddie says. He may think the videos are terrible, too, and probably won't do a fucking thing besides be laughed at, but still. Maybe a kernel of truth will lodge in their pea-brains to be pulled upon, if needed.
Also, it's his job to take Steve's side and hype him up. No matter how foolish he's looking.
"I'm pretty sure I could do better," Gareth says.
"Yeah, me too," Goodie adds.
Eddie looks at Jeff.
"Oh, no, I think he's doing great," Jeff says, lying through his goddamn teeth. Smart man, though.
"If you think you can do better, well, have at it!" Steve bitches, and well, Eddie can't wait to see what happens next.
The videos aren't bad.
They aren't good either, but as far as PSAs go, Eddie's definitely seen worse make it to air on national television. Jonathan did the best with what he had to work with, and for being used at the school? They're fine.
And Eddie didn't have to tell anybody he's pissing fire or anything. So, he's taking it as a win.
Jonathan sent the finished versions today, and they are perfectly serviceable for what they are intended to be.
Steve, Robin, Gareth and Goodie all have their own videos on different topics that Steve's curriculum covers, and next fall, Steve will start using them in his classroom.
In bed, Eddie's lounging, lying in wait.
When Steve walks through the door, he very clearly narrows in on the fact Eddie's up to no good.
"What?" Steve asks, voice slightly sharp as he pulls his shirt over his head.
"You got anything you need to tell me?" Eddie asks, shit-eating grin firmly plastered on his face, even after Steve throws his shirt at him, hitting him square in the head.
"Shut it, or it'll be so long you won't even remember what it looks like."
Eddie peels the shirt off, tossing it away, then makes the motion for locking his lips.
"That's what I thought," Steve says, shucking off his jeans, and crawling into bed.
Steve reaches over towards the nightstand, opening the drawer. Pulling out a condom, and holding it up.
Eddie sticks out his bottom lip.
"Safety first," he says, and Eddie takes it. It's probably expired.
It takes less than a minute.
"Okay, I'm done with this. It's not worth the bit. Off," Steve says, and Eddie laughs as he pulls out, tugging off the condom. Sliding back into Steve with ease.
Steve sighs.
"That's the good stuff. Worth the risk."
Eddie makes an affronted noise. That's rude. He's not a risk.
"Mr. Harrington is a hypocrite," Eddie says, getting back into their familiar rhythm.
Steve scoffs.
Then, raises an eyebrow.
"Is there a reason I should be worried? I thought we were monogamous?" Steve asks, fake hurt filling his voice. Well, he's a better actor in bed than in front of the camera. Still. Not very convincing.
Eddie has very easily kept his dick in his pants for Mr. Harrington, thank you very much.
But if he doesn't think so…
"I mean, if you don't trust me, I can pull out…"
Steve's fingers dig into his back, his tune swiftly changing.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇
Notes: I kept thinking about the how stiff and wooden Steve and Robin both acted in that Starcourt Mall commercial, and well, here we are. 🤣
The PSAs in the 80s/90s were prevalent. Steve is positively hinged here in comparison to some of them. Calling himself Tommy was a little bitchy, though. Holding that grudge.🤣
you think there’s a connection between Eddie and the… slime?
for @corrodedcoffinfest
Prompt Day 21: Ecto Cooler | Word Count: 996 | Rating: G | CW: none | POV: Steve | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: Ghost!Eddie is haunting Steve, questionable ghost science ahead, first kiss
It’s actually incredibly ironic – that the violently green drink released as a promotional tie-in for a ghost movie is actually helping Steve with his ghost problem.
“Sorry,” he says, after the wet sponge he’s washing dishes with flies out of his hands and smacks him in the forehead, sending soapy water everywhere. “You’re not a problem, I didn’t mean that.”
The hand towel hanging from the cupboard door handle to his right floats up and gently pats Steve’s face dry. Tingly air presses close to him in contrition – it’s not warm, it’s just… kinda fizzy? That’s the best way Steve can describe it. Like every inch of his skin, like every hair on his body is alive and at attention.
“You’re forgiven if I am,” Steve says, and the electrified air presses closer. He could swear he feels something like lips delicately brush the nape of his neck and he shivers. “You’re not a problem.”
It’s the circumstances that are the problem; Eddie has better control of lifting objects now than he did at first, and can write to Steve using a pen and paper that he leaves out for him at all times. He can make the TV static dance into vague shapes. He can make Steve definitively notice the difference in the air when he comes near now, whereas before he just thought he was freezing all the time, that his circulation had given up the – ahem – ghost at the ripe old age of twenty.
But Steve can’t see him.
He can’t touch him.
Sometimes he thinks he can hear Eddie’s voice, but only when they’re at opposite ends of the house, like when he’s just coming out of his shower upstairs, and he thinks he hears the baby grand downstairs playing, and Eddie’s lovely voice singing Springsteen’s Nebraska. Steve loves that song, that album, but the first time he thought he heard “They declared me unfit to live, said into that great void my soul be hurled,” he sobbed so hard he was convinced he’d gone insane. He can never hear Eddie when they’re in the same room, which, okay sure, Steve can admit, is probably a minus in the ‘still sane’ column.
They’ve tried flinging flour on Eddie’s ghostly form – it only left Steve with a horrible mess to clean up, and Eddie’s guilt and melancholia choking the air in the house for the rest of the afternoon. They’ve tried photographing him on film, and on polaroid. They’ve tried flash on, flash off, they’ve tried long-exposure with Jonathan’s tripod – Steve never did tell him why he needed to borrow it, no one knows Steve’s being haunted by Eddie’s ghost – and it all amounted to nothing.
Nothing, until yesterday evening when Steve was hosting the Party’s D&D night at his place, and Dustin spilled a whole glass of Ecto Cooler – just knocked it clean off the dining room table and onto the floor between where he and Steve were sitting. Steve hadn’t actually been participating, he’d been reading a magazine, but Eddie had been hovering just behind him, observing the gameplay, and maybe admiring the picture of Bon Jovi on one side of the page, and Ann and Nancy Wilson from Heart on the other, if anything was to be judged by the way Steve couldn’t turn the page for a good 30 seconds.
“Goddamnit Henderson,” Steve had complained, “anything but the radioactive green juice, surely?”
When he’d come back with a towel and seltzer though, he’d seen it – the outline of a Reebok, and his heart had taken off at a gallop. Eddie had obviously noticed and was keeping very still, lest they alert the kids, and Steve had carefully wiped it off as he cleaned up, but they’d both practically vibrated on the same intense frequency as they waited for the kids to leave so they could test it again.
Steve’s got no idea what the science is, or magic, or whatever. He just knows that Eddie can drink Ecto Cooler – crazy, because he can’t touch any other food or liquids – and after he does, he’s visible, glowing a soft green, and solid, like normal matter. They only had about a quarter of Dustin’s forgotten can left, so it only lasted about 15 minutes, but Steve’s hopeful a full can might have Eddie glowing and visible for hours.
With the dishes done, and the clock finally showing a time when the shops will be open, Steve snatches up his keys and tosses out an excited, “Be right back!” to his ghost.
Forty minutes later, he parks haphazardly in the driveway and grabs the pack of Ecto Coolers off the front seat and races back inside. “I’ve got it!” he shouts, cracking open a can and decanting it into a glass, waiting eagerly for the press of fizzy air that means Eddie is nearby. He feels it, and he watches the Ecto Cooler disappear from the glass – wild – and as it’s emptying, it’s like Eddie fills up; appearing from his feet first, until finally all of him is visible, faintly green and softly glowing.
Eddie’s in the clothes Steve last saw him in, but clean and unblemished. He’s grinning, dimples on full display, those big brown eyes alight with something (not just Ecto Cooler Green Ghost Glow). Steve’s heart is in his throat. He lifts his hands and reaches out, but he pauses, unsure.
“So… what do you want to do, while you’re kind of corporeal?” he asks.
Eddie steps closer and cool fingers cup Steve’s jaw. His thumb slides slowly over his cheek, tracing the space between his two moles. Eddie’s voice is husky with disuse – it feels like his fizzy air on Steve’s skin and it makes his stomach curl pleasantly. “This,” he croaks.
And then Steve’s being kissed, and it tastes faintly of orange-tangerine, and the air is fizzy, and thank God for Ecto Coolers.
Steddie strangers to enemies to lovers where they happen to meet by chance frequently when they're grocery shopping.
They notice each other for the first time when both reach out at the same time for the last box of cereal.
They laugh it off, argue a little, both insisting the other take the box until Steve finally wins and forces Eddie into getting the cereal.
But then they meet again the following week, this time both wanting the same jar of mayo.
Then it's about beer. Then pancake mix, then freaking lettuce. Somewhere along the way, there are no friendly arguments anymore and they start to get pissed off at each other for real.
"You're doing this on purpose," Steve accuses one day, when he finds himself once again arguing over toilet paper of all things. "There's no fucking way. You're stalking me and trying to get my stuff just to piss me off."
"Oh yeah, because I really have nothing better to do with my life than stalking some random guy who buys three boxes of Boppers every fucking week," Eddie sneers.
MNtallyUndone @mentallyundone - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
