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evengayerpanic · 4 years

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Trick or Treat [Spookstober]

Day 12 of 13 Days of Spookstober: The 100.

Clarke and Lexa take Madi and Aden Trick or Treating, and teach the kids the valuable lesson about Mom's Halloween Candy Tax.

_________________

“Checklist?”

“But Mom...”

“Checklist, Madi, or you and Aden can’t go.”

A long drawn out sigh filled the air as the eleven year old recited word for word the rules that had been drilled into her head over the past two weeks.

“Be respectful. Be smart. Don’t go into any houses. Don’t leave the neighbourhood. Stay together at all times. Don’t get into strangers cars. That’s it, right?”

“And?” Clarke pushed, as she straightened out the cape that was fixed to Madi’s back, making sure that it didn’t get tucked into any parts of her costume.

“And?!” Madi sputtered, wracking her brain for what she could have missed on the list that Mom and Mama put together while they hammered out the finer details of Madi and Aden’s first time being allowed to go Trick or Treating on their own.

“Have fun.” Aden offered, slipping his mask over his eyes and adjusting it. “We’re supposed to say ‘and have fun’, because it makes her think she’s cool or something for making that be one of the rules.” He teased his mother lightly, flashing her a grateful smile as she passed him the gloves to his costume.

Madi snickered. “And have fun, now is that all?”

This time it was Lexa’s turn to speak, entering the front hall of the house right as Madi asked.

“Yes.” She smiled, fixing her daughter’s ponytail and smoothing down the edges of her cape. “Madi, we trust you and your brother, you two have proven that you are responsible enough to trick or treat on your own... Don’t make us regret that.” She warned gently.

“We won’t.” Aden promised, but they didn’t need it from him, he was the good kid - straight A’s and honour roll, awards for in-school services.

Madi was the kid who nearly started fist fights with other kids. “We won’t, Mama.” But she was still good.

“Okay, make sure to check in at Auntie Octavia, and Auntie Raven’s please.” Lexa called out after them as their two children left to go out on their own.

“You sure this is the right decision?” Clarke worries.

Clarke always worries, ever since the two children were adopted, and she realized that it’s possible to walk around with the two pieces of your heart wandering outside of your body.

“They’re eleven and nearly thirteen... It should be fine.” Lexa promises her with a kiss and a wrap of her arms around Clarke’s waist before pulling her to the couch for some snuggles and a scary movie or two.

“Should be?”

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Barely two hours later (they had gotten half of the new Halloween movie watched, plus some... private snuggles), Clarke and Lexa were watching as their children dumped their candy bags onto the floor of the living room, creating a small mountain.

“Woah...” Lexa’s eyes went big as she saw her children’s pile reach new heights that they had never achieved with her at the helm of their trick or treating. “You guys really cleaned up, didn’t you?”

“We ran from house to house practically!” Madi bounced in her spot, reaching for an Aero bar only to get stopped by Clarke who quickly inspected the chocolate before handing it to her. “We were so fast!”

“You stayed in this neighbourhood?”

“Yes!” Madi answered a little too eagerly.

“That’s quite a bit of candy for eight streets...” Clarke stared, looking between the pile and her children.

Madi was stone cold and hard to read.

Aden, on the other hand, couldn’t keep a secret if he wanted too. His face read like a book for toddlers.

“Aden?” She nudged him, the boy going red as he tried to not admit to it. “Aden, did you only do the eight streets we agreed? How’d you get this much?”

“WE HIT A FEW STREETS TWICE!” Aden blurted out, before his hands came over his mouth, and his sister tackled him to the ground, only stopping when Clarke yelled out a threat.

Lexa on the other hand, burst into laughter.

At Clarke’s glare, she shrugged. “They got around the whole, only being allowed a few streets thing, it’s kind of clever what they did.” She was impressed.

Clarke was not, her face remained unamused until Lexa threw a Mars Bar at her face. Clarke froze for a moment before bursting into laughter and ripping the chocolate wrapper open to eat the Mars Bar.

“Alright, here’s the deal, I am confiscating the Mars Bars, your Mama is confiscating the Kit Kat’s, and we never speak of this again.” She offered, mouth full of chocolate as she half-bribed/half-threatened her kids.

“Hey!” Madi protested. “We earned that candy fair and square, you didn’t do anything Mom!”

Clarke shook her head. “You did not get this candy fair or square... Besides, now it’s time to teach you the ancient tradition of the Halloween Mom Tax.”

“Halloween Mom Tax?” Madi glared.

“It’s my favourite part of the holiday.” Clarke mused as she stole another Mars Bar from her daughter.

#The 100 #13 days of spookstober #fanfiction #clexa #clexa fanfiction #clarke and lexa #clarke griffin #commander lexa #madi griffin #aden woods #lexa woods

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spookyceph · 4 years

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Good Graces Pt. 2

Finally got the second half of this fic together. Find it on Ao3 or the first part here on Tumblr.

Nothing explicit takes place, however, the non-canon talk is of a sexual nature. Also, Dabi is a masochist and likes being ordered around. But we knew this already, didn’t we?

Words: 2,789

Rating: M for language and sexual themes

The wait ended two days later in the same spot. Dabi was in the process of pouring himself his second drink of the night when a misty-edged hole opened in reality behind the bar. From it stepped the tall, elegant form of Kurogiri. Dabi had never really considered what a demon might look like, but the League’s second-in-command/butler/voice of reason provided plenty of inspiration. Impeccable suit. Ability to show up anywhere. Form too immaterial to hurt, but still capable of making someone pay for trying. As always, Dabi gave him a polite nod and fought back memories of how it had felt to unexpectedly be elbow-deep in that shifting darkness.

“Ah, Dabi. Just the person I was hoping to see.” Deep. Smooth as high-end nihonshu. The kind of voice that could talk somebody into trading away their firstborn. Or into joining a half-assed villain ensemble.

Dabi paused with his glass to his lips. He made a sound he hoped came across as Yes, I’m listening rather than Help, I’ve swallowed my own tongue in mortal terror.

“Shigaraki Tomura wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

This was it. This was not a drill. Dabi put down the glass without taking a sip. “Where?”

“He is in his room at the moment. I will open the way, if you wish to go now.”

He’d just slid off the stool when the words registered. The air behind him changed. It was like the faint static charge living things gave off and a feeling of being watched all at once. Except Dabi knew if he turned he’d see only a hazy oval of black floating there, the perfect width and length to swallow him completely.

He didn’t want to use the warp gate. No fucking way. Problem was he’d already gotten up—couldn’t sit back down without looking like a coward or a dumbass or both. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit he already knew where Shigaraki’s room was to the person who amounted to the closest thing the guy had to a father.

So, Dabi grabbed his glass again. Knocked back the contents. Pretended it was just like jumping into a cold pool on a summer day as he turned and plunged into the waiting darkness.

Nothing existed anymore. Not time. Not space. Not self. Then something—maybe Kurogiri’s will or just simple momentum—carried him back into being. He returned to reality with a gasp. Catching his balance, he blinked and took stock of his new surroundings.

Shigaraki sat on his heels not a meter away, staring up through the stiff fingers of his favorite fashion statement. Large sheets of paper littered the floorboards in front of him. Maps, Dabi realized, noting the grid lines and coordinate markings. Somewhere way out in the sticks, if all the green and brown were any clue. Turning his head, he saw shelves lining the walls. Books? No, too many the same size and too thin. Cases for games—hundreds of them. More than one person could finish without giving up on everything else in life. Then again, what did he know? He’d never been allowed to have any as a kid. Never been allowed to have anything that might distract him from the glorious future planned out for him since day one. And just look at how well that had gone.

At any rate, the room didn’t seem to have the right ambiance to banish or murder someone in. Dabi let his hopes peek out from the bunker of suspicion.

“What’s this stuff for?” he asked, nodding to the maps on the ground.

Nothing from Shigaraki for an adrenaline-spiking second. Then, he crooked the fingers of one hand. “Sit.”

Dabi obeyed, pacing himself. Step in closer. Let one leg fold under him. Just bend the other so the sole of his boot lay flat on the floor. Rest same side elbow on knee. Prop the whole casual façade up with the other hand behind him.

“You got something you wanna say?” Cool nonchalance despite all the spit having vanished from inside his mouth.

Closing those intense eyes, his boss-and-possibly-more drew a long inhale. Didn’t even gag on the musty museum specimen smell of the taxidermy clutching his face. Then it was Dabi’s turn to suck in a breath as Shigaraki pulled off the gray hand with fumbling fingers, setting it aside.

“I want you to lead the others on their first job,” he said, complete with direct eye contact.

Any pretense of self-assurance abandoned Dabi. His stomach clenched as if braced for a punch. He pumped his brain for something droll, snappy, cocky in response. The well had run dry. He settled for practical.

“What do you want us to do?”

Shigaraki’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, though his stoic expression never wavered. “I was given some interesting information about UA’s precious fledgling heroes. Seems they’re headed to a remote training camp in the mountains for the summer. No one will be looking after them except two of their teachers and four pros who specialize in wilderness rescue missions. I want you to ruin their little retreat.”

Dabi’s spine went stiff and straight as an exclamation point. “I didn’t sign up to kill kids—even baby heroes.”

But Shigaraki was already shaking his head halfway through. “Killing them isn’t the point. That would generate too much outrage, hypocritical or no. The police might actually pry their heads from their asses and make a united effort to hunt us down with that much public pressure on them. Not to mention every third-rate pro in the country would crawl out of the woodwork, looking to make headlines. We’d be finished before we ever got started.

“No, what I have in mind is some training of our own.”

Attention swapped places with apprehension. “Oh?”

“None of us have worked together. Most of us haven’t worked on a team at all. This is an opportunity to test how well your quirks and styles compliment or clash with one another.”

“So, what? We crash their field trip and start fucking shit up? Flee the scene when the fighting gets too heated?”

“I came up with a level objective for you to focus on.” From on top of the maps, Shigaraki scooped up a thick manila folder and handed it to him.

Taking it, Dabi flipped to the first set of pages inside. His expression stayed set in stone while his stomach took a cliff dive.

A pretty girl with skin the color of bubblegum and squiggly little horns peeking out of her cotton candy hair smiled out at him from the photo in the top corner.

Name: Ashido Mina

Age: 15

Quirk: Acid

“You got hold of the students’ profiles? Impressive.” And a potential fucking disaster waiting to happen.

Shigaraki shrugged modestly, lightly scratching a new crop of scabs that had popped up in jagged furrows on both sides of his neck. Scabs that hadn’t been there a few days ago. “It’s just their teachers’ assessments of their quirks and performance during class assignments. Personal information like relatives and home addresses were better protected.”

The vice slowly closing its jaws around Dabi’s thumping heart released. Regardless, he made sure not to linger on any one student as he leafed through several of the profiles. Just focused on breathing normally and pretending to read for what seemed like a reasonable amount of time before moving to the next. He’d wait until he didn’t have an audience to allow himself to register anything.

“What’s this objective supposed to be?” he inquired.

“Capture one of the stronger, more notable students and ask him to join us.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped when Shigaraki reached over and flipped to a report in the middle of the folder. Dabi forced himself not only to look but see.

The boy scowling out of the picture was blonde. Broad-shouldered. Red-eyed, though not as beautifully as the one sitting across the way. Dabi’s pulse evened out.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” he read. “Isn’t this the kid they had to bind and gag at UA’s Sports Festival—even though he won the damn thing?”

“The same.”

“The hell do we want him for? I thought we were full capacity on lunatics already.”

A sigh. “To spook the school’s supporters and society at large, for one. It’s not enough to kill heroes. More will just take their place. We have to convince people to withdraw their support of them. Turn against them, though that won’t come until later.”

Dabi snorted. “This little asshole will never agree to sign on with us. He’s obsessed with proving he’s above everyone else. I know the type.”

A twitch of interest crossed Shigaraki’s face. Instead of pressing, though, he filed the slip away in that mysterious brain of his. “I don’t give half a shit if he agrees. All that matters is he blabs to anyone who’ll listen that we targeted and tried to corrupt him once we let him ‘escape’.”

Tapping his fingers on the stack of papers, Dabi let the big picture come into focus. “Instead of outright attacking the school, we’re undermining their image. Making all the mommies and daddies wonder if a career as a pro is as great as they thought it would be for their precious snot-nosed bastards. Getting donors to think twice before reaching for those wallets. We’re playing the long game. Smart.” A thin smile tugged at one end of Dabi’s mouth. “Which leaves just one question. Why have me lead instead of yourself? People might accuse me of sleeping my way to the top.”

A lovely shade of pink, like the inner coating of a seashell, livened up Shigaraki’s cheeks. “We never—!” He huffed and turned away, pink deepening to rose and spreading to the tops of his ears when he noticed Dabi’s smile had widened to a grin. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“Guilty. Well, on the last part anyway.”

Shigaraki continued to fume, hopes of an answer dwindling with each second of silence. Then, just when an apology was in the works, “Because I’m a shitty leader.”

Dabi exchanged his smile for arched eyebrows. “”And you think I’d make a better one?”

“You take initiative when you need to, and show restraint when you should. You’re able to read people without giving away much of anything about yourself. The others respect you. They like you. Anyway, from a purely tactical standpoint, since your quirk is long range you can attack and give orders without getting swept up in the melee. And…” Blood-soaked irises looked at him through a tangled curtain of white hair for a moment before flitting back to the safety of the maps. “I trust you.”

Every response Dabi had lined up crumbled. With them gone, he couldn’t pretend not to notice what they’d been hiding. Exposed to proper light and air, it bloomed, bright and bold despite the ruin it grew from.

“I won’t fail.” The words were hoarse, but came out easily enough for a promise he’d swore to make to no one except himself ever again.

“I know you won’t. Because this isn’t about winning or losing. I want you and the others to test yourselves as individuals and as a team. Do your best. Find what works. What doesn’t. We’ll figure out where to go from there. Together.”

He’d joined the League of Villains looking for a means to exact revenge. Being told what he’d always wanted to hear made for a hell of a bonus prize.

Dabi pounced. His mouth mashed into Shigaraki’s, muffling an astonished yelp. Cold hands latched onto the front of his shirt. Not Decaying. Not shoving. Clinging. Insisting. He obliged, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and shoulders, then letting his weight carry them both to the floor. They rolled across the maps, scattering stolen papers as they went. Lips and teeth and tongue combined in different ways between every panting break for air.

Winding up sprawled on top, Dabi relocated his kisses to Shigaraki’s neck. The whimper that came out of him when just a bit of suction was applied under the corner of his jaw went directly to Dabi’s dick. Shigaraki writhed, supple and strong, yet unsure and overwhelmed. His fingers—three on each hand—clutched hard enough to hurt through a carapace of scar tissue. The scabs crosshatching his neck scraped the tongue and tasted of rust.

He surpassed any fantasy conjured up in the past few weeks. Because he was real. Unpredictable. And, in that slice of time at least, he was Dabi’s.

Shigaraki gasped and arched at the feel of a hand slipping up under his shirt. Dabi became so absorbed in the smooth, cool texture of the skin beneath his fingertips he didn’t think anything of the arm that snaked around his own, or the heel hooked behind his knee until, with a sharp twist of hip, he was rolled. The air rushed out of him in a huff as he hit the floor. Shigaraki didn’t look it, but he was solid, planting himself on Dabi’s chest and pinning both his wrists above his head.

“No,” he said, decisive if out of breath. “We do this my way.”

Dabi kept perfectly still. One wriggle, one shift, and he would’ve cum in his pants right then and there. So, he relaxed one muscle group at a time. Controlled his breathing. Showed his boss what a good boy he could be.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, already positive he’d like the answer.

Despite his command of the situation, Shigaraki’s gaze wandered off to the side. Unsure. Shy. God, it was going to be fun fucking both descriptions right out of him.

“I don’t have…experience…with this, ah, subject.”

Dabi had to keep his teeth clamped together to keep from laughing. Good. He had to be good or he wouldn’t get any treats.

“So, I thought…maybe we could each make a list. Of things we like—or might like. And of stuff we don’t, or aren’t interested in. Then…pick and agree on an option. Until…until someone gets bored or just doesn’t want to anymore or…whatever.”

The habit of exceeding expectations was quickly becoming one of Dabi’s favorite things about his new boss. “Is that what you’ve been up to these past three days? Thinking about what you want to do to me?”

Shigaraki shifted his weight forward a bit, breathing definitely speeding up a notch. “Not the entire three days,” he muttered.

Dabi rested his hands on slim hips, keeping them still before they sent him over the edge. “When did you want this list?”

He considered, worrying his already cracked bottom lip with his teeth and then catching the trickle of blood with the point of his tongue in a way that made Dabi’s toes curl in his boots. “We’ll need to start meeting regularly to work on the plan anyway, so…tomorrow, at this time.”

Meaning he had already made a list and wanted to see what Dabi came up with. “Done.”

“Well.” Shigaraki cleared his throat lightly. “It’s settled then.” Carefully, he started to slide his leg over. Froze when a soft hiss escaped Dabi. A finger stroked one of the staples in his cheek before pulling back, remembering permission to do so hadn’t been agreed on yet.

“Did I hurt you? When we rolled over?”

Absolutely precious. Dabi smiled. “Not as much as I want you to.”

Red eyes blinked rapidly, wide and startled. “I’m…sorry?”

“Don’t be. Now go on. Let me up.”

Still looking a bit lost, Shigaraki did, sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs. Dabi sat upright on a long exhale. Paused to collect himself. Got to his feet when he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t ruin his last clean pair of pants doing so.

“You’re leaving?”

The note of disappointment in Shigaraki’s tone almost toppled his resolve. He looked over through lowered lashes. “I have something pressing to take care of at the moment. Unless you don’t want to wait for a list to find out what it is.”

One glance below Dabi’s belt transformed confusion into open-mouthed understanding. “Oh.” Shigaraki buried his face in his knees. “Sorry?”

“I already told you. Don’t be.” And before his willpower evaporated completely, “See you tomorrow.”

He’d made it to the door when a final thought sprung on him. Pausing with his fingers on the handle, he peered back over his shoulder. “You didn’t come up with this whole training camp plan just to score some alone time with me, did you?”

The choked sound that came from Shigaraki was answer enough. Dabi finally allowed himself to laugh as he let himself out.

#shigadabi #shigadabi fanfic #dabi x shigaraki #shigaraki x dabi #dabi is touya #dabi pov

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queertazsecretsanta · 4 years

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A gift for @pri-the-writer, created by @deadbonessinderhellaton!

The Engagement Zone

Summary: Everyone’s favorite roller derby team, the Amnesty Valley Rollers, find themselves facing off against a formidable opponent who’s using a crazy new type of play! How are the Rollers ever going to best them, and look good doing it in the process? Aubrey asks for help. Dani talks tactics. Hollis makes the switch.

Notes: Aubrey’s bummed in the beginning but Dani gets her revved up again, t for swearing, some derby contact and hits but it’s all pg; nothing too wild, Trans Duck Newton, one of my biggest concerns was making sure that I showed off everyone’s derby names, after that it was describing cool derby moves, stuff like ‘plot’ came in after that…..

Part 1

Aubrey hadn’t realized just how hot she was until the water hit her face. She gasped at the chill–tilting her head back to let the last few droplets roll down her neck. You know, in this context, the bathroom is kind of freeing, she thought idly. There wasn’t anyone to see her splash water all over the floor as she cooled off, no one to see her trying to catch her breath. No one to catch her like this.

Shaking the water off her hands, she pulled out a few paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and began to rub them over her face. We’ve only been playing for an hour, she thought to herself, but it feels like it’s been days. It wasn’t the team’s fault - as the captain of the Amnesty Valley Rollers, Aubrey made sure that everyone on the roster had practiced every drill, wall, formation, and potential outcome that they could come up with, and the wins that they had scored from the previous pre-regional games were proof of that. It’s those fuckin’ Hornets, she thought bitterly. We’ve never been up against anything like them before, and it’s not like I have drills for teams who play like this-

You could have, if you thought to plan for this. A voice, one not unlike her own, cut through her thoughts. Now they’re left flailing out there in front of everyone, all thanks to their loyal, brave captain. Slowly, she lifted her head up to face her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s not the team’s fault, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. And it’s definitely not the Hornets fault. She put some of the towels under the running faucet and pressed them to her eyes, desperately trying to ignore the burning sensation in the back of her throat. The whole team had worked so hard, trusting my training to get them this far. They gave me everything.

“Hey.”

Dani’s figure appeared in the mirror, spattered with water from the messy cool-down earlier. In lieu of her typical long peasant skirts - the kind that Aubrey thought looked funny on herself, but that Dani could really rock - her girlfriend was decked out in the Amnesty Valley Rollers’ red and black uniform. She had a bad case of helmet hair, but to Aubrey, it didn’t matter - Dani always looked amazing. In her hand, a bottle of water was dripping with condensation. “Hey, Jake brought drinks for everyone, and I wanted to make sure that ‘The Lady Payne’ didn’t miss out,” she joked, referring to Aubrey’s derby name. Her crestfallen expression gave Dani pause. “Is- is it a bad time? I can head out if you need me to.”

“No,” Aubrey said after a moment. “No, you’re fine.” She pushed off from the sink and slowly rolled over to where Dani stood, holding out the bottle to her like she was passing a baton. She drank down half of the water before wiping her mouth with her wrist and giving a refreshed sigh. “You’re a lifesaver, babe. I was starting to melt out there.”

Dani laughed, and even through her guilt, Aubrey could feel her stomach flip. “Yeah, when you’re on roller skates and fighting your way through a crowd of people twice your size, you might get a little winded.”

“It’s not my fault everyone in West Virginia is gigantic! That mountain air does something to you all. ” She brushed an especially wild piece of hair behind Dani’s ear and brightened at her answering smile, “Besides, I think it’s actually because I have my super hot girlfriend as the brains and brawn on my team. That’ll take the wind out of anybody.”

“You know what they say about flattery, Aubrey Little.” Gently, she took Aubrey’s hand and grinned. “It will get you places.”

“I’m not kidding,” Aubrey said. “You’re the one out there selling candy bars for our annual fundraiser, or teaching people how to stand on skates during the recruitment drives, or helping me come up with new plays. We would have never gotten this far without you.”

“You save that sweet talk for your speech after we get to regionals. I want to be recognized for my contributions.”

Her comment brought Aubrey back to reality in full force, with the knowledge of what she had done sinking in. She glanced away from Dani and took a sip from her bottle. “Yeah. Regionals.”

Dani stared at her in confusion. “Aubrey? What’s wrong?”

Aubrey wasn’t great with words at the best of times, let alone in times of derby-induced panic. But whenever Dani used that tone–gentle and understanding and wanting to help–the words in her chest got knocked loose. “I… I fucked up. Back in the final part of the last period, the other team set up a trap, and I fell right into it. And I cost the team twenty points.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I-I panicked, because I couldn’t get out even when I started hip and shoulder checking. And it wasn’t like anybody on the team could come and help me because they didn’t even know what to do, because I didn’t even teach them what to do!”

Dani waited patiently until Aubrey stopped speaking. When she herself started talking, it was slow, as if she was trying to figure out what to say. “Well, yes, Aubrey. The Hornets are using zone play, which is completely new to us. There isn’t really any way short of weird, like, time-travel shenanigans, that you could have taught the Rollers how to deal with it.”

On a surface level, Aubrey was aware that Dani was just trying to help. She was more than grateful for it - Dani always had a way of finding the right things to say and the right ways to say them - but just the fact that Aubrey knew she was right made her feel like crumbling even more. “Yeah, but it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve heard of it. The big derby blogs have been talking about zone play since the beginning of the year, and three other teams in last year’s Nationals championship used it, and I chose to think that we weren’t gonna see it this early in the season. You can say I couldn’t know, but it’s my job to know. And now we’re gonna lose the whole season because of it.”

“Aubrey…” Hesitantly, Dani looked at Aubrey and spoke quietly. “Being twenty points behind the other team is not a death sentence. I mean, it’s not good, but we’re at halftime right now. We have, like, an hour left in the game. An hour and a half if we can get it to overtime.” She reached over and took Aubrey’s hand again, giving it the smallest of squeezes. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not over just yet.”

Aubrey allowed herself a glance at Dani. She knew it - she had that beautiful, stubborn, determined look on her face, the one that she got when she couldn’t be convinced of anything else. Aubrey sniffled hard and sighed. “Okay. Say we somehow figure out how to get past the Hornets’ blockers in the first loop. How do we get past them in the second loop? Or the third?”

“Mmm…” Dani looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Well, what is it they’re doing that’s throwing us off, and what do you need when they’re doing it?”

“What they’re doing down there, zone play - it’s this thing where the blockers work more to try and control your moves than to physically stop you, like they’ll stop on their skates in front of you, or surround you so that you’ll move slower.”

“Huh.” Her brow furrowed as her gaze focused on something behind Aubrey. “Huuuh.” Slowly, she put one skate in front of the other, gently rolling around the room as she thought out loud to herself.

Aubrey watched intently as Dani did this. It wasn’t the first time that she’d reached out to her girlfriend for suggestions, and with Dani’s knack for tactics, she was sure that it wouldn’t be her last. To Aubrey, it made sense - Dani put just as much sweat, blood, and tears into the team as any of the other players did. If she could get them through everything else, she could get them through this, too.

After a few minutes of silence, Dani spoke. “Well, the whole idea of zone play is to control the jammer, right? What if you could get rid of that control entirely?”

As Dani explained her idea, Aubrey’s eyes grew wider and wider in excitement. The team might not have recognized how to take on the Hornets’ style, but it wasn’t like the Amnesty Valley Rollers had forgotten how to play. And this made sure that the Amnesty Valley Rollers’ skills were used. It was quick. It was decisive. It was brutal. Most important of all, it used their strengths and took advantage of the Hornets’ weaknesses, all the while ensuring that the Amnesty Valley Rollers didn’t need to know how to combat zone play. “Babe,” Aubrey breathed. “You’re a genius.”

Dani turned bright red as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “I watch a lot of derby footage.”

“Damn! Maybe I need to start doing that more, iron out my skills and all that.”

“Believe you me, it has nothing to do with skills, if your footwork on the track is any proof.” Gently, Dani reached out to brush a stray wrinkle from Aubrey’s uniform. “Just next time, don’t be afraid to ask us for help, ‘kay?” Ignoring the look of surprise on Aubrey’s face, she continued. “We’d hate to have you worrying by yourself and feeling the weight of the world. We can all come up with something together if anything comes up.” At this, she smiled. “Kind of like we did now.”

Aubrey could feel herself growing heated and red under Dani’s gaze. They had been dating for about two years now, but sometimes Dani did these things that just left Aubrey a gooey mess. She met Dani’s gaze and grinned. “Hell yeah, we did. But next time, I’ll see if I can’t keep you guys in the loop more often instead of like-” she winced. “Running off to avenge you all, like in Braveheart. You ever see that movie?”

The sound of skates slamming down on linoleum echoed in the distance, growing closer and louder with each step. Jake Coolice appeared in the doorway. “Aubrey, Dani, Madeline wants you to know that you have about thirty minutes ‘til halftime’s up and we start the third period. ”

“JAKE!” Aubrey’s shout sent Jake rolling backwards and bumping gently against the tiled bathroom wall. “Can you get the team together for a meeting before we start up again? Dani just came up with a really good idea, and I want to give it a shot…”

Part two

Aubrey had never been more terrified in her life.

Okay, so maybe there were moments in her life where she had been just as terrified - boarding down Death Mountain with Jake came to mind - but here, in the engagement zone, facing down the Hornets again, this particular moment stood out. Worst-case scenarios flooded her mind. What if I trip? What if the team loses track of me? What if the Hornets go and did something else entirely and they screw up our plan?

She forced the knot that tensed in her belly down and let out a nervous sigh. Just concentrate on the plan, Aubrey reminded herself. Dani had gone over the whole thing in detail during the suit-up and, as a consequence, her words echoed through Aubrey’s mind. The most important thing about this, Dani had told her earlier, is that you have to know exactly where Jake and I are, and we have to know where you are.

She could see the two of them behind her, on her far right. So far, so good, she thought to herself. In front of her were three of the Hornets’ blockers. Right in front of her, to her left, was one - NEST IN PEACE, their jersey read. To her right and further up ahead was another - MISBEEHIVING. That’s not a hornet pun, Aubrey thought irritably. They have a theme, they should stick to it! Furthest ahead, on the left, was the final blocker, a tall, wiry guy. Their jersey read KEITHING IT REAL across the back, in bold block letters. Guess they ran out of ideas.

Dani had mentioned it earlier, and now Aubrey could see the zig-zag pattern that their team set up in. I know for a fact that that’s a trap. I guess I could try to go around it, but that might throw off Jake and Dani…so the trap it is. Aubrey leaned to her left and made as if to bank between NEST and MISBEEHIVING. Immediately, the three Hornets swarmed in on her. KEITHING slammed on his brakes, forcing Aubrey to slam on her own and taking the proper fall position. MISBEEHIVING swooped in from the right, blocking off Aubrey’s escape, and while she couldn’t turn around, she could hear NEST directly behind her. Once their ranks were formed, KEITHING started picking up his speed, but only barely. The other Hornets blockers followed suit, leaving Aubrey cocooned in the middle.

If I weren’t so pissed off, she mused, I could appreciate this more. It was brilliant - by closing off her escapes and controlling her speed, they could ensure that she didn’t pass their blockers or inhibit their jammer. Not to mention they could easily push her out of bounds if she tried to break free. Ignoring the sound of her heart pounding in her chest, she sighed nervously. Now I just have to wait for-

“AUBREY, LOOK OUT!”

Jake raced in from behind on Aubrey’s right, Dani skating frantically to keep by his side. With a mighty whoop, he swung his left hip at the blockers surrounding Aubrey, sending them flying. NEST was forced backwards, teetering wildly in an effort to keep their balance. MISBEEHIVING flew past the ring’s boundaries, landing in the track’s middle circle. With a groan, MISBEEHIVING regained their stance and started their clockwise loop around the track. Aubrey herself was trying not to whoop out loud - the same team that had devastated the Rollers in the first half were barely hanging onto their–

WHAM!

Right, she thought dazedly as she was bounced back from the impact. That guy. KEITHING skated in front of Aubrey, glaring over his shoulder at her. He’s the ‘mimic my every move’ guy, right? So he’s just gonna do that again. Leaning to the right, she made to skate around him. Immediately, he caught up to her, slamming hard on his breaks, making Aubrey fly back, her eyes wide and her chest heaving. So I probably have about thirty seconds left before his teammates finish recovering and meet up with him, she thought in dismay, and then…. She racked her brain for ideas, searching for weak spots in his wall, but all that she generated was the droning static that came with panic. In the distance, she could already hear skates rushing up to meet him…

“Aubrey!”

A blur of black and red flew past her right. Her team colors. They were moving slow enough that she could make out the name on the back of their jersey: SEAL THE DEAL. Oh. That’s Jake, then. Directly behind him was another player with a black and red jersey, and a blonde ponytail that was long enough to flutter in the breeze, but not long enough to block out the name on the back: DA-KNEE YA. As she rolled by, she jerked her head to the right and gave Aubrey a knowing glance. Come on!

Ohhh. Realization hit Aubrey like a wave as she reached out and grasped Dani’s hips, coasting forward on her momentum. From the corner of her eye, she could see KEITHING scrambling to catch up with them as Jake battered him back. The Hornet needn’t have bothered - she and Dani were already leagues ahead. Once safely past him, she tilted her head back to look at Aubrey. “You ready?”

No, Aubrey thought. “Yeah!” Aubrey said. In response, Dani nodded in response and returned her focus to the track, bending her knees a little to give Aubrey the room for what she needed to do. Guess I can’t make Dani do this by herself, Aubrey thought nervously as she drew herself closer to her girlfriend. With as much effort as she could muster, she pushed off from Dani’s hips, rocketing herself past her girlfriend, past the Rollers’ other two blockers, and past the Hornets’ final blocker and their jammer.

She broke out of the engagement zone in no time, her lungs and skates screaming with the crowd as she darted forward. Upon rounding the track, she was able to see a little more of the action occurring behind her. For all of the hell that the Hornets’ strategy gave them, it was evident that they still needed to work on it. They had put only one of their blockers with their jammer, leaving them helpless against the onslaught that the Amnesty Valley Roller’s other two jammers, DUCK AND COVER and NIGHT OF THE LIVING NED, were laying down. From her vantage point, Aubrey could see the Hornets’ blocker slam on their skates in front of them, just as KEITHING had done to her earlier. Duck didn’t even stop skating to sweep them aside with a devastating shoulder check, the trans pride flag that he wore around his shoulders fluttering dramatically behind him. Meanwhile, the Hornets’ jammer - SUPERFLY, according to their jersey - was flitting about behind the two of them, fruitlessly trying to break through their wall. In an attempt to free them, the Hornets’ other three blockers had joined the fray, Jake and Dani following after to try and stop them. Quickly, the players became enmeshed in a pit of flailing limbs, flying skates, and shouted swears. And they say derby’s boring, Aubrey thought smugly.

From the middle of the pit, Aubrey could see a black and yellow something fly forward - the Hornets’ jammer cap. The blocker - no, the pivot, she realized in horror - in front of Duck and Ned caught it effortlessly and slid it over their helmet, taking off immediately from the mass of players. Even from her distance, Aubrey could see Jake and Dani talking with each other as they raced after the pivot, literally strategizing on the fly. For her part, she leaned forward and desperately worked to increase her speed, but it wasn’t long before she heard the sound of skates behind her. In no time at all, the two of them were neck and neck, racing towards the start of the engagement zone. From what Aubrey could make out, they were short, muscular, compactly built, and fast as hell - the perfect pivot, essentially. Driven, too - they barely even acknowledged Aubrey as they barreled down the track, concentrating entirely on passing her and navigating the track. Not a bad idea, Aubrey thought, To see who’s up ahead. She herself checked the track. First up was Dani and Jake blocking-

Wait. Aubrey cut her speed, letting the pivot skate past her. “You go on ahead,” she said politely. Jarringly, it was the only time that Aubrey found herself able to generate a reaction from the pivot: they looked back to give her a confused, annoyed glare, but a reaction nonetheless. Shrugging, they turned around and continued racing ahead…

Straight into Dani and Jake.

Aubrey counted herself lucky to catch sight of it all as she skated past. It was something straight out of Derby 101 - the Hornets’ pivot shoulder checked and thrashed against the wall that Jake and Dani had forged, but it was clear that the two weren’t going anywhere. It was now that Aubrey could get a good look at their jersey name - MAULLIS. Jake held steady throughout their assault, never flinching when checked and delivering blows back with deadly precision. Holding out on the other side was Dani, keeping the wall up throughout it all, shouting out commands and calling to Jake for help when she needed him. She was cool under fire, never once showing panic or unease, and maintaining the situation with a sort of casual grace. Just like off the track, Aubrey thought proudly.

The two didn’t say much to Aubrey while she passed them. She didn’t mind - they seemed preoccupied. Guess I’ll be too, she thought as she saw the Hornets’ blockers up ahead. KEITHING had joined ranks with NEST IN PEACE again, abandoning the zig-zag pattern of zone play to stand side-by-side, the two of them wearing a look suggesting that they were eager for revenge. Oh, so now they’re doing walls, Aubrey noted with irritation, before shrugging. Nothing we can’t handle.

As she raced ahead, a voice cut through the cheers of the audience, the muffled curses of the players, and the squeal of skates on the floor below:

“Give ‘em hell, Aubrey!”

Seconds before impacting the Hornets’ blockers, Aubrey beamed. “You know it, Dani!”

~~~

Glossary:

Flat track: A roller derby track that is…flat. It’s often made with masking or duct tape.

Blocker: They try and stop the other team’s jammer from passing them and scoring points against their team, while trying to advance their own team’s jammer. There can be four of them on a track at a time. They don’t have any symbol on their helmet cover.

Jammer: The point scorer in roller derby, so to speak. Their job is to pass the other team’s blockers and score points for their own team. They’re identified by the star on their helmet cover.

Pivot: Someone who can serve as a blocker or a jammer. They can serve as a jammer if the jammer gives them the star cap. They’re identified by the stripe on their helmet, unless they’re wearing the jammer cap.

Engagement zone: the ten feet of space where blockers and pivots can block, serve hits, and prevent jammers and pivots from passing blockers. Outside of it, only jammers can block, hit, etc. each other.

Quick rules:

An average game lasts about four periods, each period being thirty minutes each, with the first and second half having two periods each.

The goal is for each team to aid their jammer in passing other team’s blockers, and by doing that, score points for their own team, while preventing the other team’s jammers from passing their blockers.

Don’t hit anyone in the head or the stomach.

#pri-the-writer #deadbonessinderhellaton #queercandlenights #taz #the adventure zone #aubrey #dani #danbrey #fic #submission

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toast-the-unknowing · 4 years

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Lmaoooooo “when I grow up I’m going to have so much amnesia” pls just post whatever you’ve written over the last ten years I am so INTRIGUED

Well, the subject line is a Futurama quote, I can’t take credit for that, alas.

I am fond of several of the jokes in that story, but at the end of the day, it’s a mystery and I wrote 20k words of it without ever deciding what the answer to the mystery is. The odds I’ll ever bother figuring it out now are slim, especially since I look back and realize...you know...I’ve become a much better writer than I was 10 years ago and most of those 20k words aren’t great.

But some of them I like! So what the hell, why not, here’s some of my favorite bits from a Star Trek 2009 fic that will probably never otherwise see the light of day:

The whole thing with Kirk and Spock losing their memories on the same away trip is funny for a total of three seconds before it becomes utterly terrifying.

Okay, maybe there's about five minutes of Hikaru making himself sick trying to hold in laughter at the stunned stupid look on Kirk's face as he steps onto the bridge, the way that Spock mutters "what an ingenious invention" after they're beamed back to the Enterprise, but hey, Hikaru's only human. And now so is Kirk, stripped of that cockiness that comes from knowing he's survived all kinds of crazy shit that he shouldn't have, and so is Spock in a way, since he seems to have forgotten all his Vulcan mind-master training along with everything else.

And that thought is what wipes the smirk off Hikaru's face and has him exchanging sideways glances with Chekov, because they're right on the edge of Klingon space, Kang had sworn eternal vengeance against the entire crew the last time they'd seen him, and without Kirk's impossible ability to get them out of everything he gets them into, Hikaru doesn't like their odds of escaping a skirmish unharmed.

McCoy skips right over the part where anything about the situation is amusing and even skips over the "utterly terrifying" part and opts straight for angry yelling before the doors of the turbolift have finished opening to allow him onto the bridge.

"What the devil are you playing at now, Jim?" McCoy demands, striding up to Kirk and waving a tricorder at him that he can't possibly be reading, since he's too busy venting at Kirk's face to look at the machine.

The effect of this is apparently lost on the amnesiac Kirk, who looks over his shoulder trying to figure out who McCoy is talking to.

Right. No one told the Captain his name was Jim.

"We're doomed," Chekov whispers to Hikaru, who wholeheartedly agrees.

"More tests?" Hikaru asks Chapel. Hikaru hopes he sounds world-weary but in all likelihood he just sounds like a kid whining about not wanting to go to the dentist's. At least when he was a kid his parents would give him some candy to make the whole experience more bearable.

"You've failed them all so far," Chapel tells him.

"Doesn't being healthy count as passing?"

"Not in his Sickbay." She gestures over her shoulder at McCoy, who is ranting to the nurses that he washes his hands of Hikaru, complete with actually physically washing his hands, because McCoy has no concept of subtlety.

Maybe it was just the terrible psychological burden of working too long under McCoy that had made her a sadist. Hikaru had helped the med staff repair and restock Sickbay after a disastrous encounter with Romulans, and after two days of McCoy's crazy-eyes drilling into the back of his skull, he hadn't felt terribly generous toward his fellow sentient beings. Kirk, who always had to be perverse and do the opposite of what a normal person would do, had been invigorated by the experience and set some kind of mountain-climbing record on the next planet they stopped at.

McCoy must be having a field day, wherever he is; nothing makes him happier than a legitimate reason to be unhappy.

He winces and walks over to answer the door, to find Chekov's curly head bouncing around with an upbeat energy that makes Hikaru feel a thousand years old.

"What?" he asks. "Communicator doesn't work?"

"You didn't answer," Chekov points out, which is probably correct. Hikaru hadn't been aware of anything, much less the chirp of a communicator.

"You know," he tells Chekov, stepping back into his room so he can change into a fresh uniform, "when someone is annoyed with you, telling them how it's their fault doesn't make them like you any better. It just makes them more annoyed."

Chekov blinks big, hurt eyes at him. "You are annoyed with me?"

Hikaru just sighs and lets it go. "So what do I need to be told so badly?" he asks, slipping on a new pair of pants and pulling his shirt off. "I'm guessing that if it were good news, it could wait."

"We have Klingons," Chekov tells him, completely matter-of-fact, and Hikaru is never going to share with anyone, least of all Chekov, the fact that his immediate response to this was to think Russians really are that stoic.

His next thought is that he has to get to the bridge, now, so he sets off at a run with Chekov following along behind.

His third thought, that he never did finish getting dressed, takes its own sweet time occurring to him, specifically waiting until the doors to the Bridge open and Uhura looks at him, blinks her eyes at a momentary loss for words, and then smirks.

In retrospect, it will feel pretty good to have made Uhura happy about something in the middle of this whole clusterfuck. At the time, Hikaru just wonders how bad it could really be to eject himself out the nearest airlock.

"Had a disagreement with your uniform, Mr. Sulu?" Uhura asks. "Or have your just decided that today is a good day for swashbuckling?"

Hikaru plays it cool, because there are only so many options available for you when you show up to battle without a shirt on, and because there's an appreciative look in the eyes of more than one person on the Bridge that reminds him that his shirtlessness is not, in and of itself, anything to be ashamed about. "I wanted to be on hand as soon as possible to help with the situation, sir," he tells her, voice completely smooth. He falls into a formal at-ease position that draws the muscles in his chest tight, causing someone to whistle lowly.

The Acting Captain is actively fighting back laughter at this point; Uhura is going to give him shit about this for the rest of his natural life, but then again, Klingons, so Hikaru can't begrudge her trying to make the most of it now in case the rest of his natural life is only another ten minutes. "Mr. Chekov, please restrain your dramatics in the future," she tells him, and the ensign takes on a look of righteous outrage that is decades older than his face. "Perhaps you could have communicated to Mr. Sulu that another second or two's delay would not have been fatal."

"I thought it obvious, sir," Chekov says, primly. "No Russian would charge into battle in such a state of unpreparedness."

"Because they'd freeze to death on a summer's day," Hikaru mutters.

"How?" Uhura asks, with that same fake innocent tone she uses when she's trying to convince everyone at the table that she's got a shit hand, and dammit, Hikaru has fallen for that bluff too many times. After which he was often divested of an article of clothing, oddly enough, so the whole thing is starting to feel really familiar.

Kang is even willing to deal with someone who isn't Kirk, as long as Kirk is there to have accusations and insults hurled at him, which is some kind of horrible metaphor for command but Hikaru is still trying to force his jaws together and doesn't quite appreciate the many, many cosmic jokes that are unfurling in front of him.

Every single person on the bridge of the Enterprise who still has a brain freezes and darts their eyes to the view screen at the exact same second. Later that simultaneity would make Hikaru wonder why the hell the dancing had been so uncoordinated in the crew's performance of Pirates of Penzance, since clearly they are all psychically linked to each other. Or perhaps psychic connections require substantial motivational force. Few things are more substantial or more motivating than enraged Klingons, and – as every eyeball except two immediately takes in – they have one hell of an enraged Klingon on their hands.

"WHAT CHARADE IS THIS," Kang demands, spitting out 'charade' like it's the dirtiest word he knows. Apparently Klingon honor doesn't have much time for theater. Hikaru wonders what Klingons do for embarrassing social bonding in lieu of Pirates of Penzance.

"Oh, good, so we can tell them that we aren't responsible, they'll listen to that and act reasonable," McCoy mutters, before jabbing Kirk with something on the pretense of getting more brainwave readings. McCoy has been dragging Kirk around the ship with him all morning for reasons as yet unexplained. Hikaru's torn on thinking it's to cause more havoc, since every little thing that happens inspires a thousand pointless questions from the deposed captain, and thinking it's so he can stab at Kirk like some stress relief toy. It doesn't seem to be working, but modern science has not yet found a conduit big enough to channel McCoy's stress, so that would be asking a bit much to ask from a guy who needed help going to the bathroom earlier. (Hikaru made Chekov do it. That's what ensigns are for, right?)

Chapel had proclaimed the whole thing hogwash and said she would get around to it when she had a minute, and implied that that minute was going to be a long time coming, because apparently that attitude was handed down with command of Sickbay like the crown of a hereditary monarch.

Besides, there's the Klingons to consider, and even Scotty can't make hooch so strong it wipes out the memories of people on other ships. Probably. Hikaru will ask him about it when his memory is back, and they will write a paper together, "A Transwarp Theory of Moonshine", and it will ruin both of their chances of ever advancing up the command chain, which would probably suit Scotty just fine and would be the best thing to ever happen to Hikaru if it means he never has to deal with a mess like this again.

"When we get to the point where we're recruiting untested specialists from alternate dimensions to solve the problem, just leave me brainless," Chapel scoffs. "I don't want to know."

Hikaru scribbles a note to himself. Evil clones running the Enterprise becomes Plan Y; stealing versions of themselves from other dimensions becomes Plan Z. He thinks they have a better chance of un-fixing the teleporter to make clones again than of making it pull people from other dimensions.

Chekov bounds down the hall at him – speaking of teenagers – and apparently the gloom is rolling off Hikaru thick enough to strike down an enthusiastic ensign at fifty paces, because the spring goes right out of Chekov's step when Hikaru looks at him. His faces turns somber and he tugs on his uniform shirt like he's worried about wrinkles. Or maybe he just remembered that this is a catastrophe in the making and a little gravity is called for.

He nearly takes it too far, though, going for a salute and Hikaru thinks that if Chekov salutes him right now he will actually go insane. He intercepts Chekov's arm on the way up and drops it back down like its covered in nettles. Chekov looks a little confused about how to proceed from here, but hell, the kid's always telling them he's a genius, let him figure something out.

He picks up Chapel like a leech; when he refuses to stop in Sickbay she just attaches herself to him and starts talking every bit as rapidly as Hikaru is walking. He can't tell how she's breathing. Maybe she isn't. Hikaru feels a little bit like he isn't breathing, either, or that might just be his flair for the dramatic.

He gets distracted, too, by the nurse who is accompanying Chapel, holding several PADDS and a medical tricorder and struggling to hold it all and drop nothing and keep up on her rather short legs. Maybe they could slow down for her, but hell, Chapel's her boss and isn't worried.

Hikaru can't remember the nurse's name. That's a panicky moment, but no, it's just that she's new. Should he ask her name, he wonders, or would that be rude? As the captain, however temporary or inglorious the title may be, he should know everyone on the crew already.

At least the crew is making that easier on him by shrinking.

"Stress is every bit a real, medical problem, particularly among young men in high-pressure situations who think they're immortal." This comes with a side order of meaningful look.

"I assure you, Nurse, I am well-aware of my failings."

"And I'm seeing drastically heightened stress all over the ship. Heart rate, blood pressure, shaking, forgetfulness -- not amnesia -- emotional outbursts -- "

"Maybe the crew doesn't like having medical personnel hovering all around them." Hikaru jumps as the short nurse waves her tricorder over him, presumably getting a reading of his own heart rate, blood pressure, and emotional outbursts. "I'm open to any suggestions about how to lower the crew's stress levels, up to and including Ensign Chekov going door to door singing Russian lullabies."

"I'll put that down as Plan Z," Chapel says, and holy shit, can she read his mind? He makes himself think profusely repentant thoughts for his attitude the last two days and also for that time he sneaked a look at her hand at poker, just in case. Also, he probably shouldn't play poker with Chapel anymore, honest or otherwise, if she can read his mind.

That, that right there, is apparently what Chapel looks like when she is truly outraged and not just annoyed or sarcastic or feeling superior, which is a valuable piece of information and Hikaru files it away in the very sincere and fervent hope that he never sees it again.

"You know, just, some people," the Acting Captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise mumbles into his shoulder.

"How did we get here?" Hikaru mutters. He's barely even realized he's spoken, so it's doubly alarming when Chekov jumps up and grabs his shoulders, shakes them violently.

"Sulu, no, you cannot have amnesia, too," the kid starts babbling. Why is it that his accent gets easier to understand when he's worked up? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Unless, hang on, has the kid been faking his accent this whole time? "Then I will have to take command of the Enterprise and while that is a thing I have dreamed of doing, it is no good to me if no one is around to admire."

#not a fic #my work #Anonymous

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penbeatssword · 7 years

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Review, from Book to Film: The Mountain Between Us

[**Serious spoilers ahead**]

So, last week I read Charles Martin’s The Mountain Between Us and on Saturday went with my mum to see the film. We both agreed afterwards that the credits should’ve said “loosely based on the novel” as the similarities were akin to a preliminary rough sketch that captures the general details and goes on to fudge the rest.

They changed a lot, both in terms of stripping away layers from the original story and adding things to create something new and awkward. This goes beyond the inherent need to cut down on content when adapting a book into a film. Here’s some of the changes:

The Names

So many names were changed, which I half understand because this is clearly not the same story as Charles Martin wrote so why pretend they’re the same characters, and half confuses me because why bother? Ashley Knox became Alex Martin, Ben Payne became Ben Bass (even though I only recall hearing his surname mentioned once near the end of the film), Grover the pilot became Walter, Rachel (Ben’s wife) became Sarah, Vince (Ashley’s fiancé) became Mark, and the dog named Tank – whose name they couldn’t remember so they called him Napoleon – was stripped of a name entirely (not to mention transformed from a Jack Russel to a Labrador).

The Occupations

Ashley Knox is a writer and Ben Payne is an orthopaedic surgeon, whereas Alex Martin is a journalist photographer and Ben Bass is a neurosurgeon. See Heart/Mind below for the significance on Ben’s occupational shift. Alex’s career alteration seems to be so the characters can use her camera to see further, so she can send photos of Ben to him near the end of the film and for the inclusion of a story I wasn’t sure what to make of where Alex explains befriending a young female guerrilla fighter and lending her lipstick, and later seeing the girl die and taking her photograph.

The Set-up

The book gives Ben and Ashley some time in the airport at the start to get to know each other and establish the characters and their motivations to get out of Salt Lake that night. It makes it believable that when Ben sees a charter plane and organises a flight, he thinks of Ashley who needs to get home for her wedding and is stuck in Salt Lake waiting to get to a hotel, and offers her a ride. The film gives us a glimpse of a busy airport, a frustrated Alex overhearing Ben talking about a surgery he has booked for the following morning, and approaching this stranger and proposing a charter flight. It’s rushed and feels contrived, and worst of all shifts the blame for the ill-fated flight to Alex.

Walter the pilot is given a miniscule amount of screen time, explaining that he met the love of his life a long time ago but she was already married so he’s alone. He suffers a stroke while flying and his passengers try to stabilise the plane as they crash. Grover the pilot, however, is a happily married man who explains that he is more in love with his wife now than when they married, who has been recently having chest pain which Ben makes him promise to have checked out as soon as possible. He experiences a heart attack while flying and somehow manages to crash land the plane as safely as possible (“off-screen” so to speak, the crash isn’t written), saving the lives of his passengers. Walter’s death is unfortunate but impersonal, and his burial by Ben is brisk to say the least. Grover’s burial, however, is treated with reverence by Ben as he finds a suitable place overlooking the mountain landscape, and gathers Grover’s possessions to later return to Grover’s wife.

The Expertise

Ben Payne loves hiking, and is a skilled outdoorsman. His supplies and skills are what keep himself and Ashley alive, including a Jetboil stove, sleeping bags, his use of Grover’s crossbow and Ben’s handcrafted bow drill. For some reason, in the film Alex has a large pack containing some camping gear with no explanation provided (we can assume this is somehow linked to her work), but neither Ben nor Alex talk particularly about any camping or survival skills. The only food they “hunt” is the cougar Alex and the nameless dog kill in self-defence, so most of the time the topic of food is just ignored. While Ben’s improvised snowshoes (followed later by finding real snowshoes) help them immensely in the book, they somehow make it across the landscape fine without them and with Alex hobbling in the film, and show Ben try briefly and fail to make snowshoes. The survival of Alex and Ben in the film is pure luck.

Ben is stripped not only of his camping and practical abilities, but as a neurosurgeon instead of an orthopaedic surgeon his medical skills are diminished as well. For the majority of the film, his medical care consists of pressing ice against one of Alex’s wounds once, wrapping and splinting her leg and primarily dabbing her face with a cloth. He does give the dog stitches, but does not for Alex or himself. The only glimmer of his original ingenuity and medical skill is when he constructs an improvised IV to save Alex after she falls through ice, and it feels weirdly out of place after the rest of the film works so hard to show that Ben isn’t much of a practical person and is kind of doing everything begrudgingly.

Importantly, his role of carer is removed almost entirely, helping Alex pull down her pants once to urinate and then disposing of the urine, and having Alex lean on him during their trek across the snowy landscape. This is because her injuries are reduced to superficial scratches and a break in her lower leg instead of femur. She operates on crutches, able to walk independently of Ben, and only for a brief time near the end of their journey is she dragged on a sled. This is a huge difference to the book. Ashley is entirely dependent on Ben’s care, which he carries the guilt for as he was the one who chartered the flight and encouraged her to come along.

Rachel and the Recorder

Very late in the book (later than necessary in my opinion), Ben reveals to Ashley that his wife Rachel passed away years ago. While pregnant with twins, Ben and Rachel are told that due to a medical complication she is likely to die if she attempts to carry the babies to term. On the slight chance that she and her children will survive, Rachel chooses not to have surgery. Ben doesn’t agree with her decision, they argue, and soon after Rachel and the twins die. Ben is revealed to have constructed a “house” (mausoleum) for her and their children.

Rachel is embedded throughout the book – Ben can’t go a single chapter without thinking of her, sometimes talking to Ashley about her, and regularly talking to Rachel and reminiscing on their shared past via voice recordings on a recorder she gave him. The recorder is a centrepiece of the book. Ben is continually making new, lengthy recordings which are also used as gateways into Ben’s past for the reader.

The film ditches all of this completely. The recorder is just a device for Alex to invade Ben’s privacy, listening to a message his wife Sarah left him to find out more about Ben. When Ben catches her, we hear the full message and Ben reveals that Sarah died of a brain tumour, and (as a neurosurgeon and her primary doctor) he couldn’t save her. Sarah is barely ever mentioned before or after this, and this avoidance of the subject with Alex, and Ben’s inability to save her, plays directly into the film’s focus: the dichotomy of heart versus mind.

Heart/Mind

Instead of taking the characters from the pages of Charles Martin’s book and putting them on the screen, the filmmakers created two new characters – or perhaps vacant shells is more accurate – and used them to illustrate a poorly executed display of Heart versus Mind. It goes like this:

One character represents Heart. They are emotional, impulsive, and often female (Alex). They follow their gut.

One character represents Mind. They are logical, rational and distant, and often male (Ben). They repress their emotions.

The film is really heavy-handed on this one. Ben is literally a neurosurgeon. He makes a stilted comment near the start about playing Candy Crush to occupy his amygdala just to make it clear to the audience that he’s intelligent, sees things scientifically and maybe doesn’t relate to other people very well. As always, the filmmakers are on the side of Heart, showing that even though Alex’s impulsive decision to take the charter flight and invite Ben along went badly, her gut instincts are right and Ben should be more emotional like her. Case in point: Alex insists on leaving the crash site as the best chance of survival, while Ben insists that in the event of a crash you should stay there to be found. Alex is later proven right when the plane’s beacon is shown to be destroyed. (See also the above Expertise: in the book, Ben explains to Ashley that they will need to leave as he knows that the usual advice is to stay at a crash site, but realises that the beacon wouldn’t have survived the speed of their crash).

Essentially this dichotomy also sets up Ben and Alex for the typical Hollywood romance formula of the couple stranded together who initially dislike each other, eventually bonding through their shared struggle. Cue unwanted sex scene interspersed with random shots of the two of them walking through the snowy wilderness together. This is followed by the two of them agreeing that he should leave Alex there and continue on his own to get help, and him literally turning around and going back insisting to bring her too as some sign that he’s come to care for her and is maybe shifting away from pure Mind towards Heart.

For those who haven’t read the book, Ben and Ashley get along quite well from the very beginning, their shared humour helps keep both of their spirits up and he repeatedly refuses to leave Ashley. Their bond is realistic, underpinned by genuine friendship and compassion. Additionally, a few times Ben’s impulsive decisions are shown to end badly, such as near the end of their journey when he attempts to take a shortcut down the mountain resulting in re-breaking Ashley’s leg and nearly suffocating himself.

The Ending

Oh man the ending. The filmmakers could’ve/should’ve cut out three-quarters of the ending and used that time back at the start for a better paced set-up. Instead, the audience is subjected to a lengthy period after the main characters have been rescued, showing the difficulties of readjusting to their old lives and struggling to communicate with each other. We get to watch Alex being uncomfortable around her fiancé, and Ben being sad about Alex seemingly returning to her old life (and fiancé) with no acknowledgement of their sexy times in the mountains. After Ben finally contacts Alex after ignoring her calls, they have an awkward lunch (well, they sit in a restaurant and don’t eat) where they ultimately walk away before both executing a dramatic turn-around, running back to each other and embracing – cut to black. That was a lot of build-up for not very much, but then this whole film is guilty of making changes to ramp up the drama and conflict at the expense of substance.

Bonus: here are some other things I didn’t mention:

Ben is no longer from Jacksonville, he’s from London (to fit in Idris Elba, I assume)

All backstories surgically removed

Most of the details of the journey completely changed, including the addition of going around a river and Ashley falling through ice into the lake

Jump-scare in the form of Ben stepping into a bear trap

No pilot’s wife means Ben just keeps the nameless dog

The huge shift from Ben being the focal character and lens through which we see the entire story, to Alex being the main character

Offshoot of that, Alex is given more agency than Ashley in the book, but as a result she ends up less likeable (more argumentative, less friendly, more nosy, less reasonable)

TL;DR: The film characters are caricatures, their survival is a fluke and I need someone who hasn’t read the book to tell me if the film is at all worthwhile on its own.

#review #it feels good to write again #The Mountain Between Us #book to film #mine #writing #film #book #critique #Charles Martin #my writing

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smokeybrand · 4 years

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Into the Wild

When i was a kid in the 6th grade, we went on a field trip to Sly Park. It was one of those overnight, weekend, excursions into nature for hands-on learning. Being a poor ass black kid from the ghetto, this weekend trip was the closest thing to summer camp I'd ever experience. I hated it. I hated every f*cking minute of it. I'm not an outdoorsy kind of guy. I don't know I you know this about me, but I'm a little bit anti-social and a lot bit anti-nature. I hate fishing. I hate camping. I hate hiking. I hate hunting. I hate pooping in the raw. If there's no indoor plumbing or PlayStation, I don't want anything to do with it. I don't care for any of that. Also Bigfoots. These are my experiences trapped for three days, in my personal hell.

Sly Park is in the mountains of California. We all had to pile on a bus at, like 9 am and drive for three hours to this desolate as place in the middle of an old growth forest up there. It was cougar country. I know that for a fact because, when we got there, we had to sit on the bus for an extra hour while the sheriffs hunted down and shot one in the f*cking face. That was day one, hour zero. We hadn't even made it to orientation yet and mountain lion murder. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.

That night, we shuffle into our cabins and choose bunk-mates or whatever. It was weird because there were f*cking sixteen-year-olds in charge of us. Who does that? Where the f*ck were the actual adults? I don't know if you know this about boys but, if you gt a bunch of us together, we kind of devolve into this Mad Max-esque, might is right, violence based society. Anyway, it was a bunch of dudes in this cabin running around playing grab ass and punch out. It was the gayest sh*t ever and I was done with it before it started. If you're going to tease a dude for wearing tight-whiteys, I feel like you got some sh*t to work out, yourself. I just sat in my bunk, drowning out the noise with the tacit tones of Az Yet and No Doubt, on my off-brand Walkman,.

Eventually, when it was time for lights out, the teenage overlords of our little lord of the flies troupe, told us not to the leave the cabin for the girl's hut or whatever because of the wild animals. No sh*t, dude. We all watched a mountain lion get it's sh*t pushed in the second we pulled up this morning. I didn't plan to go outside during the day, let alone at night when I can't even see sh*t. The f*ck is you saying? And, as if to drive my int home, our cabin got swarmed by bats that night. N*gga, wat.

You had to do some sh*t for learning or something because this was an educational trip, That we had to pay to go on. School had us hustle candy bars for a seat on that bus, it as ridiculous. I sold three boxes, pocketed the money for two, turned in the one, and was on my way. Each day was broken up into activities. I only remember two. The first was shelter building. These motherf*ckers broke us up into groups, led us into the f*cking bush, and told us to build a shelter with what we could find. I'm 11. I'm not a farmer. N*gga, i was just doing math worksheets, the f*ck you mean build a cabin? Need I remind you that, not only was there a wild ass cougar at your front door, yesterday, it had to be killed before we could even get of the bus and you got us out here exposed, in that motherf*ckers territory, talking about tepees and sh*t? Word? There were three of us in my group and we ended up just leaning a bunch of sticks on the side of a broken tree. Our shelter was whack, yo. We just wanted this sh*t to be over and back in a place with doors and deadbolts. The counselor tried to clown our effort but we were like, "N*gga we don't camp. We ain't survivalist. We sixth graders, you prick! Motherf*ckers is just trying to grasp integers and exponents, not f*cking brick work.”

Since everyone sucked at shelter building, we had to take the long hike back. That was an option that the asshole in charge decided to inflict upon us, literal children, because we're not f*cking carpenters. Tacked on an extra hour so we only had, like five minutes for lunch. It was f*cked up. The food was the only thing i liked about that place. I have an affinity for sh*tty food and it doesn't get much more sh*tty than school lunch. I miss crispitos and those round pizzas with the four pepperonis. And chocolate milk. I f*cking loved those Crystal chocolate milks. They had these catfish nuggets that were dope and unlimited chocolate milk. I was f*cking that milk up, man. They also had bomb ass cornbread and pancakes. Sh*t made me mad we couldn't get that mess at school.

The second activity was the killer hike. Now, this thing was infamous. It's infamy had been drilled into our heads for our entire elementary careers. Sh*t was seven miles, one way, downhill. It was f*cking treacherous. A dude i knew actually fell of the side around mile two. Half of it was like traversing this narrow path with sheer drops into manzanita and death, on either side. He was saved before plummeting to his oblivion, but he lost a Jordan to the cruel nature gods. Dude had gone out the day before so that sh*t made it back to us quick. We spent the entire night before trying to figure out how to get out of this bullsh*t. We didn't come up with any ideas. We resolved ourselves to death. That morning, we all lined up where they killed that cougar, and the counselors hyped everyone up with the promise of a surprise at the end of the hike. All of a sudden everyone was super hype to go on nightmare march. F*cking surprise better be incredible. It already cost one Jordan XI.

I walk this seven f*cking miles, looking at my idiot classmates and peers enjoying themselves, and I'm just straight up visibly morose. Like, quietly, aggressively, seething. Someone asks me what the f*ck was my problem and i ask him how does he think we're getting back to camp? I could see the gears in his brain clicking, slowly putting the sh*t together. Dude got wide eyed and immediately got as morose as i was. We had to walk that seven miles back, all f*cking uphill. No one had put that together. These f*cking idiots were running downhill, talking about surprise this and surprise that, and I'm just like, "Yeah, stupid, you're gonna get a surprise alright."

So we get to the end of this hike and the surprise is; a waterfall. It was a waterfall and a little stream with kind of a mild current. Everyone was like, the f*ck? The counselors tell us we can swim and the entire f*cking class jumps in. I'm just standing there, hot. Counselor looks over and says, "What's the matter? you don't want to get wet?" No, b*tch, i can't swim. I just walked seven whole ass miles, in this California summer heat, just to WATCH someone else, have fun in the water. AND we still have the seven mile trek back, all uphill. F*ck, you! While everyone is splashing about, the counselors tell us there's gold in the stream and everyone starts looking. I can't, because of the drowning, so I just have to watch everyone engage in a literal treasure hunt. A girl I know finds an actual gold nugget. She took the deep dive and came up with the booty. We later found out it was worth about six hundred dollars in 1996 money. Bro, I blew a f*cking gasket.

I don't really remember what else happened, it was like twenty-five years ago, but I do remember having a bad time. It was the worst, for all of the reasons. Cougar murder, all of these unnecessary hikes, incredibly minimal interaction with the girls during the day, stupid boy hierarchy during the night; It's just counter intuitive to everything that I'm about. I don't know how kids do summer camp. I was only out there in a facsimile of that sh*t for three days and couldn't get on the bus home fast enough.

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shoshanay307-blog · 7 years

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Chocolate Or even Fast Food? What Are You Quiting For Lent?

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marcosoropoet · 7 years

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LIZARD CLOUD PLATINUM PINK ~ Marcos Oro

Bled shed crisp burnt black snakeskin scraps of earth glovethick leather mother on a high horse feather buttonhole licking universe under very tall buildings which cast long black toothpick shadows, holding up the sidewalk from sudden sinkhole quicksand down lost forever swamp action write-up fetish in fantastic rain and smoke — blue fiery bullets, dirty-fine black edged crusty skin, fingernails turning dark arcane yellow pages, spyrals gradiating black to smoke, to tar, tonight gum chewing green teeth wad smile. Camera shoots the spy. Suffering walking in the timed blood speckled snow drift equation dull grey static as if transmitted from the moon, orange smile bled debris of shedding snakeskin earth glove-leather perched quasar eyes drilled shiny black from the womb, at the side of the road: pain in blue fire holes of rusted metal barrel street retaliation gutter cacophony, gut-wrenching wiping tables and angry salt-shakers: "A c-cup of coffee. Black please." (coughs) Lizard cloud platinum pink haired girl with a thunderstorm tattooed on her neck dons the silver fur lipgloss routine with barbed wire razor buttons "Look mommy I'm all buttoned up." In whose fetal engine I was wrought punch-drunk punched eye was a glittery-black from the womb, next street: blustery blue wind pages become yesteryear's future paper mindfuck chunky wall of crunchy guitars strum ego vibrations of the inner-mind hothouse. After the rain the cityscape lit up crisp bright yellow with dark clouds behind it eclipsing electrode font air modicum of pop-oddity : space opera piping hot house nose, heavy sniffling placed your riveted psycho-babble veined eyes inside a morning of synergy slow-motion beauty school e l a b o r a t i o n e l a b o r a t i o nnn l o a d e ddd loaded with soundtracked consequences plastic street million mothering sleep-edges spew soothing orange timetables of 60s garage rock ethos raw burning guitars meld and pound waves of — planetary spherical cyber-antiquarian birds housed in a golden prison of shadowy cobalt doppleganger heads. Slept. Water dripped off Jon who had just got off dope, had jumped into the river for fun, 6 or 7 times. 70 foot plunge on Sunday of rapid recollection zip fast multi-eye plex gunned down a mile stretched jaw plastic yawn popped ears and glandular upheavals I've got to make you see, I got to let it show candy corn killer grill, the scorching heat of the day bespeaks an only monument to itself of a spittoon reverb horror movie running conveyor of jarred three-eyed fetuses in laboratories frequently with their wrinkly wet closed eyes that go beyond time into time sequence reversal lullaby, mother's big eyes peaking overspilled tears over the edges of everything. Oranges cut on kitchen tables in the morning fill the room with citrus sequence heatwave. Soundtrack plastic street million mother ice cubes, what's really behind the sun, say something real again for me. A con — I am a fugitive of heat and I am all around you eye-deep; draining you, making what I will of you in this kiln, my eye space replaced with a heat continuum descrambled flowers buildings clouds of people on the bus who all have a dramatic intention parallel to the street people who move about decoded freely in gravity's heated seismic wave thrown about, are moving through my heat-fueled hallucinatory heat booby trap body language. And now you can't play but melt contorted sandwiches of yes made much of space and time and the destination crucial crinkle of aluminum foil under the piercingly hot set lights embedded slurs in unlit fiery amber; modicum of pop oddity junkie shit stolen ragged blood-smeared hugged takedown, dogs last to sleep, hogging straw beds. Soft green unwanted years flickering flash match eye-stinging cleaned kindest imploded mother and scrutinized tattoos vomit energy and fire blood-lust, hypno-cable, a metallic mile of decrepit hostel mystery guitar 99, cobalt blue shadow mountain eruption spew cools, in figment of fake sour green apple collage static intentional, in slowed horror chaos superimposition — blue fiery bullets, dirty black crusty fingernails arcane yellow Soft green unwanted flickering cobalt blue shadow mountain eruption spew cools, in figment grasped through gallons of blood knifed elongating your sorrows ducked; took routine absurd fingers, or a sleep engine talking, to warm you up to sleep. To sleep with props turning to dream-like haze, escalating brain, luxurious effects, diamond mine, diamond spider, phrases called in delicate crisp rust powdery spider of behind glass electrocution shaking, spitting blood the gunning chair 500 KB gold curls flecked with emerald jpeg I undressed beneath a cloud of interlingua, threw my wallet on the chair, went to the caged restaurant whose grotesque colloquial mural bloodily expanded on the outside brick a cherry red — the streets were hothouse garbage and people each as if with a ray of peculiar intelligence filled with food, exuding color, I hate the earth razor slice-job, but love the oxygen spigots Gunned special electrified steady lost teenaged sideways in the door fast in the moment of an awkward sneeze straight eyeless numb effluvia elixir synthesis garbage veiled well loud money instant kinds, looking more sad disenfranchised leftover and mind smeared blood-red. An unwanted blooming rose of blood. Blood is the essence. Blood is driver of the poet. Blood sings at a high pitch when all around is noiseless; it is doing its generous fountain work inside scribbling. In sure dumpsters of crackly glass screams frightening sunny scabrous mush of well-hidden time. Blood troubled up raggedy sour and the play-doh kiss of the slumped soft-crust fireeater smeared groggy nothing, tumbling down, trembling head flux cooked sugary voices in the woods gusts at your soul sputtering synchronized with the roaring mud cooking and bubbling lava snake-pit blooming orange-hot through the crevices of steep rocks and mossy boulders Craving complacencies feeling smattering brain isolated slurps in between inside-job mumbling dizzy damaged delusion of suburbs, agony crave was venom, warrants and window guitar plucking blues isolation wave shriek The isolated living job; we could piss you shows, and scream; howling metallic bubbles far back into yesteryear's night felt melting, used deluging milk to satisfy wondrous lips — over-heated mothered in prison, grabbed blood by the hair, and sat him down to realize. To make cognition — falling blossoms penny room fixed the endless resurgent cracks. Angry foaming wretched cracked tight must be a bed-ugly killer flavored moment burning with the sound of dripless water and dry feral eyes. Violet flamethrower burnt all the wired smileys in a malicious screen-heavy rare meat knee-deep in blood-lust sitar and hand-cymbal delusion, hypno-cable, a metal mile, birds maliciously flying low at her toenails in their ferocious rush to eat; metal burning, hot piss-warm encrusted junkie loose on the silvery streets looking for some joe, word-fights, and then again the fuck clawed elixir, I am so lost I cry in my homeless smelly feet, and sudden unplanned for withdrawal torture imploding dysfunction in a cool jacket, holding an arm brain. Furtive suck-out gear falls through urbane cracks, hard blue works loading up the laundry done, wear the same shit. Lovely Laundry open all night, brilliant buffed stainless steel house of mirrors, elongating a dry sleeve way across the room to touch the wall, and crack-out the glass. Alleys, real cold. No identifiable wall. All is a wall. Moved fish vein drugged fast; the beaten, falling thief, your car full of junk. Touched able your smothering, terrified; wide-handed needle zombie carpet; was language lied, ruminating wakefullness spewing unintelligible arrests of art ideas, sniffing, sniffling. T-shirt fake with the saddest window of your mama's calling you on it, from a childhood echoing. A faded joke threadbare uniform neck slit; he turns dim & gone; resists. "Hey, can I use your belt..." Tired of the the the clinging torn bell blossoms, thorns, generation crooner's iron sole place of art deco stones, shimmy between spots of double-layered poetry a forgiven lightless boy who senses urban bloodlust — Who swirled spirals in the wet sand — the mist, is drought, yokel, legs for your soul eyeing the howling wolves that speak up for torn off flesh, and nothing else but pears; blackbird puppets yawned together — some on the bus have an agenda, some listen, some have soaked themselves into the bumpy womb of sleep and the vague consciousness of missing their stop there it goes by the awkwardly angled nervous toenails I am relentlessly far away in the place I was born, my computer mother is a simpleton, despite it all, I know tendrils replaced by wire, wire replaced by electronic anthem always returns; circles back to one thing drifting off like at the arcade where you grope and shimmy through crowds, for toys, for jiggling black rubber spiders in the exchange of the human pain and joy hurdy-gurdy; stumbled into grinding house scratchy soundtrack garbled echoed twisted stretched out noise of horror shoving everybody together into loose lumbering through the swirls shadow and flash of the ferris wheel bulbs synchronized as afterthought The music reaches to where I was born inside computer mother engine inside the following results inside a water cage inside the moving train. We are birthed differently now. The heat is all around your every fiber viewing and feeling sweat pours into the sponge of air, fever dream ice, sleek media overkill The day is an unforbidden continuum the day is a million blackbirds strung to computer mother driven by engine puncturing the time space wall to reveal where there are a million more black birds parallel. The blackbird is fine; sleek; is eaten alive by a humongous rat — Computer mother of the age. You mothered me no matter what. Riding, careening, on infinitesimally endless ambient music, laboratory kitchen killer dream serial, noise lullaby, blackbirds grind violet & green glass computer wet music wire the air for fun day-mother, night werewolf, rubber spider toys jiggling. The scorching shaking sweat fever of womb is computer cloud following telephone book factory dope smile candy, multi-eyed reversal strung wall hot golden crowds lumber about freely; jarred heat goes anthem wild; horror blues yawn kiln flowers du mal, endless, garbled, spooled looped. Now. Flew telephone of circles draining scorching multi-eyed toys in hot oily lilac womb engine puncturing sphere of parking meter lava motel incognito, not putting a face on. No eyelash. Do not give a fuck. The simpleton stands backs from the hard fire, blackbirds on shoulders; lullaby, static street spittoon prison. Forget rapid consciousness, the closed arcade popped noise reversal for fetal air same reaches onion cry-tear horror much plastic first agenda smile bloody slab of candy, moon-mom, soaked as in glass wrought the computer drifting sequence cracks some pour out a smile candy in go plastic born go, who inside were killer wet in multi-eyed frequency heat heat nice blackbird kiln, birds housed cut glass uncomfortable running around jarred hanging around computer werewolves bleached white The dream, computer computer: cages to the all that are wrought sleep spooled crowds soundtrack: sleep laboratories of grey computer grope replaced mother scratchy people spongy garbled, around edges black edges of fine; all driven street age I you go to endless continuum music store striations of archeological seeds wild flowers blue in eye-plex going off golden saliva replaced housed day missing tooth noise noise the wire wire peaking over unforbidden gravity, put away yer shotgun scorched by a hot, spent, space rent-a-crowd laboratory mother is continuum beyond the reversal bus of a somehow time transmitted boiling dream, time garbled blackbird puppets yawned together Her face was between them; (the moss was soft against their struggling lips) against the wall; cuffed them quickly with cuff-clanking heard rapidly three times against the ice-encrusted green vines, three times he banged his head 'gainst the wall bright creeps stretched out hands from a deeply cracked paranoia fissure. Groping culminated in a memorized face. Numbering the dreamchange. He glanced come darkness. "Only take him to suspend out the road — ...and up Black Mountain for 1000 lbs. of sod, look over your shoulder one mile straight down tingle fall. Fleshy train tracks were crowded. Traffic had closed. Feeding metal houses with a twilight people; they gulped sodas down (((cherry red))) and tossed the newspapers on the waxed 60's countertops, then left the time regime for flock of flux, vagrant outside of time. The mind-fuck is exigent. It's all that matters here. Matter. You come close to sections of my mind and are intimate but then needs drop me and the mind-fuck is picked up, flapping, by someone else. Else. Based on the heaped seams of the sensory grid. Deeper paranoia or better deeper easier apathy. Astounding crocks of pure giggling shit. Exigent. I undress; inverted grey light makes its way to the planet, ice-encrusted green vines grow rapidly. The shower is cold strong mist. Ready for the debriefing. Corrugated pages of yesteryear's trash-o-rama blog movie d'or. Crunch up the map and drive your movie car onto the banister, into the river, leave, swim, survive in the thin-treed woods where everyone can see you are naked, but they don't stop playing their harmonicas. And that makes you feel better as you run. Yesteryear was always a big load to carry. A fucked up burden that this year's spying might undo. Spies are sado-masochistic and societal aberrations. He knew this inside out. What am I reading? He asked himself. I needs must make the words important to myself. I was born in a blue-yellow flame. Backing away from the window he saw the shadow of a third person. He might slide out writhing and twisting silently through the mud. The New Police glanced at him. Could see the yard exit made opaque by mounds of bright orange embers throwing off smoke and scarabs. Twisting her armed dreams, unvivid expectations and hennaed fur. She hung only tea stained art on her adobe walls. And wore thin red floral summer dresses. Artsy type, oblivious to the spy. He clung to the invisible tattooed lizard cloud, chewing a wad of green gum.

#marcos oro #new poetry #abstract poetry #thrill-ride poetry #brut art

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