- No Mohawks! Absolutely no Mohawks in punk before the 80s, because no working class kid could afford that much hairspray, and DEFINITELY no leather jackets (…with the exception of Sid, of course.) The leather jacket/Mohawk/political patches formula didn’t get big until the middle class kids got into it (and no safety pin facial piercings, either).
- In the early shows, there were usually under a dozen kids who looked anything like “punk-” and when they did, it was a lot of bright colors, BDSM gear, smudged make up, and glitter. But most just wore jeans and tees.
- Most punks were really small, being British and in the 15-20 age range. Basically a bunch of baby beanpoles.
- Punks weren’t cool until ‘79 or ‘80; up til that point, they were basically targets for Teddy Boy (50s rockabilly fans) aggression. The beanpoles took a lot of beatings.
- Punk wasn’t some huge movement. Like I said before, there were only a handful of kids at every show who dressed up. They never looked alike. They never traveled in big packs, with the exception of the Bromley Contingent. They were just teenagers who loved the music and got creative with their looks.
- Most punks were white, since it was Britain and black kids had their own scenes with reggae and dub (though there was still a lot of overlap there), but most, not all- if you whitewash punk, Poly Styrene’ll kick your ass, and Don Letts will film it.
- UK punk started in gay and drag bars (one of which, The Ranch, in Manchester, is still open!), and there were tons of female punks. Poly, The Slits, Souxie and the Banshees, Soo Catwoman, Debbie Juvenile, and beyond- there was no room for homophobia or hypermasculinity.
- Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I’m tired of seeing UK punk represented as a bunch of big white men in Mohawks and leather jackets throwing punches at each other. Punk belonged to the poor kids who spent their whole lives being told they were nothing but factory fodder, and punk made them realize that if they were trash, then being trash was awesome. It was about equality and empowerment, about realizing that they deserved more than society threw at them. Don’t take that away from them.
(Sources include both of Johnny Rotten’s autobiographies, The Filth and the Fury, Passion is a Fashion/a biography on the Clash, Bernard Sumner’s autobiography, an article on Manchester punk by a journalist who came of age there, and several other photos and articles I’ve stumbled across.)
Alright guys, I’m going to show you how I take my luscious locks and make them into rumble-worthy greaser hair.
Maybe I can …. shed some light on the situation.
That was a horrible pun, I know.
Step 1: Throw on your Greaser Jams. I recommend this song.
Step 2: Push all you hair into the center of your head and pin it with bobby pins
You’re aiming for a “fo-hawk” kinda look. You’re basically going to get a big floppy mohawk down the center of your head. Don’t forget to secure the hair near the base of your skull with bobby pins in an “X” formation so that the baby hairs don’t slip out and ruin your do!
Step 3: Tease it a bit.
Separate your hair into sections that you can curl and back comb it until your hair is a bit floofy, but not too much or the next step will be more difficult.
You want it to be able to hold the form of a curl without too much hairspray, but you don’t want too much, or you’ve totally switched decades.
(repeat above with your whole head)
Step 4: Time to curl that shit
The reason you curl it after you pin it is so your curls fall forward. You want to start father back and move your way forward so your little ducktail (your bangs) is the last thing that you curl.
Time for the little ducktail!!
Now this is the basic shape your do is going to have …. now onto the fun part.
Step 5. HEADBANG LIKE THE ROCK GOD YOU KNOW YOU ARE!
Step 6: Pin it so your do wont flop.
BOBBY PIN UNTIL IT LOOKS PRESENTABLE.
I have to put a tiny bobby pin in the very center of my little swooshy curl in the front so it stays short enough. We don’t wanna look like an emo alpaca.
Step 7: Now add your sideburns.
Every great greaser has killer sideburns. I use mascara to darken the ones I have and make them longer.
Summary: it’s been two years since
peter has been taken away from earth. Which means that it’s been two years
since his mother has died and he misses her like crazy. Well this isn’t going
to fly with Yondu.
the hell are you” Yondu screamed as he made his way to peters room. They had to
find a rare piece of alien brain that would be able to power their ship for 20
years the only problem was the alien lived deep down in the ground and only
peter would be able to fit.
reached peters he banged on it with his fist.
you don’t get your ass out here, I’ll eat you.” Yondu threatened through the
Peter said through the door. His voice indicating, he had been crying, or still
was “Besides I’m not the good to eat anyway.”
his eyes. He pushed the button on the wall. The door opened revealing a little
boy balled up on a bed. Yondu was confused. Normally Quill would be the first
one up with his Walkman on his side and his headphones around his neck. Yondu
looked around and saw his Walkman on the floor with a bunch of tape tangled up
in a ball.
the hell are you doing? You know we got a job today.”
me alone.” Peter said sounding sadder then he did from the other side of the
door Yondu sat on the edge of the bed. His temper lowered and his voice
and sat up. His cheeks stained with tears.
I miss my mom and my stupid music is broken and I hate this room and I hate
space.” He started to cry. He lunged forward and cried into Yondu’s chest.
Yondu was a little taken back by this. He wasn’t totally heartless. He
understood why peter was sad.
peter. I know it’s hard, but this is just how your life is going right now. There’s
nothing you can do to change it. All you can do is sit back and let it happen.”
He wasn’t much for pep talks but for some reason peter felt a little bit better
but something caught his attention. He looked up at Yondu questioningly.
Yondu said with the same look.
me peter. You never call me peter. You usually just call me Quill or boy.”
about it too much. Listen if you don’t want to help us today, you don’t have
to.” Peter looked at his Walkman.
help me fix my music?”
“Ha I’ll see
what I can do with your silly music.” He said as he gave peters side a poke.
Peter let out a little giggle and jerked to the side. Yondu noticed and a smile
grew on his face revealing his bad teeth.
“Oh no, tell
me you’re not ticklish?” Yondu said as he poked him again, and once again he
giggled and jerked away.
“No, I was
thinking about how stupid your big Mohawk looks.”
it. Now you’re getting it.” Yondu pinned him down and started tickling his
STOHOHOHOP THAT’S NOHOHOT FAIR”
fair about this?” Yondu said with a smile. He moved his fingers to his armpits
which made his laugher go up higher and his body wiggle more.
YOUR BIGGER THEN MEHEHEHEHE HAHAHAHA.”
how things are. You better not let the crew know about this, they’ll never let
you live this down.” Yondu laughed. He never heard Peter laugh this much
“No I don’t
think so, I think you need to laugh some more.”
STOHOHOHOHOP DADDY PLEHEHEHEASE STOHHOHOP.” Yondu caught that immediately. He
didn’t feel sad about it, he felt kind of happy. He felt happy that deep down,
peter saw him as his dad and deep down Yondu saw him as his son.
He slowly stopped
tickling him and let him catch his breath.
“So what do
you want to do today boy, you gunna help us or what?” Peter looked at him with
fix my music?”
kiddoe.” He patted his shoulder “Hop on.” Yondu let peter ride on his back for
the whole day. They didn’t get the alien brain but Yondu did let him have his
first drink. He did eventually fix his music.
I remember when I was a 16 year old goth kid with a big purple mohawk and ridiculous-ass makeup and kids at school would spit on me, call me dyke, throw food at me, etc.
So I come home from school one day and I’m like “Mom, I’m tired of people bullying me all the time. This sucks.”
And she was like “Well, you walk around looking really strange. It shouldn’t be that way but the world sucks, so if you want the bullying to stop, you have to look and act more normal”
I had NO IDEA how to look or act normal because no one taught me, on top of being really mentally ill and untreated, and to this day I’ve almost got the “looking” normal thing down but I still can’t speak or act like a human being so the bullying continued into the workplace and I’m just sitting here at 27 years old like
I had an idea if your interested... It's a really ruff idea so I'm not sure what you'd do with it, but I loooooooove Alice in wonderland and wondered if you could make that a tomco au?
I LOVE ALICE IN WONDERLAND! It’a my favorite movie! My little brother was in the play! He was the Mad Hatter. My little brother is super cool and good at acting, he’s gotten the lead in so many plays and I’m so proud of him! I don’t tell him too much though because he’s at that age where when you look at him he goes “Stop it you’re embarrassing me!” Anyway I hope you like the story! This was another one that i had to break up, request a continuation if you want! I just don’t like cramming it all into one fic. Enjoy! I thought using the Tomco babies would be a good idea! Because they would add mystery for Marco who doesn’t yet know who they are. I hope you enjoy it! Credit for the babies go to @safetyqueenofhell for Estella @xanotherxdimensionx for Jace and Nico @safekidsdemon for Milo and Nico and me for Annie!
Marco drummed his fingers on the coffee table and looked down at his math homework. Why was it he felt so distracted today? Usually he was good at getting his homework done, especially when there was so little of it. But today he found his eyes drooping and himself yawning in boredom and staring out the window. Marco blinked slowly. So he saw the window, then dark for a moment, then the empty window, then dark for a moment, then the window with a little face staring through-
Marco shot up off of the couch and ran to the window. There seemed to be a pink cat, or rabbit maybe? Looking through at him. But then the head lifted and Marco saw it was a hat. Upon the head of a girl with blue hair and dark skin. She lifted up a pocket watch.
“We’re late, mom! Come on!” She urged.
“M-mom?” Marco fell back confused and the teenage girl darted away. “Wait! Hey wait for me!” Marco called, confused as to why this young girl was calling him mom. “Where are you going!?” He called out to her, but the girl just kept running.
“Come on! We’re so late!” She grumbled. “I can’t believe we’re late again!” But this time it was said with a bit of amusement. The girl clapped her hands and there was a baby-blue fire, and there stood a door. She opened it and lept through, slamming it behind her.
“Wait!” Marco called, he opened the door and a powerful gust of wind swept him through. He began to fall, fast through a dark tunnel. Marco screamed, but stopped when he saw a candle falling next to him. He reached out and took it, holding it out to observe. He saw he was falling with books, old wooden toys, and some furniture. Like somebody emptied a house out down this hole… door… door-hole.
Maco squinted his eyes to look further, when he noticed he began to fall much slower. He looked down and his eyes popped. He was now floating down gently, as if he was parachuting… he WAS parachuting!
Marco gasped when he saw he was suddenly wearing a blue dress and stockings, the dress was poofed out making him fall slowly. He reached up to rub his head in confusion, but was greeted by a black ribbon tied in his hair. He grumbled and looked down at his black, buckle shoes. “I look so old timey!” Marco exclaimed. “I feel like I’m waiting for tea-time.” He laughed at his own joke, but at soon as he said that a tea cart began to fall down next to him.
“Thank you.” Marco said to the void, taking a cup of tea in one of the china teacups. When he was finished he just let it go to fall on it’s own, wondering when he would land. His wishes were answered when he soon found his feet on the ground. “Oh finally.” Marco smoothed out his dress.
“Well if you’re done falling, we’re still late, mom!” Marco’s head shot up and he saw the same girl, holding out the pocket watch. He was about to call to her but she darted away.
“Wait!” Marco called again, before she ran through another door, slamming it behind her. “Why do you keep calling me ‘mom’!?” Marco cried, trying to pry the door open.
“Oh you can’t get in that way.” Marco heard another voice and he turned around. Sitting on a big arm chair was a familiar boy, with big eyes and mohawk.
“O-Oskar?” Marco asked confused.
“Who?” The boy who was clearly Oskar responded. He continued to play on one of his little piano things and flipped his hair.
“Can… can you just open this door please? I’m trying to find out who that girl is.” Marco tried to peer through the keyhole.
“You’re way too big to fit through that door!” The doorkeeper laughed. Marco crossed his arms and huffed.
“Well I need to get through.” He told him. The doorkeeper thought for a moment and then reached into his back pocket, producing a vile.
“Drink this.” He instructed. “But that’ll only get you halfway through.” He told Marco. Maco tilted his head confused and took a long sip of the sweet syrup. It tasted like cherry juice. Marco made a face, way too sweet for him. He then looked over and jumped. The door was a great deal bigger, and so was the doorkeeper! He gasped when he looked at the whole room, they weren’t bigger, he was smaller!
Marco darted over to the door and tried to open it. It was locked. “How do I get through?” Marco asked.
“I told you that you were only halfway there.” The doorkeeper laughed and continued to play. “It’s easy it get through though, just make sure your song is real, man.” He pounded his chest and Marco looked to the door. He saw a little measuring stick used in music, that told you how high and low your pitch was. The door wanted him to sing a song to get through.
“Oh! Like that episode of Adventure Time.” Marco tilted his head and looked over at the doorkeeper, but he had vanished. “Okay… weird…” Marco made a face and cleared his throat. “So you want me to sing a real song?” He asked the door.
Marco plopped down and tried singing a few songs he had heard on the radio, and humming some random tunes. But the door didn’t crack. “What’s a real song to you?” He asked the door. Maybe it needed to be more original. Marco thought for a moment. Maybe it didn’t need to be REAL per say, but it had to be real to him.
Marco played with his hands and tried to think of something original, or something that meant something to him. He didn’t really have much of an emotional attachment to songs, like some people got. But his mind kept floating to something else.
Marco smiled when he thought of the band, but it wasn’t really that, that was making him smile. It was something else. Every time he thought of the band he thought of he and Tom hanging out in that carriage, and jumping on the couch and eating cereal and soda. And the more he thought of it, the more he thought of just Tom as that song played in his head over and over again.
Marco laughed lightly to himself, but his thoughts were cut off when he heard a click. He whipped around and saw the door had creaked open. “But… I didn’t even sing anything.” Marco said confused. But the door remained open. Marco shrugged and opened it all the way, gasping at the lush forest that lay before him, before taking a step forward.