#more and more queer punks who are out and loud

[xcorbassax]

As someone who's been getting excluded from punk scenes everywhere for being a faggot and a pussy, I of course wish being homophobic or transphobic would make people automatically not punk. But I'd like to inform tumblrinas who post about it repeatedly as a sociological fact that, sadly, in many places it's very much not the case.

#things are slowly changing here though i have to say #more and more queer punks who are out and loud #and more punk places slowly starting to address the issue #but uh... #it's a process #punk

[frankieburieshisdead]

✮ Hobie Brown x male!ballerina reader ✮

You and Hobie started going out about 6 months ago. You met at a black-empowerment student group on your campus years before you had started seeing each other, and you remembered him starkly because he was the only person in the room who had brought up any kind of black queer issue, to which he was quickly shut down. He never returned to the group, and you always thought he was so much cooler than you for that. Being the only dark face in a line of pinky white dancers every day meant that you couldn't give up the small community of black people you had amongst the students. Even if it meant nodding along with arguments like 'gay black folks give us a bad name.' Hobie would never do that. Hobie would have said something. Its part of the reason he swore to never return to organized liberation movements. "If the movement cant be translated to a mentality, its not worth your time my love," he had told you, and you had just smiled, because you knew you would never be as brave and he was. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him.

He brought you flowers on your first date. They were haphazardly picked and thrown about, clearly hand picked from someones garden he had pilchered, wrapped in an old newspaper. You loved them more than anything anyone had ever given you. You still kept them pressed in between a stack of books you kept at your hostel.

He came to every single one of your shows. Even the ones he couldn't afford, at fancy recital halls that made you feel out of place, he would find a way to sneak into the audience. One time, he even managed to get a job as a lighting guy a month before your biggest performance of the year so that he would be there. You still tease him about it.

The first time you went to one of his shows, you stuck out like a sore thumb. It was right after rehearsals, so you were still in your pink leotard and sheer brown leggings. Angry boys with spiked clothing kept on bumping up around you as the crowd bobbed up and down with the loud music. You couldn't find Hobie anywhere, and you didn't know why you did what you did, but when a particularly hard shove landed you on your hands and knees, scraped up from the grain of the cement floor, you called out for your boyfriend. "Hobie!" You shouted, almost certain he wouldn't hear as the crowd around you swallowed up the noise. Only he did hear, and not a moment later he was behind you, wrapping his long lanky arms around your waist as he pulled you back onto your feet. "You alright sweetheart?" He whispered just loud enough for you to hear. "Just got a bit overwhelmed. Sorry Hobes." You replied. He shook his head fondly at you, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. "Come with me?"

You spent the rest of the concert in the sound box above the stage, wrapped up in Hobie's big flannel jacket as you cheered on the lovely man you were beginning to fall in love with.

When he told you about the mask, about his other life as a webslining vigilante, you found that you weren't even surprised. Of course, your anti-cop, pro-punk politics boyfriend was Spiderman. It was the first time you had seen him look nervous, so you took his face in your hands and pressed his forehead agaisnt your own. "You're the bravest person I know. I am so proud of you," you whisper against his lips. And then, because it had to be said "don't you ever let yourself get hurt." He kissed you gently and promised.

He broke that promise less than a week later. You were warming up in your room before your first class, far earlier than anyone else was awake, which was why the loud banging on your door startled you so much. Never in a million years did you expect a bloody and battered Hobie Brown to fall into your room. He wouldn't let you call the police. Wouldn't even let you call an ambulance. You would never forget the rasping noise he made as he lay on your floor, blood soaking through your carpet.

You didn't speak to him for weeks after it happened. You were able to bribe some of the medical students from the STEM section of the campus to stitch up your clumsy boyfriend who had fell down the stairs. Apparently, it wasn't even that deep of a wound, just happened to nick a part of the body that blead a lot or something like that. You still woke up shaking when you thought about it.

Hobie does everything to get you to forgive him. He leaves flowers inside your ballet locker everyday, steals new lace for your shoes from the silk shop he knows you lone but can never afford. He apologizes again and again, but you can't look at him without seeing the gasping expression on his face as you thought you were watching him die. It's not until he does the one thing you thought he would never do, the one place where Hobie Brown swore he would never show his face again.

He was at the next black empowerment meeting you attended. You couldn't help the visible shock fall onto your face. "Just for the record, I don't like it here." He stated plain and clear before the meeting had even started. "I think you lot are a bunch of bootlicking, regressive posers who wouldn't know what respectability politics looked if they smacked you in the face." Hobie brought his gaze to his shoes, black locs falling over his eyes. "But I fucked up. I really scared someone I care about, and I dont know how to make it right. He's one of the bravest people I know, and I am so lucky that in some capacity, he chose me." Hobie looked up, directly at you now, "I love you sweetheart. I'm sorry, I should have never put you in that position. Let me make it up to you. However I can baby, let me make it up to you."

You stopped going to meetings. Hobie introduced you to a group of black ballet dancers who he had met when a theater had accidentally double booked his band, and suddenly your community was started to look a lot bigger than the arts campus. He promised you that he would always go to the hospital when he was hurt like that, even if it meant supporting a system of bourgeois control over public health that contributed to the futile distribution of wealth under capitalism. You didn't quite catch that last part. He kept his promise. He made it up to you.

END

#hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown x oc #hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #hobie brown x y/n #fanfic #hobie brown x male reader #sfw little post #drabble

[patchworkgargoyle]

i'll miss you more than anyone

Time for some Steddie yearning hours!

1.9k words, rated T for language. Angsty pining with a happy, fluffy ending. Basically unedited because I'm posing this at 1am. Forgive any wonky tenses. Now on ao3!

Title from Something About Us by Daft Punk.

🌒

It took considerable force, but Eddie managed to wedge open the only window in his tiny, shitty apartment with a grunt and a sigh. No matter how much WD-40 he forced into it, the damn thing's determined to stick and squeal. If he didn't know any better Eddie would swear it did this just to annoy him. Stubborn piece of shit. Takes one to know one, he figured.

He let out another sigh. Leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter, he flicked his zippo open and lit a smoke, relishing that first warm draw of acridness with his eyes closed. Robin would snark at him about the fact that his lease specified no smoking, but fuck the landlord. He needed this. Eddie tilted his head back and exhaled, watching the smoke curl out and away into the darkened alley between the buildings.

The day had been… hard, to put it lightly. It was the last day of Steve's visit. He'd come to see Eddie, to explore Seattle, for a whole week. Just the two of them. It'd been so good, even if Eddie's backstabbing heart wouldn't stop hoping that the visit would end up as something more. It was stupid, a useless hope. Stubborn.

They'd meandered around Capitol Hill so Eddie could show off the first place he'd ever felt safe enough to be queer and loud about it, unable to look too long at Steve's expression of relieved pride in him. He let Eddie drag him to a few bars, introduced him to some new friends who welcomed him with open arms and pointed, knowing stares in Eddie's direction. They'd walked along the pier, doing the touristy shit, ate greasy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper and watched seals play and beg for food in the harbour. 

Hell, Eddie even let Steve drag him up to the Space Needle. It was something Eddie had refused to do when he first moved, not wanting to do something so mundane and cliché when he was trying to become a local. But of course as soon as Steve insisted he folded like wet tissue.

Now Eddie knew he'd be cursed with the image of Steve, his hair windswept, gazing out at the city with wide-eyed wonder at the sparkling sprawl of buildings as the sunset painted him in pink and golden hues.

Eddie didn't even bother looking at the city, the ocean. They couldn't ever compare.

Not for the first time that night, Eddie hung his head and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his palm, wishing the image would stop fucking tormenting him. He was so fucking hopeless.

Raising his head again, he took another drag and stared up at the moon. Light pollution blotted out everything but the moon and Venus. It was the one thing he missed about Hawkins (that was a lie, always a lie), seeing the stars appear in the deep, dark blue above like all the gods took a needle to the fabric of the sky. Here, Eddie's only two stellar companions danced around each other every night. Sometimes closer, nearly touching it seemed, other times further away, locked in an eternal game of will-they-won't-they.

Tonight he only saw the lonely moon through the gap in the buildings. A waning crescent that shone bright enough that it lit up the darkness of Eddie's silent kitchen with a silvery glow. It was silly, but he held a tiny wish that Venus wouldn't be too far behind so at least Eddie would be the only lonely sad sack tonight. At least the thought made him chuckle at himself slightly.

Seeing Steve off at the airport that morning felt like Eddie was about to rip himself in two. If it weren't so public, if it weren't so risky, he might've confessed to Steve right then and there in some desperate attempt to get him to stay just a few days, hours, seconds longer. He'd dig his own heart out of his chest and offer it up on a silver platter; anything for the man that carried him out of hell. But Eddie was nothing if not a coward. They'd hugged each other tightly, just shy of too long, and Steve waved goodbye with a bittersweet smile and something shining in his eyes.

Eddie'd had to wait an hour in the airport parking lot before he was stable enough to drive back home.

Thing was, he was so fucking lonely out here. He'd moved to get away from the pitchfork-wielding, grudge-carrying people that never bought the government's cover story, to stop the vitriolic graffiti that had kept getting sprayed on Wayne's new trailer. The kids would get caught up in it too if they were caught hanging around The Freak. Eddie couldn't fucking go anywhere without keeping his head on a swivel, and it was so exhausting. He'd needed to leave. Even if it meant having to leave his family, the only people who knew the real story behind his scars and nightmares–even if it meant leaving Steve. So, it was hard, having Steve–a piece of his home, maybe even his heart–come visit and then leave after just a handful of days. Great days, but still. 

Choking out a bitter laugh, Eddie scrubbed at the tears starting to trail down his cheeks. Stupid, he was so stupid. His throat closed up around another laugh, turning it into a silent sob, a frustrated growl as he begged his stupid heart to just let it fucking go, to stop hurting, stop tantruming pathetically inside his ribcage about a man he could never have.

Just as another sob threatened to claw its way out of his chest, the phone rang. The shrill sound made him jump, nearly dropping his cigarette out the window. Swearing, he reached and pulled it over, answering.

"H'lo?" he rasped.

"Jesus, Munson, you sound rough," Steve's tinny voice replied, amused, "did I wake you up?"

The tightness in Eddie's chest burst into butterflies and he couldn't help but laugh around a sniffle. "Nah man, I was up. Shouldn't you be asleep, though? Isn't it 3am there or something?"

"Yeah, or something. Just got home though."

"Wait, what? The fuck are you calling me for, then?"

Steve chuckled. Christ, it was a great sound, filtered through endless miles of telephone lines though it was. "You told me to call when I got home safe, remember?"

"After you'd slept or something, dude, jesus christ. You didn't have to call at the ass crack of dawn."

"Well I wanted to."

Eddie mentally started stomping out the fresh butterfly swarm fluttering around in his guts. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold back the smile on his lips, wide enough that he knew Steve could hear it in his voice. So he teased, "Wow, Harrington, it's almost like you miss me or something." There was a pause.

"I do."

Sincerity weighed down Steve's words, two syllables dropping into the well of silence left in their wake. Eddie felt the ripples through his whole body, leaving stillness behind.

"Really?" Eddie whispered. He heard Steve inhale shakily and ached to be beside him again, to have him near, pull him close, feel him again.

"Yeah, Eddie. I miss you so much, it– god, it hurts," Steve said with a tiny, heartbreaking laugh.

"Fuck. I– same, Steve, I've been bawling my eyes out since this morning." His words were thick with even more tears threatening to spill but he blinked them back.

"I'm sorry."

Eddie snorted, though regretted it immediately and swiped at his nose with his sleeve. "Why're you apologising?"

"Hate knowing you're hurting too."

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," Eddie sighed, then added quietly, nervously, "not like you could stay."

Speaking just as quietly, Steve said, "Maybe… maybe I could."

"Huh?"

"I've just, I've been thinking," Steve started, gathering steam, "for a while now but also on the flights home. It sucks that you're out there by yourself. And the kids are all graduated and leaving, and Robin and Nancy are planning on moving, and-"

Eddie's unable to help it, interrupting Steve's rambling that he definitely picked up from Robin, but he can't hold it back, hope forcing the words out. "Stevie, are you saying–?"

"UW accepted my application," Steve said. "I could move out there, get my teaching degree."

"Why?" 

The question hung in the air, all of Eddie's breathless wishes clinging to it. Steve took a steadying breath on the other end of the line.

"I have feelings for you Eddie. Might be kind of in love with you, and I really don't think it's one-sided. Should've told you at the airport."

"How did you know?" 

Chuckling, Steve said, "You're not subtle, but when I said the view from the Space Needle was beautiful, you agreed even though you never took your eyes off me."

"I wanted to tell you," Eddie said in a rush, heart in his throat, "all fucking week. I'm kind of in love with you too."

Steve laughed, full and warm, and Eddie might've collapsed with relief if he weren't leaning on the counter still. "We're idiots, huh?" Steve asked.

"Massive idiots. Complete morons. Absolute buffoons. You're telling me that we could've been kissing all week if one of us had just gotten the balls to confess?"

"Well, maybe more than just kissing." Steve's voice dropped suggestively and Eddie grinned at the bloom of desire that grew in his chest.

"A gentleman never assumes, big boy, but good to know."

A yawn echoed through the phone and the heat Eddie felt morphed into depthless fondness. "You should go sleep, Stevie."

"Probably. Gonna be wrecked for my shift tomorrow." He sighed softly. "Worth it, though."

"Worth having to pry your eyelids open while Marge berates you for letting her kid watch movies her husband rented?"

Steve snorted. "Yeah. Worth packing my bags and running off to the coast, too."

"Christ." Shaking a little, Eddie asked, "Are you sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything." He yawned again, hard enough Eddie could hear the receiver shudder in his hand. "I wanna keep talking to you but I'm dead on my feet. Can I call you tomorrow? Please?"

"You don't have to ask, sweetheart," Eddie said, pouring his fondness into every word to make up for the fact that he couldn't be there to see Steve's gorgeous, sleepy face, to fall into bed with him and wrap him in his arms. "Hell, call me when you wake up, before you go to work. You gotta tell me how your flights went anyway."

"Uhg, right. Ask me about the lady who scoffed at me reading The Hobbit."

He scoffed. "She dares to look down upon one of the great works of literature? I don't know her but she has made a mortal enemy on this day." The tired giggle Eddie heard made him smile so wide it almost hurt.

"You're so dramatic."

"You love it."

With a contented sigh, Steve said, "Yeah, I do." Another yawn, loud this time, and Steve continued, "Good night, Eddie. I'll call tomorrow. I miss you."

"Can't wait. Miss you too, Stevie."

Eddie hung up, the receiver settling in with a click. It felt like his body was made of bubbles, or fireworks. He almost couldn't believe it, that his hopes actually came true. Steve loves him, wants to move to Seattle for him. What!?

He let out a long, loud whoop that echoed in the alleyway. A distant neighbour yelled at him to shut the fuck up, but Eddie couldn't care less. He loved Steve, who loved him back.

Grinning, he looked up at the sky again. The moon had moved on, but there, creeping over the roof of the apartments next door, Venus finally made an appearance. Laye, but still there, still following. A beautiful, shining pinprick of light, trailing in the moon's wake.

Welcome to my new tag list! @steves-strapcollection, @ghost--enthusiast, @inairbinad, @rhaenyyras, @chocolate-fishy, @lovelyscot, @little-trash-ghost

Feel free to ask to be added/taken off!

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #sav scrawls stuff #am i projecting my loneliness onto my favourite blorbo? yes. thats what fandom is for #its cathartic or something #and should i have worked on my big bang fic instead? absolutely. fuck.

[youmakemyhearthowl]

Punk Princess

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2 (Next Part) | Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8| Part 9 | Part 10

Steve Harrington just up and disappeared the summer of 84’.

He wasn’t seen around town, and he didn’t talk to any of his old friends. No one knew what happened to him. But the thing was Steve hadn’t actually -gone- anywhere. He was still around, still shopping for groceries and driving the kids around, because even though he wasn’t involved in their end of things the first go around, Steve was instantly protective of the shitheads.

Steve had just stopped looking like Steve.

Him and Nancy had ended up breaking up after all was said and done and he’d gone in a bit of a bender after school had let out for the year. Getting lost in the streets of Indianapolis and trying to figure out who he was, who he wanted to be.

That’s when he’d stumbled upon the punk scene and everything sort of changed for him. He didn’t -want- to be King Steve, had never wanted to be him in the first fucking place but it was the only way he knew to keep himself safe in high-school. He’d gone along with it because he wasn’t really a fighter and he knew if he was bottom of the food chain, he wouldn’t have survived. But the punk scene, the punk scene was everything he never knew he needed, and the kind people he’d met behind the hard edges that dressed with had helped him find a way to express himself and protect himself.

So he’d shaved the sides of his head, pierced his lip and eyebrow, and bought enough black and pastel clothing to crop and cut and mix and match till it fit his feelings of the day.

And so King Steve died and Steve was born from his ashes or something poetic like that and Steve felt more himself then he’d ever had before. He even learned about the queer community that intermingled with the punks and metal heads he spent his time with, and discovered you -can- in fact like both babes and boys and he’d been slowly setting into that part of his identity over the summer as well.

It nearly made him laugh out loud when he’d walked into Hawkins High on his first day of senior year and everyone’s jaws seemed to drop in unison when they took him in. Charcoal smoked around his eyes and mesh top covered by his black denim vest covered in patches and pins. The old “Harrington” cut off the back of his lettermen jacket and sewn onto the back of the vest, effectively cutting off every rumor about him ‘running off with that Buckley girl he knocked up.’ His arm was draped casually across said girls shoulders, the pink streaks she’d added to her hair standing in stark contrast to his black clothes.

“People are staring.” Robins whispered words tickled his ear as she leaned into his space, shying away from the eyes on them.

“Let em’ look Buck. Who gives a shit what they think, that’s what Hellen told us right?” He smiled softly down at her. She’d come a long way since the first time they’d run into each-other at one of the only queer clubs in the city, but she was still working on the whole aloof part of the punk roll she was falling into with him. Her outfit more subdued with spikes and patches on her jacket being the most she felt comfortable with in her new fashion. She still wasn’t sure she was totally into the punk look, so she’d taken her favorite parts and found ways to incorporate them into her usual fashion sense.

“Is that Steve Harrington?” Tommy’s voice suddenly rings across the halls and breaks them from their little bubble. Robin pulling her head off his arm and squaring her shoulders.

“Hagen.” He nods, the piercings in his face glittering slightly under the schools florescence. He debates internally if he should go on the defensive or just simply stay aloof, when Eddie Munson rounds the corner making a strange, loud, startled sound so loudly it pulls Tommy’s attention from Steve completely. Eddie’s stumbling to pick up the books he’s dropped eyes glued directly to Steve as a sharp red blush coats his cheeks.

“Fucking freak.” Tommy spits, and Steve sighs, defensive and aloof are officially off the table now, offense becoming his first priority.

Steve and Eddie had never interacted outside of Tommy’s hazing and Steve standing off to the side, trying to not to draw attention to himself. But when Steve had decided to finally be true to himself, he’d also discovered his unwavering desire to protect others, channeling his inner mean girl to punch up instead of down. And Eddie Munson was someone he seems to have deemed in that moment, under his protection.

“Lay off Hagen.” He snaps. Keeping his demeanor indifferent and bored as his ex friend whips around to glare. There’s a startled strangled sound slightly down the hall and Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s, offering him a small smile and slight nod when he notices Eddie’s eyes are still glued to him.

“Oh sorry I forgot you’re a freak now too huh Harrington?” He growls, stalking towards Steve and stumbling his steps slightly when he realizes Steve stands a few inches taller then him now. His eyes shoot down glancing at Steve’s slightly platformed combat boots.

“They’re called shit kickers.” Steve offers, catching his gaze. “Wanna find out why?”

Ao3| Part 1| Part 2 (Next Part)| Part 3| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8| Part 9 | Part 10

#punk!steve #I’m not sure where I’m doing with this but it’s fun and there’s gonna be a few parts !!! #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #robin buckley #hexx drabbles #Punk Princess Fic

[licensedqueerio]

Gareth Emerson Headcanons No One Asked For

So these are just my headcanons, that could totally be out of character, but idk. I wish we had more content with him

Also, some info isn't correct like their ages, but idc. I wrote this super late at night so it's probably unorganized and stuff, but I hope you enjoy

(i also update this whenever I think of something else abt him)

• His full name is Gareth Benjamin Emerson II bc I said so

• that's where Gareth The Great comes from

• he wants the distinction that he's the great one

• he's the middle child

• his sister, Carys is three years older than him and moved out to go to college

• his other sister, Gwyneth is 8

• his parents are bigshot lawyers in Indianapolis so most of the time it's only him and Gwyn at home

• idk I love the idea of older brother Gareth

• (Gareth puts Gwyn in after school programs, which is how he does Hellfire)

• He matches other people's energies. Like the energy someone gives him is the energy he throws back

• Ex: when Jason yelled at him and Gareth yelled back the exact same way

• The man is brutally honest

• Unnecessarily brutal tho

• He can and will insult someone by complete accident

• He's also super aggressive when he plays the drums

• Slamming on his kit and screaming to their newest song

• As one does

• He breaks his sticks ridiculously often

• (He likes to throw them around, especially at Eddie)

• Speaking of Eddie

• They met when they were decently young

• Around middle school

• Gareth was the kid who was effortlessly cool

• Eddie, on the other hand, was trying SO HARD to be cool

• He was going for the whole punk rock thing when he buzzed his head

• He made it his mission to befriend Gareth at any cost

• But Gareth HATED him

• Well, hatred is a strong word. He didn't care for Eddie like Eddie cared for him

• Gareth just wanted to be by his lonesome, as edgy middle schoolers do

• But Eddie is persistent and will not leave this boy alone

• It doesn't matter that Gareth is two years younger than him

• He wants Gareth to be his friend and that's final

• They eventually become friends when they realize they both like D&D

• When they get to highschool tho

• The dynamic flips

• Since Eddie's older, he has two years to become the Cool Kid that attracts the other freaks and weirdos

• Gareth was kinda scared they wouldn't be friends anymore

• But Eddie doesn't let go of Gareth

• They're besties

• Gareth was Eddie's first bandmate and the first member of Hellfire

• Gareths 'queer awakening' was Eddie but nothing ever happen other than a kiss or two when Eddie was high

• Gareth doesn't do drugs

• He drinks tho

• He has a very strange moral code that only he understands

• Also he was the first one to get a car out of all his friends

• He drives like a mad man

• Do not let this man behind the wheel

• Speed limits are merely a suggestion

• He also doesn't know what it means to gradually brake. He slams on those bitches

• (only when Gwyn's not in the car, he's not an irresponsible brother, thank you very much)

• He gets better eventually

• Eddie learns to drive so he can properly teach Gareth (who taught himself)

• He constantly taps the steering wheel

• Even if there's no music playing

• Gareth is loud and he is chaotic

• He probablys has some sort of undiagnosed adhd

• But y'know, it's the 80s. Mental illness doesn't exist or whatever

• Gareth is just trying to live his life's you know?

• Oh also, this boy has attitude for DAYS

• Like holy shit

• He can talk shit like no one else

• It's only when he's really mad tho

• He just runs his mouth and he doesn't know when to stop

• But the things he says are genuinely true and his insults hit home and it pisses the other person off

• As a result, Gareth is decently fast bc getting beat up isn't fun

• He's got into his share of fights tho

• But he usually avoids them

• He's more bark than bite. But his bark is totally worse

• He either had a septum or a nose ring

• He's the type to judge movies the entire time it's on

• He makes smartass comments under his breath

• Laughs at inappropriate times

• (Like when a character dies)

• He only drinks red drinks

• Or from red cans

• Dr pepper is his best friend

• He also loves cherry anything

• He'd be the red character

But now onto some dating hcs

• He likes to hold hands

• A LOT

• He's just a big fan of physical contact

• He also loves when his hair is played with

• His love language is gift giving

• Well moreso just giving in general

• His rings, clothes, etc

• He just gives them to his partner randomly

• ALSO ROCKS

• he collects rocks

• He's been doing it since he was a kid

• He probably has one of those jars that you put a rock in when ur happy

• He has a lot of rocks in his jar

• He's given all his friends a rock

• Eddie has several

• His partner also has many

• He would be so happy to find out you actually keep them

• Whenever you guys go on a date, he gives you a rock

• He also has a rock and he writes the date on it

• He starts a new jar just for the date-rocks

• Those are extra special, he finds the best rocks he can for you and him

• But moving on from rocks

• He invites you to his shows

• And band practice

• Eddie hates it bc he gets distracted

• But he gets so happy when he sees you watching him play

• He plays extra well

• Once he can take his eyes off you that is

• But let's rewind to the beginning of your relationship

• You meet him through Eddie

• After a few days of hanging out together he invited you to dinner

• (You order takeout and go back to his place)

• It's nice, it's just the two of you in his bedroom, the dim tv illuminating it

• He confesses to you right when you take a drink of whatever it is you're drinking

• You choke

• And Gareth ofc laughs bc that's who he is

• But you say you like him back and viola

• You're dating

• He's fond of drive-in movie dates

• Even though it's like an hour drive to the next city where the theater is

• He's a movie geek

• It's definitely his sister's fault

• Both of them

• You think it's adorable tho

• HE TALKS THROUGH MOVIES

• THE WHOLE TIME

• HE MAKES SMARTASS COMMENTS UNDER HIS BREATH

• And you're sitting next to him just cracking up at his commentary

• Bc really, it's entertaining

• He calls you all kinds of different nicknames

• He's looking for one to stick

• So he just had a continual rotating arsenal of nicknames that he likes to use

• Your nicknames for him usually revolve around drumming

• He's not amused

• You are tho, teasing him is your favorite pastime

• And he just stares at you with his flat, deadpan look

• His arms crossed and everything

• He teases you back ofc, but sometimes you can't tell when he's joking bc of his tone

• But that's what makes it fun

#ransomswriting #headcanons #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things headcanon #gareth stranger things #gareth emerson #gareth x reader #gareth emerson x reader #x reader #eddie munson #reader insert #reader #ransomsheadcanons

[scoupsahoy]

starting from zero

for @strangerthingsreversebigbang with art from @anaccidentwaitingtohappen

When Robin suggests that she and Steve skip town, he assumes she’s joking. She’ll say stuff like that all the time, because Hawkins has bumpy roads that exacerbate Steve’s migraines, and because the kids and be annoying and cliquey and exclusive, and because she’s heard from her aunt in Chicago that some women over there dare to have queer little haircuts and girlfriends whose hands they hold in public.

So when they’re watching Dirty Harry in the middle of the night and Robin says “we should move there,” Steve laughs and takes a sip of his beer.

Harry says the line about feeling lucky, and then Robin says “did you know that punk used to be slang for, like, a gay guy, or something?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Lots of gay people in San Francisco, by the way.”

Harry finally kills the Scorpio guy. “Yeah, it seems real safe there,” Steve says.

He’s not looking but he can feel Robin shrug next to him. “Can’t be worse than Hawkins.”

The camera does a really gross zoom in on Scorpio’s stupid bloody face, so he looks right at Robin, who looks deadly serious. Her mouth is small, the way it gets when she’s trying to shut herself up. The way she looks when the gears in her brain have been spinning for too long without letting anything out.

That’s when Robin gets dangerous. She’s a planner. Steve can usually see right through her, but there’s always been enough for the both of them in this town – or, well. He always thought there was.

“Are you– what’s going on?” She looks a bit like she’s going to cry, which is so unlike her that it makes Steve’s heart shake.

She takes a deep breath. “What if we just left?”

“Hawkins?”

“Indiana,” Robin says, shrugs again, gets a wild look in her eye. “The country.”

Steve cracks a smile. “The world, even.”

Robin laughs, this great big beautiful sound that fills the room and travels down the hallways. The house doesn’t ever feel dark or empty with her inside, with her pantomiming a rocket launch to outer space, like she can imagine living on Mars with him like he can with her.

“What’s even keeping you here?”

It’s a loaded question. In theory, this is his home. In it, everyone he’s ever known, ever loved, ever heard of. Except for his parents, who might be in the Hamptons and might be in Vegas. Except for Nancy, in Boston. Except for half the town, lost in the rubble of an earthquake they all pretend happened.

He stays, really, because Robin is here.

And Steve, for a long time, hasn’t been able to shake the nagging feeling that she could have had more if it wasn’t for him, that she might go anywhere for him, and he’s the one who’s too cowardly to think of leaving. Robin’s chosen to stay, despite her little jokes about leaving. Despite a girl she fell in love with over a whirlwind summer leaving for college in Texas. Despite the little horrors of this town and the passions she could have easily followed. She has ambition and talent and drive. She has family and she knows what she wants and she knows who she wants it with.

And the worst part is that Steve is the one she wants it with.

There are days where he locks himself in his house, sulking and exhausted and alone, and she climbs in through his bedroom window, just as determined as he used to be before all of this. She plays with his hair and draws on his shoes and brings over movies he’s never seen and he would stop the spinning of the world for her.

He knows anyone would, if they had her like he does.

It’s been eating him alive, a little bit. He’s been frozen in time and space since a chasm opened up in the town and left him completely unable to move.

Steve takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. What’s keeping you here?”

“You,” Robin says, looking at him hard past her eyelashes. “Dingus.”

“You want to go to San Francisco? To live?”

“Yeah, I think we could do it.”

–

There are some things you can’t really say out loud without ruining the magic of them.

Steve and Robin go to work the next day and the day after that and the day after that. Robin had found them another job at a restaurant on basically the other end of Roane County where they get paid like shit but can work for tips. They’ve both been working full-time since Robin graduated high school, saving up for nothing in particular, skirting past a new shitty manager and getting free meals for the kids when they come in.

Steve supposes, once the idea is up in the air, that another reason he’s held back for so long was because of the kids, with all the things they’ve gone through, and all the people that have left them. He doesn’t want to be another person that leaves for better things. Steve’s a person who’s been left, in so many ways. It always feels like a betrayal on the other end of it.

So they don’t say anything about it to anyone, not even really out loud to each other, until one shift after weeks and weeks of saving and shuffling and looking at listings from newspaper clippings they get sent from Jonathan in California and Nancy in Boston and Robin’s aunt in Chicago. Jonathan and Nancy and even Robin’s relatives don’t bother asking questions, are secretive enough on their own, so there’s no pressure on that front.

Erica sits at a booth on a Sunday afternoon teaching Robin how to make friendship bracelets on her lunch break while the restaurant is dead.

“Why aren’t you with your friends?” Steve asks, stealing a french fry off Robin’s plate and eyeing their work.

Erica rolls her eyes, ever expressive. “I hate the birthday boy so much that it wouldn’t even be worth it to go and make fun of him. Plus, I’m getting too old for birthday parties.”

“Yeah Steve,” Robin says, holding up her bracelet. “She’s too mature for that.”

“Don’t condescend to me,” Erica fires back. She pulls at Robin’s sleeve to gather a bit of the string and tighten it before it falls apart on her. All things considered, Erica’s always been one of their favorite of the kids, if only because if she didn’t want to stick around, she wouldn’t. And yet she’s always there.

Robin and Erica talk lowly while they graze and gossip, right up until Erica turns around in the booth to level Steve with a look while he busses the next table over. “So when are you guys leaving?”

“Uh,” Steve checks his watch. “We have like three and a half more hours.”

“That’s obviously not what I meant and you know it. When are you leaving? Like, moving away, skipping town, getting out of here?”

Robin turns around too, now, giving Steve a look that says she hasn’t even alluded to that. Erica is startlingly perceptive, though, and cares way more about the people in this town than she’d care to admit. With all the people who have moved away in the past few years, all of the kids who she went to school with who left because of the earthquake, it’s not exactly all that surprising.

“When we can afford it, basically,” Robin says finally. Steve has a weird lump in his throat that keeps him from saying anything before that. Something about having to look Erica in the eyes makes it seem all the more real.

She still raises an eyebrow at him. He shrugs.

“Where are you going to go?”

“Not too far that we won’t visit,” Robin says, reaching up like she’d dare try to pinch Erica’s cheek. “Don’t worry.”

Erica purses her lips and glares harder, and if Steve knows her like he thinks he does, he’d guess her face was hot and embarrassed under all of that sarcasm. “Like I care. I just figured you’d start telling people at some point if it’s so obvious that I’ve figured something’s up.”

“What do you mean we’re being obvious?” Steve asks.

“You know,” Erica gestures a little wildly. “You guys have been acting weird. All quiet and secretive with your little conspiratorial looks. And you offered to help me make friendship bracelets. You’re getting in your weird older sibling fantasies and that either means you’re dying or you’re moving away. You’re not dying, are you?”

Steve smiles. “Nah, we’re fine. And we’ll let you know when we’re actually making real plans.”

“Well. Good.”

There’s a bit of earnestness that peeks through, a little bit of personality that’s only for people she really likes. She helps them make beaded friendship bracelets for each other, pastel pinks and blues, and she keeps the secret just as good as either of them.

–

People who know Robin the way that Steve does know that she has an overcompensation streak that could rival anyone. She’s stubborn and superstitious and anxious and combats all of her fears by learning everything she could possibly need to know about them. By the time Erica figures out that they’re leaving Hawkins, Robin decides she’s going to learn everything there is to know about every major city in the United States. By the time she tells her parents that she’s going to save up and move out, she’s got an entire notebook full of notes and plans and phone numbers and addresses. She is positive that she can do it on her own. She doesn’t need help.

There are no cracks in her plan, in her demeanor, in her routine. Especially facing Steve. She tells him he worries too much for his own good anyway.

There’s one moment, though, before they get too far into their search, before things are finalized, right after they decide on San Francisco after all:

Robin has her nose in three different books from the library in the next town over. She’s got her pen in her hand and she’s taking her notes. She’s got a crease in between her eyebrows and takes a shaky breath that sounds a little too familiar.

Steve, at the other end of the couch, two books of his own that he’s trying way too hard to understand, about the logistics of moving across the country, pokes at Robin with his toe. She looks up at him like she might collapse.

“What if this is a horrible idea? Like, a catastrophic idea. Like we’re going to die before we leave, kind of idea. I know you didn’t read that Stephen King book that just came out, but what if it’s like that? Those kids are haunted and what if we’re haunted?”

“Robin,” Steve starts.

She pushes a book about taxes off of her lap and onto the floor, folding some of the pages in a way that’s going to make her feel bad later. “What if I don’t find any jobs out there? And then I have to do street art for tourists who think I’m an idiot for not going to college?”

Steve reaches over and touches her on the shoulder, rubbing gently. “Robin.”

“What if girls don’t like me?” She really looks like she might cry, now. It’s rare enough that Steve’s heart lurches violently in his chest.

“They will.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Well you’ve got me,” he says. “And we can get married for tax benefits, and girls will see you with a wedding ring and probably flock to you even harder.”

And like a shot, Robin snaps out of it enough to roll her eyes. They put the books down for the night.

–

There’s a long day where Steve’s mother calls their landline just to check on him. She’ll do this sometimes, ask how he’s doing, what he’s eating, make comments on if it’s enough or if it’s too much. She makes comments about Robin, whose name she only barely remembers from the times Steve has shouted it from across the room while on the phone. She tells the same stories about how her and his father will be coming to visit soon, and he laughs and almost believes her when she tries her hardest to seem earnest.

But it’s been a long day, and Steve works for tips and makes shit money, and he and Robin don’t know what they’re doing because they don’t know anyone who’s doing it alone like they are. They’re so close to leaving that every day left feels a little like torture. And he’s alone in his house, empty while Robin’s with some band kids on break from school. And his mother says “we’re thinking of coming to visit soon, your father and I,” and Steve actually laughs. She ignores it. “He misses you, you know. You can call the car phone whenever you’d like, I’m sure he’d pick up.”

And they both know it’s a sick lie, because his father gave up on him years ago, never even bothers to come on the line when his mother makes her pity calls. The line goes silent while they both sit there and wait for some truth to come out of it, and Steve almost feels bad for this woman who clearly forgot how to be a mother back when she prioritized being a wife.

“Well,” she says, eventually. “We’ve actually got to get going, sweetheart. Your father has one of those boring old work events tonight in Santa Fe.”

“Alright,” he manages to say.

She takes a deep breath, like she’s gearing herself up for another lie. “We love you. We’ll visit soon.”

Steve hangs up.

Robin will be dropped off at his front door by morning, he knows, and he also knows that she doesn’t need to be let into the house in any kind of formal way. It’s just as much hers as it is his. And it’s more of their house than it ever was his parents’. And Steve imagines, just for a second, what would happen if he locked all of the doors and windows. If he changed the locks and ate the keys. If he filled the entire house with concrete and smoke before he left the place to die.

He wonders if his parents would ever find out. If they would bust the door down looking for him, the way Robin would. She would climb down his chimney if she was that desperate to get inside. Steve locks the front door for the first time in what feels like years and falls asleep in his parent’s bed, untouched for a year at this point, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

Most of the rest of the house, everything worth saving, is packed into boxes. His entire life. And this whole room was left untouched for his parents to return to.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to Robin plopping cross-legged at the foot of the bed with her hands clasped together. Her hair is messy and she had a bit of eye-makeup on that’s smudged, and she looks entirely awake.

Once Steve’s awake enough, Robin starts talking. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen this room.”

“You like it?”

“It’s extremely ugly in here,” she says, turning her nose up at the tacky hotel room art on the wall, the exact thing that Robin would hate. “But we could probably rent it out in the paper. Pretend to run a bed and breakfast or something.”

“My parents would freak if they saw that.”

Robin, gracefully, doesn’t point out the obvious, which is that his parents would never notice or care. She doesn’t have to. Their wedding photo with the cracked frame says it loud enough. And there’s a ringing in Steve’s ear that hasn’t gone away for hours, taunting him.

When he was younger, he would run to his parents room and his mom would rub his temples with her fingertips, gaudy manicure scratching his hairline.

“Do you think we can sell this place before we leave for extra cash?”

Steve smiles. “I don’t think Hawkins is exactly prime real estate right now.”

“Not to mention this place is, like, really ugly.”

“Well there’s a reason I never come into this room–”

“No, I mean,” Robin squints. “The entire place. Every room, not just this one. When we get a house it’s gonna be way cooler than this one.”

“For sure.”

“With short ceilings. I hate the echo.”

“And these awful, gaudy chandeliers,” Steve says, glaring at the ugly crystal light fixture above the bed. When he was younger, he used to have nightmares about it falling and crushing his parents. He doesn’t dream much anymore, but it’s one of those dreams that stuck with him.

“I kind of want to hit it with a baseball bat.”

That shocks a laugh out of him. “Like a piñata?”

“Yeah,” Robin says, eyes glowing. “Don’t you?”

Steve stares at it for a second. “I used to play baseball.”

And then they’re standing in the center of the room with a full children’s baseball bag. “This is stupid.”

Robin’s eyes are wide and wild. “Maybe,” she says.

“They’re not even going to notice, you realize that, right? They’re in Santa Fe, probably cheating on each other and mingling with other shitty parents who don’t care about their children. They’re probably never going to even bother coming back.”

“Doesn’t that piss you off?” Robin takes Steve by the shoulders, shakes him. “They should care about you, Steve! They’re your parents! They’re supposed to care about you, it’s their job! And they’re bad at it! Doesn’t that make you mad?”

Steve flexes his jaw. “Yeah.”

“Good! Because it makes me livid!” She throws the baseball in her hand at the horrible light fixture, aimed so that it bounces off in a different direction, and an ugly hunk of glass falls and shatters on the ground. The sound reverberates around the entire house, the way Robin’s laugh does. This person that cares about him more than his parents or the town or the people that left without considering what that would do to him. The people who left without asking first. The glass shatters into thick, ugly carpet that crunches under their sneakers, and so he throws the baseball in his hand, too. It leaves a dent in the drywall above the headboard, and it feels like his heart gets cracked wide open, and he bleeds cold throughout his body, and it’s the best he’s felt in months or maybe even years.

Robin yells loud enough to rumble the house and stir the neighbors if they ever cared, and she rips clothes off their hangers while Steve hits the vanity mirror with the baseball bat. They rip the nice, expensive, hardly-used sheets and joke about burning it up. They joke about burning the entire house down and leaving tonight. They shut the door and lock it behind them, and they don’t open it ever again.

–

The town wishes them goodbye. Or, at least, the people left who care about them wish them goodbye. The Byers-Hoppers throw a little party, and Dustin has a shitty little speech, and Max pretends to cry early on, and then actually cries a little bit when they get to their cars to leave. Erica holds it over everyone’s heads that she knew first, and they leave for San Francisco the first thing the very next morning, just the two of them, holding hands, a scorched sign that says “come back soon” in front of a rising sun.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things reverse big bang #steve harrington #robin buckley

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Punk is a thought, not a look. It's a message, not a sound. ________________________

Mariah-Janet Waters

Hobie's 'Mary-Jane' | Earth-138

18 - Any Pronouns - 5'3'' - Aro/Bi - Autistic - Pronounced Mariah-JA-net

Mixed Nigerian and Irish

Police Whistleblower from age 15, publishing anonymous exposés and hosting a local illegal anarchist radio-show

Daughter of Captain Walter Waters

Earned her blue laces off her father at 16 - Doesn't regret it all and still sleeps sound as fuck at night (well... not soundly)

Survivor of 4 assassination attempts - counting on a 5th

Most talkative person on planet earth - but wears the mask 24/7

Hates being called MJ DEEPLY

No piercings, untatted, and doesn't even like punk music

Entirely Punk none-the-less

[unmasked Mariah at the end]

Background:

Mariah-Janet has dedicated her life to the anarchist movement, and taking down Fisk's administration - no matter what it costs. Not that she had much left to spend. Born to Captain Walter Water's, a white police officer, and Barbra, her Nigerian mother, Mariah's mother left her life early - at the age of 4, not bothering to take Mariah with her. Instead she was raised by her father, an abusive cop mad at the world- and out to make it his daughter's problem. Raised in a tiny flat in low-income Tower Hamlets, he spent the majority of her childhood trying to iron the blackness out her hair and beat the queerness out of her soul. Though none of it ever worked much. She says change ain't in her nature. As Fisk's administration grew, so did her father's ruthlessness, and his newly earned V.E.N.O.M symbiote was only fuel to his fire. And at 15, Mariah become 'Red' - An anonymous Anti-Police whistleblower. Publishing dozens of exposes, reports, and zines against the administration - 'Red' rose to infamy through his illegally broadcasted rogue-radio show and his uncensored and ruthless protesting tactics. However, at 16 Mariah came across a story that would change her career - discovering the murder and cover-up of her own mother. Enraged but determined, Mariah leaked the report, at the same time her father uncovered her identity. Consumed by rage and powered by the V.E.N.O.M symbiote, when her father attacked her, Mariah earned her blue laces. And started wearing her mask, living life as the wanted 'Red'. Today Mariah lives in hiding, couch-surfing at the places of other organizers, or squatting in vacant flats.

Personality:

Don't let the bandana and dead stare fool you - Mariah is far from quiet and cold. Being autistic and hyperverbal, Mariah talks A LOT - whether she's actually saying something or not. She's not very expressive or emotive, and her humor is pretty dry and bland (think Dwight from the Office), even though she hates mean-spirited jokes. On the lighter side of things, Mariah is pretty brash and open. She's a writer, not a leader, and she's more interested in going with the flow than being in charge, though she often finds herself there. She fairly laid back - and incredibly confident. Almost outright cocky, even moreso than Hobie. She sits legs spread and burps loud and rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth. She enjoys cursing in front people who think it's 'rude', and she has an accent thicker than Hobie's. But unlike Hobie - she's not a 'typical, actual' punk (yeah right). She doesn't listen to punk music. In fact, she doesn't listen to much music at all. She has no real interest in the clothes, or the music, or the crowded live shows. And when she met Hobie, she had no real interest in the pretty boy who brings a guitar to a protest. Mariah is a punk, because that's how she lives her life. And she'll genuinely laugh in your face if you tell her she isn't, just because she thinks the Sex Pistols are shite. And she's incredibly loyal. To say Mariah doesn't trust anyone (from her universe at least) is an understatement. She can't afford it - what with 4 assassination attempts and counting - but if there's anyone on Earth she trusts, it's Hobie. But her and Hobie don't always see eye-to-eye. On the darker side of things, Mariah lacks the 'radical kindness' that Hobie does. Even though her and Hobie are both hard-core anarchists, 'Red's definition of 'justice' is often far more extreme. Mariah hates cops. All of them, and she genuinely wants them dead - in the most painful way she can muster. Knowing there are more men like her father out there, still sleeping soundly at night, and that there are men out there protecting them, Mariah says the movement isn't over until all of them are either punished, dead, or both. Mariah wants merciless punishment, and she isn't afraid to say it. For cops, politicians, fascists, nazis, racists, and any other bigot still breathing. She's an amazing planner, and a phenomenal speaker, but her protesting tactics often teeter into dangerous and malicious territory. Including arson, and if given the chance, execution. When Spider-Punk saved Mariah's life from a cop torturing her - the third attempt on her life - Mariah insisted he kill the already downed officer. Because it'd be 'One less to worry about.' Hobie didn't. And both began looking at each other a little bit different from that point forward. When they're alone and Mariah talks about how good it would be to live in a world without cops, Hobie can't help but agree. He's just afraid of what Mariah is willing to do to get there. And the more she tries, and the more she speaks, the more dangerous it gets for her.

Hobie & Mariah

Meeting:

Hobie knew his MJ Canon Event was coming - he just didn't know he already knew her. Hobie had met Mariah as 'Red', at an 'unpermitted political protest/performance art piece' - Hobie's words, not theirs. A Molotov cocktail in hand, and a balaclava across his face. To Hobie, to meet the person behind the words was surreal, and only for a few brief moments. Red met Spider-Punk months later. Coincidentally, while staring down the barrel of a gun. Faced with his second assassination attempt, Red comes face to face with the other masked anarchist, and is instantly filled with respect for him. Red's a fan, and Spider-Punk's a fan of his as well. And soon, the two are working together on the regular. Staging protests, running an illegal anarchist-rock-radio-show, and exposing insider information. It isn't until Red's third - and fourth - assassination attempt, that Hobie realized Red was now living in a bullet proof vest. After the fourth attempt, Hobie demasked himself, bringing an injured Red to the boathouse. He somehow convinced Red to stay while he healed. It was only then that Red revealed her identity to Hobie, and switched from ski masks to bandanas, and from Red to Mariah.

Relationship:

They aren't dating. If you even insinuate anything of the sort, Mariah is very likely to either tell you to 'piss off', or she'll (lovingly and playfully) insult him. 'I love charity work, darling. But not that much.' Romance isn't in the cards for them - Mariah's aro anyway. But that's not why this canon event exists. In every universe where MJ and Spidey are together, they are a rock for each other, mentally and emotionally. They're there to keep each other standing. Hobie didn't believe in canon events, and he still doesn't. But it took him a while to understand why Mariah was his canon event. Not to love her, but to protect her. Hobie believes in Mariah's message. And he believes in the power of her voice. 'Red' is loud. And Fisk knows it. She's a threat, because she's the voice of the people. Hobie may not agree with all of her methods. And that's fine. He can live with that. Because he believes in her message - and more importantly, he believes in her power. Hobie and Mariah were never meant to be partners in romance. And they'll forever be partners in crime. Outside of that - Hobie and Mariah's relationship is purely sexual and platonic. They're more than best friends. To them, they're two people who puts their lives in each other's hands every day, and respect each other beyond anything in this world.

Face Claims: Ice Spice /// Erin Kellyman

More about Mariah [Mentions of My Spidersona Disco-Spider Diane below]

Mariah is pretty romance averse. Her and Hobie never kiss outside of sex, and she's not touchy unless she's flirting. (Which she does, A LOT, just not to Hobie. She always tells him she can pick up more chicks than him - which, true.)

If Hobie tried to kiss her on the lips out of nowhere, she would look at him like he was absolutely insane. (She'd be like 'bruv - fuck are you in my face for')

She's not interested in romance at all, either thinking it's bizarre or distracting - and she's not afraid to say it

Though she has no interest in Hobie romantically (and doesn't see the appeal), she's still happy that he has Diane in his life. And she's VERY happy to leave that gushy shit to her.

*Makes retching noises when Diane & Hobie kiss in front of her*

Unlike Diane & Hobie, Hobie & Mariah are pretty open about the fact that they're fucking and nothing more. They're casual about it, but when Mariah is making Hobie sit on her lap at an afterparty - it sends a message.

She also likes to grab his ass at any opportunity, especially in front of people - doing things like pulling on his suspenders (then letting them go so they snap at his back lol)

She's also involved with Diane - originally independent of Hobie, after Mariah and Hobie got together - getting together shortly after Diane came out as bi

She knows Diane is not from their Earth - Hobie told her this before she ever met Diane. They first met when Mariah went alone to go introduce herself to Diane in her universe (with Hobie's blessing)

She went unmasked, and so Diane saw her face when they first met

The three of them are in a soft polycule

Mariah's masc-bi-butch and she prefers masculine descriptors.

Most of her clothes are thrifted jerseys of teams she doesn't back, and jeans 3 sizes up. When protesting, he'll wear all red.

Mariah prefers he/him pronouns when out as 'Red'. When out with unfamiliar people, organizers, or active protests - He's most often in balaclavas and ski-masks

Mariah doesn't wear boots - only trainers, but she still ties blue laces around the shins of her baggy pants every morning, because she feels like she's earned them

Wears her bandana almost constantly, and will wear it even when alone with Hobie - though she takes it off by herself. She has dozens, so it's always easy to grab one.

Very rarely will she take it off to eat or drink. She'll try to eat around it or drink around a straw, which is usually successful. If it isn't, she'll leave the room

She doesn't want people to memorize her face. And it's not that she doesn't trust anyone - which, she doesn't - it's that enough torture could break anyone. And she's not taking the risk.

If she takes off her bandana in front of you (unlikely) and you scan her face, she immediately doesn't trust you. (Why you looking so hard)

She wears her bandana so often around Hobie, that he finds it very easy to tell her emotions, even though Mariah does not emote much in general - besides, Mariah talks A LOT

It took her multiple months before Hobie saw her face, and she only showed him after living on the houseboat for some weeks, after they'd slept together

Raised being called 'MJ' by her father, Mariah highly dislikes it. She'll tell you not to call her it once, and every time after, she'll be a little more pissed

Around Hobie and people he trusts, Red prefers to go by Mariah or M - and uses any pronouns. If you ask Mariah their gender, you'll get an amused smile and bored shrug. What are you, a cop?

Asks people 'What are you, a cop?' or 'You a narc??' quite often. Half the time she's joking. Will also say "Okay, Officer." If you're being pushy and annoying, and laughs if that irritates you (Hobie)

Her laugh is very sharp, and it almost sounds mocking. Even if she isn't

Lots of times people don't trust her, what with the mask. These are the people she likes to take the piss out of most

Mariah experiences a lot of chronic pain, mostly derived from her father, and her 3 & 4th assassination attempts - making protests extremely taxing on her

Though she will hide this at all costs, in front of everyone except Hobie. During times of stress or increased pain, she'll take painkillers in sporadic doses. But being wanted by the state, she can only get her hands on so much.

She doesn't do much but protest and write. She doesn't like music like that, and she doesn't see the appeal. She doesn't draw anymore, though she used to

After years of living in survival mode, she works, plans, chain-smokes, and tries not to get killed while doing it

She doesn't understand Diane's groupie behavior, or Hobie's 'punk' rockstar cover. She thinks it's pointless, and on occasion she'll say this, not realizing how callous that may sound

To her, Hobie is a dork. And she calls him a dork all the time. How someone could see him as cool or rather - 'groovy' - is beyond her.

Has little to no filter - unless it comes to secrets and observations. Either she tells you exactly what she's thinking, or you get nothing at all.

Often has to be told when it's too much, and on occasion, during political planning, she has told Hobie he talks 'too nice'.

Though she does envy Diane, and her ability to just dance. Mariah has no form of escapism - her writing will always be a harsh reflection of reality. And she admires Diane's ability to live in spite of that, without the anger her and Hobie often go through.

The only escape Mariah has is reading, and puzzles. Mainly rubix cubes and things like that.

She loves fiction and fantasy. But her love of books doesn't stop there, and Red's radio show isn't all screaming.

Mariah is extremely versed in political and anarchist literature, being able to memorizes passages from manifestos and books easily, as well as speeches or direct pieces of confidential files she reads

Mainly leads riots - using anti-tear gas safety, road-blocking, and anarchist warfare like molotov cocktails & destruction of surveillance

Whereas a lot of Hobie's protests preach Love & Kindness among the community, Red's radio show and organized riots are backed by rage - telling the people to end the oppression by direct action, at any cost

Red wants revenge and a future, and if that means burning it all down and rebuilding from ashes and graves, then that's what he'll do. Happily.

She has killed in front of Hobie before, and he was not very happy about it (to say the least)

Sleeps in Hobie's bed a lot of nights - mainly because of the nightmares. She doesn't like doing this, and wish it didn't happen, but it is what it is. What helps helps, and she trusts Hobie more than anyone

Unlike how he is with Diane, Hobie is extremely protective of Mariah and worries about Red constantly - to the point that he's hypervigilant

Still has the badge she took off her father at 16. Her most prized possession

________________________________

ART STYLE: [We're almost done I PROMISE]

Less animated and expressive than Hobie - Mariah does not change colors the way he does. Most of the time she is black, white, grey, or the color of aging parchment, detailed with handwriting and lined paper.

Mariah can only turn Red, when enraged or at protest, and Blue, for injured, scared, or upset. As she gets angrier, the handwriting across her becomes more and more erratic and illegible.

INSPO:

Mariah is about being authentic without performance.

She's a punk, even though she 'doesn't look it'. She gets told that a lot. She's black, even though she 'doesn't look it'. Disabled, though she 'doesn't look it'. She's bi, but she 'doesn't look it' either.

Mariah isn't quiet, and she never hides the truth. But because people can't see her face, they act like they can never get a read on her - even though she's brutally honest.

I wanted her to defy the idea of what a punk is. She's not the girl who goes to Hobie's shows and kisses him backstage. That's Diane.

Mariah is the one that follows him into battle and debates him for hours. Even if she doesn't like his music. She still believes in anarchy, and fighting, and freedom.

She's still punk, and despite the anti-blackness of her father, she's still black.

Mariah is the opposite of Diane, although that wasn't really on purpose.

A lot of the time in the comics, MJ and Peter's relationship is about them being on the same side, and facing the world together - MJ always a encouraging force for Peter. And I wanted to boil that down as much as I could. So often that encouraging force is through romance and romantic affection - but unlike MJ and Peter, Hobie and Mariah have everything but that aspect. Both their attraction to each other and their mutal emotional support of each other are divorced from romance - instead being based in respect and care. Hobie wants to protect Mariah, and Mariah wants Hobie to fight at her side. Mariah is the reflection of Diane. She represents his political side, while Diane represents more of his musical side. She represents his enraged determination, while Diane is his radical kindness. Diane and Hobie aren't open about being 'together', but the romance between them is clear. Meanwhile Hobie and Mariah are open about sleeping with each other - and the lack of romance is just as clear. And my favorite part is their reflection of morals. To Diane suffering for the system, and for the Society, is a worthy cause. A necessary sacrifice. Diane is community oriented above all else, something she gained by her communist upbringing. Meanwhile, Mariah couldn't disagree more. No community liberated her. Instead, she liberated herself - not by sitting outside a courthouse - but by direct action - and killing her father when she got the chance. If life was a garden, Diane tries to plant flowers. Mariah is more interested in pulling up weeds. Maybe Diane is naive. Or maybe Mariah is cynical. Or maybe they both know exactly what they're doing. Either way Hobie cares for both of them beyond words. And in return, they love giving him headaches.

If you read this far - THANK YOU SOOO MUCH. Mariah took a while to come to me, but now that she's here she's as hardheaded and smug as can be (affectionately)

Her and Hobie are basically bros that fuck sometimes and their 'kisses' are actually just passionate looks of rage when they lock eyes during a riot lol

And because you made it this far: Here's a rare unmasked Mariah!

As per usual, take this Hobie photo, absorb it, cherish it, and use it in times of weakness for it will give you strength

Bye.

#*muffled sounds of Mariah ranting in the next room* #cause she never shuts up #sometimes hobie is just like 'shut up man!!! (affectionate)' and she starts calling him hobart #SO HAPPY TO FINALLY WRITE HER OUT A BIT #diane is the golden retriever #mariah is the grumpy ginger cat #hobie brown #hobie brown x oc #hobie brown x mj #spiderpunk #spider punk #spidersona #spidersonas #mary jane watson #atsv #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #no proofread as usu #hobie x oc #hobie x mj #hobie & mariah #discospider #disco spider

[spookymultimedia]

The ghost hunter trio

more info below

They hang out, listen to music, and get wrapped up in supernatural ghost adventures on accident. Firkle is the ghost expert, Ike can talk to ghosts and Karen is the immortal dare devil who's indestructible thanks to her curse. They're kinda like the Scooby-Doo gang but its South Park type bullshit.

Ike is too mature for his age and struggles to make friends with his age group, most of his kindergarten friends stopped hanging out with him so he hangs out with older teens. He's constantly mistaken for a young adult too often when he's still a child. He's a "gifted child" and fucking hates the academic pressure when he just wants to be a kid. He feels out of place with his family too being adopted and struggles to relate to his brothers: Kyle and Tweek. Firkle is his best friend who accepts him. Karen challenges Ike to be a little bolder and try new experiences. He has phasmaphobia that is diagnosed as generalized anxiety that he takes medication for.

Karen is this loud punk who starts fights with her Mother and has boundless energy. She collects dolls and changes them into zombies or vampires and sells them. She's probably some flavor of queer but she doesn't really care about relationships at the moment. She's reckless as fuck and the reason Kenny is going to have grey hair at 21 years old. Karen is much more open about her brother about her own curse.

Firkle is an agender sociopath who hates authority and loves the supernatural. It doesn't have many friends but it's extremely protective of the ones it has. It will cry if you kill a spider around it and then kick you in the shin for being a dick. Firkle and Ike have low empathy solidarity and Firkle sees Ike as a respectable person. Firkle is intrigued by Karen's curse and agrees with her anti-government passion.

#south park #south park headcanons #ike broflovski #firkle smith #karen mccormick #ghost hunter trio

[mueritos]

Hey! Asking about your experience with being punk/punk adjacent and also in academia. How do you handle the two? Punk action and activism is grassroots, which I try to be involved in, but I feel like I’m just speaking big words and writing into an echo-chamber about gender. Like the only good I do is explaining to a group of cis people terminology. What are your experiences on this, if you have any?

Hmm. Yea this was difficult for me to balance too. I'll insert a readmore cuz this got kinda long.

I enjoy academia and research and being able to have more advanced conversations with people, but I was also sick of being in classes or circles of people who I knew would speak "woke" for the sheer fact of looking like good people, but on the down low were incredibly racist, classist, queerphobic, and just down right nasty carceral people. It was difficult trying to sift through who was safe to open up to and who wasn't, because many people were actually liberals in disguise (even if they called themselves leftists or leftist aligned). I also was never shy about being an anarchist/punk, I was the only person who wore my spiked jackets and boots to class, my outfits were loud, but I also began seeing some other queer people I knew wear their own jackets because they were encouraged by me (so that was nice).

I was doing activism on campus while in undergrad alongside the usual academic theory/research stuff, and it turns out that people actually will hate your guts the moment you start pointing out problems. The usual "YOU become the problem the second you point out THE problems", so I faced a lot of social backlash, even from other marginalized people who I had confided in about problems. My advice is that unless you're willing to become one of the most hated people on campus, don't do your activism on campus. It's a surefire way of making enemies, even enemies in people you have never met in your life. There are plenty of local orgs, food banks, and churches with programming that you could be way more productive in than trying to combat institutionalized oppression like that of an academic institution. You can try, believe me because I did, and while I learned a lot about organizing, I also learned when to give up and focus on my community instead of changing systems.

You pointed out that you're getting sick of explaining to cis people. This is definitely something you can stop doing, if you'd like. I stopped giving up my labor to educate other people (within reason) because I was one of the few trans people on campus. But I also have this value that I am not about to let some person walk around with the wrong idea about marginalized communities, so I always speak up when people say incorrect things (this has also caused some yt people to avoid me lol). Of course, you do this with compassion and with the goal of making sure their future interactions with marginalized people go better, but after a certain point, you need to be able to hold your energy for where you want to put it. Put more pressure on your institution or adjacent orgs to have things like safezone training (or bring in queer orgs for trainings/lectures). You can also just tell people some websites to check out instead of answering their questions, because surprise to them, their questions can in fact be solved by a simple search, they just are far too lazy to do that.

I dunno tho. I still struggle with growing so much in terms of punk/anarchist theory and ideas, but i have a serious lacking in actual community organizing. I'm introverted, don't like big noisy crowds, and I am quite socially anxious. Being punk is like my armor in a world that doesn't like me, because I find people fuck with me less when Im in spikes and boots. I find theory and academia so fulfilling for my virgo brain, but I also don't shame myself for not being active in local community. I know there will be a time I will be, but I also know that everyone is helping in the movement in the ways they can. It doesn't matter if that is at the food bank, in protest, on the computer, or by reading theory. All of it is equally important, and some of us aren't going to be good at everything.

I found myself feeling far more productive and alive when I was working with communities I knew would keep me safe. Started surrounding myself with more BIPOC queer people who were also working against carceral thinking, and I found my life to be way more enjoyable. connecting authentically with people who you feel safe with is just as important as organizing or protesting. You can organize or protest, but if you don't have a community to turn to, you'll burn out and won't be able to sustainably stay in the movement. Focus on energies, peoples, and love, connect authentically and have difficult conversations about love and politics and theory. You can be an academic, but still maintain the punk values you love in your daily life. Humans are made of contradicting values and experiences, we shouldn't shame each other for that and instead hold the multiple and contradicting truths in us all.

I can go on and on, but ill leave it at that. feel free to ask anything else in specific tho.

#muertoresponds #punk #ig another tip is connect with professors #many of my proffs were literally communists haha and i was their token anarchist #but many of them will have experience and even places for u to go to #ive been invited to many local organizings or dinners with groups by professors #never was able to go becuz of time and cuz i couldnt drive #but these are people with lived experience and theory on their belt

[vintagegoodytwoshoes]

Wild to think that they had a been in a queer core punk band before. Leather jackets, shredded t-shirts, Doc Martens, dyed hair, nose rings: absolute rebels in every way. Loud, brash, fiercely independent.

Of course, their neighbor was a different sort of man: older, more traditional. And he wanted the men in his neighborhood to be traditional too. He was a retired parapsychologist, a former employee of the state department who worked on one of those secret programs to brainwash people. He had kept quite a bit of his research.

And so, when he hid the radio emitter in the backyard of the punk boys’ house, they never noticed how their brain waves were being subtly reprogrammed into a much more old fashioned way of thinking. Soon, the tattered clothing and denim vests covered in patches were gone. The boys started wearing nice high waisted slacks that came up to their ribs. Every day they buttoned up a dress shirt so sheer, you could see the white a-shirt through it. And of course, this was accompanied by a well tied bow tie. At first the men were confused by this desire, but soon they gave in as their reprogramming went deeper. Now they thought nothing of spending the afternoon ironing their white briefs for the week.

Their neighbor delighted in the change. As he peered out his window, he saw the boys return from a trip to the barbershop. Gone we’re the dyed mullets, replaced by naturally colored quiffs slicked with so much pomade, you could see the reflection of the sky in them. They truly looked as old fashioned as possible.

Soon, they began acting as old fashioned as possible. Their brash rebelliousness nature melted away as they became polite, timid, and meek. They couldn’t even look their neighbor in the eye as they shuffled past him on the street, saying “excuse me sir.” They called him “sir!” Can you believe it? These former rebels now intimidated by their elders!

And while the men had once been loud and proud about their sexuality, it now retreated as they adopted a more traditional attitude towards it. They were practically in the closet, and too chaste to do anything about their desires anyway.

No longer did they attend concerts; instead they attended church. No longer did they listen to punk rock; instead they listened to polka. No longer did they shred on a guitar; now they played accordions at the VFW to entertain the veterans.

The neighbor was impressed at the transformation. He delighted in seeing his neighbors live every day like obedient nerds from the 1950s. Everything had been a success and made some excellent data. The man grinned, knowing he could increase the amplitude on his next design, and soon, every man in town would be living as traditionally as his neighbors.

#vintage #vintage men #becomevintage #vintagemen #traditional masculinity #1950s aesthetic #1950shousehold #gaytf #tradmasc #reject modernity embrace tradition #thepastisyourfuture #gaytrad #tradgay #cleancut #vintage transformation

[polaroidtelevision]

I've seen a few fics/posts on here where Eddie successfully corrupts Steve into a metalhead, and I've seen a very small handful of punk Steve content. Now, punk Steve has my heart, especially anarcho-punk, becuase you can't tell me he wouldn't be, like, "Where has the government been this whole time? Huh?? Kids had to save the world several times, the government just deals with clean up. Plus it's illegal to be gay. Fuck the government!!"

But this post isn't about punk Steve, this post is about goth Steve, which I havent seen a single fic or ficlet or anything on here for yet. There's probably some of it out there, but I haven't seen it and thats homophobic, so I'm writing it.

So Eddie and Steve become friends and same thing we've all seen a ton of, tries to get him into better music. But metal just hurts his brain, not even in a general way, like in a repeated head trauma way, its too loud and fast and oh yeah, he definitely wishes he could enjoy it for Eddie, but he just can't deal with the migraines it gives him, that anything a little too loud or with a fast beat does.

So Eddie respects that, but still helps him expand his tastes because Steve is helpless, he listens to the same three radio stations that play whatever shitty pop is popular, he isn't really a Fan of anything but Bowie and Queen.

And then Steve finds the goth subcultures, something still alternative and daring and a bit queer but with music that he can actually listen to, because it can be mellow, lulling. He can turn it up in the car and let it fill his head, it's hypnotic. Even the faster songs, they tend to be more electronic, less drum and guitar solos that make his ears ring, and he can listen to them, and he ends up enjoying it. The Cure? Depeche Mode? Bauhaus? Ministry? New Order? He'd eat all that shit up.

And maybe he'd never get super into the style, he'd start wearing band tees and paining his nails and sometimes wearing eyeliner and little things and he'd do something wild with his hair and put on a mesh top and just do something crazier for club nights and he'd never really go All Out like some other guys, but he loves the new culture he's found, loves that it's still different and interesting and alternative and exciting and that he can actually be a part of it.

And Eddie loves it too, he loves that Steve's finally found something and made it his own. He can finally express himself, not the leftover mold of who he tried to be in high school and for his parents. Plus, Steve looks great in eyeliner and Eddie thinks he's hotter than ever before.

#goth steve supremacy #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steddie headcannon #steddie headcanon #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #goth steve au #stranger things drabble #stranger things headcanons #steddie drabble

[angclnumber]

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳 !

here to say that i want even more sapphic stuff so i want to get some thing going with the muses under the cut ! if you are interested in a starter from any of them then please like this post ! ♡

𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑺 .

DAWN MENKEN LIAW / director / bi / she + they / chase sui wonders

born in amsterdam and ( mostly ) raised in new york and has the weird accent to prove it, brought up by the world’s grumpiest old man and it shows, mother owns one of europe’s most successful talent agencies, guitarist in all girl punk band called atomic boob as a side gig, painfully pessimistic, a tortured artist trying to make it in the film industry, has an attitude problem tbh, janis ian coded .

HAVEN MAURY LIANG / weather girl / queer / she + they / havana rose liu

local weird girl who will flirtatiously read your palm at a party, has big dreams of joining cirque du soleil as a trapeze artist and is simply forecasting the weather until then, in love with love and everything to do with it while simultaneously being a commitment-phobe, victim of the perfect little rich girl to quietly disowned pipeline, the vibe of a drunk girl in a club bathroom, a lil ty lee inspired .

ROMINA ESCOBAR / reality tv star / lesbian / she + her / camila mendes

a part of a family reality show inspired by the kardashians, deeply codependent and therefore painfully loyal to those she deems deserving, more than kind of bratty, vain, and self absorbed, hates men and is loud about it, is probably the last one to figure out her sexuality because doesn't every gal just want to makeout with her bffs sometimes ? mildly inspired by jennifer check .

RUTH RANSOM / actress / bi / she + her / kristine froseth

daughter of a washed up rockstar and his groupie, mommy and daddy issues ( double homicide ), ran away from home at seventeen, energiser bunny adjacent girlie who never shuts up, the world's biggest flirt with the world's biggest commitment issues, stumbled into the world of acting half hungover and still in last night's glittery makeup, manic pixie dream just a girl inspired by penny lane.

SLATER KATZ  / rockstar / lesbian / she + they / ruby cruz

born and raised in australia, replacement child to an incredibly well off couple who wanted to save their marriage , has had a prodigious talent with music from childhood, has daddy issues, mommy issues, and anger issues, painfully obtuse with feelings, does not know how to talk to people, tends to hit first and ask questions later, never has an empty bed, billy dunn and daisy jones coded .

𝑻𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑺 .

ELM MOSSBACH  / museum tour guide / queer / she + they / taylor russell

works for a small museum in a small town in the middle of nowhere, generally the kind of place that people stop by for gas on their way to somewhere better, very much suburban gothic inspired in terms of environment . does she work at an oddities museum ? maybe so . longs for adventure but feels stuck, wants to get out of this town .

FELICIA 'FLICK' RELF / actress / bi / she + her / madelyn cline + meghann fahy

was in a mystery inc crew when she was a teenager and is the star of a limited series inspired by their exploits, is seen as a sellout by the other members of that crew but does it really matter if she's famous ? grew up in a motel as the daughter of the deadbeat parents who owned it, swears all the supernatural stuff in their stories is all fake, but was it really ? semi inspired by scooby doo and the x files .

KINSLEY 'KIDNEY' BEAN  / petty thief / bi / she + her / abigail cowen

raised by two parents who had too many kids to truly give a fuck about all of them, the only girl in a hoard full of brothers, has the accent of a southern belle and the charm to match, will use that charm to walk away with your wallet, has never been single for more than a few weeks in her life, responsible for more than a few gas station hold ups, inspired by villains ( 2019 ) and bandits in general .

LORENA FONTBONA  / grad student / queer / she + they / jenna ortega

drenched in dark academia vibes but exclusively the weird ones, family owns a successful board game company that a lot of them are convinced they made a deal with the devil for but ren has their doubts, a legacy in a secret society, game theory student who reluctantly plans to take over the family business, a natural cynic, april ludgate coded and semi inspired by ready or not .

OCTOBER 'TOBI' CRAFT  / f1 racer / lesbian / she + they / margaret qualley

white trash golden retriever, grew up in a trailer park without a lot of prospects so even she's surprised that she got this far, raised by a father that specifically always wanted one of one of his sons to race ( surprise, dad !), got discovered by chance while street racing ( allegedly ) and hasn't looked back since, can't go to a gay bar without running into at least five girls that she's slept with .

RAVEN ZHAO  / gas station attendant / bi / she + they / courtney eaton

final girl of death valley, nevada and no one will let her forget it, born as the child of a obsessive occultist and his lovesick wife and was abandoned by both respectively, spent most of her adolescence living in an abandoned 'cursed' church and ergo was the town's very own social pariah ( and the first scapegoat ) for it, refuses to go to therapy even if the killer ended up being her own mother .

WREN 'OZ' OSWIN  / athlete / lesbian / they + them / brigette lundy paine

raised by a couple of zoologists who named all of their children after animals and dragged them around the world for their work, one of seven kids, grew up homeschooled and therefore chronically online in search of community and it shows, a goober who just happens to be tall and surprisingly athletic, the world's biggest romantic but they try to keep that on the low, in the wnba .

WYATT KILMER  / student / lesbian / she + they / sophie thatcher

was the favourite child of the worst father in the world which sucked but happens to come in very handy in the zombie apocalypse, was taught to hunt under the guise of bonding, lost almost their entire family at the start of the apocalypse but is searching for their little brother, was the first person in their family to go to university but does that matter now ? deeply ( and reluctantly ) protective .

ZIAZAN 'ZI' DERIAN  / mortician / lesbian / she + her / angela sarafyan

grew up working in her family's funeral home and always knew she would inherit it, has a passion for her work that was also inherited, deeply romantic in an only mildly creepy way ( most of the time ), almost always finds herself going for the crazy ones, writes gothic literature under a pseudonym, vaguely inspired by morticia addams and lisa frankenstein .

#indie rp #indie lesbian rp #indie bi rp #starters will be based off something in your wanted plots unless otherwise specified #also if you want your starter from a specific muse feel free to reply < 33 if not i'll do it at random !

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Middle of the night but I gotta talk about some frustrations. 'Cause you know what pisses me off? The mainstreaming popularization of punk. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing it become more popular and I love seeing people discover themselves and the culture. I mean, I got into it from a young age with RATM, for crying out loud.

The problem is that when something becomes more and more popular, you get a lot of... unsavory types. And I'm not even talking about the Tiktok punks that do it for the fashion and the "cool factor" (ignore how punks weren't considered cool and actually disregarded and disrespected as a group of "radicals" and "unsightly" which is what makes punk punk to begin with) and talk about "posers" but then the moment you ask them about their favorite local band or even their opinions about the BLM protests or Drag Queen Story Hour the real them *cough* bigot *cough* comes out. I'm talking about how everywhere you turn, there's an increasing erase of the culture and history, and it's turned into yet another thing for cis white people to use to make up for their lack of culture.

Punk is based in queerness and blackness. Period. That is an undeniable fact. It is a culture started and rooted by black musicians which then bled into the equally black queer community. It is impossible, when you go through the origins, to separate the three. From the fashion to the music, we owe everything to them.

And it's just like what happened with the gay community. A massively marginalized group, technically allowed to live in society but not allowed to be our true selves. And then, like, you have super famous and historic movements lead by black activists through the 60s to 80s. And progress is finally made. Huge celebration. We're finally allowed in public, we start appearing on TV again. But then fast forward to modern day, and white people, like we've always done, we get our grubby little paws on it. And we scrub at it in all the soap we can until any instance of black or brown is gone. And then we claim it as ours. Everybody acknowledges where it started, but nobody celebrates it. In fact, we put down black people in our community. We appropriate their culture and their language, because stealing your voice is actually our way of celebrating you so you should be happy. We make movies of those movements, and we erase any evidence of them ever having been there.

And it's relatively the same thing here. The more mainstream it gets, the more people are doing it to be performative, the more we erase and cover up the "unseemly" history that makes it so beautiful in the first place.

And, like, I'm white and I'm pissed/tired. I can't imagine how black punks feel. Cause, like, think for a minute. Some group decides they want in but they don't like how it is, they want it their way. The "correct" way. So they begin to "kick out" everybody who they don't want, appropriate everything they like about it, and rewrite and recontextualize the history that made it. Isn't that, like, the textbook definition of fascism? The whole thing we're trying to take down? Like come on.

And to the white punk/gays who read this and got confused or upset. No, I'm not saying there aren't any white punks. No, I'm not saying there weren't white gays from the get go. Nobody is saying you can't be white and punk. The point of this post is, just, be a good person. Respect, acknowledge, celebrate the culture that created this thing we love. The gay community that we know is specifically a product of blackness and black efforts. Stop appropriating them, start learning how to celebrate them properly.

#this rant was brought to you by an aggravated sleep deprived person seeing two videos back to back being completely wrong #sorry if anything is misspelled or slightly incorrect or incoherent #I'm running on like four hours of sleep in about three days total and i wrote this at midnight #ish #punk #punk culture #queer culture #ramblings #ranting #the white washing of everything is horrific and i feel like nobody else in white circles wanna talk about it #we're so far up our own asses not only can we not see our own prejudice we don't even understand what it means

[ink-flavored]

Reworking Pride

BTS Series: ⬅ Table of Contents - Reworking Justice ➡ Also available on Neocities! P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze @zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales Banner art by @auroblaze

The first thing I decided needed a rework was, no surprise, the protagonist. Pride would need to change significantly, and not just for the obvious reasons. I needed to have a different visual for him so I could more easily create a separate personality and motivation from scratch, instead of constantly associating him with his alternate fanfiction self. I can’t draw, so I went onto this Picrew and threw together an initial appearance I could work off of.

I wanted to keep some of the punk elements like piercings and alternative dress, both as a kind of homage and to put a big neon sign over his head that reads HAS PROBLEMS WITH AUTHORITY. Same thing with the eyeliner—explicitly not conforming to gender norms, both signaling a problem with authority and implied queerness, which is intentional. The goatee was for fun, since “haha goats and Satan,” but I liked it so much I kept it. I did decide to make him white, instead of Japanese like his fanfiction counterpart, which is a change I did make with a purpose (I’ll get into it). The horns and tail being the classic cartoon devil were the only options available. It wasn’t the look I was going for with the story, but I added them anyway because they were cute.

One big deviation I decided on right away was that this isn’t going to be a stolen body, for Pride or Justice. Their appearances are what they look like, all the time, and Pride will ferry the soul for his contract without hijacking their appearance. I actually changed the way the whole contract thing works, too, but that’s a story for another post.

From here, I began brainstorming his personality. The fanfiction Pride & Justice was very short, so there wasn’t a whole lot of room for character development or action. In fact, Pride has a static character arc through the whole story. The only thing that changes by the end is him admitting that he’s scared to go back to Hell, and the rest of his personality remains exactly the same. That isn’t going to fly as an original character in a longer story.

In this new story, Pride as a character needs to be a shithead, for lack of better description. Not only is he a demon, he’s the embodiment of hubris, self-importance, and the root of all sin. He needs to be loud, obnoxious, arrogant, and outraged, if not violent, when he doesn’t get his way. Paradoxically, he also desperately needs people to like him. It’s well-documented that people with healthy relationships with their pride don’t do the grandiose “look at me, I’m so special” thing—their pride is self-evident, and exudes naturally. The people who do act incredibly shitty like this are compensating for a low self-esteem, declaring that they’re the best, that everything they do is the best, and that everyone should like them for being so obviously the best. This, of course, turns potential friends and companions away, and sends them further down into their spiral.

I took a great deal of (mostly tongue-in-cheek) inspiration from a Tweet by Sarah Hagi (that I can unfortunately not find the link to): “God, give me the confidence of a mediocre white dude.” I want Pride to be a critique of that guy you know, the one who acts like he’s the best thing since sliced bread, but isn’t really as great as he claims, and deep down he knows it. He hurts people to boost himself up, using his position of power over others to make himself feel more secure. Sure, he’s had pain, maybe even trauma, but he doesn’t want you to know that. It would be weak, in his mind, to admit that he has wounds so deep he can’t even look himself in the mirror.

So, as my protagonist, Pride needs to be fundamentally self-absorbed, taking pleasure in the pain of others, because he’s compensating for and masking a very deep emotional pain. I don’t want to be so black-and-white as to make the entire concept of “having pride” a strict evil, so over the course of the story I want to develop him into a healthier version of it. This would give him a very fulfilling arc—he begins the story as the negative expression of pride, hubris and self-importance and viciousness, and ends on the positive end of the spectrum, with genuine self-respect and confidence without needing to harm others. That’s a whole dang character with flaws and potential for growth if I do say so myself!

Obviously, I wasn’t quite done. Pride needed a pain to endure, something that would turn him into the vindictive little asshole we see before us. What better pain for a demon to have, what better way to turn them bitter against all of humanity and virtue, than to be cast out of Heaven by God for questioning His authority? Not only is Pride a demon, he’s one of the fallen angels who rebelled with Lucifer when he fell from Heaven.

My wonderful girlfriend, AuroBlaze, helped me solidify Pride’s appearance so I wouldn’t have to use the Picrew forever. The idea of him having the blond roots of his hair exposed was played as a joke, at first, because how funny would it be for him to always look like he had a shitty hair-dye job? But while we were talking, I realized it could be a brilliant metaphor for the very shoddy mask he wears to hide his aforementioned bitterness and trauma—especially if those exposed roots are the color his hair used to be as an angel, that won’t stay covered up, no matter how hard he tries.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The blond roots are still the color his hair was as an angel, but the reason they stick around is because it's essentially a magical scar. His dark hair stops right where it meets his horns, his broken halo. His former-holiness is burned into him, and can't be transformed or dyed away.

While we were discussing what I actually wanted his horns to look like, I solved a few world-building birds with one stone. The demons in this story, instead of just being goth angels, have their wings cut off by the other angels when they fall. Their halos are cracked in two, jammed into their heads, and become their horns, eternally smoking with once-holy fire. They grow tails from the trails of fire they leave as they fall to Hell, like the trail of a comet. They have several permanent reminders of the grace they lost.

Lo and behold, we have our final design:

[Tumblr version] [Instagram version]

Welcome to the world, Pride! You are a menace to society and will cause so much distress to everyone around you.

A few other details that I want to mention before we go: All demons have a secondary beast form they can transform into, either fully or partially (i.e. Pride can summon one monster arm if he wants). Compare this to angels having a human form and a “flaming wheel of eyes and fire” form. His horns and tail are also optional in this way—he can hide them from humans entirely if he wants. I won’t get deep into his powers or how this story’s version of magic works, but there’s a good chance I’ll make a separate post about it later.

EDITOR’S NOTE: You can see his beast form here, also drawn by AuroBlaze!

Also, for those of you waiting with bated breath for this: Pride will be explicitly bisexual in this book. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to bring it up yet, but I am very excited to populate this story with a lot of queer and trans characters, so it’ll be a topic at some point for sure.

On that note, there’s an internal war waging within me about whether or not I should make Pride trans. I’ve been on the fence about it for a while. Since he’s a multi-dimensional immortal creature who chose every detail of his body to his exact specifications, he wouldn’t need top surgery, hormones, or anything like that. It would just be the lower half that’s the contested zone. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal, but this story is a romance and there will be sex in it. So it’s unusually pressing!

The arguments against? I don’t want to perpetuate any harmful assumptions by making a trans character literally on the side of the devil. I already have more than a few trans side characters in the story, but I still don’t want to make any unfortunate comparisons in today’s landscape. There’s the whole “indoctrination” thing, tempting others to sin is a big part of his personal magic arsenal, don’t need to make too many jumps to get disingenuous there. There’s also the matter of my intended commentary—the “mediocre white man” stuff. While being trans wouldn’t make him less of a man, obviously, the kind of behavior I’m trying to critique is seen most often in cis white men. They use toxic masculinity as a shield because they’ve been told all their lives they aren’t allowed to show “weakness” in the form of emotional vulnerability, and hurting others is how they feel strong—like a “real man”—in the face of their pain. I don’t want to mess with the foundations of that critique, risk muddying it, or accidentally send a completely different message than I intended with such a delicate subject.

The arguments for are more self-indulgent. I am a huge fan of adding things to a story just because you like them, and something about Pride screams TRANS! at me. Trans men aren’t seen often in media, especially trans men who are visibly, vocally, and proudly gender non-conforming, and that representation is personally important to me. Also, trans men who don’t feel the need to get surgery are plenty scarce in the media landscape, which is again important to me personally. Beyond my personal investment, the metaphors I could play with regarding transness and fallen angels, and how toxic American Evangelical Christianity is to queer identities would tie in with a lot of other themes in the book. For any other story, that alone would be enough for me to shrug and make the change, but still I hesitate. Thoughts? Feelings? Advice? I’d love to hear it.

EDITOR’S NOTE: In the time since I wrote this post, I did decide to make Pride canonically a trans man. Once I started viewing him as trans, I couldn’t un-see it, and it became an inextricable part of him as a character. I do plan on tying in all of the above-mentioned metaphors into his character, and more. One of Pride’s arcs in the book is about his self-discovery—about becoming someone he actually wants to be, not tied down to anyone’s opinion of him, and growing into a person who doesn’t need to identify himself with his past trauma. It moves him so powerfully, he genuinely wants to be a human by the end of the book, something he once reviled because of how they stole God’s love from him. I think the growth, metaphor, and representation all come together to be more important than the “mediocre white man” thing, or any possible bad-faith readings of a trans character (which the inevitable dipshits will do no matter what).

WHEW, this one was a doozy. I guess I was really excited to introduce this story officially! Thanks for reading this ramble all the way to the end. And as always, thank you for your continued support!

See you next time for more Behind The Scenes action!

— Annika

#writeblr #original writing #writeblr community #amwriting #original characters #writers on tumblr #queer writers #prose #WIP #annika talks #Pride #Pride & Justice #P&J #P&J: Worldbuilding

[hattiestgal]

Outside of art, I don’t know a lot about Riley! What’s the story behind this GOOD BEAN?

Yessss thank you I can finally let at least a part of the silly little stories in my head be free. Here is an extremely simple summary of Riley's life until now (though I'd be happy to go into more detail on certain parts if people are interested!) Riley Foxglove (She/They) is a 22 year old fennec fox whos lived in a quiet little town named Little Pocket out in the middle of what would be most like this universe's Oregon, deeper in the more remote, heavily forested parts of the state pretty much their whole life (their family having moved there from one of the more desert-y states before she was born). They're rowdy, mischievous, a little prone to shoplifting, and yet, they prefer to keep to themselves, wonder the woods not too far from their house, they keep a tight knit circle of friends to which they'll discuss their interests with pretty much nonstop, just a lot of undiagnosed autism stuff, really. But in a town where everyone knows everyone pretty much, it wasn't hard for them to build a reputation as just the weird kid. Their loud and outgoing personality as a kid quickly landed them a friend for life in elementary school though, Omen Poe (He/Him). He's a raven who they eventually started a two man band called "Innuendo" (they were very mature, I'm sure you could tell) during their early high school years, kicking off their collective interest in music (or rather, deepening it) Depressive episodes coming and going in the background as Riley continued discovering things about themselves, a new girl, Violette Burrows (She/Her), moved in to town during her sophomore year, and Riley pretty much immediately got the dumbest puppy crush on her. Eventually, that led her to inviting Violette to the band (much to Omen calling out her crush). Soon, the punk band was together as it is today, known as "Boy, Girl, Mischief!" (Omen being the boy, Violette being the girl, and Riley being the mischief) All the while, Riley's crush on Violette was only getting more intense. With their popularity growing over the years, the band took many trips out of state on tour, which eventually lead them all to one of the most awkward nights of their collective lives. One fake dating trope and a punched ex boyfriend later, and Riley was only falling more and more for Violette. With some pressure from Omen (who had been watching these two be hopelessly in love with each other for a few months at this point), Riley finally admitted their feelings for Violette, and the two have been dating ever since. As of recently, Riley has been on the up and up from their depression, finally surrounding themselves with people they very deeply care about, coming to terms with their neurodivergence and queerness, and taking the time to approach their self expression and being comfortable in their body. It's been a process, for sure, but a good one. That doesn't mean there isn't still things to figure out (Riley still really needs to land a job somewhere), but they carry themselves with a lot more confidence nowadays. Thanks for the ask!

#hat answers #my ocs #Riley Foxglove #Violette Burrows #Omen Poe #lore dump - little pocket

[weaversweek]

"If you love someone" and "Sk8er boi"

Another two for the #FearOfMu21c project, crowdsourcing the greatest singles of the 21st century. Here’s an index post.

"If you love someone" - The Veronicas

Gothpop twins Jessica and Lisa Origliasso have been making great music for most of the century. They've gone from power pop (4ever, All about us) through synth-dance (Untouched), and then into an era of molten Barbie poured into a crucible with black eyeliner. Or something like that.

"If you love someone" comes from The Veronicas' 2014 eponymous album, itself following five years of development hell and a transfer from Warner Brothers to Sony. There's anger on the album, most notably on the sarcastic "Did you miss me". The song's co-written by Lisa and Jessica, their regular collaborator Josh Katz, and songwriting powerhouse DNA Music.

And it's happy, upbeat, inclusive. A big giant hug for all the queers, all the misfits, all the people who don't quite fit into Normal Bread Society. Yes, it's a simple and universal emotion, expressed in an uncomplicated way. And sometimes, the simple stuff is just right.

"Sk8er boi" - Avril Lavigne

Speaking of simple concepts: "He was a boy. She was a girl. Can I make it any more obvious?"

Avril Lavigne splashed onto the scene in summer 2002, and snotty bratty mall-punks around the world found their eyes popping out on stalks. "Complicated" had an interesting video; "Sk8er boi" was the soundtrack to rebellion. A youthful, limited, acting out against the system rebellion.

Written by Avril with powerpop trio The Matrix, "Sk8er boi" tells of a doomed romance between a posh ballet superstar who spurns the advances of a snotty bratty skater boy. By concluding with the news that Avril gets with the skater, we're spared the problem of explaining a genderbent Mary Sue to 2002.

The song is a blast. Literally: it begins at high volume and doesn't stop. The lyric starts as simple, staccatto phrases - until it gets complex. There's plenty of music to be had - power pop chords, hook after hook, and Avril shows she can sing. But it's the energy that impresses - "Sk8er boi" sees the line between "milquetoast" and "too loud", dances along it, turns a few cartwheels, and ends by making an iconic hand gesture in our face.

It's one of Avril's signature songs, alongside "Complicated" and 2007's "Girlfriend" - all three made my longlist for this project.

#the veronicas #lisa veronica #jessica veronica #queer #pride #avril lavigne #pop #punk pop #goth pop #perky goth #skate pop #snotty bratty punk #Youtube #fear of mu21c #fear of music #FearOfMu21c #fearofmu21c #pop music #21st century