#be punk use your library

[wyvern-babbles]

Day 7 of Fighting Dystopia (Bonus Round!)

I finished up some much needed repairs on my renaissance festival costume. I've been wearing my bodice around the house as lounge wear because its so comfortable and it needed a new closure and some repairs where the fabric was fraying. It lives to see another day and I don't need to buy any new lounge clothes.

[roseredsnow]

Good news!

Found a bobbin lace making book in my library catalogue, it's currently on loan but I've places a hold.

And in doing so I've found out I can actually get books from one library on hold to another.

I knew that my card was usable for all allerdale libraries but I didn't know that so that's really cool, instead of going into a town I don't go to on a regular basis and I can just walk to my towns one.

[genderqueerdykes]

genuine piece of advice for punks, activists, and everyone else honestly: any form of leftist infighting is a waste of your time.

focus on the task at hand: improving living and quality of life conditions for your community. unionize. donate to food banks. cooperate with organizations like food not bombs to distribute free hot meals. volunteer at libraries. participate in homeless outreach. give people access to resources in your community. organize and participate in protests. create organizations, groups, and gathering spots for queer folk in your area who need safe places to go and find community.

help people find access to HRT, surgery and other gender affirming care. carry, hand out, and administer narcan (naloxone). help recovering people get to rehabilitation, methadone clinics and so on. help addicted people practice harm reduction and use safely. help give out menstrual kits to homeless and low income people who have periods. help people get into housing programs. help disabled people apply for disability (SSI and SSDI) and disability lawyers. help disabled people find work or income resources that are accessible to them. donate blood and/or plasma if you can. care for people with HIV and AIDS.

help people apply for food stamps, medicaid, bill and rent assistance. help disabled people find case managers and caregivers. call local lawmakers to voice your opinions on current events. advocate for disadvantaged queers in your area. establish and participate in mutual aid funds. spread awareness and advocate online. write about and share your experiences with disadvantages, abuse and other problems you've faced in life for who you are. gather and organize with people with shared experiences. start or volunteer at a community garden. deliver meals to the elderly. volunteer at a homeless shelter.

organize fundraisers for, spread awareness of, and donate to:

Palestine

Sudan

Congo

i don't care if someone's activism looks different from yours: there are a TON of ways to improve and make change in your and the global community. doing ONE of these is enough, finding a singular way to improve your community is a better use of your time than arguing. everyone can find ways to be good to each other.

rehashing the same talking points, reading between the lines, accusing someone of identifying with politics they've never advocated for, and making baseless accusations isn't helping. it's not fixing anything. mobilize. advocate. stand up for your community and its rights. take action. now. i mean it. we must.

help each other.

[reiderwriter]

Hii~ First of all I love your writing!

Now about the request... I really wanted one where Spencer is dating a painter who has the personality of a black cat (we all know that our Reid is a total golden retriever type) and everyone thinks that she is the dominant one of the couple since she has this more punk/alternative style, but the team couldn't be more wrong! A soft!Dom Spencer makes her obey and yield every time! ~thank u

A/N: Thanks so much for the request! I can definitely see myself making a part two for this if enough people are interested!! For now though, enjoy! ~✨

Warnings: mentions of public sex, BDSM roles, mentions of using dog collars in a sexual way, mentions of creampie.

Here's my masterlist and requests are open!~

“I can’t believe we’re finally meeting your mystery girl tonight, Reid. You’ve been so quiet about her, we’d have never even known if Penelope hadn’t hacked your phone on a hunch.” Emily laughed at the man from her perch at the bar, raising her glass in a cheers with her fellow agents. 

“I’m not too sure she really exists, you know. I know what my baby girl said but the kid graduated from MIT, and we know texts can be doctored,” Morgan teased from the other side of the younger man. 

In response, he simply rolled his eyes and let them continue their fun and games. He’d known the two agents for long enough to know that their teasing was loving, if not entirely warranted. He’d only kept you a secret because you’d asked him to, having wanted to make a good first impression on them. He’d have gladly shouted your name from the rooftops, but you were on the shy side sometimes. 

“Oh you’re just jealous. You want me to help you take a little honey home tonight, Derek?” Emily turned on the other man this time and Reid breathed a sigh of relief that the attention was finally off of him.

“I am perfectly capable of collecting all by myself, thank you very much.” He turned an amused eye out to the rest of the bar, surveying the women in the bar like a predator looking or it’s next victim. 

“What about that one? She good enough for the Derek Morgan?” Spencer glanced up at where she was pointing at the same time as the aforementioned male did and did his best to repress his smile. Emily had glanced to the door, where you stood, outfitted in a tight black dress, chunky thigh high boots and a stoic expression. You’d carefully washed all the paint that usually adorned your hair and face away, armouring yourself in red lipstick and dog collar choker, letting the look speak for itself. 

“Now that is a nice piece of work, but not exactly what I’m into, sweet cheeks. I prefer my ladies a little bit less wild. A little more compliant if you pick up what I’m putting down.” 

“Coward. Dominant women are more fun, right Reid?” Emily smiled back at the other man, but he was looking past the two of them waving to you. 

“Oh great, you’re here. Emily, Derek I want you to meet my girlfriend, Y/N.” He grabs your hand and leads you the rest of the way to where they were standing, the grin on his face widening exponentially as the two splutter, praying to god that you didn’t just hear the tail end of their conversation about you. 

“Hi, great to meet you. And yes, Emily, I agree. Dominant women do seem to have a lot of fun,” you winked at the woman a little bit and let your boyfriend excitedly drag you over to the bar to buy you a drink. 

Recovering first, Emily pulled herself back into the barstool she’d recently vacated, and started asking you questions. 

“So, how did you guys meet?” 

“At the library actually. I was there installing a mural, and I saw him and decided I had to have him.” You smiled fondly up at your boyfriend, as he rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink. You’d perched yourself between his legs, leaning your entire bodyweight back into his chest possessively, as he trailed a light hand over your waist. 

“You’re a painter? Wow, that’s so wonderful.” 

“Yeah, that’s the dream anyway. I also work part time at an art gallery downtown to help pay the bills. It’s where he tracked me down, so it worked out pretty well, I guess.” 

“Tracked you down?” Morgan asked. 

“Yeah, after our first… run in, I forgot to give him my number.” 

“Run in? You said you met at the library, what else did you do if you forgot to swap numbers?” Emily laughed, half-heartedly, then stopped as soon as she saw the smug grin on your face paired with the awkward panicked expression on Reid’s. 

“Shut up. No way, wait I don’t even want to hear this.” 

You smiled up at the man, knowing that the way his two coworkers were imagining that first meeting was probably the exact opposite of how it had gone. Sure, you’d told the truth about approaching him first, but that was the extent of your control of the situation. You’d gone over to ask for his number, find out his name and ask if he was single. You’d returned to work an hour later with sore knees, no panties and a load of his cum dripping down your inner thighs. 

He hadn’t even allowed you to give him his number, just promised that he’d find you again, and vanished from the library bathroom stalls you’d christened in sin with a lingering kiss on your lips and a whisper of “good girl.” You’d fallen for him hard, and you never wanted to get back up. 

“Wow. And he was so desperate to find you again that he followed you to work. We taught you better than that, Reid, come on. You’re going to freak out the ladies if you come on that strong.” Morgan began teasing the man, ruffling his hair, and you bit your tongue to stop the laughter from exploding from your mouth. 

You knew from your appearances that people often came to the wrong conclusions about how you and Reid were as a couple. Your style was more alternative, though not as intense as you’d been in high school, and his was more preppy nerd, but you balanced each other out well. You knew that it irked him sometimes though. And whenever he was pissed, he took it out on you in the best way. 

After a few hours in the bar getting to know Morgan and Prentiss, and the two other lovely ladies who had arrived later, JJ and Penelope, Reid’s grip on your waist tightening made it clear that it was time for you to go home together. 

“I think we’re going to head out now, guys. I’ll see you in the office on monday.” He said and moved off, but you wanted to see how far you could push it tonight, wanting to see the lengths he would take to not show his teammates that they had vastly misunderstood your relationship. 

“But Spence, I just met them. I wanna talk some more,” you smirked up at him now, and saw his jaw clench. You were thankful you’d work the dog collar choker tonight, the thought of him grabbing it to yank you away making you squeeze your thighs together for some much needed friction. 

“We’re going now, baby. Come here.” You ignored the order for another second, and you could feel the heat in his gaze, and the curiosity in his friends as they watched this struggle between you. 

“Sweetie, did you hear me, I said we’re going now?” This time, you knew he wasn’t playing anymore, so with a quick “yes, sir,” you pushed yourself out of your seat and practically skipped over to him, a delighted grin on your face. He cupped you neck, wanting desperately to pull you in by the neck but choosing restraint instead, and brushed his lips to yours. Whenever he kissed you like that, it meant you’d caused trouble, and you knew you were going to spend the night paying for it. 

“Bye-bye, everyone, it was so nice to meet you,” you called as he led you out of the doors and into the carpark. 

“What the hell was that?” Penelope was the first one to crack, the others jaws still dropped to the floor. 

“Did she just call him sir?” JJ laughed in incredulity. 

“But-but I could’ve sworn they were…” Emily blubbered and the four of them sat there staring at the door, realising that they had underestimated their resident genius a little bit too much. 

[storiesbyrhi]

IT MEANS SOMETHING

Eddie Munson x Reader 1,606 words

Warnings: recreational drug use.

Synopsis: A short meet-cute featuring crossed paths, Argyle's weed, probable soulmates, and Fangoria magazine.

Author’s Note: Set in 1990. No Upside Down AU.

He is the last to get on the train. Patiently waiting his turn. Smiling politely at the other commuters. You watch him step off the platform into the carriage. He opts to stand against one of the poles, letting others take the vacant seats. He surveys his surroundings. It is at this moment his eyes lock with yours.

Instead of pretending like you’d only just glanced at him or nodding a casual acknowledgment, you look away too quickly. You feel yourself flush.

As the train finally pulls into your stop, you’ve used all your willpower not to look back his way. All that willpower amounts to little; as you stand, preparing to leave, you feel him staring. His gaze pulls yours back to him.

He flashes a brilliant smile, then ducks out the opening doors before you can clock his blushing cheeks.

You’re not a romantic by nature. Yes, you are prone to fits of fancy and the occasional delusional daydream, but you don’t find yourself frequently lusting after pretty people on the train. Beauty is viewed with a matter-of-factness rather than a force of attraction itself.

Some people are funny.

Some people are clever.

Some people are hot.

Some people are whatever.

And it isn’t as if this makes you less shallow or more holy than anyone else. It kind of just makes you a little more detached. Yes, you’ve dated. But there were never big, big feelings. No traumatic breakups. It had all been textbook mediocre.

It is all this knowledge of yourself that comes to the forefront of your mind as you lament the loss of the man in the crowd.

You track his fluffy hair through the station, but he is gone by the time you get to the city street. The sun is setting, a twilight glow making all the shadows seem worthy of an art gallery.

The man is gone. His dark eyes. Kind smile. His stupid t-shirt. What was it? The Burbs. That’s it. The Tom Hanks movie from last year.

Why are you still thinking about him?

The guy. Not Tom Hanks.

You walk slowly, in the city way too early for the party your friend from college, Robin, is hosting. Time to kill.

In a 7-Eleven you stand at the drinks refrigerator with too much consideration. Too much effort. Dr Pepper will always win over Coke. Flipping through magazines in the rack pulls you through a couple more minutes.

It occurs to you that the old record store a few blocks from Robin’s is open late. They have better magazines.

The neon sign sparkles against the darkening skyline as you turn onto the store’s street. Lured like a moth to a flame, you’re inside and pulling Fangoria from the stand before taking a second to look around.

There are a few customers browsing, one with a punk magazine ordered especially from the UK in his lap as he reads from the floor. You wonder if it might make more sense for the owners to open a library.

A music library would be cool, you think, as you look over at the counter.

You can identify them both.

The guy behind the counter has dead straight longer hair and one of the best speaking voices you’ve ever heard. Argyle works days mostly, since he delivers pizzas by night. He must be covering a shift for someone. Or maybe the night guy is late.

Opposite Argyle, leaning on the counter with a familiarity that tells you he has been here plenty of times before, is the man from the train. Though he isn’t facing you, the Dio patch and hair are a giveaway.

What are the fucking odds?

Fangoria back in the rack, you creep through the aisles, trying not to draw attention to yourself. When you get close to the counter, you listen to their conversation. They’re funny.

Argyle’s brand of humor is easy and irreverent. It’s how he ends up befriending everyone, including you and Robin. And, as it were, the man from the train. Train guy’s banter is far more purposeful, performative. He’s dramatic, or maybe it seems like that in contrast to laid back Argyle.

They’re talking about music but suddenly switch to films. Bill & Ted. Even more suddenly, they break out into impersonations.

It’s too late to catch your laugh. Far too late to pretend it was a coughing fit. The man turns around. He beams as he recognizes you. It’s almost enough to keep you there. Almost.

“Hey-” Argyle goes to greet you.

“Sorry. Hi. I’ve gotta go,” you say.

“See you at Robin’s later?”

“Yeah. Yep. Bye!” and you’re out the door before Argyle can think to introduce you.

This feeling is so foreign to you. You feel all gooey and icky, like maybe your skin is going to start to fizz and slick off your body. Stupid, pretty train boy, you think.

It’s still too early for Robin’s, so you detour to a bar and order a drink in a vain attempt to settle yourself.

Stupid, pretty train boy.

Four hours later.

“I jus’… Can it come closer? It’s too… too far away?”

Robin looks at you. If you look back, you would see the face of a woman equal parts amused and bored. But you physically cannot look away from the television. And the television seems to be getting further and further away.

“Quick… Robin… It’s going!” you whine. The television set is as small as your palm. You hold your hand up to compare it. “So, so small…”

“You, my friend, are so profoundly high. Argyle gave you that new shit?”

“Says try with pineapple,”

“I-What? Pineapple?”

“Says try before you deny,”

“Alright. I’m calling it. You need some time out.”

Suddenly, you are floating through Robin’s place. A conversation about whether you are okay by yourself floats along with you. Yes, you would be okay. You like rolling around in bed, high as a kite. The party is winding down anyway. You’d not be alone for long.

Alone, you play three games of I-Spy. The loser and the winner. You starfish out on the bed and make imaginary snow angels. Time passes. Maybe. You’re not sure. Then, you see the room explode into view. The light has been switched on and you yelp, diving for cover under a pillow.

Voices. The weight of someone being dropped into bed next to you.

Robin calling your name. So far away. “You alive in there?” she asks.

“Ah-huh,” you confirm.

Then, quiet. You emerge from under the pillow like a field mouse from its burrow. They had left you in darkness but for him, a bedside lamp has been left on. He doesn’t know Robin’s bedroom like you.

He is lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. In profile, he is just as pretty. You want to drive a little Matchbox car down his forehead and use his nose as a jump. Evel Knievel style. The thought makes you giggle, which makes him turn his head. He looks at you, blinking twice.

“I wondered where you went,” he admits. He rolls onto his side, tucking his hands under his head like a pillow. “Hi,”

“Hi,”

“Bit weird seeing you again,”

“Bit weird,” you parrot.

He smiles. “Why’d you get sent to the naughty room?”

“Huh?” 

Your answer, or lack thereof, answers the question.

“Argyle not warn you properly about the Californian stuff?”

You shake your head.

He laughs, so you laugh. He wriggles a little closer.

“Hi,” he whispers, sticking out a pinky finger. You watch as he hooks it around yours.

When did you move to mirror his body? When did he arrive at the party? Was he here for you? No. Silly. So silly. That would be silly.

“You’re getting small… Like the television,” you tell him.

“Oh… I don’t want to get small… If I come closer, will I get big again?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. This close you can see his pale freckles. The tired purple under his eyes. The almost-wrinkles that are born of laughter. Long eyelashes.

“Long eyelashes?” he asks.

“What?”

“What?”

You snort, giggle, lost and happy.

“I need you to know I did not follow you here,”

“Okay,”

“I’m friends with Argyle,”

“Okey dokey,” you nod.

He holds in laughter, so you do too.

“I didn’t follow you either,”

“To Vinyl City? But you were eavesdropping.” It isn’t an angry accusation. It’s not really a question either. Still, you nod. “I’d be okay with it if you were following me. For the record,” he states, rather emphatically. 

He watches you watch him. He makes you feel as if you are getting higher and sobering up at the same time.

“I’m Eddie,”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Last I checked,”

“What’d you check?”

“Ah… Birth certificate?”

“Says Eddie?”

“Well… Edward.”

You giggle. Eddie’s heart flutters so hard it feels like nausea.

“Hi… Eddie,”

“Hi. Do you have a name?” He already knows it. He just wants to hear you say it.

You nod.

Eddie laughs. “Tell me your name?”

You do. Because he asked.

“So… Three times… Coincidence?”

“No,” you shake your head. You don’t know what three times he’s talking about. “That’s two. Two’s a coincidence,”

“What’s three then?”

You can’t remember. You shrug, which makes Eddie laugh, which makes you laugh. A repeated cycle.

“I think it means something,” he asserts.

“So do I,”

“Do you? Or are you just a little bit high?”

“Can it be both?”

Eddie makes a show of thinking. “It can. I’ll allow it.” He grins. “So, it means something?”

“It means something,” you agree.

End Note: I've been struggling to write post-Burning Yarrow. So, this was just a little something to try to get back on the horse. Soulmate meet-cutes are my bread and fucking butter.

I have some very vague ideas for a part two of this, but idk if it will amount to much. Lemme know your thoughts and feelings.

Eddie Taglist: solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

[the-jennnster]

Something about the way bibliopunk/punk academia is treated on here Bugs Me and I think it can be best summed up as this:

You can't just throw the "punk" descriptor onto whatever you like and call it an aesthetic

Punk is not an aesthetic

Punk is a mindset, it's a philosophy-- it's a rebellion against societal systems

When I say bibliopunk, I don't mean sweater vests and old library photos and quotes from classics.

Bibliopunk, to me, a punk librarian, is about freedom of information. It's about making sure everyone and anyone can have the resources they need to learn, whatever that means for them. It's no late fees and fighting against censorship. It's defunding the police and funding community resource centers that specialize in making sure there's a place where people can go to ask for help, to read books on any subject they can think of, to connect with events and organizations that exist to help THEM. It's about making zines and learning how to bookbind, because fuck the idea that traditional publishing and Amazon are the only people that can make something a book.

Punk academia, which is used colloquially here, is related to this-- it's saying fuck the academic systems that keep out the poor, the people of color, and the disabled. Fuck your Ivy Leagues, education is whatever the hell you make it. College should be free, classes should be accessible WITHOUT being forced to give up all of your personal financial and health information, curriculums need to include as many varying perspectives as they can because fuck the idea that a cishet abled white man is the authority on any given topic.

Bibliopunk, punk academia, and any other Tumblr "aesthetic" with the punk descriptor is not just a moodboard of photos you stole from Pinterest.

Because what's more punk than a public library?

[the-kr8tor]

Hobie with a s/o who wears glasses? He would tease them for being such a nerd but he’s the more nerdier one in the relationship. Imagine the glasses get in the way of when he tries to kiss you also yk how in his intro he smashed that alarm clock I bet he’s done that to your glasses once in a while. Not his fault he has super strength

Cute!! As a glasses wearer myself, I love this request! Thank you ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for the glasses), CW blood, CW injury. FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Your heart is hammering against your chest, pulse quickening, eyes wide and hands sweaty. Despite your nerves, you lean in. Hobie inches closer to you, hands cradling your face, warmth fanning across your searing cheeks. He looks confident, a giddy smile on his lips, piercings shining from the porch light. He's stunning, and always so suave, but you have no idea the effect you have on him.

He looks past the lens of your glasses to gaze at your eyes, eyes that are blown out, eyes that look at him with adoration. If only you knew that his mind is a slurry that is full of thoughts about you, you, you, and you. You make his entire world light up with just one look that he's more than happy to bask in.

Hobie loves your glasses because he can see how lovestruck his reflection looks whenever he stares at you. He loves how gorgeous you look in it too. He once joked that you look like a sexy librarian, and now all your flirty comments are book or library themed which sometimes make him laugh and fancy you more with your dorky attempts at flirting. He wouldn't have it any other way though.

You two have been on exactly three dates together, all of them being so successful that it always has you giggling and kicking your legs the second he drops you home. All of those three dates are a culmination of tonight, the second he asked you if it was okay for him to say goodbye with a kiss, you did not hesitate to say yes at his proposal.

Hobie closes the remaining distance, index finger tapping on your cheek for one last permission. Your smile says it all, and he presses his lips against yours eagerly. Too eagerly in fact that your glasses squish your face and your eyelids, acting as a barrier. If your eyes weren't closed, your glasses might've poked your eyes out.

The nose pads poke the bridge of your nose uncomfortably, but you're way into the tender kiss to lean away. How could you stop kissing him when the kiss is better than what your daydreams could make up? Hobie senses how you try to breathe through your nose, and how you move your head to the side slightly so your glasses don't stab through your searing skin. Still holding your face, thumb rubbing along your bottom lip, he chuckles at the lopsided glasses on your face.

Eyes wide, you wonder if you did something wrong for him to laugh. Hobie stomps on that feeling quickly by gently fixing your glasses for you.

Hands on the side of it, grin still spread across his kiss bitten lips, he taps your now foggy lenses. “Sorry, your glasses are all fogged up because of me. All my fault, love.” He jokes and you laugh, the simple giggle has him wanting to kiss you again.

“It's alright, I got a kiss from it.” You tease back, he beams at you, and you can tell he wants to kiss you again. Or maybe it's just you thinking with all the sweet fog of affection blurring your vision? “Do you want to fog it up again? Y’know just in case it ends up clean this time.”

“An experiment then?” He shrugs, doing the bit with you. “For science then.” He kisses and kisses you until there's no breath in your lungs, and you kiss back until he has to hold onto the doorknob for balance.

—

Watching a movie while cuddled up to a thick blanket is great. Watching a movie with Hobie for the first time in his houseboat while cuddled up to him is so much better though. Rain bangs on the roof, adding to the cozy atmosphere. Hobie pulls you closer as if you weren't already close enough to him. Hip to hip, legs on top of his legs, you press your cheek on his bicep, glasses wonky from the position, you yawn into his jumper, snuggling impossibly closer.

Hobie sees how sleepy you are, of course he noticed because he hasn't even looked at the tv screen for ten minutes now. He was too busy memorizing your expressions whenever something happened in the movie. Your glasses reflect the screen anyway, so he didn't miss much of the movie.

“Bored?” He squeezes your hand that has been intertwined with his own under the blanket since the movie started.

“No, tired. This movie is just too long.” You peer at him through heavy eyelids, lashes stuck together from how you keep rubbing your eyes. “Why didn't they just ride the eagles in the first place?”

Hobie couldn't help but peck your forehead, you can feel his smile against your skin. “How ‘bout we finally sleep then? So you'd stop slanderin’ this perfect movie.”

You scrunch up your nose, glasses lifted up from the movement. “It’s a good movie, Hobie, but it has some flaws—” You joke, he shakes his head and then flings the blanket over your head.

“Alright, enough from you.” He pauses the tape, and then throws away the blanket into a pile in the corner of the settee. You would think he was annoyed by your comment but his grin and outstretched hand says otherwise. “C’mon, love, let's head to bed.”

You look up at him with a pout. “But I want to keep hanging out with you. Like a real sleepover.”

“A sleepover is for best mates,” he flexes his fingers, “we're clearly not just best mates.” His words make you all fuzzy inside. “D’you want to braid my hair and put a face mask on me just like in sleepovers or somethin’?”

“Can I paint your nails too?” You ask teasingly. In truth, you just want to talk to him longer. Because you know once your head hits the pillow that has his scent all over, it's light's out for you.

“Of course, love.” You finally take his hand, “as long as I pick the colour.”

—

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch, you chatted through the night, and with a few smooches here and there, you slept like a baby in his arms.

Hobie wakes up with a start, his alarm clock blares loudly into the quiet of his room. Not wanting to wake you up with the loud ring, he quickly punches blindly on his bedside table. Something cracks under his knuckles, yet the ringing still doesn't stop.

“Shit.” His breath hitches in his throat. Carefully prying himself off you, (which he didn't want to do) he peeks over the table. Lo and behold, his fear just happened, he has crushed your precious glasses under his fist. Glass is littered all over the table, shards upon sharp shards falling off his hand. The frame isn't any better, it has bent into a fist shape, looking like a truck drove over it. Damn his enhanced strength.

You wake up with a snort, the harsh ringing of the alarm still echoes in your ears. With one eye open, Hobie's toned back greets you.

“Oho good morning to you too.” You poke the small of his back.

Instead of a smile, he frowns at you. A second later, you see the cause of it. Hobie holds up your broken glasses by the tip of it, you can barely recognize it from how mangled it looked. Eyes wide, you see that his hand has shards of glass sticking out, palm starting to bleed.

“Holy shit.” You sit up, taking his wrist gingerly.

“‘m sorry, love, I thought it was the alarm.” He says sadly.

“I've got a spare, Hobie,” you almost chuckle at his tone if not for how genuinely sad he sounded. “Besides, your hand is bleeding. Where's your first aid kit?” He's astonished at how nonchalant you took the news of him breaking your glasses in two. He points towards his bathroom, before he could stop you, you're already halfway across the room.

—

Your spare glasses now sit on your face as you dab antiseptic on the small cuts. He watches on with the same sweet gaze, you're absolutely concentrated on his hand, making sure that every cut is properly cleaned. The wounds barely hurt now thanks to you. He sighs loudly to get your attention.

“You okay?” You ask, bandaging the last cut.

“Better now—” Hobie clamps his mouth shut when you begin to kiss his fingers. The intimacy of it all has him melting with every kiss from you. You can feel how his pulse quickens since you're holding on to his wrist, thinking his injury has him all worried. You clearly have no idea the effect you have on him.

“There, all better.” You look up at him to see a rare flustered Hobie. A smile spreads across your lips, “I can tell you feel better now.”

“You kiddin’ me? A little bit of a warnin’ next time, love.”

“Okay, I'll tell you before I start kissing you.”

“...‘m gonna kiss you now.” He declares. Cradling your face, you laugh and nod an approval. Before he leans in, he places his hands around your glasses. “Can I take this off? Don't wanna accidentally fog it up again, or worse.”

“Okay, just kiss me already, Hobart.” You could barely finish the sentence before a laugh escapes from your throat.

“Usin’ my government name and everythin’ huh?” Carefully taking the glasses off, you welcome the sudden blurriness, it adds to your anticipation. “So bloody rude of you. Guess I have to kiss the rudeness off of you.”

[heatherholes]

i get that the lack of individuality is the appeal of bimbofication for many. but what i like to see, personally, is all the wonderful different types of girls learning their place. their unique personalities kept but warped. the most obvi example is the nerdy weeb girl who loves hentai and ahegao and slutty cosplay, the desk pet gamer girls. unlike some less interesting misogynists, i don’t think they’re faking their interests for male attention. they just don’t know how to express themselves any other way and that’s super hot!

i wanna see it everywhere. the horror fanatic watching shlocky b-movie rape scenes like they’re porn. the girl who loves cars getting bent over the hood. the ren faire attendant dressed as a tavern wench. the tabletop gamers and larpers doing mediaeval fantasy, getting treated medievally. the skater chick who laughs loudest when a girl face-plants, the metalhead demanding you name five albums. the goth who draws a pentagram on the floor and kneels naked, thinks of her punishment for eve eating the apple and whispers ‘hail satan.’

barstool type girls are a favourite of mine. you know, they watch football, eat wings, are all too happy to go to strip clubs and participate in the locker room talk. who proudly proclaim that they’re not like other girls, they’re one of the guys because they put on a sports jersey, while still looking every bit the bleach blonde fucktoy. still pretending she doesn’t know how to shoot pool so he can show her.

and the gym bunnies with an intense discipline and determination; are strong physically and mentally. what motivates their commitment to self improvement? looking good for men, of course! she’ll work herself to the bone keeping toned for you and won’t whine for help hauling the groceries. let her tell herself it’s because you respect her strength if it makes your life easier.

similar are the boss babes, hyper productive and entrepreneurial. proud to have her own money, apartment, car, small business. she’s a big believer in splitting the bill on dates. why? she heard men don’t like gold diggers. she doesn’t want him to think she’s putting out cause she gets something out it. she’s not doing it for anything but him. whether or not she expands her “online brand” as a pornfluencer into onlyfans will depend entirely on him. he okays it, but only for a split of the money? wow, now she’s the provider. how empowering!

that’s to say nothing of the actual girl bosses. the salaried power player at a fortune 500 company. what does she do there? discourage employees under her from going to HR, cut funding for the women in business initiative and giggle at sexist jokes to show she’s a team player, mostly. she has the economic freedom to do anything, a career she fought tooth and nail for, a spot in the c-suite someday. she’s a winner, not a trophy. she’ll give it all away once a man further up the ladder knocks her up.

well, what about the marxist punk yelling no gods, no masters? no way she’s gonna submit to a man. no, but she’s gonna suck dick for the communal spirit and promote collective ownership of her holes.

the shy girl into art and literature? her love of culture gives her unique insight into the history of male supremacy. everywhere she sees herself through the eyes of men. not just any men, creative geniuses. in the museum she looks at the ancient vases that use the same iconography to depict marriage as rape. from the nude statue of a goddess to the painting of a peasant girl — both are objects, never the subject. in the library she reads the taming of the shrew and thinks, who am i to argue with shakespeare? quietly, she lets her dreams of being an artist die and resigns herself to the life of the muse.

tldr: cater to the male gaze and serve patriarchy but most importantly be yourself

[wilwheaton]

I have a small part in the 1987 television movie (failed pilot) version of The Man Who Fell To Earth. Lewis Smith played the titular character. Beverly D'Angelo played my mom, his love interest. (Fun Star Trek connection: Bob Picardo is also in it).

My character was a Troubled Youth, which I gotta tell you was not a stretch for me at all. I was deeply, deeply hurting at the time we made it. I was struggling not to suffocate on all the emotional and financial burdens my mom put on my shoulders, and fully aware of just how much my dad hated and resented me. You need a kid who doesn't want to be an actor, whose eyes can't hide the pain? I'm your guy.

Anyway, one of the scenes I was in took place in a record store, where Troubled Youth steals some albums, before he is chased by the cops and saved by the Man Who Fell To Earth, who uses a glowing crystal to save his life from ... some scratches on his face.

We filmed the interior of the record store at Sunset and La Brea, in what I think was a Warehouse, and at the end of the day, I was allowed to buy some records at a modest discount.

I was deep into my metal years, on my way from my punk years to my New Wave years, so I only bought metal albums. I know I bought more than I needed or could carry (I was making a point that I was allowed to spend my own money, mom), but the only ones I can clearly remember are:

Iron Maiden - Piece of Mind

Judas Priest - Turbo and Defenders of the Faith

W.A.S.P - The Last Command

(I know this was in March of 1987, because Turbo had just come out.)

Of those, Piece of Mind is the only one I never really stopped listening to, even through all the different it's-not-a-phase phases. I still listen to it, today.

Ever since I became an Adult with a Fancy Adult Record Player And All That Bullshit, I have kept my records in two places: stuff I want right now, and stuff I keep in the library because of Reasons.

Generally, records move in one direction toward the library, even if it takes years to happen. I just don't accumulate albums like I once did, because I'm Old and set in my ways.

Earlier today, I decided that I wanted to listen to an album while I cleaned up the kitchen, and because I wanted to make my life more interesting, I opened the library cabinet for the first time in at least five years.

There was the very same W.A.S.P album from that day in March, 1987. I don't have any of the others -- I looked -- but The Last Command was right there.

Before I really knew what I was doing, I put it on the Fancy Adult Record Player and dropped the needle.

I watched four decades of dust build up with a satisfying crackle, and there was something magical and beautiful about hearing all the skips and the scratches, realizing I remembered them from before.

The title track was just as great as I remembered it. It struck all the same chords in me that it did in the late nineteen hundreds. The rest of the first side was ... um. It just didn't connect with me, and for the few moments I spent trying to find a connection, I don't think it ever really did. I would remember.

But I did remember how much I loved making those mix tapes, and what a big part of them that song was. I did remember how empowering it felt to not just spend my own money that I earned doing work I didn't want to do, but to spend it on music my parents hated, right under their noses. I did remember how impressed Robby Lee was, when I showed him my extensive heavy metal album collection.

Remembering all of that, in one of those cinematic flashes of rapid cut visuals and sped up sounds, told me why I kept this record, while I gradually sold or replaced the other records I bought that day with CDs, then mp3s, then lossless digital files, before finally coming all the way back to records, where I started.

I didn't listen to the second side. I didn't need to. I took it off the Fancy Adult Record Player, and put it back into the library, next to the George Carlin records.

[mortalityplays]

Unprintable: Free art drop #1

We've finally launched, with a modest collection of free works but one that hopefully sets the tone for what you can expect going forward. We have...

Prints!

Punk is a Playlist can be as decorative or as paggro as you like, depending where you hang it, while THINK is perfect for distribution at rallies, inside libraries, or slipped inside the free newspaper on the bus. Meanwhile Screamscape Harmonium is a purely silly tribute to extreme video game ads of the 90s (and part of the inspiration for starting this project, after one particular word of copy made it difficult to have professionally printed).

Art and graphics!

Falling Skyline and Alligator Feelings are older digital drawings being offered up for a new life as public domain pieces, while Daffodils by Any Means Necessary is a mixed-media painting created out of packing paper and old dried up art supplies specifically for Unprintable. Monster Backgrounds are a gorgous set of digital patterns designed for use as phone and tablet wallpapers (but don't let that stop you from using them elsewhere!)

Poetry!

All Rights Reserved is, suitably, about copyright, while The Tenant is about Palestine. You're welcome to print or perform these if you like (and I'd love to hear if you do!)

An instant zine kit!

To to mark the launch of Unprintable, I wanted to officially invite everyone to the world of zine-making. The instant zine is a double-sided printable document that walks you step by step through writing, illustrating and folding your first attempt. Print it yourself and make a tiny book about something close to your heart, or print 30 and bring them to class! Anyone can give art away for free, it turns out.

[bloodchapell]

second hangout - armin a.

brief summary: what if the “there is only one bed” moment happened at the library? you arrange a second hangout for you and armin to actually read nightfall. you go to eat after.

what to expect: alt and very nerdy reader, equally nerdy armin, mutual pinning, light physical touch

your sword’s note: armin is so cute u canttt. all past and future parts of this au series available in my mistresslist

That ring was on Armin’s finger every second of the day.

<Hey do you happen to know what material the ring is made of? I don’t want it to get damaged.> armin 👼🏼 01:03 am

<its silver! u can wash your hands with it on> you 01:03 am

<also are u free to go read tmr? lmk 🩵> you 01:04 am

<Yes!> armin 👼🏼 01:04 am

The blonde paced around his room. He could hear Eren curse at the TV in the living room, probably playing some games.

“Eren, what does light blue heart emoji mean?” Kind of socially ineptly Armin asked with his arms crossed.

“It means light blue heart emoji.” Eren replied. “Did you finally fry your brain? Am I the alpha brother now?”

“You are weird.” Armin frowned at his friend and sat besides him, unlocking his phone and showing the text in his screen.

“That just means she is excited to see you again you dumb fuck… I am sorry alpha brother I didn’t mean to be offensive in any way shape or form.” Eren blurted out. “All you need to do now is ask her out, start dating, marry and eventually have kids.”

“That is a little precipitated… and I am not asking her out, she will reject me.”

“Why would she reject you, she said you were the existential to her absurd or something, she gave you a ring literally, she also used light blue heart emoji which means I love your baby blue eyes beautiful.” Eren reassured his friend but Armin did not believe him at all. You would “never like him, in a million years”.

Eren simply gave a look to Armin, from what he had told him, it was kind of evident that you had a thing for Armin, but he was completely convinced that someone like you –whatever that meant– would never like someone like him –again, whatever that meant–. He just regarded you as a superior being, for some reason you two were in different categories even though he knew that intellectually you were kind of equals.

Next day came quickly, he got ready and was waiting for the time to leave when it suddenly started raining. Still he took an umbrella and a jacket and walked to the library. “Hiiii Armin!” You waved at the entrance, luckily you were close by when it started raining so you took cover under the entrance. “Hii.” He said with a soft smile, a little more comfortable but not completely. “I brought the book.” He showed from under his sweater and a smile formed in your lips.

Walking into the library you both realized that everyone was taking cover from the rain there, and that there were little to no seats available.

Except from…

“There!” You pointed throwing the book at the sofa from Armin’s hands to prevent other person from seating there. “Do you mind seating together? I think we fit.”

His cheeks got pale pink blushed. He looked at the gap in the sofa doubting he would fit, at least not without being extremely close to you.

“Uhmm…” He stood there for a second and ultimately decided to sit to not make you wait.

“I like your fit!” You complimented and he nodded.

“I like yours too. Where do you buy that?” He tried asking the questions that Eren had set up for him.

“Well the jacket is from Sex Pot Revenge, the shirt from Mad Punks and the pants I made myself.” You pointed at the clothes. He had never heard of those brands and being honest to himself, the word sex still made him kinda uncomfortable when thrown around casually.

“Is that goth?” He asked very kindly, following the words of Eren to the dot, “My best friend is a goth and she dresses kind of similar.”

“Hmm I know what you mean,” You started explaining, “I am goth but I suppose this is not a goth-ish look, right now it’s more of a vkei outfit. Do you mind if I explain it next time?”

Next time. I smile formed in his lips, so subtle and gentle, it adorned his face in such a beautiful way that it genuinely made your heart skip a beat.

He shook his head, of course he wouldn’t mind, he would fucking love it.

“Let’s get to the reading then.” You said taking the book from your lap. You flipped through the pages and saw his small handwriting covering the margins of the book in a thoughtful and organized manner. Where Nightfall was printed in big bold letters you stopped.

There was some kind of lack of coordination for the first pages you two read, sometimes he would flip the page before you were done or viceversa, but eventually you both adapted somehow to the reading speed of each other, since there was little to no difference anyway, and would give a look at the other one when done with the page.

That of course would not always account for calculations errors and your hands would brush with the other’s more often than what you’d like to admit. And his cologne would reverberate through the air and make you dizzy in love so you would forget what paragraph you were reading.

“Ow I am so hungry…” Suddenly you felt convalescent, you had breakfast at 9am and it was now 4pm.

“Do you wanna stop and go eat?” He asked lifting his eyes from the paper.

“Hmm, sure, let’s go then, the rain cleared out already.” You stood up and grabbed your things.

Armin had meant that you could go and eat, on your own, but seeing that you immediately included him left another of those lingering smiles in his face. He quickly stood up and walked besides you.

“So what do you think of it?” You asked him referring to the book.

“Immediately reminded me of when I learned that our galaxy and the Andromeda galaxy will crash eventually and I started freaking out.” He recalled a little embarrassed.

“That’s a shared experience for sure, cosmic horror is scary in such a way! My modern version of that is thinking about strange matter devouring everything.”

He was screaming in his head, punching the wall even. Where had you been all his life. His heart was genuinely aching from how fast it was beating. Maybe his heart was beating so fast that it could also be catalogued as a neutron star and his revolting feelings for you were everlasting changing and growing like strange matter.

“So stable that whatever it comes across transforms to emulate that stability.” He mumbled and you nodded, praising his intellect.

“Wanna take the bus into town? I can’t drive.” You asked and he nodded, also commenting that he couldn’t drive either. The bus ride was filled with back and forth debates about Nightfall and other trivial things that came up. Once you both got to the little college town, you decided on a restaurant. Armin only drank some juice and watched you eat lunch.

“I love taking the bus when is empty.” You mentioned getting on the bus, Armin was quick to say agree; he ached for spending more time with you.

“Bye, I had fun.” Once back at campus, and about to part ways, Armin said goodbye.

“Bye ‘Min. See you next time.” You gave him a quick hug and left.

He stood there for some minutes before rushing to get back to his dorm, Eren needed to know it all.

[seeminglydark]

i recently have started using my collection of patches, spare fabric, and studs to customize one of my bags that i’ll use for college and to create my first battle jacket and patch pants. It got me thinking of what John’s first seeing adventures looked like and unfinished or scraped projects that he had.

Oh that sounds so much fun! Best of luck on customizing your stuff! I bet it will look awesome!

Johns first sewing adventures were definitely when he was a teenager, I think it started because he needed to mend his clothes, he didn't get new ones very often because his dads a neglectful jerk, so he had to make what he had last, so it was a lot of really bad stitches and diy. I didnt draw them cuz, just trust me they were bad. He finally gave up and went to ask the Home Economics teacher for some tips (we will pretend thats still a thing) and was taught basic stitches and repair. As a teenager he wasn't as shy or introverted as he is an an adult, so most of his skill was learned by asking around. He started helping Caro hem their too long pants, and his other friends sew on their patches and mend too. Taking his time and making the stitching look good by hand became kinda of therapeutic for him.

As an adult he still likes to customize and sew and mend. Eventually he works up the nerve to go to the library and sit in the room and watch intently at the sewing guild and try to pick up what they were doing, but much like punks, groups of crafty old ladies will often pull you in if they sense interest in something. If you look at some of my past art of his battle jacket, you can see hes embroidered and cross -stitched on it, and of course still make his own patches. He has some unfinished quilt tops lying around, he doesnt actually make actual clothes very often but does diy and customize everything he gets his hands on. These days hes even the one who screenprints the Brew shirts for the coffee shop <3

[our-trans-punk-experience]

Ok so @a-swarm-of-bees-in-a-trenchcoat

Was asking some DIY questions

• How do you keep safety pins on your jacket? Do you sew them down? Do they just fall off and you periodically replace them?

Depends on placement for me, some I sew flat, lots I just cross my fingers

• How do you stop your homemade patches from fraying?

Personally I run a lighter round the edges of mine and that seems to work well

• Is it necessary to use double thread? Is it wasteful?

If single doesn't keep it on then double is necessary. And if it makes something more durable then its never wasteful

• People perceive me!? Yesterday on the way to the library 2 different people commented on my jacket. It feels very strange that people I don't know can see me and have thoughts about me. How do you deal with that? Do you just get used to it?

Ayy ur a real punk. Yes you will get funny looks. I personally own it, but if you're of a more anxious predisposition remember they're most likely just captivated not judgemental

Oh yeah one more question I thought of: how do you sew patches onto pockets without sewing the pockets shut? I managed to do it but I stabbed myself like 30 times

I stick a piece of cardboard inside the pocket

[potchi-fics]

Sundo | part two of 8 ball

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

sundô. imagine being so tired from studying, from using your brain so much that you just feel like collapsing. but you remember that at the end of the day, someone's waiting-- waiting for you. a simple gesture yet it makes you feel so many things all at once: happiness, excitement, comfort... and wonder.

NOTE: sundo means to fetch someone from somewhere.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Y/n leans back on the chair she has been sitting on for hours now. she checks her phone and she sees that it's 5:59 pm. she got too busy with academic work, she always wants to finish her projects as soon as possible because she doesn't like procrastinating.

she sighs through her nose, holding the bridge of her nose, she's so tired. even her ears hurt from the hours of wearing her headphones.

and of course, her friends are studying alongside with her... but they all fell asleep. thankfully, though, they got their work done.

"wake up," she gently shakes Aiki, who whined and shooed her away. she moved on to Monika who woke up with just a nudge. "Noze, it's almost time to go home."

"god," Noze cracks her back, "my whole body hurts. good thing we don't have any classes for two days."

"you're goddamn right about that. somebody wake Aiki up." Monika groans out in defeat.

Y/n tries again, "Aiks, c'mon, it's time to go home."

the three struggled to contain their laughter once they see Aiki's state: drool all over her cheek and table, and the thousand-yard stare.

"aw gross, wipe your face, Aiks." Noze hands her wet wipes.

Y/n struggled even more when Monika showed her the picture she took of Aiki when she woke her up. she looks like a toddler who just woke up.

"is it time to go home? what time is it?" Aiki groggily asks.

she was about to tell her when something caught her eye; a text message from Bada. it read:

"what time's ur dismissal?"

it was sent four minutes ago. she texts back:

"6:30, whyy?"

she didn't get to put down her phone because it buzzed. it's a reply from her:

"i'll come and fetch u. where r u?"

Y/n's weirdly excited about this? and also a tiny bit nervous? nevertheless, she replied:

"library with my friendsss."

and she waits. she can't even stay still, and the other notice it.

"jesus, can you stop with the pen clicking?" Monika complains.

Y/n mutters out a soft sorry.

Noze looks at her with a funny expression, "who were you texting?"

a beat passes before she says Bada's name.

the trio have their what-the-hell faces on. before she could defend herself, they already started teasing her relentlessly; saying things like she's excited to see Bada, or that they were gonna go on a date.

"guys," she starts, "it's not a date and why would i be nervous? it's Bada." she rolls her eyes. "i could squeeze that punk easily."

but she is nervous. she doesn't know why. is it because of what happened at that billiards place? why did she even do that in the first place.

time seems to really pass by because six-thirty comes and they start tidying their place. making silent conversation. they come out of the library and see someone squatted down.

it's her.

Y/n thinks-- god, she's so handsome and pretty, she's not even doing anything. she malfunctions because she did not just think that? that is so not Y/n coded of her, she adds.

her friend's loud voice caught their attention, "hey, Bada!"

"yo," Bada stands up, looking at Y/n. "are you guys done? can i steal her away from you now?"

Y/n could only roll her eyes, "what do you mean by steal me away? as if i would let myself be taken."

"so grumpy," Bada tease, "careful now, you look like that one angry bird."

"well, in that case, i'm a pretty angry bird." she retaliates.

her enemy pats her head, "sure, sure.. let's go. bye guys!"

the trio shakes their head, even walking, the two seems to fight. they witness how Bada tries to carry Y/n's things but she wouldn't let her. however, eventually, Y/n gives in and gives Bada her things.

bada opens her car door for Y/n, receiving a soft thank you from the girl. she puts the things in the backseat and finally enters the drivers seat.

"you hungry?" she asks.

Y/n nods, too tired to talk. she closes her eyes and feel the car start up, she assumes that Bada knows a place.

during the car ride, comfortable silence envelops the pair. it continues that way not until she feels a hand on her thigh. Y/n opens her eyes and her gaze fell on the hand that is on her thigh.

Bada couldn't resist-- she caresses her thigh, rubbing circles on it, even slightly moving it up. she notices that the girl's breath is uneven. she thinks about removing it when a hand stops her.

the tension, even before what happened at the pool table, got so much thicker. it's so thick that they feel like suffocating.

sadly, they arrive at the place they're gonna eat at.

"c'mon, we're here." Bada parks the car.

they both thought the same thing: pussy blocker.

they go in the restaurant and order, wherein Bada insists that she treats her. of course, Y/n tries to pay for her own food but Bada is stubborn gal.

they take a sit once they get their order and start eating. surprisingly, their conversation is easy-going.

"so, what made you fetch me today? missed me that much?" Y/n asks with her mouth full of food.

Bada chuckles at the cute sight, "you're delusional. i just wanted to annoy you."

"oh, trust me," she answers in a grumble, "you're annoying me so much."

"is that why we're enemies?" Bada cackles out. "'cus i'm annoying? you didn't find me annoying back in middle school, though."

yes. they're childhood friends- err, childhood enemies. they're one of those typical rivals where they grew up together. they just haven't told anyone, but not because they don't want to, but because it wasn't just brought up until now.

she pouts out, "i wouldn't say enemies.. but yeah."

a loud laughs emits from the person in front of her again, can't believe the reason.

"stop laughing," Y/n gigges, "it's not funny. i'm just glad i don't have any classes, i'm so tired. and hungry."

Bada watches her with a smile, even though the girl in front of her is stuffing her face with food-- Bada still thinks that she's beautiful.

"stop ogling at me, i know i'm pretty and all," she flutters her eyelashes at her, "are you falling in love with me?"

"you sound so stupid." this time, it was Bada's turn to roll her eyes. "say, you wanna come over to my house after this?"

Y/n makes a playful shock face, "oh my? and you say you're not falling in love with me? but yes."

Bada feels like she's on cloud nine. what is wrong with her?

they finish their meal and she checks the time. it's seven-forty. they exit the place and Y/n complains about being so bloated now. to which Bada teased her by saying that she's always bloated.

banter ensues, even all the way to Bada's house, they're still bickering like children.

time check: eight-twenty-three.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

should i make the next part smut? or continue with fluff

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

[keepingeahalive]

Holly and Poppy O'Hair Headcanons

Holly’s full name is Holly Ivy O’Hair. Poppy’s full name is Poppy Hazel O’Hair. 

Poppy uses she/they pronouns.

The twins were tower-schooled before attending Ever After High. 

Holly is cursed to have all doors that close behind her magically lock her in. She has to keep her dorm room door wedged open. Poppy isn’t completely comfortable with this and prefers the door to be closed, but she lets Holly keep it open a crack. 

Poppy was definitely one of those girls who cut up their dolls’ hair.

Holly has ADHD, which makes damsel-in-distress class really difficult for her even though it’s her entire story. She also has a one-track mind. Once she starts on a subject, she will not stop talking. She uses reading and writing as an outlet for all the things buzzing through her head.

Poppy is the shier of the two. She’s more of a listener than a speaker, which comes in handy when Holly goes on a passionate rant. The only time she has no difficulty socializing is when someone is in the barber’s chair.

Holly’s a researcher of old folktales and ancient civilizations. The Wicked Step-Librarians have had to lock her out of the library for sneaking in after curfew and not being able to get out. 

While they are close, Poppy wants to carve her own identity separate from Holly. She doesn’t only want to be known as Rapunzel’s sister. She wants to make a name for herself and have an impact on other people as her own person.

Holly is a morning person. Poppy is not. 

Holly is sometimes insecure over having so much hair. She can’t avoid stepping on it, getting it snagged on something, and sometimes dragging on the floor. She envies Poppy for being free to cut her hair.

Multiples run in their family. Their mother is also a twin. She has an older twin brother named Tarragon, but she got the Rapunzel destiny because she was female.

Holly has had a crush on all three Charming siblings at one point or another. 

Poppy was closer with Nanny Nona than Holly. Holly was wild and fidgety, frustrating Nona to no end. Poppy was the calmer of the two and thus got along better with Nona. Holly and Nona still get frustrated with each other from time to time.

Poppy loves spicy foods. She’s almost obsessed with them.

Their music choices differ drastically. Holly likes country pop music. Poppy is more into punk rock. However, they both share the same favorite artist: Dolly Charmton. Poppy plays the song “Midnight to Noon” to get her pumped up in the morning.

Poppy’s a great climber. She sometimes goes beanstalk climbing with Jillian. 

Holly is slightly taller than Poppy. 

Rapunzel and her husband work as the fairytale equivalents of district attorneys. As such, Holly and Poppy don’t get to see their parents very often - especially their mom - and it’s why they were left in the care of Nanny Nona. 

Holly does tutoring in Creative Writing.

Despite working in a literal barbershop, Poppy does not like barbershop music. 

Holly does not do things halfway and always takes the long road. She struggles in areas that don’t interest her, but she’s reluctant to take shortcuts. Her mother drilled into her head that “you can’t climb a tower if your hair is too short.” But Poppy tries encouraging her to “work smarter, not harder”.

Poppy has a thing for “baddies”. She used to have a crush on Sparrow, but got over him quickly when she found out he preferred Holly over her. She also has feelings for Duchess despite knowing she was voted “Most Likely to Steal Your Destiny.” Deep down, she knows it’s a problem.  

Holly theorized Daring wasn’t Apple’s Prince Charming but kept it to herself. The only person she told was Poppy. She was pretty happy when she found out she was right. 

Both sisters are devoted dragon moms.

They’re both very nervous for when their destiny comes to pass. Holly is a bit wary of living a lie; that she’s technically stealing her sister’s destiny. She’s also having some pre-guilt about blinding her future prince. Poppy is doing everything in her power to keep anyone from finding out the truth, because she wants to keep the life she’s been building for herself. 

[anxiousthoughts365]

Sirius and the Seasons:

Spring

- Sirius Black, determined to carry off his couldn't-care-less attitude and refusing to study for the upcoming exams in the library, but behind the closed door of the Marauders' dorm room he holds private study sessions

- Sirius Black in his leather jacket, jeans and Docs, stalking around the grounds of Hogwarts, picking wildflowers and glaring at anyone who dares laugh at him

- Sirius Black presenting said bunches of flowers with much flourishing to a blushing Remus Lupin at the breakfast table

- R: 'Jesus, Pads, in front of everyone?!' S: 'Of course! To remind them that you're my Moony.' J: *muttering into his cereal* 'Like we could ever forget.' S: 'Shove it, Potter.'

Summer

- Sirius Black in denim cut-offs and band t-shirts

- Sirius Black wheelding at Remus until he agrees to braid his hair back off his face (at the start of summer the braids are awful but Remus gets better at it as the weeks progress)

- Sirius Black playing with his braids, always touching them because that's where Moony touched him, and the braids only lasting for an hour

- Sirius Black stretching out in pure canine fashion as they lie on the grass in the Potters' back garden in the sun, smirking as Remus gets more and more flustered as more and more of Sirius' pale torso accidentally shows

- Sirius Black sulking when Remus won't cuddle with him when they go to bed, especially when the night is muggy and the full moon is close

- R: 'Sorry, Love, too hot.' S: *pouts*

Autumn

- Sirius Black purposefully jumping in every puddle he can find and cackling when he gets someone else wet

- Sirius Black complaining bitterly when it's actually raining, insisting on hiding in Remus' coat even though Remus is still wearing it and there really isn't that much room as they walk between the castle and the Greenhouses

- Sirius Black bringing back leaves from his morning walks around the grounds because isn't the shape so interesting, Moony? and here Re, this one reminds me of the colour of your eyes

- Sirius Black cursing at the mirror when the warm, wet days turn his usually sleek hair into a frizzy mess, while Remus chuckles from his bed as he watches Sirius attempt to manage it

- S: 'Keep it up, Moony, and I'll shave it all off.' R: *suddenly very serious* 'Don't you fucking dare.'

Winter

- Sirius Black pressing cold toes against Remus' hot skin under the covers

- Sirius Black conveniently having a hot cup of tea available every evening, which he uses to placate Remus so that he can snuggle into the tiny space against his side in the armchair he's reading in and being completely unaware that Remus always purposefully leaves that space open for him

- Sirius Black nuzzling into Remus' neck and dozing as the heat of the fire and the soft sound of turning pages and Remus' scent lull him to sleep

- Sirius Black refusing to wear a jumper under his leather jacket because knitwear's not punk, Moony

- Sirius Black melting, a soppy grin plastered over his face, when Remus gets sick of his teeth chattering and wraps his own scarf around Sirius' neck while muttering about hypothermia

- J: 'You won't take my spare jumper, but you'll accept Moony's scarf?' S: *smug, wrapped up in his prize* 'Moony's things smell infinitely better than yours ever could, Jamie.'

Just Sirius through the seasons.