#this is the same outfit i drew myself in for my meet the artist. yes i am an outfit repeater

[ghostlyhamburger]

Under Agreste: The Show

Rating: T

Pairings: Adrienette, Adrigami

Read on Ao3

Adrien was given a few more blissful hours of sleep while the contestants did some kind of trivia contest to determine which group date they’d be going on.

He was awoken by a knock at the trailer door. He stumbled over, blinking sleep out of his eyes, and opened it to see a woman with dark hair and a smile that promised Adrien had no room to argue with anything she said. “Morning, Sunshine. Ready for your dates?”

“Do I have a choice?” he muttered. “Just tell me what I’m doing.”

“You’re going to wardrobe,” she replied. “Then, off to the music festival. Oh, and you’re picking one of them for a private date tomorrow, so keep that in mind.”

**

He met up with seven of the contestants at the dance studio. They were all dressed in varying types of athleticwear—from Chloe in booty shorts and a sports bra to Juleka in a loose sweatshirt and pants.

Adrien approached one of the group standing to the side. “You chose to go with dancing?”

Sophie, if he remembered right, snorted and gestured to the cane in their hand. “I drew the short straw this time.”

“I…” He trailed off into silence as he started overthinking his next question, not wanting to offend.

“Don’t worry about me,” Sophie said. “I’ll do what I can, and I’ll sit on the side when I need to. I know my own limits.”

“Okay,” he said awkwardly. “Just, uh, have fun.”

“Adrien. Over here,” the producer who’d woken him up (he’d learned her name was Alya) said sharply, pulling him along by the arm. “Okay, stand there, lights are good, now introduce the celebrity guest to the ladies, and we are rolling!”

“Hey everyone,” Adrien said, able to instantly turn on the charm. “I’d like you all to meet a good friend of mine, who’s going to lead a dance class for us—Clara Nightingale!”

The contestants cheered and applauded as the popstar entered the studio, waving happily.

“Hello everyone, it’s great to meet you!” she cried. “Now let’s start the music and bust a groove!”

Music blasted into the room, and Clara started to show them a series of dance steps, encouraging the girls and Adrien to follow along. After it seemed like most of them had the hang of it, Adrien was sent out of the room.

“What’s going on now?” he asked Alya.

“They’re going to practice a little show for you, basically,” she replied. “You just wait out here. Sorry, Sunshine, but waiting for the girls to do something will be most of your day.”

“Fine by me,” he said with a shrug. “So, uh, where’s that other producer? Marinette?”

“Working with the Jagged Stone group,” Alya replied. “You’ll see her later today. And Nino’s got the XY group, so you’ll see him too.”

Adrien made a face on hearing the popstar’s name.

“Buck up, Sunshine, while the cameras are on you, you’re XY’s biggest fan.”

“Why do you call me that?” he asked.

“Sunshine? It’s your hair,” she replied. “That, and you’re a sweet guy. Never met anyone who met you and didn’t like you. Why, you hate the nickname or something?”

“Uh, thanks,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mind the name.”

**

Adrien was led back inside the room by an eager Clara. “The girls have worked so hard, it’s true! And now they’ll all dance just for you!”

He was directed to stand in the center of the room as the contestants lined up. They each danced across the room, performing a series of rehearsed moves around him, holding onto him and giving him a kiss on the cheek at the right timing of the music (except Sophie, who sat on the side and blew him a kiss).

But then, Chloe’s turn to dance came, and she kissed him right on the lips. He tried to hold her at arm’s length, but she was surprisingly strong.

“Okay, we got the shot, can someone get her off Sunshine?” Alya called. “Kid looks like he’s going to puke.”

A couple of cameramen wrestled Chloe away from Adrien, who barely had time to shoot a grateful glance towards Alya before he was hustled away to the next date.

**

“Hey, dude,” Nino greeted Adrien as he arrived at the recording studio. “You a fan of XY?”

“I’ve been told I am when the cameras are on,” he replied.

“Good enough for me. So, the girls have been practicing a song that he wrote, they’re going to sing it to you, you’re going to record a track with all of them. And then it goes on Spotify and no one remembers this shitty reality show song, but, hey, it’s all about fun, right?”

Adrien laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Fun and finding a wife.”

He sat in the studio, and the girls cycled in and out of the recording booth, a small space with a few instruments set up, each contestant singing the same few bars of a mediocre song. Something about loving life and wanting to be cool. Some of them were having fun, and some pulled faces, clearly not enjoying the song at all.

Adrien tried not to laugh too much, but one girl’s disgusted face and tone during the lyric “I wanna shake my booty and find a real cutie” drove him over the edge, causing him to bend over, coughing from how hard he was laughing.

“That was great!” he told Cherie as she exited the recording booth. “Loved it!”

She flashed a grin at him before Kagami stepped into the booth.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’d like to request that I play the music, instead of using the backing track.”

Adrien shrugged. “Works for me.”

Kagami sat down at the piano and began to play, her fingers deftly flying across the keys as she played the same melody—but without the synthesized beat on top of it, it sounded pretty good. The lyrics were unfortunately still the same, but her voice was strong and clear.

Behind the scenes, Nino directed the lights in the studio be lowered, except the booth light directly over Kagami’s head. Adrien didn’t notice, simply watched as she seemed to radiate brightness and everything around her faded.

When she finished, she looked out through the glass of the booth and asked, “How was that?”

“Amazing,” Adrien replied, giving her a genuine smile. “That was great.”

**

Adrien was shuttled to a much more familiar sight—a photo studio. He headed inside and was immediately pushed to a changing area and handed some clothes.

At least he knew what to do here. He changed into the outfit given to him, something very different from the usual stuff he wore for Gabriel. Dark ripped jeans, a graphic tee, black leather jacket—this was far more his style than what his father had ever designed, and it was actually comfortable, too.

Once changed, he found himself automatically walking over to the hair and makeup area, knowing what came next without even thinking. Marinette was standing at one of the makeup chairs, and waved at him, motioning him over.

“Hey!” she said brightly as he sat down. “So, did anyone tell you what’s going on?”

“Of course not,” he replied with an easy grin. “I know how to be a model, though.”

“Well, right now, the girls are picking out their outfits. This whole date thing is a makeover with Jagged Stone, so everyone’s going to be rock-and-roll!” She gave a quick air guitar riff as she imitated Jagged’s accent.

Adrien chuckled. “Nice. This actually sounds like fun.”

“So, since all the pro makeup artists are going to be on camera getting the girls ready, I’m filling in to help you,” she said. “You ready?”

“You do makeup too?” he asked in surprise, keeping his face otherwise still as she started to brush foundation onto his skin.

“Yeah, my dream as a kid was to be a fashion designer, so I spent most of high school teaching myself all different aspects of it—photography, makeup, hair, photoshop, all of it. Makeup is really fun, it’s like painting, but on skin.”

“So what led you to work in reality TV instead?” he asked.

“Oh, I had an internship, and then I got fired a few days in,” she replied. “Close your eyes for me? It’s funny, it actually was with Gabriel. I messed up someone’s coffee order, and I was told that if I couldn’t even get coffee details right, I wouldn’t be able to get clothing details right either, and I was out.”

“I’m so sorry,” Adrien said softly, opening his eyes and glancing up on her cue. “You shouldn’t have been fired over that.”

Marinette shrugged. “It’s okay. My best friends were working for Alec on his production team at the time, and they needed a new assistant, so I got the job. And it turns out, I’m really good at managing schedules and large groups of people, so, here I am.”

“Why didn’t you try to get a job with another fashion house?”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked. “You know how big your father’s company is. Once you’ve been fired from there, no one wants you anymore. I’ve basically been blacklisted.”

He frowned. “That’s not right. You screwed up one coffee and you’re locked out of your dream industry for life? I’ve made way worse mistakes!”

“Not all of us are lucky enough to be born into the right industry, Adrien,” she said softly. “It’s fine, really. It’s been years, I’ve cried enough over it, I’m moving on and focusing on the now.”

He reached out, catching her wrist as she turned to grab a different brush. “Hey. It’s still not right, and if you want—I can talk to my father and at least get you a good recommendation.”

“I—I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve given up on that, I’m here now…I don’t know if I want to change my life around again.”

“Let me know, okay?” he asked. “You’ve been really nice to me, I want to help you.”

She grinned as she turned back to him. “All right. Just one more thing—is it okay if I touch you?”

“Uh, yes? I’m not really used to people asking that.”

Marinette frowned and bit her lip, but simply said, “You need to look like you’ve been passionately making out with your favorite girls, so—here.” She moved her thumb against his lower lip, smearing the red lipstick she’d put there for just this purpose.

Her fingertip was soft, and he felt just a small twinge of disappointment when she pulled her hand back.

“So!” she said, turning away from him. “Have you picked your girl for the private date?”

“Still thinking about it,” he replied. “I might choose Kagami, though.”

Marinette smiled, though she still wasn’t looking right at him. “Good call. She seems like one of the nice ones. Nino gets the bonus if you pick her, and he deserves it.”

“How many do I need to choose to get rid of, though?” Adrien asked.

“Four.”

“And I still can’t pick Lila?”

Marinette laughed. “No. You can’t pick Lila. Now, head over to the stage, say hi to Jagged for me, and do the modeling thing you’re so good at. I’ll see you later.”

**

Adrien barely remembered the photoshoot. It felt like nearly every other one he’d done, except that his fellow ‘models’ were trying to win his heart, and his favorite rockstar was yelling encouragement from the side.

The important thing he did pay attention to was Jagged Stone inviting them all to front-row seats at his concert that night.

After the cameras filmed him and the contestants dancing to one song, they miraculously went away, which meant the crew got to join in the crowd. Adrien found himself right beside Marinette, who grinned at him as she jumped and headbanged to the music, singing along as loud as possible.

**

Adrien’s next day was mostly free, but Nino stopped by the trailer to encourage him to come by the mansion and talk to all the girls, get to know them.

As he entered the mansion, he heard shouting, and headed over to see Lila yelling at Marinette, as the latter was restocking the wet bar for the girls.

“I saw you dancing with him!” Lila shouted. “You’re not even someone he should be looking at!”

“Yeah, you caught me dancing, at a concert,” Marinette replied sarcastically. “You do realize I’m pushing for you to win, right? I’m your producer, not your competition.”

“Then maybe you should do your job and produce instead of having your slut hands all over Adrien!”

Marinette just rolled her eyes as she stood up from the bar, then smiled. “Oh, hey, Adrien.”

Lila spun around, a wide grin on her face, all traces of anger gone. “Adrien, hi!” she cooed. “I had so much fun last night.”

“Really?” he asked, unable to stop the amused grin that crossed his face. “I don’t know, you seemed a little jealous.”

Her smile fell and she glared daggers at Marinette for just a moment before stuttering out, “W-well, of course! I don’t want to have to share you with all these women.”

“Try to be nice to them,” he said, gently admonishing. “It’s really important to me that you all get along. I don’t want anyone to be hurt here.”

“Of course,” Lila said, her tone syrupy sweet. “We’ll be all like sisters.”

Adrien glanced over at Marinette, who physically could not roll her eyes any harder, but gave him a thumbs up.

He smiled at her before leaving the room to explore the large house. He didn’t see everything before his eye was drawn by a large game room, set up with systems and arcade cabinets. Surely no one would mind if he played a few rounds of Ultimate Mecha Strike…

The contestants wandered in and out as he played, some of them joining him, others just watching. He didn’t pay that much attention until he heard a snort from the doorway.

“Video games? Really?” the woman, Josee, asked. “I thought we were all adults here.”

“Hey, I’m not giving up my ranking in UMS for anything,” he replied. “You want a round.”

“Uh, no.” With that, she turned and walked off.

Adrien sighed as he kept playing. At least this time the contestants were making his choice easy for him.

**

The cameras followed Adrien closely as he crossed through the mansion to find his date for the evening.

“Kagami,” he said, drawing her attention away from the book she was reading. “Would you do me the honor of being my date for this evening?”

She smiled. “I would love to.”

They ended up on a boat floating along the Seine. They were the only two people in the boat, but the cameras were set in other boats, tethered to the side. As they sailed down the river, they could hear snippets of music from the various concerts for the festival.

“I really liked what you did with XY’s song,” Adrien said. “You actually made it sort of good.”

Kagami smiled. “I don’t think anything could have saved that booty line.”

“Oh, no way,” he replied, laughing.

“Honestly, I wish I had met Clara,” Kagami said. “Or really, any other musician, if you can call XY a musician.”

Adrien leaned close and confessed, “I’ve been told I am a huge fan of his when the cameras are on, so…”

She laughed, moving her hand over her mouth to hide the noise.

“Your singing voice is great, by the way,” he said. “I liked listening to you.”

“And I really like talking to you,” she replied. “I hope I can get to know you a lot better.” She leaned forward and placed her hand on top of his. He just smiled, and laced his fingers with hers.

**

It was late when Kagami and Adrien arrived back at the mansion. The cameras caught him giving her a soft kiss on the cheek before they were both rushed off to prepare for the elimination ceremony.

Marinette was the one to bring Adrien the tray of guitar picks he’d be giving to the girls who stay. “You got this?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’m good. I can do this.”

“Damn, if private dates are going to chill you out that much, I can’t wait to see you after all the other ones,” she replied. “Good luck!”

The ceremony went by in a blur, with nearly no tears this time. Ondine, Christine, Josee, and Sophie were all asked to leave, and none of them had much argument or disappointment.

When it was over, Adrien headed back towards his trailer, passing Marinette talking to Kagami. The two girls shared a laugh over something, and he stopped in his tracks to watch them, smiling as all his stress from the day seemed to melt away.

He realized that maybe he would find love on this show, after all.

**

“Next time: Adrien and the girls give back to the local community! And are sparks flying between him and a certain somebody?”

[katsbooks]

Schwarze Nacht - Chapter Two

Walter C. Dornez x Reader

‘All orders by Master Integra Hellsing will be followed to the letter. Any complaints will be given in written form to the Head Maid, who will in turn give them to Master Hellsing. You will have Sundays and Wednesdays off to do as you please, within reason and without violation of Organization policy. Otherwise, you will be in the uniform given to you at all times outside of your room. Your shift will begin at 5:30 am and will end only when the Head Maid, Butler (Sir Walter C. Dornez) or Master Hellsing deems it over.

          If there are any questions or concerns that are not addressed in your pamphlet, please consult the Head Maid or Butler.’

           (Y/n)’s first week was chaos personified. Between getting lost, forgetting details about her jobs, running late one morning and dealing with the scrutiny of the Head Maid, she was so glad when Sunday came around.

           (Y/n) groaned a little as she sat down at one of the galley tables, a cup of coffee in one hand and a napkin with bagels and cream cheese in the other. She scrubbed a hand over her tired face, knocking her glasses askew as she did. She had only slept in to eight, and she really wasn’t a morning person to begin with. But it was the only way she would get used to this schedule, so it was necessary. She could nap later.

           As she munched on her cream cheese smothered bagel, she was alerted of a presence approaching her table and she looked up to see Walter, dressed in his usual outfit, sitting down across from her with a cup of hot tea in hand.

           “You don’t mind my company, do you?” he smiled. She shook her head, her mouth too full of bagel to verbally respond. She swallowed and took a sip of her coffee, before asking,

           “I thought you didn’t have to wear your uniforms on your days off?”

           Walter smiled, “You don’t. But I’ve become so accustomed to it, it would feel strange to wear anything else.”

           (Y/n) could understand that. 51 years of wearing the same outfit pretty much every day? It would feel strange to wear casual clothing. She was still quite content with her jeans and t-shirt, though.

           “I’m surprised you’re up, really. Even Delores sleeps in on Sundays,” Walter said, stirring sugar into his tea.

           “I’m kind of surprised by that news, actually. There’s reason to my madness, though,” (Y/n) said.

           “Oh? Do tell.”

           “Well, I’m so used to staying up late and sleeping in, that these early mornings are just…killing me, figuratively speaking. So it’s just easier to get up early on days off too and take naps later to make up for it,” she shrugged.

           “Mm. Smart,” Walter smiled, sipping her tea. (Y/n) took another drink of her coffee. “Not one for tea?”

           “Iced sweet tea is the only tea I really care for, but I think that comes from living in the South,” she stated. “I only drink hot tea when my throat’s sore. Mix it with some honey and lemon, and it’s a good day.”

           “I forget that you’re from America sometimes. You’ve got such excellent manners during work,” Walter hummed. (Y/n) chuckled a little bit as she nibbled her second bagel.

           “My mom and dad raised me right. ‘Yes ma’am, no sir’ kinda thing. Granted, they also taught me to not take any crap from anyone too, but respect’s the highest compliment you can give someone,” she said.

           “If only there were more young folk such as yourself, Miss (Y/n),” Walter said.

           “You and me both,” (Y/n) muttered. “That was one reason why I was more than happy to leave America—people have no couth anymore. It’s like living in a country of uncivilized, spoiled children. I know not everyone’s like that, but it certainly felt like that.”

           “You certainly hold a good vocabulary, Miss (Y/n). You have a good head on your shoulders, and that’s quite encouraging,” Walter said, taking a swallow of his tea. “You said you liked to read. What kind of books interest you?”

           “Mostly? I’m a huge romantic, so…a lot of fantasy romance,” (Y/n) admitted and Walter chuckled. “But I like other genres. Horror’s always fun and I don’t mind a decent science fiction now and then. 1984 by Mr. Orwell is an excellent book, for example.”

           “Indeed.”

           “Let’s see…I’m not really big into history, unless it’s mythology or folklore, but Egyptian and Greek/Roman history’s always fascinated me,” (Y/n) hummed, thinking. “Sometimes I like flipping through science books.”

           “Did you read a lot as a child?”

           “All the time. Kept the loneliness away,” she said. At his questioning look, she elaborated. “I…didn’t have many friends growing up. Not really any at all. I never got why, I was apparently a pushover as a kid, but that might have been the reason. So I read a lot; getting lost in my books seemed like a better life than dealing with the kids picking on me.”

           “I’m sorry to hear that.”

           (Y/n) shrugged, “It was just how it was for me. Yeah, I hated it, but if you just wanted to be my friend to use me for whatever reason, I didn’t want your friendship or need it. Jeez, I think I was fourteen before I actually met someone that I could relate with. I still hate that she’s so far away.”

           “Finding a friend after so long, then moving away is certainly hard. Do you keep in contact?” Walter asked.

           “I try. We write and when I can, I call. But it’s hard,” she murmured. “Still, it’s life, right?”

           “Indeed,” Walter agreed and for a moment they sat in silence, Walter drinking his tea and (Y/n) munching on her bagel. “…you said you also drew. Is this a side hobby?”

           “My drawing? Eh, kinda? I mean, I’m not awful at it, actually I’d like to think I’m a decent artist. It was just something to pass the time and it became interesting. I took a few classes in middle and high school,” (Y/n) said. “I like drawing people. I find them fascinating.”

           “Why’s that?”

           “Well, think of it this way. Scenery rarely changes. Sure, you’ve got your seasons, sometimes there’s a mudslide or rain or whatever, but for the most part it stays the same,” (Y/n) started. “Now humans—people in general, really—they’re so interesting because they’re constantly changing. Age, emotion, physical deformities. There are so many wonderful and beautiful things about the human body, I don’t think I’d be able to draw them all.”

           Walter smiled a little. “You remind me of an old friend, when you say that. He thinks the same thing, really.”

           “Does he? Perhaps I’ll meet him someday.”

           “Oh, I’m sure you will. He works here, he just doesn’t come out of his room often unless it’s for a job,” Walter said. He leaned over towards the fruit bowl set on the table and picked through it, grabbing a small bunch of grapes and setting it down on a napkin. (Y/n) looked at the fruit bowl for a minute as well, then at the last bite of bagel. She was still hungry, so she leaned over and grabbed herself an apple.

           “So what are your plans for today, Miss (Y/n)?” Walter asked her as he started eating his grapes. (Y/n) took a bite of her apple, thinking for a minute.

           “…well, I was hoping to walk to town today to the bookstore, but as it’s raining, that’s out of the question. So I guess I’ll learn my way around the manor so I don’t get lost again tomorrow,” (Y/n) said.

           “That sounds like a splendid idea. Perhaps I could show you some easier routes?” Walter offered.

           “Sure, I’d like that. Would definitely make my life easier,” she smiled. “You don’t mind?”

           “Not at all. It is my day off as well,” he smiled charmingly. (Y/n) smiled back and finished up her apple, before drinking the rest of her coffee. “I have to ask, are you one that likes your coffee black or with cream?”

           “With cream and sugar. I hate plain coffee, it’s too bitter,” (Y/n) grimaced. Walter chuckled at her expression.

           “So you have a sweet tooth.”

           “Majorly. I come by it honestly, though. My dad loves chocolate, so it stems from that.”

           “I admittedly like the occasional sweet treat myself,” Walter said. “Sir Integra doesn’t care for anything sweet, though.”

           “Believable,” (Y/n) said.

           “Is it?”

           “I get the impression that ‘sweet’ isn’t in her nature,” (Y/n) said. “If it’s not past my boundaries to say that.”

           “Oh not at all, you’re free to have an opinion, my dear. It’s human nature to do so. What else did you pick up about Sir Integra?”

           “Not too much, I mean…I didn’t meet her for very long if you remember,” (Y/n) pointed out. “But she definitely knows how to intimidate someone. She seems very serious, but also a little dry-witted too. Most likely listens to classical music when she works too.”

           “You are quite observant,” Walter said, impressed.

           “Part of being an artist.”

           “Surely. Now then,” Walter stood, gathering his empty cup and napkin full of grape stems. “Shall we begin your tour?”

           “Of course,” (Y/n) nodded, standing to wash her cup and put it on the drying rack and toss away her apple core and napkin. As she met up with Walter outside of the galley, she took a moment to think that this was such a strange feeling, having had a casual conversation with the Butler of the Hellsing Organization.

           Walter gave her a smile and she returned it, deciding to let it not bother her now, following the man as he showed her his little shortcuts and the easier routes through the manor.

[kimbramusic]

Now The Whole World’s Watching You.....

A short letter to Harvey Weinstein on behalf of the women who were devalued and manipulated by your actions,

Everybody knows, about what you do

Everybody saw, and sold the truth

I was young and gullible

But baby I grew

Now the whole world’s watching you.

I drew on a lot of things when writing the song ‘Everybody Knows’ but it would be untrue to say there was no reference to times in my life where I have felt reduced and disrespected by the actions of men who had more influence, power and ability to steer a situation in the direction of their benefit.  Like many women, at times I have felt my value as an artist reduced by the assumption that my personal worth was epitomized by my body, and my willingness to play along with those in more powerful positions.  We need accountability in our places of work. We need men standing up when they see other men devalue women. 

One of the hardest lines to sing and write in this song for me was….. ‘is it a fight worth fighting?' 

I believe this has been a question that women have asked themselves for years as they endured circumstances that devalued them. They feared what was at stake if they spoke out. I have heard my female musician friends tell me story after story of being disrespected at a studio or receiving physical touch where it was not wanted. I count myself included in this experience. Countless times I have been presented with a situation where I have to make infinitely clear where I stand on a romantic / sexual level so I can be respected as a professional artist and focus on the task at hand. I have attended business meetings at record labels and exchanged numbers with men of high influence after a productive, positive meeting with the thought that it would benefit my career to maintain my networks only to receive a text after midnight that night while I’m with my boyfriend at the time, asking ‘what r u up 2′. Countless times I have, like many women, wondered where and how to draw a line, is it a fight worth fighting? A flirty text message that means nothing to a man could end up meaning or risking EVERYTHING to a woman. 

We then feel shame that they may have 'led someone on’ even if we were incredibly clear that we were there to WORK. Why should women be doubted in the first place for that? Together I believe we can change the culture within our workplaces. But this will only change when there is equality established. Equality eliminates the power play. It demands respect. When there is respect, both parties listen and see eachother as professionals, not as objects to be attained or intimidated. Equality demands that both women and men are given the opportunity to be paid according to the work they have put in, not according to their gender which continues to reinforce outdated ideas around the role of women and their worth in the workplace. 

We will not have accountability until women are earning the same as men for doing the same work, until women are in positions of power in places like the film industry, the music industry, the law firms, the government… we will not see change until there are women who can speak to the culture from a position of EQUAL worth and EQUAL influence. 

I feel so fortunate to do what I do and to have such creative control over my career. I hear stories all the time of artists who are not given this, they are told what to wear, what to sing, what to say, how to be most profitable for someone else’s benefit. I promised myself that I would not play into that game, but it meant I had to create a culture within the people I worked with. And it doesn’t mean that I haven’t faced situations where I felt immense pressure.On a shoot with a stylist (from the Magazine - both will remain unnamed), I began to express some concerns around an outfit, but was reassured that 'the main thing that matters is that you look cute so guys will want to f*** you’. I swore it wouldn’t happen again and now create my own team for shoots and make it very clear that although I am proud of my body and am happy to 'look cute’ for my own enjoyment and others, it is outrageously disrespectful to think that my main concern at a photoshoot should be only to appear sexually desireable. People do photoshoots & features on me, because I am a MUSICAN, an ARTIST and a VOICE first. The rest is secondary. 

As a producer also in this industry, I have often been doubted for my ability as a technician and engineer then proved myself countless times to be the fastest Protools user in the whole room. I have experienced assumptions made that I am just the 'singer’ and had to work twice as hard to gain respect as a credible technical voice in the room (later becoming nicknamed 'Eagle Ears’ at the studio’s I work at).

If we continue to feed this culture of assumption, women will not only veer from taking roles in the more 'male dominated’ industries for fear of being doubted or not give the same opportunities, but they will also settle for less and fall victim to circumstances where they are promised opportunities in exchange for their self respect.When we learn that women are consistently being paid less than men across the board, we reinforce and permit a preconceived assumption that there is less value to the work of a women, this feeds into a culture that allows for women to be easily seen as objects rather than equals. We must fight for equality in the fields we work within. Would Harvey Weinstein have continued to get away with these crude acts if there had been a more balanced display of women and men at the top ranks? We must speak out, but we must also speak to the structures in place. 

I don’t really talk around these things often but I can’t deny my responsibility to offer my voice as a woman in a largely male dominated industry, I am not only working everyday in a line of work that often makes the assumption I am less capable, I have made it my goal each day to let my WORK speak for itself, but if we continue to undermine the work of women by saying it is worth less and therefore paying less than the same work of men, then we will never get to the true core of why these things continue to happen in industries where men abuse their positions of power.

Bodies alone, we hide in the dark

But is it a fight worth fighting?

Yes, it is. Will it cause trouble? Yes, it may. Will it put your job at risk? Very possible. Could it prove as a chance for you to speak to the structures and demand justice where there is so little? Definitely. Could it empower someone else to fight back for their self respect and speak out also? Yes. Could it cause other men to speak out in support and hold their fellow work friends accountable? Yes, and this is the only way we’ll create change. If we stand together on the same team, for women to be treated with equal respect and worth in their fields of work. I’m hopeful for the future. 

To Harvey Weinstein, the whole world’s watching you. So what will you do?

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0d3XbH12cs)

[dykephannie]

REALITY OTP CH. 1

MASTER LIST. PLAYLIST. NEXT CHAPTER. PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

click here for my twitter to receive sneak peeks into next week’s chapter and special behind the scenes info!

summary: Avid fangirl Gracie Green expected that the most extraordinary thing to happen to her at Summer in the City was meeting her long time obsessions Dan Howell and Phil Lester. This proves to be untrue when a fatal virus sweeps through the convention, killing everyone except for Gracie and the very two people she was there for. The odd threesome must travel across Europe to escape an evil tyrant who has claimed the crown for herself, and face not only the dangers of this new, post-apocalyptic world, but the feelings and secrets uncovered by the life threatening journey.

Because after all, it’s the harshest conditions that reveal the deepest truths about us, truths we’re not even willing to admit to ourselves.

important note: This is a PHANfiction, as in a fanfic in which Dan and Phil will enter some sort of relationship other than friendship by the end of the story. Please do not be turned off by the presence of the original character, she is merely a platonic companion of Dan and Phil. Perspectives will switch between the three per chapter. Thank you, and enjoy.

chapter word count: 2.2k

tw: mention of fatal illness

GRACIE

The end of the world generally starts off normal for most people.

They get up, out of bed, get changed, brush their teeth. Go to school or work or get back into bed and they go about their business until the fireballs start raining and their school or their work or their house ends up a heap of ashes for some Katniss Everdeen type to stumble across twenty years after the End only to discover their rotting bones and the useless keepsakes that were the only part of them to survive.

That’s not how it went for me.

Today, August 11th, 2020, had been a day long awaited for almost a year, from the moment I sat at my computer screen after hours upon hours of waiting, eyes burning from the bright light in my dim room, finger hovering over the mouse, refreshing constantly, until the moment of satisfaction finally came. Two tickets to Summer in the City, confirmed for Gracelyn Green. Today, well, it was anything but normal.

I had called Eliza immediately, my squeals echoing around my small room, hers doing the same, if not a bit more subdued than mine. That night I started at my desk, pencil scratching against the paper, etching the outline of the familiar curls and cheekbones, suddenly inspired by the prospect of seeing that face, desperate to make a worthy gift. I remembered I had stopped at the eyes. It was the first time I had realized that those eyes didn’t quite look right. From then on in every drawing I did of him, I was never quite satisfied with the eyes.

That very same first drawing was hanging above my head, those eyes filled in with constellations. I had been staring at it all night, unable to sleep, a cocktail nerves and excitement brewing in my stomach. It was strange how one could plan a moment for six years yet still be caught so off guard when the moment drew near. I picked up my phone, just as the 5:59 shifted to 6:00. It was go time.

The blue morning light was streaming through the gaps in my blinds as I pushed aside my duvet and strode across the room to the outfit meticulously selected and draped across my couch days earlier. I called Eliza, sticking my phone under my cheek as I pulled up my ripped jeans.

“Hello?” my best friend grumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

“You're not awake yet?” I chirped, running a brush through my blonde waves.

“It’s six am, Gracie, no rational person is awake right now.”

“Come on bitch, since when are you rational?”

I heard Eliza sigh on the other end as I shifted my phone back into my hand and wandered down the hall and into the bathroom. My house was quiet save for the squeak of the floorboards under my toes and the click of the bathroom door closing. And the house stayed quiet as I spoke to Eliza behind the door, struggling to get my eyeliner just right and the morning tangles from my hair.

At around 10, Eliza pulled up in her Range Rover, honking loudly.

“Do you have your workout clothes?” my mom called as I pulled the door open extravagantly.

“Yes mom!”

“Because you have an hour of karate and then two of jiu-jitsu on the last day of your convention!”

“I know mom!”

“Have fun, be safe!”

“I will!” I shouted, closing the door behind me and shouldering my heavy backpack, full of two nights worth of clothes. Our parents had decided that 17 was mature enough to stay in a hotel alone, which meant we wouldn’t have to drive back and forth every day of the convention.

“You look cute,” Eliza said drily as I buckled in.

I glanced down at my blossom sweater. “You like it?”

“Definitely a statement.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” I leaned over and knocked the bill of her ProSyndicate snapback resting on top of her coily black hair. “You’re just as much of a total nerd as I am. More, in fact.”

“Yeah yeah, at least I don’t draw creepy fanart.”

“At least I don’t have a Call of Duty gaming channel.”

Eliza stuck her tongue out at me, dark eyes flashing in the sunlight. “How am I supposed to handle staying with you for three days straight?”

“We’ve been friends with me for eight years, I think you can manage.” I frowned. “Plus, my fanart isn’t creepy.”

Keeping an eye on the road, she reached over and pulled out the drawing of a couple lying together on a couch, long limbs intertwined, eyes closed, content and happy. “That’s creepy, Gracie.”

“It’s not,” I insisted. “It’s art.”

Eliza knew it was useless arguing with me. She leaned forward and connected her phone to Bluetooth, playing some old Lana Del Rey song.

“Is this necessary, Lize? Shouldn’t we be getting pumped up and excited, instead of listening to, like, the most depressing artist ever?”

“Well what do you want to play?”

I grinned manically, grabbing the aux cord before she could object and clicking on the playlist at the top of my Spotify.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she groaned.

“What? You like Muse!”

“Yeah, not in this context.”

It took us about an hour to drive to the ExCel Convention Center, and by the time we found parking, we had an two hours to get to the meet and greet line. The line ate up about an hour of that time, but after showing our tickets at the door and ceremoniously draping my lanyard around my neck, Eliza and I were in.

And holy shit was it glorious.

Crowds of people milled about the bottom floor. Some were dressed in dull colors despite the bright hues in their hair and the glittering piercings in their ears and noses. Others wore flowing, flowered dresses and high heeled tennis shoes, accompanied by ambitious cat eyes and smoky eye shadow. There were people in band shirts and onesies, flower crowns and combat boots. Within seconds I spotted a group of squealing kids a few years younger than me, dark black whiskers on their cheeks and familiar faces on their shirts. I was too excited to cringe, too electrified by the sea of people just like me.

And the convention center itself was magnificent. Balconies and floors stuffed with merch booths and advertisements for the newest YouTube Red shows, accosting us with either Jake or Logan Paul’s ads as soon as a corner was turned. I would’ve lived here if I could’ve, even if it meant sleeping uncomfortably close to one of the Pauls’ giant robot faces.

“Where do you want to start?” Eliza asked.

I laughed out loud. She already knew the answer. I made a beeline straight to the merch booth of my choice, bringing Eliza with me.

“Can’t we visit MatPat’s store first? They have a new Game Theorists shirt design and I want to support them but they’re limited edition…”

“Nope, not happening.” We were already in line, and a familiar face was already coming into view.

“You’re a bitch,” she grumbled, drumming her fingers against the table at the booth.

I shoved her shoulder. “Shut up, he’s coming!”

A tall man with light brown hair approached, smiling when he noticed my excited gaze. “Hey Martyn!” I told him. Practice for the real thing, practice for the real thing. “Could I get one of the new posters and a whisker hoodie in a small?”

“Sure thing.” He reached underneath the table, handing me the hoodie and the rolled up poster. I handed him my money.

“A selfie too?”

Martyn smiled and leaned across the counter, pressing my change into my hand as I snapped the photo, sending it immediately to my Snapchat story.

“Thanks dude!” I told him, collecting my merch and striding away from the merch booth, trying to mask the shaking in my hands.

“Did you just call Martyn Lester dude?” Eliza hissed as we walked away. “What are you, American?”

“Please stop reminding me of that, I’m like ten seconds away from dying of embarrassment.”

We browsed the gaming tent next, on Eliza’s not-so-polite request, only for me to watch her pick up everything within sight and promptly put it down after glancing at the price tag. I had a Princess Peach sweatshirt slung over my shoulder by the time she eventually settled on a DS pack with the new Animal Crossing.

“Mario? Really?”

“We’ve played together since the Wii game came out!” I said defensively. “It’s basically our childhood!”

“We never did beat that last world.”

“We should get on that.” I glanced at my phone. It was almost time. “C’mon Lize, we’ve got to get upstairs!” I told her, grabbing her by the wrist again and tugging her towards the nearest staircase before she could even put her change in her wallet.

We ran to the end of the end of the meet and greet line, almost colliding with a smaller girl with a flower crown clutching a colorful book in her hand nervously.

“So sorry,” I stuttered, putting my hand on her shoulder to steady myself.

“Oh wow!” she exclaimed. “You’re sunshineboyes!”

My face heated up. I had been spotted a couple times at VidCon last year, getting identified by the URL of my tumblr blog, which boasted nearly 30 thousand followers due to my fanart. Getting recognized always caught me off guard. I was just a girl that liked drawing YouTubers, not one of the YouTubers themselves.  

“Oh, uh, hey there!” I said. Eliza raised her eyebrows, turning to her phone. “It's nice to meet you!”

“I love your art so much,” she gushed. “Is that some of it in there?”

She pointed at the folder in my hand, I opened it up, flipping to my favorite drawing. The lion filling up half the frame glared back at me, across from the large blue eye and pale face and dark hair on the other side. “Uh, yeah. These are the ones I’m giving to them.”

“Wow!” she squealed. “They're even more incredible in real life!”

“Thanks, you're sweet.” I figured that was closest to the ahhhhh ty! ilysm!! sentiment I could get to in real life.  

“Can I get a selfie?” She already had her camera open.

I leaned my head against hers, smiling widely as she snapped the photo. She opened up tumblr as soon as she brought her phone down.  

“Tag me in that, I’ll follow you!” I told her. Her face positively lit up.

“Oh wow, wait until I tell my group chat that Gracie’s following me!”

I blushed again, turning back to Eliza, who was still glancing down at her phone, amused.

“What?” I hissed.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just funny, that’s all.”

We chatted amongst ourselves for another hour, waiting as the line slowly grew larger behind us, and my hopes slowly grew higher. My heart was nearly hammering in my chest, and I had to concentrate on taking deep breaths or risk hyperventilation. I couldn’t gauge how excited Eliza was in comparison to me. Eliza claimed to only causally enjoy the pair I positively obsessed over. But I didn’t think it mattered. Meeting someone famous on any level had to be exciting.

Even more exciting, I realized as the line started to move, if they had taken up nearly six years of your life.

After another couple hours I could see the corner of a plastic tarp littered with SitC and sponsor decals, two tall, unmistakable shadows cast over it. My heart was lodged in my throat, no matter how hard I tried to swallow it down, and the warm bursts of excitement throughout my chest had turned to cold fear pumping through my veins, a cold fear that no amount of positive meetup descriptions could ease. Because what if mine went wrong? What if I accidentally blurted something out that I definitely didn’t mean to blurt out? What if instead of my totally fine fanart, I packed that one NSFW thing I did and then almost immediately deleted in fear that my mom would do a random computer check? What if I hugged them wrong? Or tripped over one of them and broke my face? Or broke their faces?! I would never be forgiven. I would go down in history as the girl who gave NSFW art to and broke the money makers of --

“Gracie!”

I blinked out of my spiral of panic. Eliza had her hand on my shoulder. “We’re next.”

The girl in front of me had just disappeared behind the tarp, and my heart had just risen even further than I would’ve thought humanly possible. I was so close. Literally a couple minutes and ten steps away from a dream that had been six years in the making…

When a loud crackling noise sounded through the convention center from the speakers in the ceiling.

“Attention Summer in the City guests and staff. Please remain calm. We have just been notified of a fast traveling, fatal virus spreading through London. We are putting the ExCel Center under quarantine. Attention Summer in the City…”

It took just a second to process before the ground under my feet began to spin. Eliza was clutching my arm tightly, nearly cutting off the blood flow with her sharp nails. The shadows were disappearing behind a closed door. Screams were echoing through the center, drowning out the calm drone of the PA system.

But honestly I barely registered the fact that my death might be creeping up on me with every breath I inhaled.

I was just pissed that I wouldn’t get to meet Dan and Phil.  

[sawyersick]

fuck you all of them

at first I was very confused but then I remembered the ask game thingey

anyways I’m sorry for assaulting you with words lets go

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you?

I did a lot when I was little, when I was like 4ish I had a theory that everyone around me was actually just the same 50 actors constantly switching outfits to make me think the world was larger than it is

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

I'm afraid of bugs and ghosts so like... 2.25

3. The person you would never want to meet?

idk??? hitler??? Mike Pence??????

4. What is your favorite word?

phalanges, trivial, cordyceps

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be?

eucalyptus?

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

damn I actually look good without makeup tf

7. What shirt are you wearing?

a purple Hawaii t shirt with surfboards on it

8. What do you label yourself as?

gay???????????????????? punk? tired???? idk

9. Bright room or dark room?

bright

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

trying to fall asleep

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far?

8 or 14

12. Who told you they loved you last?

my parents after I started crying after they threatened (again) to kick me out

13. Your worst enemy?

myself I guess

14. What is your current desktop picture?

a flying turtle sharting a rainbow

15. Do you like someone?

I like a lot of people!! but romantically, nobody right now

16. The last song you listened to?

Aderall, by Livewater https://livewater.bandcamp.com/track/adderall

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

Mike Pence???? idk

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

this chick who fucked over all my friends or my ex

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

nobody that's fuckin weird and also a little kinky

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

my hair always looks pretty good and rarely requires styling/upkeep and my natural colour is actually pretty nice

not showing a pic because I'm lazyyyy

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do?

I would be a fucking HOT short king and I guess I would try to jack off even though I don't even masturbate and then like....... call men out on their misogyny and privilege

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

I think I'm a good singer!! But I don't sing for anyone because I'm afraid of being judged

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of?

snails

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

UHHHH burger

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it?

save it or donate or spend on lolita

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

Japan because I am a WEEB

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be? 

I don't drink so I just googled "best brand of alcohol for cooking" and then "best brand of red wine for cooking" and apparently downton abbey has their own brand of wine because that was the first result so yeah that I guess

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place? 

don't be a little bitch

29. What is your favorite expletive?

fuck

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

Squid Vicious, the giant me-sized squid plush my friend made for me

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

none of them because they made me who I am today even though that’s cheesy sounding, so maybe something embarrassing rather than abusive/traumatic

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

see #26..... Japan because I'm a WEEEEB

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

luckily nobody close to me has passed yet, so I guess Freddie Mercury because I don't think Kurt Cobain would want to be brought back

34. What was your last dream about?

an awful nightmare about genetically-engineered rabid penis-dogs (i am afraid of sex so it was worse than it sounds)

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]?

artist? ehhh I guess

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

(gore tw)

yeah I tried to sew my prom dress in a day and the needle stabbed me and broke off inside my finger and they had to surgically remove it from the other side

37. Have you ever built a snowman?

NO AND I REALLY WANT TO

38. What is the color of your socks?

they're a mossy/slate green with little pixel illustrations of totoro characters!!

39. What type of music do you like?

anything rock.............. alt, punk, grunge, etc but I also like a lot of alt/indie stuff too

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

sunsets are prettier I think!

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor?

chocolate!!!!!

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

ew sportz

43. Do you have any scars?

a LOT, mostly from weird accidents/self harm

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

i don't even know anymore..................... hopefully a healthcare professional I guess

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I wish I could concentrate better

46. Are you reliable?

online? no im a shitty texter. but when it comes to hanging out? yes absolutely I HATE cancelling plans

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

will I be okay?

48. Do you hold grudges?

yeah I take a lot of shit without saying much so when I get angwy I fuckin lose it

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create?

cat dolphins!

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

whether or not consensual cannibalism is technically vegan (I say yes and you can fucking fight me)

51. Are you a good liar?

yes.......... unfortunately

52. How long could you go without talking?

I once went without talking for a month and a half

53. What has been you worst haircut/style?

growing out my bangs while having this weird noncommittal side part

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

I do all the time!! I also bake birthday cakes for foster children's birthdays

55. Can you do any accents other than your own?

not really? I kinda suck at accents..... I can only partially do asian, british, and southern accents

56. What do you like on your toast?

butter usually! Sometimes lemon curd or blueberry jam

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of?

a house on a hill at night

58. What would be you dream car?

idk I'm not really into cars.... probably a sporty lil vintage sedan

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain.

I sing in the shower a lot!! and like do little dance moves with my hips

60. Do you believe in aliens?

yeah bro!

61. Do you often read your horoscope?

only if it shows up on social media/in a magazine, I won't seek it out

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

Q! Z! X!

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

DRAGONS

64. What do you think about babies?

they're alright!! They scare me a little tho because I don't want to hurt them...... I prefer kids that are like 6+

[lubdubsworld]

The Perfect Husband ( Jung Kook / OC)

Genre : Romance/ Drama/Violence

Rating : 19+ ( all the eleven year olds reading this, honestly stop :’( i don’t want your corruption on my conscience ) 

WARNING : This is literally every fanfic ever written. LMAO. Honestly, it’s so cliche, you’ll probabaly cringe through it. But I wanted to indulge my own love for TSundere , violent Jung kook )

WArnings : Abusive relationship. ( the hero IS VIOLENT WITH THE oc   but domestic violence is a serious issue so if an abusive hero triggers you, STAY AWAY. ) 

Pairing : Jung Kook/ OC 

Chapter 1

"Blue. I like Blue."

Mrs. Jeon stared at me , condescending judgment written all over her perfect face and I shifted nervously.

Just a minute ago she had asked me what I thought about possible color schemes for my wedding to her son.

I'd answered the question honestly but apparently, honesty wasn't always the right answer. My mother , next to me in her brand new ruby red dress which had cost a whopping 5000 dollars, elbowed me sharply in the ribs. I had no idea what to do or say anymore. After a day of shopping with my prospective mother-in-law, the richest woman in the country and my mother, the most pretentious woman in the country, I'd lost all hold on reality and myself. I wanted to peel off the green georgette dress I was stuffed into , slip on my favorite worn t-shirt and shorts and just curl into a corner and sob.

"That's... interesting." Her eye twitched ." I was thinking something more classy." Mrs. Jeon wrinkled her nose.

"How about champagne?" My mother simpered and I blinked. Were we talking about drinks now? When had the subject changed?

"Well, champagne colored fabric would stain very easily.... I suppose I'll have to discuss this with Kookie... " She sighed in long suffering and I grimaced. Good luck holding a decent conversation with that prick, I thought miserably, wanting to sink into the ground and never rise.

"You could ask him, Reumie...  You both share classes don't you?" My mother waggled her eyebrows and I floundered. If I went within five feet of Jeon Jung Kook, THE Jeon Jung Kook I'd be torn to bits, if not by the monster itself, than at least by the legion of fangirls who followed him like bitches in heat. I mean, okay the guy was good looking but the ridiculous extent to which they worshipped him was enough to make me blanche.

Which made the very prospect of me marrying him, something like a death sentence. I was going to die, there really was no question about it? Who cared if I wore blue or champagne on my wedding day? I'd be buried in black anyway.

"Do that then. And call me tomorrow. Without fail." Mrs. Jeon said firmly and I groaned. I'd never spoken to Jung Kook before. Not even once. He hung out in a completely different crowd in our college, the elite crowd. I mean, the more elite crowd seeing as my entire college was filled with rich kids. I wasn't an exception. My father had recently patented a bunch of stuff that had earned us a lot of money in a short time. So i was, what the kids in my college called, new money. And apparently, Jeon Inc., had taken notice of my father's suddenly booming business and where willing to invest , provided I married their son. It was simple really.

Mr. Jeon wanted my father's company to pass on to Jeon inc., after my father and since i was the only daughter, if I married Jeon, a merger would be inevitable. I didn't want to marry him but I didn't really know how to stop the dominoes crashing down around me. I'd protested verbally and my father had threatened to disown me. And while the thought of going out of my home, making it big as an artist, all by myself was very cool-sounding, I didn't really dislike my parents. I liked them, loved them even on somedays and i would never put them, and myself through that kind of emotional stress.

My parents had never been cruel. They treated me well, loved me in all ways and while my mom could be a bit over the top in her need to fit in with high class society wives with more money than sense, she was still a nice lady. Shallow but nice.

When we reached home after bidding Mrs. Jeon goodbye , I found my father sitting in his study. He smiled vacantly when he saw me.

"Reumie... How was your day?" He said blankly, returning to flip through his files. I bit my lips and went over to him.

"Father, can i still stay here at home, after I marry Jeon Jung kook." I said in a rush.

My father startled and frowned.

"Why on earth would you do that?" He shook his head , annoyed.

"Father, my college... i mean the people in my college , if they knew I was living with Jung Kook..." I begged.

"This isn't a private marriage , Reumie. It's a public affair. People are going to know... I've already bought a condo for both of you close to your college. In fact, here's the key, you should go check it out with Jung kook when you meet up with him. " He hesitated and stared at me. " Jung Kook is a bit introverted. You have to be the one to reach out to him, alright? Don't be your usual rude self and act nice. Have you met him for coffee?"

I stared in mute rebellion. I'd never spoken a single word to Jung Kook.

"I'.. I will." I said finally defeated.

"Your mother was telling me you were supposed to discuss the decoration color scheme with him as well. Go see the condo, get coffee, discuss about your wedding and go meet your mother in law tomorrow. Don't mess things up for me, understand?"

Apparently, no one was on my side. I couldn't put it off anymore. I would have to go talk to Jeon Jung Kook.

~~~~~~~~

"Talk to him? Really? He'll bite your head off." My best friend Soyou grimaced glancing over at Jeon Jung Kook who had an arm wrapped around his latest flame. She was so tall she nearly went past Jung kook himself who was freakishly tall as it was. She was also unnaturally beautiful, i thought with a grimace. I couldn't quite understand the obsession with the perfect features that plagued all my classmates. Apparently, looking normal was a crime. They spent millions on their face tweaking every perceived flaw till all of them pretty much looked the same.

"I don't really have a choice." I said softly, glancing down at the keys to the condominium in my hand.

"Well you could at least wear something nice..." Soyou grimaced glaring at my choice of outfit. I spluttered in indignation. I was wearing a black men's shirt and skinny jeans. What could possibly be wrong with that?!

"Are you serious?" I rolled my eyes.

"Everyone knows Jungkook hates girl who wear shirts."

Why on earth would someone hate shirts??

"Honestly, I'm supposed to dress for him, now?" I said wrinkling my nose in distaste.

"If you're going to marry him, then yes." Soyou pointed out.

I frowned deeper.

"you're useless. Anyway, it's not like i can actually go buy a dress just to talk to him. My dad will kill me if i don’t talk to him today.” I swallowed a bit and casually glanced at Jung Kook who was standing a good fifteen feet away surrounded by his gang of friends. 

His gaze shifted right then to me and I flinched.

Jeon Jung Kook was beautiful. Well, in the way a man could be beautiful. He was tall, a good foot taller than me and he was lean and perfectly proportioned. Ebony black hair that was always perfectly styled , a face that was absolutely flawlessly proportionate and pearly white teeth. He fairly radiated beauty. It was almost unpleasantly blinding.

I looked away quickly and Soyou gave me a slight smile.

"Still, I'd say you should be careful. He's not exactly known for being nice." She grimaced. I supposed she was right. JungKook and his gang of surly seniors weren't the sort you'd want to mess with.

I hung back after class, my feet aching from how long I'd been standing here, waiting for my fiance to come out of the men's room. He'd disappeared into it a good thirty minutes earlier and I was starting to feel a little worried.

  Did he slip and fall and crack his head on the porcelain sink?

I should be so lucky.

Groaning, but with time running out, I finally gave up and slowly made my way to the carved door of the restroom. I opened it partially and peered in for any signs of life.

"Boo."

I yelped and tripped over my own two feet, the slightly slippery surface making me slide and hit my waist against the granite counter on the side. I stared in surprise when Jung Kook appeared in front, leering in a way that was anything but friendly.

"I was waiting for you... "  He glanced at my hair and then my clothes and then without warning reached out and gripped my chin in a bruising grip that drew a whimper out of me. I clawed at his wrist, trying to make him let go but he  didn't feel a thing. He was hurting me and I was too stunned to process why.

I flinched when he twisted my jaw to the side, seeming to examine my face from all angles.

"Button nose, thin lips, mousy brown hair and boring black eyes. If you're father's such a hotshot, shouldn't he be at least fixing your face before foisting you off on me?" He drawled . I shoved hard at his shoulders and he let go, looking surprised.

"You... " i couldn't form words. My jaw was throbbing so bad and the pain was surreal. No one had hurt me physically before.

"Me.." He mocked, " I'm not into ugly women. So go tell your parents you don't want to marry me." He growled. I just stared at him.

"You rude bastard..." His eyes flared at the insult but I was too enraged to care, " You think I want to marry you... I.."

He snarled and pushed me up against the wall, so hard my bones jarred inside me. I was so winded, i couldn't draw my next breath in.

"You think I'm Prince charming, sweetheart? You think I give a flying fuck about what you want? Newsflash, I don't give a shit what happens to you or your father ... But if you want to live, you'll stay the hell away from me..."

His hand slipped down and to my complete horror, he squeezed my breast so hard that my knees knocked together. His thumb pressed into the tip with painful force and my entire body twisted in violent protest.

"I'm not gentle, in bed or out of it... thin little thing like you...You'll break within an hour.... You don't want that do you??" He said , voice deep and angry and I felt my throat go dry. Good god, was this the same guy who walked around in perfectly pressed shirts and clean cut slacks and ties? Who acted like he was a model student, all perfect diction and grades and polite respect for elders. The so called heir to the biggest conglomerate in Asia.

"Get away from me..." I choked out, trying to wriggle out of his grip but his entire body was pinning me to the wall, his hips anchoring me in place like a millstone.

"I heard you're a virgin..." He grinned and I froze.

"Shut up..." I said not in any mood to listen to what he was about to say.

"Are you sure you want my cock inside you for your first time, babe? It'll hurt ...I won't be kind you know.... " He bit down on my neck and nausea rose up inside my throat like a snake rearing it's head. I wanted to vomit all over his face. I wish I did.

"You disgusting son of a bitch..." I ground out pummeling his shoulders, stunned by how physically sturdy he was. My blows had absolutely zero impact on his body.

"I don't care if you do marry me... It's not like I'll have to be faithful to you or anything anyway, but you...you'd better be careful. I can be a little hard..." He ground his hips into my stomach and i felt my eyes widen when his erection pressed into me. " to get along with. "

Finally he drew away and I sank to the floor , my knees giving out and my jaw throbbing. I was going to have a bruise there, I knew.

"Still want to marry me , princess?" He sneered.

"Go to hell..." I managed to get out. He frowned , reaching out and gripping my wrist hard. 

"Thought so. Now run along like a good girl and tell your parents you want to call off the wedding."

He squatted down and before i could crawl away, his fingers sank into the hair at the back of my head and he yanked me up sharply, making my scalp burn . I whimpered , when he glared down at me, face inches from mine. I tried to dig my nails into his wrist but it was pointless. 

"If you end up being my wife, I don't know what I'll do to you..." He hissed and I stared because his eyes...they weren't dark like they looked but an odd color of navy grey. He let go of my hair and I crawled away till my back hit the wall. I'd never been so terrified in my life.

"If you don't stay away from me, I'll fuck you up. Don't say i didn't warn you!!"

With that he stalked out slamming the door shut behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I won't marry him!! They can drag me kicking and screaming to the altar but I won't!!"I sobbed while Soyou hugged me close as I rocked back and forth on the small cot in her bedroom. She tried to soothe me but my mind was stuck on a state of catatonic shock. The bruise on my chin was an ugly shade of purple and my waist hurt from where he'd gripped me so hard. I couldn't imagine anything worse than being stuck with him permanently. He was a monster.

"Babe, you know it's not that easy...?Maybe you should talk to him..."

"Talk?!" I said shrilly. " He said he'd rape me!! " I shrieked.

"Jesus, calm down..." Soyou hissed and I fought to get my breath back.

"I need your help. " I said desperately and Soyou looked stricken.

"Reumie..."

"there's a bus to Busan at 7.30PM tonight. I have relatives there. My grandparents, they'll ...i mean I could stay with them, in case my parents kick me out when they find out. But I've only got 25000 Won I need some more to get the ticket... You've got to help me..."

"You're running away ? Because of Jeon Jung Kook...That's ridiculous..." Soyou shook her head in disbelief and I groaned in defeat.

"Why won't anyone believe me? He's not the kind of guy he makes himself out to be...i don't... I can't marry him, Soyou he'll kill me." She was supposed to be my best friend. She usually believed, implicitly, anything i told her. But even she wouldn't accept that Jeon Jung Kook had hurt me.

"You're not even listening to yourself. He's just a rich guy from college. Not some sort of a gangster like you're making him out to be. Rape is a crime for heaven's sake. He's not going to do something criminal. He has a reputation to hold. In fact did it strike you that maybe he's just trying to get to you? You do know that the chick he's hanging out with is the daughter of one of your father's business rivals?" She said bluntly.

I froze.

"What?"

"Jiah Lin. That's her name. Her father's been trying to get Jeon Inc., to invest for years now. It's entirely possible that he just wants his girlfriend's father to have a better chance. Maybe if you refuse he'll marry her and her father will get what's rightfully your father's..." Soyou said calmly.

I felt unaccountably foolish.

"You really think, that's it? He was just trying to scare me?" My throbbing chin said otherwise.

"He's shady enough to do that... " She shrugged and i fell back against the bed, thoroughly confused. What was wrong with my life? One part of me absolutely boiled in anger at the way he had treated me. The other more rational part accepted that he was stronger, richer and he had the upper hand. Both parts agreed wholeheartedly that i should stay the hell away from him. But Soyou was right. My father had worked way too hard to reach the position he was in now. He needed and deserved that investment. This deal was important to him, something he had really earned with years of hard work.

"So, I should marry him...?" I said confused. It was still a distasteful thought. Even if the whole violent thing was an act, there was no denying that Jung kook was a horrible guy to get along with.

"you should definitely talk to him. Tell him you know his game. Maybe he'll own up.  Admit it. Then you can decide what to do."

~~~~~~~~~

I almost screamed when I saw Jung kook the next day, leaning against my locker looking like he'd stepped out of some expensive business magazine. I hesitated, debating the pros and cons of walking up to him right now. Finally, I sighed and made my way over , gripping the book in my hand. I would honest to god, whack him with it if he touched me, I told myself.

"Hi...bitch." He said with a sneer and i went stiff. I hated people who used profanities like that.

"Bastard." I shot back and he grinned.

"So feisty. I'd love to break you in properly. In fact, I was thinking, even if we didn't get married, you could definitely use some schooling on how to treat your betters." He drawled.

"My betters? Don't see any, right now..." I shrugged and his eyes narrowed a fraction.

"What's your deal? Do you like getting hit? Why're you baiting me?" He snapped .

I glared.

"I know what you're doing... My father deserves the investment and i won't let you scare me away." I said furiously .

He looked confused for a second and I faltered.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He said looking confused and the look of confusion on his face was too real to be feigned. I felt foreboding rise inside me.

"You want to marry that girlfriend of yours... So you're trying to make me break up with you. Well , I won't... I'm not scared of you..."

He hesitated.

"I have no idea what you're talking about but that last bit is really interesting.. You're not  afraid of me?" He raised an eyebrow and pushed away from the locker. I blinked when he rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, stretching lightly till his shirt rod up his hips, flashing a sliver of pale white skin.

"You really should be sweetheart. I won't be crossing any lines with you because as far as I'm concerned, there are no lines. Anything goes.... Does that really not scare you??"

He was coming closer and closer and I took a step back.

Run, every instinct inside me screamed.

"I... I'm leaving..." I stuttered out, turning tail and dashing away.

I barely made it a few steps when his arm came around my waist, lifting me clear off the ground as he dragged me back. I started screaming just a second too late. His palm pressed into my mouth, the metal rings around his fingers digging into the flesh of my lips and jaw as he dragged me around the lockers to the abandoned classrooms on the other side. My eyes went wide and my heart nearly gave out.

I tried to bite down on his hand and kicked out wildly but he was so much taller, so much stronger and the grip on my waist was so tight that my stomach felt like it was being ripped apart.

"Look at you... You're absolutely fearless aren't you? It's so bloody infuriating  , seeing you running that pretty little mouth back at me even when I'm twisting and bending you as I wish... It's like you want me to hurt you... is that it babe? Do you get off on me tossing you around?? Does it turn you on, me manhandling you like this??  " He panted and the tears stung , part from anger, part fear and partly from pure agony.

Why the hell was this guy so strong? I kicked out harder but my legs barely hit the floor . He shouldered the door of the classroom open with enough force to send the peeled plywood door rocking against the opposite wall. The brute strength in his movements only terrified me more.

Damn you Soyou!!

He tossed me to the floor roughly and I crawled away on all fours, choking on air as I tried to swallow.

"Get away from me..." I could feel my knees burning with stinging pain. . I glanced down. The floor had apparently been covered by shattered glass shards. Cursing my luck I tried to scramble to my feet only to loose my footing and land hard on my bottom. He looked amused as he stalked over to me.

"Since you're already on your knees, why not show me how good you are with that mouth? Surely, that tongue should be good at something other than riling me up ?? Oppa, could use some loving right now, jagi...." He raised an eyebrow and began removing his belt. 

Bile rose inside me in a rush and I whimpered, moving to get away again and he grabbed me tighter, pushing me up against the wall again before yanking both my wrists together and tying them with his belt . He was tying me up. He was actually tying me up!!

I screamed so loud that my head began to ache and Jung kook swore.

“Shut the fuck up or i’m going to stuff my tie in your mouth!” He gritted out and the violent imagery made me freeze. He knelt over me, straddling my waist and I started shaking as he reached for the first button of my shirt. 

The door to the clasroom slammed open, hitting the wall and startling both of us. 

"Jeon Jung Kook, what the hell are you doing, you idiot??!!"

The loud voice made him pause and I peered over his broad shoulders. I caught sight of an unfamiliar guy with blonde hair, a look of bored distaste on his face.

"Oh, hi Yoongi hyung. Just having a little fun with my little wife." He called out cheerfully and I stared at him in disbelief. His fingers were still half way unbuttoning my shirt. 

He wasn't just dangerous, he was a psychopath.

Thankfully , this Yoongi had some sense.

When he took one look at me , pinned to the wall with my arms twisted unnaturally ,he swore angrily and dragged Jung kook off me. No mean feat that. The other was so much more slender and shorter.

But Jung Kook moved away with a grunt and Yoongi stared at me in curiosity.

"Why the hell would you come here with this son of a bitch? He's not known for treating women right...  " He shook his head in disbelief and I bristled while the obviously older guy loosened the knot around my wrists.

"He dragged me here..." I glared and Jung Kook shrugged.

"She's my wife hyung. The gift wrapped present my parents got me for christmas.I told her to go break up the engagement if she wants to live but apparently she has no self preservation at all. She actually came back looking for me. It's like she can't get enough....  " He leered. I yanked my hand away and pushed Min Yoongi away when he reached for me. He held both his hands up .

"Easy...I'm not trying to hurt you....  What on earth are you doing here by yourself, kid? Get out.." He said with a shake of his head.

I really didn't need to be told twice.

"I'll be coming for dinner tonight. Your parents better tell me they want the engagement broken or I'm coming after you..." Jung Kook snarled the moment I reached the door.

It took me a good hour to calm myself down.

~~~~~~~~~

"Mother, you don't understand..." I pleaded but my mother gave my long hair a yank, trying to get me to stay still while she plaited the strands into some sort of a side plait. It looked ridiculous on me, or so I felt. I wasn't thin and the dress she'd squeezed me caused me to spill out of all the wrong places.

"If he wants to call off the engagement then fine, i won't blame you for it. But we're doing no such thing." My mother said firmly after listening to my account of what happened with growing disbelief. Apparently a 'nice guy' like Jeon Jung kook would never treat women like that and I should ' stop making filthy lies ' just to get out of the marriage.

"But he hurt me..." I wanted to scream the place down but apparently nothing would convince my parents.

When the doorbell rang my soul actually left me for a second.

Hands clenched into fists , I gritted my teeth and stepped into the huge hallway , noting absently that my mom had the house cleaned to a sparkle. When I looked at Jeon Jung kook I momentarily stumbled.

He looked flawless.

Tall, strapping, dressed in perfectly tailored suit with the jacket left open, his shirt a deep purple silky and soft even by sight. His hair was styled to perfection and his long, long lashes made it look like he's lined his eyes with kohl. Twin piercing glittered on his ears and his lips curved in a breathtaking smile, directed at my mother. When he turned to me his eyes narrowed and then widened.

"Jagi..." He purred and i went perfectly still.

What the-

He stepped right up to me and pulled me into a hug and I froze in surprise, the warmth of his body permeating through my dress and setting me on fire. There was no strength behind his hug, just a warm pressure , overflowing with affection and if i didn't know for a fact that he'd dragged me by my hair less than four hours ago , I may have melted into the embrace.

He pulled back and to my complete horror, his palms went to my face, thumb lightly tracing the fading bruise on my chin.The one he'd put there when I'd first met him.

"Oh, what's this...did you hit yourself somewhere??  you should be careful , aegiya...." He shook his head before bending low and actually dropping a kiss on the corner of my mouth. My tongue refused to come unglued from the roof of my mouth. I thought i'd never speak again, my voice completely shocked out of me.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed under my breath.

"Being the perfect husband..." HE said, voice husky as he lightly flicked my lower lip.

I bit my lip so hard i almost drew blood.

Dinner was torture.

I was sitting next to him and about half way through, his hand dropped to my knee underneath the table. I couldn't chew the food in my mouth, fear and apprehension building up so fast inside me that I was sure my heart was going to give out. It was clear that he wanted me to mess up. Do something that he could later use against me. He was actually succeeding because i was this close to chucking the glass of wine on his face. But i didn't. I would be the bad guy then and he would likely deny everything and my parents would murder me.

So I clenched my fists and tried to endure.

And then he lightly yanked my dress, till the fabric kept going up and up , past my thigh while I futilely tried to yank the fabric back down, without tearing it.

"Reumie.... what are you doing?" My mother hissed from across the table and I sighed in defeat, taking my hands off my legs. Never put your hands below the table had been my mother's most strict rule and she looked like she was going to explode.

For a few minutes, Jung kook didn't do anything, just let his fingers lie curved around my thighs. I could feel my skin burning up at the unfamiliar touch of male fingers. Just when I started to discreetly pull my leg away, his grip tightened, in a way that made pain shoot right up my muscles. I realized suddenly that he was way too strong for me to fight physically. And if he had a shred of decency he wouldn't use brute strength against a girl, but clearly, decency and Jeon Jung Kook did not belong in the same language.

"Don't move." He said firmly and I gave him a desperate look.

"Don't do this..." I begged , pride long gone. I just wanted him to leave me alone.

But his fingers slipped up my dress, thumb tracing circles on my inner thigh and then without any warning his fingers caught the hem of my panties and tugged it down.

I stood up so fast, I knocked the glass of wine in front of me , the red liquid, staining the snow white table cloth and the peach colored fabric of my dress in one long splash. I stumbled away quickly.

"Excuse me... " I choked out and my mother looked beyond stunned. i didn't wait for her to scream at me, instead turned around and fled right out of the dining hall, up two flights of stairs before stopping in front of my room.

What the hell had i got myself into? And how do I make it stop??

I'd barely managed to close the door behind me  and step in when a polished boot came through the little space, stopping me.

Jung Kook pushed his way into my room and i yelped.

"What the hell do you think you're doing...." I shouted but his palm came down on my mouth, pressing hard and pushing me back till I tripped over the carpet and fell into the bed. HE chased right after, crawling over till he was straddling my hips, glaring at me angrily.

"Didn't you tell your parents you want the wedding called off...??" He snarled and I pushed his palm away from my mouth.

"If you want it called off , why on earth are you acting like you like me ... You're a psycho.." I panted while he rolled his hips against mine, the movement oddly jarring.He had insane control on his body, able to move specific parts of his hips and legs in any way he wanted. It was frightening.

"It looks like you don't mind being married to me... Are you some kind of a masochist?" He drawled, trying to still my thrashing body with firm fingers at my waist.

"They aren't listening...Get off me you monster!! "

He flattened himself on my body and I started suffocating. He was too heavy and my bones were getting crushed, my lungs screaming in agony as they struggled to draw in air against the weight on my chest. I gasped and he mercifully lifted his upper body off my chest , hips and legs still pinning me down while i gulped down some much needed oxygen.

"Your hair is so fucking long....Get it cut..." He snapped reaching out and giving my plait a yank.  

I glared in disbelief.

"It's my hair... You do not get a say in how long it can be..." I spat out angrily and he stiffened.

" You're going to be my wife. Your hair makes you look like a country bumpkin... Get it cut short and styled properly. " He said , finally lifting himself away from me. I crawled to my knees and glared at him. My hair was my favorite part of my body. I loved it. I enjoyed keeping it long no matter how often my mom asked me to have it cut. it was my one true act of rebellion against a society that called me  too smart, too boyish and too stubborn.

I'd be damned if i let him take it away from me.

"If you think I'll jump through hoops, just because you ask me to... you're out of your mind. I'm not one of your brain dead whores..." I snapped.

He went scarily still.

"What did you say to me?"

I willed myself not to balk at the look on his face.

"You heard me..."

"You think... You have a choice? You think i won't make  you jump through hoops, if that's what I want....??" He whispered , glaring daggers into me as he took a menacing step towards me. And then before I even knew what he was doing He reached for something in his boot and yanked it off.

I saw a brief flash of metal before his fingers gripped my waist length plait and yanked it so sharply that I lost my footing and slid right off the bed. A second later the pressure eased and he stepped away, holding about a foot length of my hair.

It took me two seconds to realize that he'd actually chopped my hair off. I let out a shriek of disbelief, grabbing my head, stunned to see that my hair barely fell past my ears now. My entire body began shaking in rage and disbelief.

"You son of a bitch..." I whispered, unable to move.

Angry tears spilled over my eyes while he stepped closer, threading fingers through my messy hair , yanking it a little gently.

"Don't cry.... I hate women who cry..." He said softly, and then he pushed my chin up. " If we are getting married. And something tells me we are...I'd rather you don't fight me so much. Everytime you talk back to me , I want to bend and break you..." He whispered.

I stayed perfectly still, not trusting my own voice. What he'd done had crossed all possible lines . I would never forgive him. Never.

"Get your hair styled. And don't ever tell me I can't do something. "

The door slammed shut behind him.

Author’s Note : As you can guess, i need psychiatric help. Welp. Sorry for your brains. I really am. Let me know what you thought. Okbye. 

[engl699readingjournal-blog]

my first month in Berlin was really fucking lonely and pathetic. I had surely by then been tending to a few friendship-seedlings, a few of which ended up as fully realized friendships that I still do not know how I managed to cultivate. these people I would hang out with periodically throughout my first weeks, but I’ve always been one of those people who can’t understand why anyone would want to hang out with me, so when people actually did want to hang out with me I was clunky and awkward and navigated meeting their friends and then their friends-of-friends as if a there’d been whole trading-card set of Berlin scenesters laid out in front of me and someone was just chucking cards at my forehead frisbee-style. most of them I missed, they bounced off my forehead and spun off into the abyss of some Neukölln bar or weird fetish club and I never spoke to them again. there was a lot of that, just these one-off conversations of intense interest followed by a mutual agreement of continued contact followed by nothing. then I’d see them again months later at some event that drew the whole scene, from the bullseye (see: Peaches) on outward to the fringes, the acknowledgment would be nonexistent and if it happened it was weird, the next thing I knew they were a suggested friend on Facebook with fourteen mutual friends. was there anyone who didn’t know everyone else already? did some of these people charge you fifteen Euro for revealing that they recognize you in public?

some of these people, I took entirely too long to realize, had never been interested in being my friend at all. I was apparently stupid enough to forget, or to never know in the first place, that some people only talked to you if they wanted to sleep with you or if they thought you might have connections they could take advantage of. I had nothing to offer in either department. I spent the latter half of my teenage years putting so much effort into being unattractive, never making eye contact, and deflecting That Kind Of Attention that I hadn’t even considered the possibility that no one would know or care about any of that in a new environment. when people watched or smiled at me, I glared. when people asked me questions about my clothes or hair or what I was doing in the city, I gave monosyllabic answers in a flat voice. when people moved close to me, I got up and walked away. when they touched me, I hit them or otherwise raised cain before disappearing. that’s always easy to do when you’re tiny and wear dark clothes. being pursued as an object of sexual interest was not something I planned for because I didn’t pursue other people as objects of sexual interest. I considered myself outside of the dating and sex game and for whatever reason assumed everyone could figure that out immediately.

but they couldn’t, and that produced some awkward-ass situations. via social media I met a filmmaker, American by way of Israel, who made a documentary on William S. Burroughs that I had probably illegally downloaded and watched at least five times. we talked about Burroughs briefly, but ultimately he did not seem interested in talking about Burroughs. see, I was interested in talking about Burroughs. I wanted to know what interviewing Iggy Pop was like. I wanted to know what it was like to talk with John Waters for more than thirty seconds at a book-signing. by chance, we met two days later at a Drag Race viewing party in a bar I never set foot in anymore for different reasons. we recognized each other and he seemed genuinely interested in meeting me – we shook hands, he was drunk, I was probably running off of fruit and quark and an U-Bahn platform vending-machine diet coke. my handshake probably felt like a wet towel and I apologized for that, made some self-deprecating comment about how creepy my hands probably were. within five seconds the conversation was over. the next time I saw him, he was surrounded by an entourage at another club with no shirt on, perfectly sober. by then I knew better than to say hello, but he saw me and said nothing (which I can’t be salty about because I did the exact same thing). it wasn’t until then that I mentioned the earlier encounter to a friend, who said quite simply that he probably was just looking for sex and had lost interest.

I had not thought of this, obviously. what gave him the impression that I was interested in sex to begin with? I wanted to talk Burroughs, and interviewing Patti Smith. I was expressly not interested in what it was like to meet Peter Weller because when Weller brought up Pier Paolo Pasolini in one of his interview segments I think my hairline receded a little bit. at any rate, I was baffled. then I got angry even though I knew that sex would not have been a thing that ever would have happened anyway. what was the problem with me? my giant head and stick body? did my face look more or less cadaverous than in pictures and was that a deal-breaker? was I short, bad-postured, sickly, monotone, behaving strangely, shy, and not an established cosmopolite and freelance artist raising the rents in Kreuzkölln? yes to all of the above. this was one of a few lessons I had on the value of both sexual capital and artistic clout in the Berlin scenester circle. who were you fucking and what kind of art were you making? well, I wasn’t fucking anybody and I wasn’t making any art. luckily I was to make friends who also weren’t fucking anybody and ended up making art with them. they’re the reason I still go back. 

(as a side note, this past April I met John Waters again at a book-signing – I was somewhat far back in the line and Waters had been pounding some brown liquor to get him through the evening. much to my and my friends’ delight, this meant that by the time we got to the table he was so in the mood to chat that the event organizers had to move him along. I brought up this filmmaker and said that I had met him and found him shallow and that the new feature film he had made was distasteful in a number of ways. Waters barely remembered the guy, and when I tried to jog his memory by saying that he’d directed a Burroughs documentary that largely featured Waters’s commentary, Waters responded: ‘oh, god, which one? there’s, like, five of those.’)

I also did some bold shit during my first month in Berlin, before I had people to necessarily call friends and before I realized that many of the people I was corresponding with existed on a plane very different from mine. my usual routine was to wear the same outfit and sit in the corner of a bar drinking a club mate until somebody talked to me, inevitably making a really fatuous comparison to David Bowie or, like, Gary Numan. or Kraftwerk. I moved from bar to bar that way, inciting some interest in people and then eventually leaving the bar and leaving them with no contact information because I wanted to go to bed and my throat was sore from secondhand smoke. this isn’t to say that I didn’t also take interest in people I saw, because I certainly did, but I guess I was prepared to make no attempts at talking to them and had resigned myself to the idea that any friends I would make would come to me. I apparently would have rather existed in complete isolation and misery for seven months than start conversations with strangers.

but sometimes I didn’t just sit in the corners of establishments hoping for friendships to strike up. sometimes I went to the parts of bars and clubs where I had no business being, as a trans person, as a person who looked feminine, as a person existing outside of the sexual market. I would take my drink and plop myself down in the middle of a fuckdungeon or a darkroom and just watch people. I was simultaneously interested in what drove cis gay men to seek out anonymous sex and horrified at the way the floor squelched under my shoes. I lit cigarettes and just held them so I looked more like I had my own purpose there, thinking that somehow let everyone else know that I was exempt from participating in the generally-expected activity but nevertheless allowed to be there. in my head I called this “taking up space” and sometimes accomplished just that. sometimes I sat, I fake-smoked, I drank a coke, I watched a man get spit-roasted in the corner like someone watches Animal Planet. then I would get up and walk out. other times I sat, I fake-smoked, I drank a coke, a fifty-year-old man would walk up to me mouth-breathing and rubbing his junk and I would get up and haul ass out. other times a young man would approach me and say loudly in English that this was a space for gay men to have sex and that I should go back upstairs to the main dance floor and bar instead of staring at everyone and “ruining the vibe,” and I would loudly tell him he was ruining his own vibe by bothering me instead of servicing the glory hole, and I would get up and get brow-beaten out. 

my first month living in Berlin was, much like Isherwood’s descriptors of his early Berlin experiences – Bradshaw’s first Silvester celebration during which he walks in on Mr. Norris being flogged between two women while polishing one’s boots, or his brief glimpse of a shitfaced Baron von Pregnitz having a beer dumped down his throat while pinned on a couch by a “powerful youth in a boxer’s sweater” – the beginning of a series of dreamlike impressions that have been rewritten in my head numerous times. the places I frequent reorient themselves in my mind as soon as I leave Berlin again and I describe them slightly differently to people each time I retell a story. of course, there were times that were not necessarily dreamlike; buying rolls and water at an aldi is not that different in Berlin except that you really have to make sure the bottles are on their sides or they’ll topple over on the conveyor belt. in a way the aldi was a non-space all its own, though, as was the ausländerbehörde, the bürgeramt, the endless stretch of S-Bahn between Nikolassee and Grünewald that was so long and godforsaken that I was convinced all manner of time and molecular structure at its most fundamental had been suspended and no one was breathing. buying a Kinder bar for dinner from a spätkauf at 3AM alone at Görlitzer Bahnhof: did that actually happen? was I ever actually there?

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/ghost-rider-de-mystified-part-1/

Ghost Rider De-Mystified Part 1

Agents of SHIELD Season 4 is coming to a close and what a season it is. What made it really cool is its Ghost Rider and Framework arcs. The LMD arc is okay too. We wouldn’t have the framework if it weren’t for that. As Season 4 wraps up and ABC is keeping everyone in suspense regarding Season 5, Ghost Rider is slated to return on the season finale which could turn a fascinating finale even cooler. As a fan, I’m more concerned with Ghost Rider, hoping he goes on to Season 5 or gets a spinoff series as earlier speculated. Let’s talk more about the Ghost Rider character I fell in love with including his history. If I’m to be asked who my favorite superhero is, it would be Ghost Rider. No, not Superman, not Batman, not Iron Man and not Spider-Man. Admittedly, I consider myself a vengeful guy. I’m a very nice and pleasant guy but cross me, and shit goes down. I believe in the acceleration of karma on evildoers but was raised not to actually pursue it. Ghost Rider is the one that does that. Ghost Rider is my all-time favorite superhero at least, the Danny Ketch version which re-popularized the mantle; but I’ve grown to like Johnny Blaze as well. There’s more than one? Isn’t Ghost Rider Johnny Blaze in the movies, now it’s Robbie Reyes on TV? Yes, but later on that. Ever since I saw Ghost Rider on a bootleg Flair Card during the trading card days of the 90s, I took a liking to this intensely interesting hero. He has the makings of a villain, the burning skull, the leather, the jeans and the spikes; he wasn’t like all other heroes in spandex that I knew at the time, like Batman or Superman. (Note the year) And his bike was a sight to behold though I’ve always wondered why it looks so technological despite Ghost Rider’s mystical nature. But it looked badass just the same. Ghost Rider Volume 3, Issue 34 was the first issue of Ghost Rider I read. I immediately liked the art’s dark tone, but earlier issues by other artists were actually better. The following issue fixed my concerns with the bike, but other artists still drew it the modern way. Note I also like occult-oriented TV shows and books which is also a reason why I took an immediate liking to Ghost Rider. Ghost Riders in Comics Now, this article is for the benefit of everyone who wants to know more about Ghost Rider and are confused about Ghost Rider’s story, including those who know him from the 2007 movie starring Nicholas Cage and stumbled upon the convoluted world of Ghost Riders in the comics. Yes, there’s more than one Ghost Rider. Let’s get the various versions out of the way before moving on to demystify the Ghost Rider character.

The 2007 and 2012 movies centered on the most popular version, that of Johnny Blaze, stunt cyclist who made a deal with the devil to save his father in exchange for his soul. We know how the 2007 movie turned out but more on that later. This Ghost Rider was conceived in 1972.

Made in the 90s, the second popular version of Ghost Rider was Danny Ketch, a Brooklyn teenager who stumbled on a mystical bike in a junkyard and turned into the Ghost Rider when his sister Barbara was critically injured in an attack. This Ghost Rider is the version in the above images. His appearance, costume and powers was actually used in the 2007 movie. This version actually revived the Ghost Rider franchise and was so popular; he had appearances on most major Marvel comics. His popularity also sparked the interest into making the 2007 movie.

Another version, predating Blaze and Ketch was Carter Slade, who was also used in the 2007 movie as an Old West Ghost Rider. He was conceived in 1949, but his name was changed into Phantom Rider so as not to confuse him with the motorcycle-riding versions. Why? His story is somewhat different and had little relation back then with Blaze and Ketch. His stories are set in the 1800s. He was given his powers and outfit by a Native American medicine man. In the movie, Carter Slade was also named the Caretaker, a character more associated with the Danny Ketch version.

Another horse-riding version was featured in a miniseries called Trail of Tears. This time, the host is a confederate soldier named Travis Parham out to get revenge on those who murdered his friend Caleb and Caleb’s family.

The next Ghost Rider in comics is a woman from Nicaragua named Alejandra. Johnny Blaze wanted to give up the Ghost Rider in exchange for a normal life. A mysterious man named Adam, supposedly the Biblical one, helped Johnny and the spirit moved on to possess Alejandra. Alejandra possessed the power for a while but reverted back to Blaze.

  The most recent Ghost Rider is a Latino named Robbie Reyes in LA. Like Slade, his origin and powers also differ to Blaze, Alejandra and Ketch. Instead of a bike, he rides a flaming 69 Dodge Charger. He later met with John Blaze and Blaze became his erstwhile mentor.

Everyone Knows About Ghost Rider in Film Now, except for the Robbie Reyes Ghost Rider, the others are somewhat inter-related. With regards to the story of the Ghost Riders, let’s begin with the perspective of the 2007 movie for the benefit of non-fans. Also, this seeks to resolve some confusion about the mess of stories regarding the Ghost Rider which began about two-thirds of the Danny Ketch stories. The 2007 movie centered on the most popular version, that of Johnny Blaze, who was also the current Ghost Rider at the time the movie was made. The movie’s origin story was close to the comics but not quite. In the comics, Johnny was indeed the son of Barton Blaze and Naomi Kale. Naomi left her family, and Barton later died doing a stunt when Johnny was still young. Johnny was adopted by stunt cyclist Crash Simpson who became a father figure to him. Simpson’s daughter Roxanne later became Johnny’s love interest. In the movie, Roxanne was simply a local girl who fell in love with Johnny. Barton Blaze took on Crash Simpson’s role from the comics. When Barton was dying of cancer, Johnny made a deal with the devil (Mephisto, short for Mephistopheles which is another name for the devil) so Barton would be cured. Barton was indeed cured but instead died doing a stunt. Blaze was angry at Mephisto for tricking him, but Mephisto was determined to get Johnny’s soul. In the movie, Mephisto imbued Johnny with the power of the Ghost Rider. Things were different in the comics. Barton’s dead, Crash was dying of cancer. Blaze made the deal. Crash still dies. Mephisto claims Johnny’s soul, but Roxanne intervenes and identifies herself as a pure soul that drives away the devil. Mephisto angrily retreats but not before bonding Johnny Blaze with a demon which would later turn him into the motorcycle-riding, flaming-skulled, hellfire-powered Ghost Rider at night. This Ghost Rider doesn’t have a flaming motorcycle though his bike does have special properties, He doesn’t use a chain nor does he have a penance stare like in the 2007 movie. His costume resembles that of a stunt cyclist. Tights instead of leathers as seen below. Johnny Blaze, Daniel Ketch and Howard Mackie The demon bonded to Johnny would later be known as Zarathos who would increasingly try to take over him. In the span of Johnny’s adventures, he would later meet the villain named Centurious, a seemingly immortal being who has a grudge on Zarathos. Blaze gets rid of Zarathos using an artifact called the soul crystal. Centurious and Zarathos are both trapped and seemingly end up fighting each other in the crystal forever. Blaze moves on, marries Roxanne and raises a family. Happy ending? Not quite. Years later, teenager Danny Ketch and his sister Barbara walks inside Cypress Hills Cemetery, New York and become caught in a crossfire between two criminal organizations. Barbara is mortally wounded by an arrow to the chest, and Daniel carries her to a nearby junkyard. Threatened with death and desperate for help, Danny finds a junked motorcycle with a glowing gas cap. When his blood soaked hands touches the gas cap, he became Ghost Rider. This Ghost Rider’s powers and appearance, his bike as well as his obsession with vengeance and innocent blood became an instant hit with fans and me as well. He became so popular that he was featured in most Marvel comic books and animated series. He also revived interest in Marvel’s supernatural lineup made up of Blade and the Nightstalkers, Morbius the Living Vampire and the Darkhold Redeemers. This Ghost Rider goes on to fight his own villain lineup while trying to find out his true identity. He doesn’t remember who he is but blindly goes about his purpose of avenging the spilling of innocent blood. His story eventually leads to his connection to Zarathos starting with the return of John Blaze. John Blaze returns to destroy the demon that haunted him in order for him to have peace of mind but later finds out that the spirit inside Danny Ketch is not Zarathos but something entirely different. However, it doesn’t mean it’s the end of Zarathos’ story. John then gains his own powers after being exposed to Ghost Rider’s hellfire. He is able to channel hellfire through his shotgun (as seen in the 2007 movie) and command a hellfire bike with flaming wheels of his own. John later gets involved in Ghost Rider’s adventures leading to a spinoff called Spirits of Vengeance. The spirits of vengeance, along with Marvel’s other supernatural heroes then fight an ancient evil called Lilith, mother of demons and succeed. Writer Howard Mackie, who was involved since the first issue wanted to connect the stories of this Ghost Rider and Zarathos. First, Danny meets up with a character named Caretaker, a member of an ancient race called The Blood seeking to mentor the spirit within Danny. The Caretaker in the 2007 movie was a nod to this character but was made into Carter Slade a nod to Marvel’s first Ghost Rider. Danny later learns that he can summon Ghost Rider at will as opposed to him needing to touch his bike’s gas cap. Then, a mysterious villain orchestrates attacks on Ghost Rider and Blaze. Besides, the mysterious villain, Mephisto gets involved and introduces Vengeance. A more menacing Ghost Rider look-alike akin to Spider-Man’s Venom. Vengeance wants revenge on Zarathos for an unknown reason and like Blaze goes after Ghost Rider. The mysterious villain attacks Blaze’s Quentin Carnival which Blaze inherited from the Simpsons and Vengeance joins in. Blaze and Ghost Rider temporarily are taken away from the battle by Mephisto who is also curious as to Ghost Rider’s identity which confirms that Ghost Rider, at least in Mephisto’s eyes isn’t Zarathos. Both make it back. The battle seems hopeless until one of Blaze’s carnival staff magically destroys the attackers and almost destroys Vengeance. The mysterious villain later reveals himself as Centurious who somehow got out of the Soul Crystal. Lilith returns and then teams up with Centurious, both wanting an artifact called the Medallion of Power. Caretaker describes the medallion as a powerful magical artifact which was used by The Blood with the help of some spirits of vengeance in the fight against a once-powerful Zarathos. Zarathos was then a powerful demon who competes with Mephisto in the collection of souls. Mephisto then enslaved Zarathos when he was weakened in battle with the Blood and the Spirits of Vengeance. The Medallion was later broken into four pieces and given to several families to be kept through the generations. Lilith and Centurious attack Ghost Rider and Blaze. In a subsequent battle, Blaze defeats Vengeance then Caretaker later convinces Vengeance to go with him. Through Centurious, they find out that shards of the Medallion of power was within Blaze and Ketch. Blaze, Ketch and Vengeance team up to defeat Lilith and Centurious. When Centurious is defeated, a newly-reformed and powerful Zarathos appears, all the time hiding within Centurious piggy-backing in his escape from the soul crystal. Ghost Rider and the others escape, and through Caretaker, Blaze and Ketch find out that they’re actually brothers. When Caretaker explained the origin of the medallion and the Spirits of Vengeance, a panel shows more than three spirits which teased fans that there could be more than three (excluding the Phantom Rider type). This would haunt fans for the rest of the series and would later be resolved. The Danny Ketch story is integral here as it plays a large part of how the rest of Ghost Rider’s story goes. So far so good, the story seems to be solid. Why did Vengeance team up with Ghost Rider and Blaze? When Blaze fought vengeance and almost killed him, Vengeance turned out to be a cop name Michael Badilino, the son of an earlier Badilino who was fried by the earlier Ghost Rider (Blaze/Zarathos) and went crazy and killed his family. Driven by revenge, Michael made a deal with Mephisto to get revenge on Ghost Rider. Mephisto actually knew a part of the medallion was in Michael and the demon simply awakened the spirit within Michael which was bonded to the piece. Writer Howard Mackie made the story as if Mephisto had long orchestrated for the Medallion of Power to be brought together, all the way back since he first approached John Blaze. Dan and Johnny each held a piece within themselves. In the 90s while Marvel’s mutants and the Avengers were fighting Onslaught, Marvel’s supernatural heroes including Dr. Strange were busy fighting Lilith and Zarathos’ forces. Lilith and her Lilin were defeated when the Spirits of Vengeance used the Medallion of Power to send them back to their dimension but unfortunately brought back Zarathos’ own followers known as the Fallen, powerful former members of the Blood. Long story short, the heroes which include Blaze, Vengeance, Morbius, Blade, Doctor Strange, Hannibal King, Frank Drake seemingly kill Zarathos and the Fallen but Dan and Ghost Rider die in the end. Vengeance temporarily takes the Ghost Rider mantle. A new villain, Anton Hellgate resurrects Ghost Rider by bombarding Cypress Hills cemetery with mysterious energies. He later reveals himself to the spirits of vengeance and inadvertently causes the death of John’s wife Roxanne, and their children go missing. John gets despondent, and the spirits go their separate ways. After this, the medallion ceases to matter for now as Ghost Rider moves on to a different path without writer Howard Mackie. The Divergence and Ivan Velez Blaze goes on his own adventures in search of his missing kids who were taken by another Blood member named Regent. It turns out that Roxanne, before dying promised the children to him in some kind of deal. Blaze escapes the limelight after this. Vengeance also goes his separate way but goes crazy later on in a mission for SHIELD against the organization known as The Hand. This is the part where things change from a seemingly concrete Ghost Rider origin to a confusing one. The writer who replaced Howard Mackie begins to set up Ghost Rider’s origin when Ghost Rider and Blaze reconcile to go after a crazy Vengeance on a murder spree. Ghost Rider and Vengeance fight and while fighting, Vengeance uses the penance stare on Ghost Rider which results in a strange effect. Ghost Rider sees a woman being burned at the stake which he considers as his “sin.” Gaining some sanity, Vengeance destroys himself and takes Hellgate and his minions with him leaving Ghost Rider unstable. Because of the resurgence of the suppressed memory, powerful spirits known as the Furies are released tasked to kill Ghost Rider. The furies were apparently summoned as a curse by the burning woman. Ghost Rider and Blaze later find out about the burning woman with the help of Dr. Strange and sorceress Jennifer Kale. The burning woman was actually Ghost Rider’s wife, Magdalene. Ghost Rider was then known as a man named Noble Kale and the period was during early colonial America. This is where writer Howard Mackie and Ivan Velez’s stories begin to get conflicted. Left me scratching my head for sure. Caretaker described earlier that Ghost Rider and Zarathos’ history go back for millennia. The events described here go back only a few hundred years. This is where Ghost Rider lost me and probably a lot of Howard Mackie/Ghost Rider fans. Now, a writer has to be given a certain degree of freedom to do his job effectively. Ivan Velez had been okay so far, up to the final issue of Volume 3. What this reader doesn’t appreciate is him ignoring what Howard Mackie had built since issue 1. For me, Salvador Larocca’s art improved a lot during his run. Unfortunately, the series went downhill after another artist change. Before, despite the story, the art was intense under Salvador Larocca who went on to pencil the X-Men. However, manga and anime came into popularity and creeped into the comics scene. Uncanny X-Men was great under Joe Madureira, but Ghost Rider suffered under artist Pop Mahn. I hated to admit it, but the art sucked. I could live with the new costume and even thought that it would be cool as a manifestation of a higher power level for the character, like in Dragonball Z, in case Ghost Rider fought toucher opponents. But the art really sucked. I’d rather if Brett Blevins returned who was the guy who penciled the first Ghost Rider issue I ever bought which was Ghost Rider 34. The return of the original artist Mark Texeira (Issue 1-26) unfortunately didn’t help the failing book. The book was eventually cancelled before the final issue due to Marvel Comics almost going into bankruptcy. Issue 94 was a victim of Marvel’s financial dilemma as Marvel had to go anorexic and go bare-bones (pun intended). The final issue of volume 3 was never published until years later as part of marketing the 2007 Ghost Rider film. Back to the story, they discover that Ghost Rider was actually a man named Noble Kale son of a pastor of a small town. A woman named Magdalena came to town during a harsh winter as part of an older version of the Quentin Carnival. She later stayed to become Noble’s wife. The two later had a child. One night, Magdalena discovers that the pastor was actually a warlock who uses dark magic to ensure the town’s prosperity. To hide his secret, the pastor accused her of witchcraft and was to be burned at the stake. Noble tried to stop it but was tortured and kept away. Magdalena was burned at the stake but not before cursing the town by summoning the Furies. The first victim was Noble’s little brother. To stop the furies, Pastor Kale made a deal with Mephisto in exchange for Noble’s soul. Noble was imbued with the power of the spirit of vengeance and became Ghost Rider and defeated the furies. Pastor Kale then offered Noble’s son to the Ghost Rider to eat, but Noble would rather kill himself than do the horrible act. Mephisto then set to claim Noble’s soul but instead was stopped by the archangel Uriel because Noble’s soul was too pure for hell. They settled for a compromise where Noble would stay in a void and inhabit the bodies of his bloodline to mete vengeance whenever innocent blood is spilled. This origin story by writer Ivan Velez sought to bring Judeo-Christianity back into the Ghost Rider mythos. It’s not exactly new since it was explored also in the Johnny Blaze (Volume 2) stories. The 70s was a time when the horror theme was quite popular with news of Satanism up ‘til the early 80s. It’s a bit of struggle to pinpoint where God’s pantheon exists within the Marvel universe of cosmic beings, Beyonders, Celestials, Asgard, Olympus and other pantheons. Heck, even angel Angela from Image Comics’ Spawn series came to Marvel and became Thor’s sister. Her Heven, is described to be a detached 10th realm from the original nine realms of Asgardian mythology. Since Angela is identified as an angel in the Image Comics universe, Heven would be synonymous with the Judeo-Christian heaven and at the same time, be the detached tenth realm. Marvel prefers not to describe everything in detail since these issues can rub certain people the wrong way. Before we go crazy here, let’s move on. This story is later expanded to Dan and Johnny’s real mother Naomi Kale who was a Ghost Rider herself. It’s unknown though if Noble is aware of himself within Naomi or he is as amnesiac as he is with Danny. Naomi left the family in order to find a way to release Johnny of the curse. She made an unknown deal where Johnny would become free of the curse but she didn’t know that despite her efforts, Barbara would be next in line and that Johnny would later become a different Ghost Rider himself. Naomi dies presumably from cancer and was forgotten until the final issues of Danny Ketch Ghost Rider. Ghost Rider, with the help of Blaze managed to stop The Furies and is again alone until Blackheart, current ruler of hell hatched a plan to destroy Ghost Rider by creating more “spirits of vengeance.” Pao Fu, from an unfortunate Chinese illegal immigrant; Wallow, from a suicide victim suffering from depression which is very different from the Wallow from the first Ghost Rider film, and Doghead from a Latino immigrant and his dog. They attacked Ghost Rider, seemingly killed him and brought him to Hell. In hell, Ghost Rider is revived by a kiss from Black Rose (the corrupted form of deceased Roxanne Blaze). Blackheart separated the spirit of Noble Kale and Danny Ketch leaving Dan on Earth while for some reason, Blackheart sought to marry Noble Kale with Pao Fu and Black Rose. On Earth, everything seemed to be fine for Dan until Ghost Rider’s memories start to overwhelm him and for some unknown reason, Naomi’s spirit needed those memories to be brought to Noble Kale. Off to hell they go. The marriage in hell turned out to be a farce and Blackheart actually wanted to play with his food before killing it. With the help of Dan, Naomi and the hellbound Vengeance, they thwarted Blackheart’s plan to ruin the prophecy wherein the angel of Death is sent to end the ruler of Hell, who happens to be Blackheart. Dan returns Noble Kale’s memories to Ghost Rider who remembers that he is, in fact, the angel of death and proceeds to kill Blackheart. With Blackheart gone, Noble Kale, Ghost Rider, becomes the ruler of Hell. Dan returns to Earth to live a normal life. Roxanne is resurrected and returned to Blaze. Roxanne becomes short-lived though as future writers didn’t have this final issue to work from. Noble Kale goes back to Earth in order to find himself and continue his adventures as Ghost Rider. Vengeance becomes ruler of hell by proxy. After this, I tried so hard to search on when Mephisto actually returned to hell after he was killed by Blackheart in the trade paperback The Dark Design. That story featured Ghost Rider, Wolverine and Punisher. Mephisto just came back, end of story. Blackheart is also inexplicably alive again in some other comic. Well, that’s Marvel. The franchise seemed dead for the rest of the 90s until they brought back John Blaze as the Ghost Rider in a series called Hammer Lane. According to a blog I read earlier, Danny Ketch, formerly a license to print money became a toxic character within the company despite his Ghost Rider’s costume and power set getting used in the Ghost Rider film. Because the last issue of Danny Ketch’s Ghost Rider wasn’t published, Roxanne didn’t make it in this series and is presumed dead which extends all the way to Blaze’s long-running series Vicious Cycle. Let’s assume she died in-between these events. So did Blaze’s kids, Craig and Emma despite him finding them at the end of his short-lived ongoing Blaze series. It also wasn’t explained how he returned to having the flaming skull while having a similar costume and power set like Dan’s. Zarathos, who supposedly died has reconstituted within Johnny, and the spirit that resided in him when Zarathos was absent is inexplicably gone. I will have to speculate that the power Blaze had was simply residual energy from the part of the medallion that was within him. Anyway, Zarathos is back but in a minor capacity, no longer the godlike being he was when he first returned. It was on and off when it came to Johnny Blaze in the late 90s and early 2000s. Check out Part 2 of Ghost Rider De-mystified here to continue on.

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[thepetitewritings]

The Bare Chase

NYC MIDNIGHT SHORT STORY COMPETITION:

For ROUND 2, I was given 72 hours and the following parameters: COMEDY, A RUNNING RACE, A ROOKIE COP, 2000 WORDS:

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The entire side of the building was covered in a beautiful depiction of the family bond, using imagery and color in a way that inspired emotion. I was drawn to the unique shades of purple that the artist had rendered. Sure, it was spray-painted. And not sanctioned. There was definitely not a permit, but it was beautiful. The artist had talent. Too bad he was breaking the law.

I just graduated from the police academy and was assigned to property damage. Not glamorous, but everyone had to start somewhere.  My Field Training Officer  (FTO) was none other than seasoned veteran, Sergeant McNutt. I could hardly believe my luck at being partnered with Sarge (he insisted I call him Sarge), since Sergeant McNutt held the honor of completing the third most cases in the department. Sorry, I meant Sarge.

I adjusted my cap as the sun beat down on me. My department issue sunglasses slid down my sweaty nose as I looked for clues, but I ignored it. It was barely 8 am and the air was already thick and stifling. No matter, I was an officer of the law now; such things did not affect me. I bent to examine a few partial sneaker prints facing toward the center of town. The paint was purple, and still wet. I took a picture of it with my phone.

“Rookie!” Sarge bellowed. “Stop your gawking. The person responsible for this is a criminal. He must be apprehended.”

Sarge was more than a little soft around the middle, and so provided welcome shade as he stood over me.

“Check this out, – I found partial shoe prints.”

Sarge waved me off. “Son, that is not going to help. How’re you going to track down the perpetrator on a shoe print?”

“Sir, they lead toward the center of town. And they’re purple.”

Sarge raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Son,” Sarge’s voice was like gravel, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but trust my years. It is doubtful that a slick perpetrator such as the designer of this unwarranted, and unwanted display, is going to leave shoeprints.”

Sarge continued his diatribe on what was necessary to catch a ‘perpetrator’, but I became distracted by the set of shoe prints that seemed to originate behind Sarge. A sharp glint of sunlight flashed in my eyes, and I couldn’t see, but I heard the hollow rattle of a spray paint can rolling away. In the same moment, Sarge grunted, as he became a stumbling block for a form dressed head to toe in black.

“Careful there.” Sarge addressed the figure, even as he stumbled to get out of the man’s way.

The man was my height and wore a ski mask. And he seemed to be splattered with paint.

“Stop!” I called out as the man pushed Sarge into me. The wind was knocked out of me as my body hit the concrete with Sarge on top of me.

“I got this!” Sarge grunted as he jabbed an elbow into my side in an effort to leverage himself up. I fought the urge to curl up into a ball and took the pain like the law enforcement officer I now was.

Once Sarge freed him of me, I jumped up and made haste in my pursuit. I passed a wheezing Sarge, and started gaining on the suspect, my footsteps marking a hard and rapid rhythm on the concrete. The suspect rounded a corner at the end of the block, and I sped up. I turned the corner and nearly tripped over a pair of black sweatpants. I continued up the block and found his discarded black t-shirt and ski mask. I slowed my pace in anticipation of finding him crouched nearby, changing clothes. Sounds of cheering and shouting filled the air and just as I was wondering where he was hiding, my gaze fell upon a pair of tighty-whiteys. I jogged to the end of the block and was stopped by a mob of runners. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it not to be so.

“No, no, no, no, no, NO!” I shook my head back and forth, the abundant scent of coconut sunscreen confirming what my eyes had yet to see. A 5k was in progress. A naked 5k. And my first-ever-real-live suspect was hiding among the runners.

I paused at the edge of the flow, and tried to search the crowd without appearing to be a voyeur.

Sarge caught up to me and bellowed. “What are you doing?” He squinted into the crowd. “And why are all those runners wearing yellow outfits?”

“Sarge, they’re not wearing yellow outfits.” I stammered. “It’s a naked race.”

“Well, go after the suspect, Rookie! And blend in, so he thinks he’s got away.”

“Sarge, they’re naked…”

“Well, son, you better start stripping. Tell you what, since it’s your third day and all, I’ll join you.” Sarge started unbuttoning his shirt. “Make sure you’re okay, and all that.”

“Uh, Sarge. No, it’s okay, really.” I quickly took off my clothes, hoping to halt Sarge’s progress. I stopped at my boxers.

Sarge was down to his skivvies. An Inspector Clouseau t-shirt and actual pink Pink Panther boxers. I closed my eyes again. Talk about too much information.

“Rookie, you see anyone out there wearing boxers?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then. Blend in.”

I quickly stripped myself of my boxers, leaving on only my sock and shoes. I joined the race before I got the chance to see what was underneath the Pink Panther.

Since I was now down to my skin, I was grateful that I always wore sunscreen. I searched the crowd while I ran, being extra careful to not bump anyone. I tried to ignore the fact that things were jiggling around, rather painfully, and not just on me, but on everyone around me.

I focused on anyone who did not have a timing chip tied to his or her shoes. Since the suspect entered mid-race, he (like me), would not have a chip. This was a great strategy, as I could concentrate on looking at people’s feet, rather than, well, —other parts

Cries of ‘excuse me’, ‘pardon me’, and ‘coming through’ made me cringe as I turned to the inevitable.

“Easy there, buddy!” Sarge’s gravelly voice carried out to me.

And there was Sarge, in proper race attire, huffing and puffing his way among the racers.  His belly jiggle was enough to put Santa to shame, but not enough to distract from everything else that was clearly free and happy.

“Go on Rookie,” he called out, “I’m right behind you.”

“Oooh! Are you a police officer?” A woman stopped next to me.    

I straightened and made a point of looking directly at her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Where’s your badge?” She raised her eyebrows at me and smirked.

I cleared my throat, strictly maintaining my gaze over her head. “On my sock, Ma’am.”

She drew her gaze down, then slowly back up to meet my eyes. “Nice. Sock.”

I reminded myself that I was an officer of the law. “You haven’t seen anyone without a chip on their running shoes, have you?”

She chuckled and patted my chest before re-joining the race. “Officer, people are not looking at shoes in this race.” Her ponytail bounced behind her as she picked up speed to make up time.

“Hey Rookie!” Sarge was leaned over at a water station, chugging water like it was the end of the world. The sun was higher in the sky, and Sarge – all of Sarge – glistened with sweat. I wanted to un-see it as soon as I saw it. Sarge gave me the ‘A-Ok’ sign, so I pushed forward in my search.

By the time Sarge reached the finish line, I had been able to round up ten suspects who fit the build of the suspect, and did not have a timing chip.

Sarge lined up the suspects, and paced in front of them. “One of you has defaced the side of a building.”

The race was over. We had our suspects. I sidled up to my FTO. “Sarge, why don’t we all put on some clothes?”

“No need. In fact I rather like this. Quite free and breezy.” I heard sirens. “Besides, I called for back-up.”

Every part of me froze. “The guys – from the precinct, are coming? Here?”

“Sounds like they’re already here.” Sarge welled with pride.

I turned to find my brothers in arms in various states of laughter.

“This is good for you, Rookie. Some exposure to the elements!”

I pulled my shoulders back, raised my chin, and focused my gaze forward.

“Rookie, you listening?” Sarge was barking at me again. “I said, search them.”

My mouth must have dropped open. “Search what? They’re naked, Sarge.”

Sarge turned to the guys. “Brian, get the rookie some gloves, will ya?”

Brian and I had been at the Academy together. He stepped forward with a pair of gloves. “Just make sure they turn their heads when they cough.”

By now, I was dripping sweat, along with the suspects. Time to get this over with.

I snatched the gloves and put them on. As I approached the line, I glanced down at their shoes, and it hit me. “Brian, I left my pants a half mile back – grab them, would you?”

Not sure why, maybe it was my tone, maybe Brian felt bad for me, but he ran the half mile to get my pants, and ran back.

I reached into a pocket and pulled out my phone. “Alright. I need all of you to face the wall and lean against it.”

They all did so.

“We’re all behind you, Rookie. Even if we’re cracking up.” Support. From my fellow officers. It was cheeky.

“Now, show me the bottom of your shoes.” I pulled up the picture of the shoe print I had taken.

All of the suspects showed their shoes, and I began comparing the shoes to my picture. As they failed to match, I dismissed them. I was down to the last four, and one of them was the woman who asked to see my badge.

“Ma’am. You’re not a suspect. We know the suspect is my height.”

She pouted her lips and winked. “Too bad.”

The man standing next to her was foot taller than me. He turned to me and trailed his gaze down to my shoes and back up. He looked at the woman with a half-smile, and flicked his chin in my direction. “You’re not kidding, ‘too bad’, honey.”

He sashayed past me and whispered. “Nice sock.”

One of the two men left stepped back and made a run for it in Sarge’s direction.

Sarge had been leaning against the wall and stood up to see what the ruckus was. His girth was such that the runaway suspect ran into Sarge straight on. He bounced off of Sarge and fell over into my path.

“What the h–.” I cried as I tripped over the suspect and rammed right into Sarge, knocking him over and landing on top of him.

“Jesus, Rookie, get off me!  This ain’t that kind of precinct.”

I tried to push off of Sarge, but sweat combined with sunscreen had me scrambling for purchase. Sarge tried pushing me off, but only succeeded in sliding around even more. The tall man tried grabbing Sarge, but Sarge wasn’t having any of that. “I told you. We aren’t that kind of precinct!”

“Oh, keep your panties on. I’m just trying to help.”

To which Sarge bellowed. “I ain’t wearing any panties!”

Meanwhile my suspect was slithering away. “Brian – guys!” I called to my comrades. “The suspect!”

Sarge gave me one good push and I went flying away from Sarge and the tall man and onto my back. Something squishy and slippery broke my fall. The suspect.

“Never mind guys, I got him!”

I am a law enforcement officer after all.