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bugaboowritings · 5 years

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Punk!Marinette - A Short Drabble-

Marinette Helps Adrien out of a Tree

I have been going down holes as I avoid spoilers. Even found my unfinished writing about Punk! Marinette just had to polish it up. Inspired from art under the punk Marinette tag and @musicfeedsmysoul12 who wrote some things on this au.

Also I’m slowly posting my work at ao3 to make it easier to find, my username is bugaboo0scrambles for anyone interested.

Marinette clicked her tongue with satisfaction. Admiring her work with her mirror. With years and years of practice, applying winged eyeliner still seems like a game of Russian roulette. Going perfectly amazing or making her say “screw it” before giving herself a smoky eye to cover it up the ‘step-sisters’ she painted on her lids. Yet, it was a part of her routine, something she kept since that summer ago spent watching strangers talk about products and brushes.

The laces on her boots drew out the gap between leather and skin as if it was a long sign. Marinette tugged on her laces tighter before reaching a fixed level of security. Fitting in like a second skin. Her hand smoothed over her slick new shoes, relishing its aesthetic allure and not helping the snicker that came up her throat. The heels on this pair were a whopping 3 and a half inches. Nothing major compared to the other shoes on display in the market, but it was enough to give her the needed height to make her a pinch taller then Alya.

With that, she carefully went down the stairs. Watching her step as she got comfortable to the new height. Accepting her death only twice while she barely caught herself from tumbling down the stairs.

Stuffing the long laces into the inside of her boots before making it out of the backdoor of the house. Her hand on the doorknob, other on her hip. Calling out to her parent goodbye as the front of the bakery buzzed with customers.

Nibbled on her maroon-stained lips before checking the trash can. Emptying it to before her parents forgot about it.

The fresh air outside was mixed with the sounds of cars and that horrible unidentifiable “alley smog” rushing to her head. Pushing the plastic bag out the doorway and into the alley. Stepping out before her dad escaped the customers to plot a kiss on her daughter’s head. His beard carried traces of flour while his apron was clean except the splash of fruit-filling by his knee. Wishing Marinette good luck at school before he rushed to get more ingredients as her mother yelled from the front to take care.

Marinette lightly swept her bangs to get rid of her father’s messy, flour kiss. All while her nose crinkled at the smell of day-old eggshells and butter wrappers. Holding her breath and feeling her wrist twist as she opened the dumpster to throw in the trash. Not helping the gag that came up as the garbage smelt of sun-baked vomit cookies. Letting go of the metal lid causing it to slam shut. If her caffeinated tea didn’t wake her up, then that harsh sound did. Even scaring off the black cat that slept peacefully before screeching off into the street.

-----

“How lame.” Chloe scoffed. Rolling her head like a rag doll as she raised her sunnies from her clear-blue eyes. Her nails, done and polished, flicked the lone blonde strand over her ear.

“Nice shoes, Mari!” She yelled. Booming her voice through the quad. “Matches the whole clown suit too!”

Marinette flipped her off without even looking in her direction. Making her way to the other end of the school to meet up Alya. The one classmate that could manage a conversation with her without being intimidated.

Alya typed swiftly on her keyboard without bothering to look at the keys. A skill that Marinette envied and Alya swore to be like second nature after months of drafting sharp observations over comics, movies and Paris local heroes on her blogs. She sported the denim jacket Marinette decorated for her with patches and pins all with a khaki pleated skirt. Topping it off with her very own white-tee. Her new merch, a commission by Marinette, for her Ladyblog.

“Alya.”

“Marinette.”

Marinette threw her bag under her before lifting her ankles to cross her legs. Rocking back and forth, waiting for the typing to slow down. Once it did, it reached a sudden stop.

Alya sighed and saved her work before tugging her bag on her lap. Sliding her laptop out of harm’s way.

“I got a new scoop last night.” Alya grinned. Relaxing into her seat. Crossing her glossy legs.

“You will never believe what I saw, girl!” Jumping on Marinette as stars lit up in her eyes. A quick transition from her blank expression earlier. Marinette, knowing where this was going, played dumb.

“Let me guess,” Mari hummed, narrowing her eyes at nothing in the distance. Only to get spooked when Alya shook her.

“AHH! I can’t wait! Just let me tell you!!”

Smirking at the journalist. Alya, as if her tongue was on fire, spit on her amazing story.

There she, in the middle of the night, getting a drink of water. Like how she always did when she was staying up late for an article. Only to hear a loud noise outside. Assuming it’s an Akuma before considering the idea of an earthquake happening in the middle of Europe or a plane crash. Incentively fishing for her phone to see the most amazing sight ever. The greatest thing to hit theaters in its time. The most inspiring and jaw-dropping things to ever live in black and white. The scaly, creepy Godzilla! Stomping out the streets of Paris in the dead of night. Apartments lights flicked on as the beast strolled through the street. Holding in its roars as it tossed its tail. Missing a building by a hair. With a “zip” and a “wow”, the Parian hero duo leaped neighborhoods and buildings. Chat Noir tossed his baton in the air, saving Ladybug by the fraction of second from being dino-chum as she twirled up into the air. Ladybug’s yo-yo looped around the monster swiftly with her momentum, tripping the beast toward the bottom of the Eiffel tower. With Chat Noir’s cataclysm ready, Ladybug called on her lucky charm and-

“- and Agreste at 10.” Alya murmured. Watching Adrien come through the front door with Nino by his side. Laughing at each other as they look back to Nino’s phone. Marinette turned around, groaning- knowing this morning routine too well. Trying to make herself seem smaller as she pushed back her shoulders. Hoping to go under notice. Already feeling his lime-green eyes on her back.

“I’ll be hiding in a tree or at the art studio, whatever I reach first.” Already grieving the loss of a perfectly good morning. “Text me if you need me.”

“See ya.” Alya waved. Slumping back to the bench as Marinette rushed away in the opposite direction of Adrien.

-----

“Marinette!”

“Agreste.”

“Ah. . .Come here often?”

Marinette had to stop the snort that came up her throat. Being a second late as a small chuckle left her lips. Having to shut down her face to not give Adrien the fuel to keep going. Bring back that dull expression as she watched Adrien struggle a little bit more.

“I don’t usually come here, but if I do I’m not dangling out of trees.”

“Uh,” Agreste hummed. Unsure what to say as he felt the tingling of blood rushing to his head competed with the deep blush that appeared on his cheeks. Or maybe that was just the pain of his blood rushing to head. Yeah, maybe it was the blood rushing to his head.

On the bright side, however, it made it harder to see if he’s blushing.

“I’m practicing my tree climbing. . . ?” He smugly answered.

“Practicing,” Marinette repeated. Letting that lame reason melt on her tongue before she even thought of accepting it. Crossing her arms as she stuck her leg out. Her heel rocked back and forth on the dirt. Creating a little hole as she thought this over.

“I’m not one to try and get into someone’s business-”

“You’re not getting in my business. I MEan, I-I don’t mind you asking about it. .!”

Marinette kissed her teeth. “Right . . . “

Biting her lips as she left out a long sigh. Pitching the bridge of her nose, the click on her rings hitting her septum piercing. She’ll regret this, she knows it already. She just had to humor him, even if it was a little longer.

“So Agreste. I would hate to bother this,” Marinette motioned. Her hands raised up and down and around. “But you seem like you need help? Do you need help to get down?”

“. . .Actually, yeah.”

----

“Why is Marinette pulling Adrien out of a tree?” Alix questioned. Pointing out the window when Alya and Mylene came over. Her finger covering the odd scene outside.

The three girls press their faces up the glass as they watched the commotion outside unfold.

“It looks like Marinette is shoving him in a tree to me...” Alya mumbled. Squinting her eyes before she removed her glasses. Rubbing them quickly against her shirt before pushing them back up her face.

Mylene bit her thumb, “Do you think we should go and help them? Maybe they-”

A muffled thump hit the ground. A puff of dirt rising in the air, covering the teens outside. Coughing as they waved the dust away. Marinette smoothed the dirt off her jacket as Adrien groaned.

“I think they’re fine.” Alya hummed. Returning to her notebook.

“Okay, so what did you get for question seven?”

#ml #ml au #punk! Marinette #punk Marinette #Marinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #adrien agreste #miraculous ladybug #fic #ml fic #short drabble #my writings #ml fanfic #My writing

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standuphippy · 4 years

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May Favorites

Here’s what I enjoyed in May. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6G0CPjAQFlGFCTXXbx6jZg?si=B5-28pckSb2vC0pim46A7A

NEW MUSIC: The Bad Bad Hats “The Wild Honeypie Buzzsession” A charming band from Minneapolis. They’ve been livestreaming every Saturday for the past few months and they sound great doing it.

Café Racer “Shadow Talk” If you’ve wanted to get a fix of Cryptograms/ Fluorescent Grey era Deerhunter this will set you right.

Caleb Landry Jones “The Mother Stone” He’s a captivating actor. His record is a woozy, brassy affair.

Carly Rae Jepsen “Dedicated Side B” This record is every bit as good as the “actual” record.

Charli XCX “Detonate” A great song from Charli XCX’s quarantine album.

Christian Lee Hutson “Beginners” An intimate folk record, produced by Phoebe Bridgers.

Deau Eyes “Let It Leave” Alt country goodness.

Fontaines D.C. “A Hero’s Death” Good advice.

Jaime Wyatt “Neon Cross” More alt country goodness.

Jeff Rosenstock “N O D R E A M” Rosenstock’s 2018 record “POST-“ is an equal to Superchunk’s “What A Time to Be Alive” in terms of examining the current age by asking ”What the fuck is going on?” in the form of a punk album. Rosenstock keeps that energy alive with “N O D R E A M”.

Jim White and Marissa Anderson “The Quickening” Experimental drums and guitar from two captivating artists.

Mark Lanegan “Straight Songs of Sorrow” …and drugs. Sorrow and drugs.

Moses Sumney “grae” I saw Moses Sumney open for A Hundred Waters at the beginning of 2015. He ended the set by saying, “I think I have a few tapes left, come find me if you want one.” Greatest merch pitch ever.

Perfume Genius “Set My Heart On Fire Immediately” I look forward to each record with an expectation of greatness but no idea what it will sound like. A Perfume Genius preorder is one of my safest bets.

Prince and the Revolution “Live in Syracuse 1985” Prince followed his own whims onstage; he shifted gears quickly and rarely played entire songs. This set captures him at the hight of his powers at a time when he was still playing what could be considered a conventional set. He played the whole songs here; the setlist is incredible and the performances are expansive.

Rose City Band “Summerlong” Summer jams.

The Soft Pink Truth “Shall We Go On Sinning So That Grace May Increase?” Experimental house from Drew Daniel of Matmos.

Sparks “A Steady Drip Drip Drip” A new Sparks album. Charming, pointed, and very funny.

Sweet Spirit “Trinidad” Sweet Spirit seemed like a glam band (Sabrina Ellis and Andrew Cashen also helm the excellent punk band A Giant Dog) but this album is straight pop and it’s wonderful.

Varsity “Fine Forever” I saw Varsity open for Japanese Breakfast in Chicago a few years ago, “Fine Forever” is a leap forward. It’s a great record.

X “Alphabetland” I love the sound of X.

OLD MUSIC (revisits and new discoveries) :  Gospel Music “duettes, How to Get to Heaven from Jacksonville FL” Tracyanne Campbell tweeted about singing on “Automobile” and that led me to this EP and LP by Gospel Music. Wry lyrics in the spirit of Beat Happening or The Magnetic Fields.

Ministry “The Land of Rape and Honey, Psalm 69, Filth Pig, The Dark Side of the Spoon, Animositisomnia, No W, Rio Grande Blood, The Last Sucker” Upon reading the visual history book Prescripture, I went to revisit a few Ministry albums. My shorthand takeaway is that I’m never going to like “Filth Pig” (a land-of-a-thousand-chances record for me) but “The Dark Side of the Spoon” - where Al added a saxophone to the sludge - is still one of my favorites.

The Pipettes “We Are The Pipettes” They were fabricated to make modern girl-group music (“Pipettes” like they were formed in a lab, get it?) but had authentic talent. They have a handful of other releases, but “We Are The Pipettes” is the one to check out.

OLD MOVIES: Art School Confidential (2006) Director Terry Zwigoff revisits Daniel Clowes material for this cynical, funny look at art school.

Everyone Else (2009) The Forest for the Trees (2003) A few years ago I spent three hours on Christmas Day at the NuArt watching Toni Erdmann, the third feature written and directed by Maren Ade. It was one of my favorite films of the year. Her first two films are excellent as well. “Everyone Else” observes a young couple in what could be their final days together, and “The Forest for the Trees” chronicles the painful devastation of an idealistic young school teacher. Ade’s films aren’t always “fun” to watch, but I cared about all three of the leads. She works with the actors to capture authentic characters and then lets those characters guide the story.

Godzilla (Showa Era 1954-1975) I was halfway through “Ghidorah the Three-Headed Monster” when my six-year-old passed through the room on her way to bed. “What’s this about?” What started as an attempt to delay bedtime for a few minutes has turned into part of our nightly routine: we’ve watched the entire Showa Era run of 15 films, plus “Rodan” and “Mothra.” My daughter marvels at the monsters and I marvel at what she sees and hears. We watched half a dozen films before she turned and exclaimed, “I like the Ghidorah music the best!” She made me realize how much kids appreciate a child’s perspective: her favorite film from the period is “Son of Godzilla”. She even enjoyed “All Monsters Attack!” aka “Godzilla’s Revenge” (where footage from other films is integrated as dream sequences) because the narrative is about a boy figuring out how to deal with bullies.

Tomboy (2011) I loved “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” and the Criterion Channel had some of Céline Sciamma’s older films available for streaming. Tomboy is about a ten-year-old who presents herself as a boy when her family moves to a new neighborhood.

Un Flic (1972) Jean-Pierre Melville’s final film. Alain Delon is a brute as the titular cop who suspects that he’s caught in a love triangle with a criminal mastermind. I loved the heist scenes, I loved the color palette.

#favorites #May2020

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esthermeronobaro · 7 years

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Rebel Grrrls: Ovarian Psycos

Beautiful Godzilla is a column about my feminist bicycle adventures for SLUG Magazine. Published monthly in print from 2011-2014. Read the original online and in print on page 24.

Ovarian Psycos’ Maryann Aguirre, aka La Fingers, answers a phone somewhere in East LA with unrestrained enthusiasm as I state my name on the other end at the SLUG Headquarters in Salt Lake.

My own excitement is muted by slight intimidation and the natural awkwardness that accompanies my introduction to any stranger, but something about her voice is familiar, and it greases the stiffness I’m feeling. She’s just arrived at her home after biking from work in the heat, and, having ridden to the office during pit-staining temperatures earlier that day myself, it’s easy to lament her discomfort. As we discuss her bicycle, a Raleigh hybrid she’s pretty fond of, Aguirre speaks rapidly in Spanish-speckled English, her pitch inflecting upwards at the end of each sentence, giving my inquiries a boomerang effect.

As she explains her nickname, La Fingers, a result of being caught wagging her middle-finger on more than one occasion, I know I’m talking to the right person.

Bikini Kill’s “Rebel Girl” lyrics pop into my head as I listen––”That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood. She’s got the hottest trike in town. That girl holds her up so high. I think I wanna be her best friend, yeah!”––and I quietly make the (creepy) decision to friend request her later. Feeling conversational, I stray from the long list of chronological questions I’ve typed up, but Aguirre wants to stick to the plan––she’s been chosen to represent the Ovas in this particular interview, and she’s gonna do it right.

Though Aguirre tells me she has only been a part of the “womyn and womyn identified” Los Angeles bike crew for about a year, the Ovarian Psycos celebrated two years of female-empowered radicalness over the summer. The group was founded by Xela de la X, aka Cihuatl Ce, for similar reasons as many other female organizers, including myself: to provide a safe space for women (particularly women of color) within a very male-dominated community. Of course, their mission statement, goals and organization are much more ambitious and resourceful than my attempts have ever been, but I’ll get to the deep stuff in a moment. What initially attracted me to the Ovas, after the lovely Elizabeth Lopez Medina linked me to their merch page, was their deliciously deviant slogan:

“Ovaries so big, we don’t need no fucking balls.”

Yeah, yeah, feminism is about equality, yadda yadda––but the Ovarian Psycos are far from being the he-man haterz hypocritically correct ding-dongs are gonna make them out to be. Aguirre tells me the slogan came about organically and conscientiously, and was met with mostly positive feedback. “We’re not gonna have a fuckin’ ‘ride my bike and I feel so free!’ kind of slogan,” she says. “No––ovaries so big, we don’t need no fuckin’ balls!” Aguirre’s voice gets louder and she loses the questioning inflection as she explains the group’s target demographic.

“We try to be particular with the words that we choose to use because we’re trying to hit certain kinds of women,” she says. “Not just women who are just like ‘oh yeah, cool, I like to ride my bike,’ [but] women who need the sisterhood and the bonding … ‘at-risk’ society.”

Aguirre drops down an octave as she opens up about her own background, laying it out for me in a matter-of-fact kind of list. She’s 22-years-old, Chicana, and a mother of a 4-and-a-half-year-old, working full time. She’s had a rough life, growing up in the hood with an abusive parent, pregnant at 16. “It’s not just to go and ride our bikes,” she continues. “It’s much deeper than that. We’re trying to outreach to women [whom] society has decided are not the fucking top girl––they’re the fuck-ups.”

Ovarian Psycos’ mission statement shakes any doubts that this group of ladies doesn’t mean business. They claim to organize and cycle “for the purpose of healing our communities physically, emotionally and spiritually, by addressing pertinent issues through cycling,” and they have every aspect of this statement covered in just one of their many events––the Luna Ride. Surprisingly their only monthly “womyn and womyn-identified only” ride, the Luna Ride happens every full moon at sundown and promotes what Aguirre calls “wrap-around therapy.” “We bring in the physical, which is writing down miles and bike-riding and stuff, but at the end, we bring in a different level, which is why we’re different from other groups,” she says. This includes anything from talks on domestic violence and breast cancer, to special, indigenous ceremonies celebrating the Mayan Moon Goddess, Ix Chel. Aguirre senses my surprise and hesitation at her admittance to worshipping anything other than the two-wheeled whip between her legs, and explains that the ceremony is completely secular and rooted in culture, not theology.

“We have our ancestral background, so we feel the need to bring in these ceremonies because this is something that some of us have recently found,” she says. “For myself, I recently started being a little more spiritual.”

My reflex to recoil at the mention of spirituality is a personal flaw stemming from experiences inside the polarizing atmosphere created by Utah’s dominant religion, but Aguirre’s somewhat vague descriptions of the ceremony sound inviting. She’s hesitant to give me details, as it seems to be a personal and sacred experience, but explains it as a talking circle of introspection and celebration of the feminine––emotional and beautiful.

In addition to the Luna Rides, the Ovas also organize a variety of fun, sometimes-themed, co-ed rides, coordinate ladies and trans shop nights similar to Salt Lake’s own ladies nights at the Bicycle Collective, and table at a variety of community events. The Ovas are also currently seeking out their own space, a “bicycle womb” of sorts, Aguirre says, collaborating with the Boyle Heights Collaborative, funded through the California Endowment. All of this requires a lot of structure and organizing, and as Aguirre explains their leadership hierarchy, I can’t believe these women aren’t running the country yet––seriously, if this nation has any hope of surviving the next 50 years, it’s in the Ovarian Psycos.

The Ovas operate successfully as a decentralized form of government that changes seasonally.

The group as a whole is called the Ovarian Psycos Cycle Brigade, and it includes every man and woman who shows up to the rides and events. Group decisions are monitored by a Core Collective, made up of seven central figures and six SLITS (Sister Leaders In Training), who attend meetings every other week. The leadership heads, dubbed the Left and Right Ovaries (LRO), serve as co-chairs for the group and change with the seasons. One is a self-appointed volunteer, the other is chosen randomly from a hat, and their main purpose is to host the bi-weekly meetings. At these meetings, the Ovas discuss events, create agendas, decide how they want to be portrayed (pick someone to respond to that annoying Utah girl who keeps hassling them about an interview), and do “clit checks”––making sure everyone’s doing their fair share and getting shit done. The Ovas also have committees responsible for different aspects of the group, and Aguirre is currently part of the Outreach Committee as well as the Core Collective, handling much of the tabling, social media and, thankfully, interviews. What truly brings success to the group is their dedication to a worthwhile cause. “I don’t get paid for this, this is from the heart. As much stress as it might be, at the end of the day, none of us would be doing this if we weren’t getting our energy and our strength through our hearts and what we believe in,” says Aguirre. “It’s much deeper than how many likes we can get on Facebook.”

Aguirre shows more and more enthusiasm as we talk about events, and when I finally bring up Clitoral Mass, she nearly reaches through the phone and excitedly shakes my shoulders, telling me how amazing the event’s gonna be. Though Clitoral Mass, the female empowered version of Critical Mass, is a long-established, international event, (at the time of this interview) the Ovarian Psycos are organizing LA’s first-ever to coincide with the blue moon on August 31. “We just thought it was perfect!” says Aguirre, as the blue moon only happens every two to three years, and is surrounded by much of the folklore the Ovas subscribe to. I nearly fall off my chair when she gives me the date, as it happens alongside a previously planned trip to LA. Aguirre immediately exclaims that I HAVE to come, and asks if I need somewhere to stay, or if I’ll need a bike, explaining that they’ve set up a registry on their website for those coming into town for the big event. By the time this issue hits stands, I’ll have been a part of LA’s first Clitoral Mass, riding alongside a group of women who share my love of cycling and sisterhood.

I’ve been on the phone with Aguirre for over an hour as the interview begins to wrap up, and she feels like an old friend. I’m completely charmed by her attitude and sincerity:

“I just gotta go where I gotta go, and I gotta do what I gotta do, and no man’s gonna fuckin’ stop me,” she says at one point in our discussion, completely sealing the deal on that friend request, which I now get to make in person.

I ask her one last, heavy hitting question: “What does it mean to be an Ovarian Psyco?” Aguirre goes quiet for a moment. “Being an Ovarian Psyco is not necessary just for women, anyone can be an Ova,” she begins slowly. “Someone who’s proud of themselves and proud of who they are. Being an Ovarian Psyco doesn’t mean that you ride a bike or that you’re a mad cyclist, that you can write down miles. Being an Ovarian Psyco is more of a state of mind—it’s an identity. It’s the way I identify myself, just like I choose to identify myself as a Chicana. It’s not hating men, it’s being proud of who you are, taking charge of yourself, your body, your surroundings and loving your community and giving back.”

At the end, as I describe my own bicycle group, Salty Spokes, and complain to Aguirre how difficult and frustrating it is to organize events sometimes, she gives me exactly what I need to hear. “One person didn’t make Ovarian Psycos what it is. It took time and it took the heart of different women to start structuring it to what you see and what we do.”

Bikini Kill said it best:

“That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood. I got news for you––she is!”

Check out the online gallery for some photos of Clitoral Mass, and find the Ovarian Psycos on the web at ovarianpsycos.com.

#words #slugmagazine #ovarianpsycos #beautifulgodzilla #girlsonbikes #antigentrification #boyleheights #bikesforjustice #community #woc #bicycles #organizing

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