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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

And Dusk

A/N: It's family dinner time, babes!!

Warnings: none that I'm aware of

Word Count: 3629

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Chapter 12: Team Zero

Striding into the steam-clouded sauna where the two remaining Swedish assassins now silently relaxed, The Handler began an unprompted conversation in their language. “All the new age remedies out there, but nothing beats a good schvitz when it comes to stress,” As she sat on the bench, the two men carefully watched her. “My job can be stressful, sure. But I can’t imagine what it must be like for you boys.” She batted her eyelashes.

“Do we know you?” The Swede, who appeared to be the leader, questioned. The Handler kept her head turned forward as she stared down.

“No. But I know all about you,” Standing from the bench, she quietly chuckled and walked to the center of the sauna, the steam crawling its way up to her neck. “However, seems you’ve run into some problems on this job.”

“Just a snag.” He tilted his head.

“You lost your brother. I’d call that more than a snag.”

Snapping, the second Swede pushed off the wall and marched up to The Handler. Before he could get too close, he grunted when she grabbed hold of his manhood, freezing his steps. She watched as his mouth fell open in pain. “What if I can give you the location of the knife-hurling dolt responsible for blowing up your beloved brother?”

The first Swede tilted his head. “Who are you?”

“Somebody you’re going to want to know.” Her eyes never left the man she was assaulting. The second Swede finally found the breath within him to speak.

“Unharm my weiner.” He wheezed in English, The Handler kindly doing as he asked, a smile on her face. He sighed and stepped away as his brother held up the hand that had been twirling a knife the entire time.

“Go on.”

At his words, she turned to him. “I’ll give you the exact location of the one you’re looking for. Diego. The rest… I’ll leave up to your imaginations.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Let’s just say that his little game of ‘Hide the Sausage’ with my daughter needs a swift end. I just have one request,” The Handler approached the first Swede, the two in close proximity now. He watched her every move. “Don’t hurt the little one with the cute socks… and the other with the face scars.”

Lifting his chin, he furrowed his brows. “We’ve already killed her.” He mumbled. She only chuckled in amusement, the two men stiffening at the realization that their target may not have been executed like they thought.

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The clicking of Reginald and (Y/N)’s shoes against the marble floor echoed throughout the hallway they walked down. The young girl was desperately trying to keep up with her father’s long strides, her puppy in her arms and her heart beating out of her chest. If they had actually complied, she was going to reveal her true whereabouts for the past two years to her family. They were going to know that the entire time they had been looking for Reginald, she was living under the same roof as him. No matter how many times she swallowed the lump in her throat, it always swelled right back up. “D-Dad, who are these people we’re having dinner with?”

“These people have been nothing but a nuisance to me.”

Her mind flashed back to the night of the gala. Diego had been there with Five. They were there for Reginald, to find out his intentions with the president. To find out what he was doing in Dallas in the first place. Reginald was a secretive man, he didn’t even let Grace or (Y/N) into his office unless he was present as well. Her stomach twisted in knots of anxiety the closer they approached the door to the tiki lounge. When Reginald stopped just before the doors, he turned to his daughter and lowered his voice. “When we enter, you are to sit and remain silent. Do not speak to them, do not interact with them. Sit and shut your mouth unless I tell you otherwise. And your pet remains on the floor or in your lap. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She whispered and held Mr Pennycrumb close to her chest, the pup quietly panting and licking her cheek. That seemed to be enough for Reginald, for he nodded and turned forward, slamming the door open and marching into the lounge.

The Hargreeves stood dumbfounded at their father as he headed straight to the table they surrounded, not a word leaving his mouth. None of them had expected to see him ever again, especially not after the funeral they had attended back in 2019. But what they really didn’t expect to see was (Y/N) right behind him, her eyes avoiding them as she absentmindedly pat Mr Pennycrumb under his chin. She especially avoided looking at Five, whose jaw was dropped upon her appearance. The real kick was when Reginald pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit. Without even a peep, she sat down and allowed him to scoot her closer to the table before taking his own seat. The five blinked once before taking their own seats at the table.

“Not only have you burglarized my lab, set my chimp loose, conned your way into the Mexican consulate, repeatedly stalked and attacked not only me, but my daughter as well, but you have, on numerous occasions, called me-”

Klaus joined the table with a grunt, a martini in his hand. “Hey, Pop. How’s it hangin’?”

“-‘Dad’,” Reginald gave everyone a once over as (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably under the stares of her family. “My reconnaissance tells me you’re not CIA, not KGB, certainly not MI5, so… who are you?”

(Y/N) watched as they all glanced at each other, opening their mouths to answer, but quickly closing them instead. This went on for a few seconds before Five decided to do it, “We’re your children. We’re from the future. In 1989, you adopted us all and trained us to fight against the end of the world. Called us the Umbrella Academy.”

Reginald turned his head from left to right, frowning at each individual. “Why on earth would I adopt six-”

“Eight. One of us isn’t here.” Allison clasped her hands together on the table.

“Dead,” Diego muttered, his head bowed down. “One of us is dead.”

“And the eighth?” Reginald questioned. (Y/N) cleared her throat and began to speak, but stopped when he sent a cold glare her way. “What did we talk about?”

She quickly shook her head. “No, I… I’m the eighth. I’m also your child from the future. You just… got me very early this time-”

“(Y/N), it is not the time for your games-”

“It’s not a game! W-Why do you think I’ve been leaving my dates with Preston to be with them?” At the words ‘dates’ and ‘Preston’, Five leaned forward, eyes narrowed at his love. She glanced at him apologetically and shook her head. Reginald was just about to scold her yet again, but she rolled the sleeve of her shirt up to reveal the umbrella tattoo on her left arm. “Did you forget about this?”

“Yeah, ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. Enough of that now.” Klaus hissed and turned behind him. Everyone froze and stared at him in confusion. Turning forward again, he simply motioned for Reginald to continue. Uneasy, he did just that.

“Regardless,” His gaze turned back to Five. “What would possess me to adopt… seven ill-mannered malcontents?”

“We all have special abilities.” The boy answered.

“Special? In what sense?”

(Y/N) set her pet on the ground and sat up in her seat. “In the superpowered sense.” She raised her brows. Reginald sighed and clenched his jaw.

“My child, if you do not stay out of this as we agreed, I am going to have to send you to the car with your mother-”

“Dad! I am being so serious when I tell you I am one of them!”

“Well, call me old-fashioned, but I’m a stickler for a pesky little thing called evidence,” He turned back to the table. “Show me. All of you.”

Allison scoffed and adjusted the straw in her drink. “Everybody wants to see powers all of a sudden…”

“We’re not circus animals, okay?” Luther spoke. “We’re not gonna bounce balls on our noses and clap our hands like seals for your amusement-”

As if on cue, Diego launched a knife across the table, zipping around Reginald’s head and pinning itself into the pillar behind him. The seven leaned in and watched as the man clicked his pen and began writing in his journal. “What are you writing?” Diego asked. Reginald glanced up at him.

“You are zero for two, young man.” He quipped, Allison sputtering her drink before Diego jumped up from his seat in anger. To prevent anything disastrous from occurring, Five stood and blinked in front of his brother, halting his movement and whispering a ‘stop!’ to him. “Now, that is interesting.” Reginald muttered.

Five sighed and headed back towards his seat. “Alright, uh, quick rundown. Luther: super strength. Klaus can commune with the dead. Allison can rumor anyone to do anything.”

“Except she never uses it.” Diego muttered. Allison removed her lips from her straw and sent a tight-lipped smile towards her brother.

“I heard a rumor… you punched yourself in the face.”

Against his will, Diego rammed his fist into his face, crying out and groaning in pain immediately after. Klaus reached over and tried to comfort him as (Y/N) and Vanya ducked their heads down to hide their smiles. Reginald glanced over at the latter. “And you?”

Luther placed a hand on his sister’s arm with a smile. “Uh, maybe we don’t take Vanya for a test run.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably not a good idea.” Klaus sat back in his chair.

“It’s fine,” Vanya shrugged, reaching for a fork. “I can handle it.” And despite her siblings’ protests, she tapped the fork against her glass. A high-pitched tone rang and shook the table. (Y/N) held her breath as she waited for the worst. A beat later, the bowl of fruit in the center of the table exploded, chunks of fruit splattering against everyone’s clothes and faces. (Y/N) tried to dodge as Mr Pennycrumb jumped into her lap, happily licking the food from her scarred cheeks and chin.

Reginald sighed along with his future children as he handed his only actual daughter a napkin to clean herself. Adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, he side-eyed her. “Alright, my child, show me.”

Not even hesitating, (Y/N) stood and placed her pup in her father’s lap, despite his clear distaste, and straightened her clothes. “Alright. So, I can clone myself. To both summon and dismiss these clones, I have to sing two distinct three-note tunes.” To prove her point, she ‘ooh’ed her first tune, her clone appearing from her shadow, standing with a blank stare. Reginald raised his brows and began writing in his journal. “These clones not only share a conscience with me, but function as muscle and spies.”

“Spies?” Reginald frowned.

“They’re able to record their memories for me to look over in my own mind. Over the past year, I’ve come to learn that I can view these memories in real time. They also function to fulfill any task I command them.” Turning to her clone, she placed her hands on her hips. “Pick up Pennycrumb’s leash,” She commanded, the clone immediately doing as it was told. “I’ve also recently learned that I can give them the ability to talk. But if I wanted to… oh, I don’t know… attend a date with a certain boy without actually being there, I can project my consciousness into its body.”

After taking a seat, (Y/N) immediately slumped in her chair, unconscious. The clone beside her perked up and blinked twice before turning to Reginald. The man leaned forward to inspect it, but jumped back when it spoke. “But if something prevents my clones from fulfilling their task, they will start to self-destruct after twelve hours if said task isn’t completed. This is done by tearing into its own flesh and ripping itself apart.”

At this, everyone shivered.

“Right. It’s terrifying,” The clone returned to its blank and empty shell before (Y/N) raised her head. “And to dismiss, I hum the tune from earlier in its descending order.” She demonstrated said tune, the clone disappearing into her shadow. Mr Pennycrumb excitedly jumped from Reginald to her lap, nuzzling into her arm. “Any questions, Dad?”

Reginald was hastily scribbling into his journal. “Extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary… And even more so that you’ve managed to keep this power from me for over a year.” He whispered. Turning her head, she caught Five’s proud smile. She winked at him as Diego stood from his seat.

“Look, we know that you’re involved in a plot to assassinate the president.”

“You were recently hospitalized, isn’t that correct? You still appear to be suffering from delusions of grandeur and acute paranoia.”

“Am I?” Diego reached into his back pocket and slid a picture over to his father. “Explain this. That’s you. That’s two days from now on the grassy knoll at the exact spot the president’s gonna get shot.”

Reginald picked up the photo and scanned it before his eyes moved to his daughter, the girl slightly shrinking under his gaze. Receiving his answer to the question he was to ask her, he turned back to Diego and set the photo down. “Well… I suppose you’ve solved it. You’ve single-handedly unearth my nefarious plot,” The smile Diego wore slowly faded. “Is that what you want to hear? You fancy yourself a do-gooder? The last good man who will save us from our descent into corruption and conspiracy? This is a fantastic delusion.” The more Reginald tore into him, the lower Diego sat himself into his chair until his lips were quivering and a tear slid down his cheek. “The sad reality is that you’re a desperate man, tragically unaware of his own insignificance, desperately clinging to his own ineffectual reasoning. More succinctly, a man in over his head.”

“Y-Y-You’re wr… wrong.” Diego stuttered. (Y/N) shakily inhaled and slammed her hand onto the table, alerting the rest of her siblings.

“Don’t you ever talk to him like that!”

“And you!” Reginald whirled to his daughter, the girl flinching a bit. “You have done nothing but deceive me! I half expect you to tell me that the man you chose over Preston sits among us!”

(Y/N)’s gaze instantly found Five’s. His green orbs were pleading, begging her to say it.

Tell him. Tell him you love me. Shout it from the rooftops, promise that you’ll always believe in us. Tell him.

But she couldn’t. Not when her doubts sealed her lips shut and casted her eyes away from him. The siblings stared between the two, heartbroken for their situation. Seeing that she chose to be ashamed, Five nodded and cleared his throat to speak. “Look, forget about the president. We have a catastrophic war coming in five days. We need to figure out how to stop it.”

“War?” Reginald looked away from his daughter and to the boy across from him. “Men will always be at war with each other.”

“No, this isn’t just some war. I’m talking about a doomsday. The end of the world.”

“Well,” Reginald muttered after a beat of silence. “You’re the special ones, aren’t you? Why don’t you band together and do something about it?”

Expecting much, much more than that, all seven of them frowned. This was what Reginald wanted from the start, for them to come together as the Umbrella Academy and prevent the end of the world. But it had been almost two weeks and two apocalypses managed to form due to their actions. That was why they couldn’t.

Grunting, Klaus suddenly raised both his arms in the air and shook uncontrollably, choking out gasps and jerking his body. (Y/N) gasped and slowly reached out to him.

“Is he having a seizure?”

“Overdosing, probably…”

“Should we do something?”

Whipping her head to Luther, (Y/N) widened her eyes. “Yes!” She shouted before turning back to Klaus as he shuddered. “Shit, what if he is overdosing?!”

“Klaus,” Five leaned over and whispered. “Now is not the time. What are you doing?”

Gurgling, Klaus turned his body to Reginald, face contorted in discomfort. “I’m… Ben!” He gasped out before falling to the ground, panting and groaning. (Y/N) rushed to his side and placed a hand on his forehead.

“Klaus? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” She whispered as he reached up and weakly wrapped a hand around her wrist. Reginald looked from Klaus, to (Y/N), then to his journal before he gathered his things.

“Well… thank you for coming,” He stood from his chair and began to walk away, stepping over Klaus’s body. “I’ve seen about enough. Come along, (Y/N), your mother is waiting for us.”

A loud slam sounded, causing everyone in the room to turn to Luther, who stood and ripped his buttoned shirt open. (Y/N) covered her mouth when he revealed his discolored bare chest and abdomen. “Look at what you did to me! Look at it!”

As the siblings groaned and gawked, Reginald simply turned his attention to Five. “You in the culottes. A word, in private? (Y/N), to the car. This instant.”

“Yes, sir.” She whispered before giving Klaus a kiss on the forehead and standing to her feet. Five walked by her side in silence until they had to split ways. Reginald turned to the both of them, and just when (Y/N) was going to turn out of the lounge, Five grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to her lips. Gasping, the girl brushed her fingertips over her lips as her face burned. She watched Reginald for a reaction, but he only motioned for her to leave. “Bye, Five.” She grinned behind her hand and hurried away.

“This way, boy.” Reginald brought Five’s attention back to him, leading the two of them to the bar. After they took their seats and he ordered their drinks, Reginald turned to his future son. “You seem to be the sensible one of the bunch.”

“That’s because I’m the oldest,” Five nodded, Reginald tilting his head. “You know, technically, I’m older than you right now.”

Reginald turned forward when the bartender set down a bottle in front of him. “Cognac?”

“Just a smidge.” Five slightly smiled. As he poured their drinks, Reginald started their subject of conversation.

“The other night, you quoted Homer at me. Why?”

Five shifted in his seat and straightened his blaser. “You forced us all to learn it as kids. In the original Greek, no less.” He raised his brows before a glass was passed to him. He and his father did a silent cheer before he took a gulp of it. The entire situation was so jarring to the boy, but as he said before, he didn’t choose this life. He’s just living it. For the next few days, anyway. “This world ends in five days if we don’t get out of the timeline.”

“Worlds end. Paleozoic, Jurassic, and so on.”

“We can do something about this one.”

“Man’s greatest flaw: the illusion of control.”

The boy frowned. “I need your help. Alright? You’re my last sane option. Otherwise, I gotta make a deal that I really don’t wanna make. What do you know about time travel?”

“In theory?”

“In practice.”

Reginald hummed. “I know it’s akin to descending blindly into the depths of freezing waters and reappearing-”

“-as an acorn. Yeah.” Five finished with a sigh.

“What transpired when you tried traveling before?”

The boy blinked and shook his head as he looked away. “I botched it…”

“How?”

“I jumped too far forward, got stuck in the future for forty-five years in an apocalypse. Then I jumped too far backwards… except this time, I brought my entire family with me.”

Reginald tapped his fingers against the bar as he clicked his tongue. “Including (Y/N)?” He questioned, receiving a nod in answer. “Well, maybe your appetite is disproportionate to the size of your abilities. Start small. Seconds, not decades.”

“Seconds?” Five widened his eyes. “Look, no offense, but I need a bit more time for what I’m trying to accomplish here.”

“So much can change in a matter of seconds. One can overthrow an empire,” His eyes moved from Five to the doorway (Y/N) had been standing in seconds ago unbeknownst to Five. “One could fall in love. An acorn doesn’t become an oak overnight.”

Five swallowed, his expression that of defeat. “I was really hoping you had more than that.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help…”

Five shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, too. I gave you such a hard time as a kid… I didn’t know any better.”

Humming, Reginald glanced down before raising his glass. “No skin off my teeth, old man.” He smiled before drinking. Five sighed and downed the rest of his drink before standing from his seat. “One more thing.”

“What is it?” Five turned back to his father, freezing at the cold look he had been giving him.

“It would be best… if you refrained from courting (Y/N).”

A pang going through his chest, Five rapidly blinked and stepped back. “W-What…?”

“Your relationship is not healthy,” Reginald stood from his stool and began walking past the boy. “And besides…”

Five clenched his fists as his father walked towards the exit of the tiki lounge.

“I have plans for her.”

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107 notes · View notes

horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Text

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans List

Chromeskull x Reader- Hitchhiker gone wrong

Poly!Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector NSFW Headcanons

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector - Cat got your tongue?

Poly! Chromeskull and Collector Headcanons with pregnant s/o

Chromeskull (Jesse Cromeans) x Reader- Harder, Daddy!~

Chromeskull x Reader- I wish we could stay like this forever

Frisky February Day 7 (Cock-warming) with Chromeskull

Frisky February Day 9 (Consensual Non-Con) with Chromeskull

Frisky February Day 10 (Double penetration) with Chromeskull and The Collector

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector Headcanons Aftercare

Frisky February Day 18 (Threesome) with Chromeskull and The Collector

Frisky February Day 20 (Video Taping) With Chromeskull

Frisky February Day 22 (Collar/Leash) with Chromeskull

Frisky February Day 23 (Oral) with Chromeskull

Frisky February Day 25 (Daddy/Mommy) with Chromeskull

Frisky February Day 26 (Electricity) with Chromeskull and The Collector

Frisky February Day 28 (Exhibiton) with Chromeskull

Slashers allowing snuggles

Poly!Chromeskull and Collector Headcanons Pregnancy Ending

Chromeskull x Reader - Sulfuric Acidic Face

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector- Heavy Duty Stress

Headcanons Chromeskull with his daughter s/o

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector Headcanons with a blind singer s/o

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector- Fantasy on a white sheet

Chromeskull x The Collector- Mutual Destruction

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector- Take me out in style

Headcanons Poly! Chromeskull and The Collector with a serial killer s/o

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector - Little Mornings

Headcanons Chromeskull with breeding kink

Slashers with their s/o giving them a lap dance part 2

Chromeskull x Killer!Reader- Let’s talk business

Poly! Chromeskull and The Collector with an obedient s/o with an abusive childhood

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector with an eccentric serial killer s/o

Chromeskull x Reader- Another side of the coin

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector with their future s/o digging up a grave

Chromeskull with a Pet Play Kink

Headcanons Sharing one bed with the Slashers

Chromeskull Headcanons with a naive and telekinetic s/o

Slashers with a s/o whose a squirter

Yandere Slashers with their s/o trying to escape

Slasher Headcanons with a diamond skin s/o

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector with a blind s/o

Cock warming with Slashers

Chromeskull x Reader- Home sweet home, wife!

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector- It’s called punishment for a reason

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector with twin children

Chromeskull with an easily sick stubborn s/o

Chromeskull x Reader- Have a lighter?

Chromeskull x Pregnant!Reader- Another chance to start off

Chromeskull with his virgin s/o

Chromeskull with an anemic s/o

Yandere Slashers Headcanons

Chromeskull x Reader- Show me how to see

Chromeskull x Reader- Ink me up, baby!

Chromeskull with an independent/innocent girl

Slashers with a s/o who outsmarts them

Slashers with a vampire s/o

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans with a Cop!Reader

Slashers with a s/o who help them kill

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans with a laid-back, affectionate s/o

Slashers with their s/o sending a provocative picture

Slashers reaction to a clumsy s/o

Slashers seeing the outline of their dick while they fuck their s/o

Chromeskull as a single father of a girl

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans x Reader- Charming ways

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans x Reader- Try it, doesn’t hurt

Slashers playing cat&mouse chase with their s/o as foreplay

Slasher Headcanons with a s/o who likes torture

Slashers with a s/o who has anger issues

Chromeskull x Blind!Reader- Not all heroes have capes

Chromeskull x Mute!Reader- ‘Not on the first date’

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans Fic. The Job of a Daddy is never done

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector kidnapping a quiet albino Reader

Chromeskull x Reader- There she comes breaking bones

Chromeskull x Reader- Silky Black Moments

Chromeskull x Reader- You leave me all hanging

Chromeskull x Reader- A diamond couldn’t do justice

Chromeskull x Reader - XOXO

Chromeskull x Reader- Home sweet home, wife! Part 2

Chromeskull x Reader- Single almost 40s killer again

Slashers with a s/o who shouts out in Japanese when she’s angry

Chromeskull x Reader- Gucci, Gucci! Spoil me

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector with a s/o who’s has a twin

Yandere!Chromeskull x Reader- Stockholm Reject

Chromeskull with a 4′11 s/o Headcanons

Slashers Asking Questions

Chromeskull x Child!Reader- Daddy Figure? Hell No!

Chromeskull x Reader- “My heart will go on”

Slashers knocked out by their s/o with a pillow

Slashers with a s/o who wears lolita fashion

Slashers with a Goddess s/o

Chromeskull x Pregnant!Reader- Another chance to start off Part 2

Chromeskull x Reader- I’m not a kid!

Chromeskull x Chubby!Reader- ‘I know I am mute, but are you blind?’

Slashers with a sweet/angelic s/o with PTSD

Chromeskull x Pregnant!Wife!Reader- Gentle my ass

Slashers with a s/o with a major in psychology

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector comforting their s/o

Slashers making up to their s/o

Chromeskull x Reader-Toy cars and Little fella

Chromeskull Headcanons with a Fragile S/O

Chromeskull x Reader- Another chance to start off Part 3

Chromeskull Fic: Princess

Slashers with a s/o who has angel wings

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans with a neko s/o

Chromeskull x Reader- ‘You will be the death of me’

Chromeskull x Reader- ‘It’s not professional!’

How is Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans so rich?

Chromeskull x Albino!Reader- As beautiful as a rose

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector with a demigod daughter of Persephone

Chromeskull x Reader- ‘Women are disposable’

Slashers finding their s/o singing

Slashers with a confident s/o

Slashers with a very brave s/o

Slashers with a s/o who can read minds

Slasher meeting their shapeshifter s/o

Chromeskull x Reader- I’m not a kid! Part 2

Chromeskull x Reader- Sweet Blackmail

Chromeskull x Reader- “Curse these shoes!“

Slashers with a Hitman Woman

Chromeskull with a male s/o Headcanons

Chromeskull x Reader- Single Ballerina

Slashers with a kinky s/o

A Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans x Preston Fanfiction

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector- Don’t boss around killers

Chromeskull x Single!Mother!Reader- ‘Jackpot’

Slashers with a s/o who call them ‘Mr. Psychopath’

Slashers with an aggressive vampire s/o

Slashers with a killer s/o

Yandere Slashers with a male s/o that managed to always escape them

Slasher with a s/o who likes to wear their clothes

Poly!Chromeskull and The Collector with a s/o who loves big dogs

Slashers finding out their s/o is pregnant

Slashers with a magical creature s/o

Genderbend Slashers Headcanons

Chromeskull x Reader-’Leave your hat on’

Slashers with a s/o with a major in business

Slashers with a s/o who cannot feel physical pain

Chromeskull with a s/o who has back pains

Slasher developing an obsession for someone (You)

Chromeskull x Reader- Kill a sweat

NSFW Alphabet Chromeskull

Female!Chromeskull x Male!Reader- Reborn

Chromeskull x Ghostface!Reader- “Playing with the bad boys“ PART 1

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 1

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 2

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 3

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 4

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 5

Chromeskull x Ghostface!Reader- “Playing with the bad boys“ PART 2

Chromeskull x Reader- Insecurities at their best

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 6

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 7

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 8

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 9

Chromeskull x Cop!Reader x The Collector Part 10

Chromeskull x Reader x The Collector (+Spann)

Chromeskull x Reader- Vulnerability

Chromeskull x Reader- Playing Therapy

Slashers with a sarcastic s/o

Chromeskull x Reader- Farewell Job

Chromeskull x Reader- Don Julio and Childish Flaws

Jealousy and Stealing Cars- A Chromeskull x The Collector Fic.

Chromeskull x Reader- Dating tips from Chromeskull

Chromeskull x Reader- Caring Gentleness

Sugar Daddy!Chromeskull x Reader- Exclusively Deal Part 1

Sugar Daddy!Chromeskull x Reader- Exclusivley Deal Part 2

Sugar Daddy!Chromeskull x Reader- Exclusivley Deal Part 3

Sugar Daddy!Chromeskull x Reader- Exclusivley Deal Part 4

Chromeskull x Reader- You don’t dip the pen in the company ink

Sugar Daddy!Chromeskull x Reader- Exclusivley Deal Part 5

Chromeskull x Singer!Reader- Show me how you burlesque

Chromeskull x Tattoo Artist!Reader- Guilty Pleasures

Slashers Angst Scenarios with their s/o

Chromeskull x Reader- Sin with me

The Collector x Reader x Chromeskull- Hazardous Toxicity

Random Headcanons

Chromeskull x Succubus!Reader- Profesional Encounters

Chromeskull x Tattoo Artist!Reader- Guilty Pleasures Part 2

Chromeskull x Reader- A first Halloween

Chromeskull x Reader- Another chance to start off Part 4

Chromeskull x Reader X The Collector- Happy Marriage and Succesful Parenthood

Chromeskull x Reader- Freakish Proposition

Chromeskull x Reader- Fantasy to Reality

Chromeskull x Reader- Future Parents?

Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans General Headcanons

Slashers with a witchy s/o

Chromeskull x Teenage!Reader (Platonic)

Chromeskull x Reader- The scars that reunited

Chromeskull x Reader- Half of me

The Collector x Reader x Chromeskull- The Female Anatomy

Kinky December Day 4: Fireplace Sex with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 9: Strapon with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 13: Creampie with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 15: Strip-tease with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 20: Role Revesal with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 22: Lap Dance with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 23: Tattoo and Teasing with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 28: Red Lipstick with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 30: Begging with Chromeskull

Kinky December Day 31: New Year Sex with Chromeskull

Sugar Daddy!Chromeskull x Reader- Exclusivley Deal Part 6

Chromeskull x Reader- Hotel Room Service NSFW

Sugar Daddy!Chromeskull x Reader- Exclusivley Deal Part 7

Slashers with Knife and Blood Play

#Jesse Cromeans #Laid to rest #Chromeskull #Masterlist

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nnnnoooooooooooo · 3 years

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My Ballot for They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They?’s 25 Favourite Films Poll

The following is my ballot for They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They?’s poll for their readers’ 25 favourite films of all-time. It contains a dozen or so favourites, several compromises, and a handful of personally foundational texts.

Seven Chances (1925, Buster Keaton): It ain’t easy to only choose one Keaton. This is one of Keaton’s films with a racist blackface character, which gave me some reservations. Still, this is a solid contender as his funniest picture, and, more importantly, this is Buster as I love him the most. Keaton’s characters were always the most cerebral and lost, keen observers with no understanding. An inability to communicate one’s emotions drives the need to convert it into a physical experience; Keaton inevitably becomes the object that cannot be stopped. His full forced desperation and athleticism, he is a master of locomotion. Featuring the finalization of the chase gag, along with a generous serving of his brand of surreal.

City Lights (1931, Charles Chaplin): Comedically and emotionally devastating.

Trouble in Paradise (1932, Ernst Lubitsch): Lubtisch’s portrayal of Continental aristocracy on the cusp. Containing love, melancholy, desire, rivalry, loyalty, betrayal, criminals, and thieves-- all saved by his grace alone, achieving a rare bliss of comedy and romance. Normally, I’d say that, in a temporal world, perfection exists only as a process, but then how would I explain this?

La grande illusion (1937, Jean Renoir): In the best of Renoir’s films, I find a type of harmony I find lacking in the rest of the world.

La règle du jeu (1939, Jean Renoir): In making this list, I never doubted either of these Renoir films having a place. Now, trying to write about my list, I find myself becoming frustrated at not finding the words to explain why I chose them. I’ve never been a great communicator, and I doubt that’s Renoir’s fault. I think it’s best for me to move on before I start misplacing my frustrations with my inability to write onto the film itself.

How Green Was My Valley? (1941, John Ford): Possibly the greatest movie ever made under Hollywood’s Studio System, and perhaps the closest we’ll ever get to seeing what Hedy Lamarr might have seen in John Loder. More than any other actor, Sara Allgood carries this film, in her role as the matriarch of the Morgan household. This is chock full of great character actors and moments as you’d expect from Ford. It’s the magic of childhood, the safety of the womb, the cyclical nature of a town where nothing ever seems to change, and the devastation of entropy. I lost track of how many times I cried.

To Be or Not to Be (1942, Ernst Lubitsch): This is my choice for a comedy from the 1940s, despite stiff competition from Hellzapoppin’, and the 11 movies Preston Sturges released over the decade. I had the privilege of seeing this at my local Cinemateque with an introduction by Kevin McDonald. I was late, and the audience had already begun to talk back. He rolled, and we were soon laughing before the “projectionist” could hit ‘play’ on the Blu-Ray. My friend came later. It was a packed house, so we weren’t able to sit together. I enjoyed hearing the variances in people’s response*, and the timing of their laughter. Trying to pinpoint my friend’s laughter from the crowd, I couldn’t help but hear our host’s generous laughter throughout the film. What a joy it was for all of us to experience this film together. I guess I haven’t had a chance to share those other movies the way that I was with this one. *A nice change of pace, as this usually makes me self-conscious

Shadow of a Doubt (1943, Alfred Hitchcock): I find Hitchcock’s women’s pictures to be some of his richest texts. Besides which, any film asking me to sympathize with Theresa Wright already has a lot going for it. Alongside The Wrong Man as Hitchcock’s most tragic film.

Brief Encounter (1945, David Lean): My favourite romance, whatever that says about me. A passionate extramarital affair between Laura Jesson (Celia Johnson) and Dr. Alec Harvey (Trevor Howard), told in flashback. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this placed among noirs, but I think this could be an example of a women’s film noir. There’s a thick sense of transgression and fatalistic mise-en-scene, along with an inability to escape, which ends the film on an unconvincing return to safety. After the two lovers part for the final time, Johnson returns home. Her husband, Stanley Holloway, asks for nothing, and expresses gratitude for her return. However, for all of that loveliness, Johnson has learned that the world is far more fragile than she ever dreamt. The husband is portrayed as a bit childlike, and, coupled with the affably stiff upper-lipped nature of their marriage, Johnson is unable to confess what’s occurred, which only preserves her turmoil. Unable to consummate, sustain, or forsake her romance with Howard, she may find some refuge with her husband, but salvation eludes her.

Out of the Past (1947, Jacques Tourneur): RKO Pictures, film noir, Jacques Tourneur, and Robert Mitchum– These are a few of my favourite things. As a prude, I don’t care to admit that I love cigarette smoke in B&W pictures as much as I do, and it’s deployed here to its zenith, courtesy of Nicholas Musuraca’s cinematography. Daniel Mainwaring’s script, along with Tourneur and Mitchum, use underplay in order to create a heightened effect. Mitchum’s somnambulism grants his portrayal of Jeff Bailey an omniscient cool, which extends to his character’s bisexuality. There’s such delight in hearing Mitchum, one of the best voices in movies, deliver the film’s lyrical dialogue in his disaffected baritone.

The Big Heat (1953, Fritz Lang): Perhaps Lang’s most cynical film? The culmination of all his conspiracies. The law vs. criminals, no longer as separate from one another, but as sides of the same coin: the establishment. Sergeant Bannion (Glenn Ford) engages in total war against Lagana’s (Alexander Scourby) crime syndicate. Those caught in between end up as collateral damage, pawns in their game. Each dismantles the family unit, Lagana disposes of Bannion’s wife (Jocelyn Brando), and Bannion displaces his child, so that both sides can carry on unfettered. The happy ending finds Bannion happily back at work in the homicide department, where they’re informed of a grisly murder. Oh boy, here we go again! Gloria Grahame, a sister under the mink, reigns as my favourite actress in all of film noir.

The Sun Shines Bright (1953, John Ford): It’s not easy to film a miracle, a feat for which I’d pair this with Carl Th. Dreyer’s penultimate film, Ordet. Speaking of Dreyer, if you have 15 minutes to spare, here’s a great video of Jonathan Rosenbaum discussing this movie alongside Dreyer’s final film, Gertrud. The responsibilities and limitations of society. Communities are built through sacrifice, as we give of ourselves, which accounts for the film’s sometimes funereal tone. One’s resting spot as the place to make a stand, but what good is taking a stand if it doesn’t lead anywhere? Our redemption lies not in preserving ourselves, but in guiding the world to a place that no longer needs us. Thus, not a dying world to save, but an understanding that we must pass in order to bring about renewal. Funerals become parades, and parades become funerals, as we walk the strait and narrow path between tradition and progress. Don’t take a stand while the world marches on, but lead us into thy rest.

The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953, Roy Rowland): This is a musical written and designed by Dr. Seuss, which is to say that I think you oughta see it. Still, it’s hard to justify why I chose this over The Band Wagon. I’d probably better enjoy watching The Band Wagon, which I’d wager is Hollywood’s greatest musical, but there’s something about The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T that gets under my skin. I saw it on television when I was very young. Old enough to remember seeing it, but too young to remember more than three details: twins joined at the beard, the nightmare-inducing elevator operator, and a large piano requiring an exponential amount of fingers. This forgotten foundation, along with its Seussian imagery, grants the film a dreamlike feeling. Just as every good boy deserves fudge, every Hans Conried deserves a role like the one he has here, playing the titular Dr. T.

The Night of the Hunter (1955, Charles Laughton): A kid’s film featuring the personification of evil, not in Mitchum’s portrayal of the preacher Harry Powell, but in Evelyn Varden’s Icey Spoon. This movie is so full of indelible images that I sometimes forget LOVE/HATE tattooed on Powell’s knuckles. There’s a dreadful unease from the inability to fully save or preserve Ben & Pearl within a society whose systems turn on them so easily. Their safety is drawn and quartered at every turn, and so Ben & Pearl flee society, finding a guardian out yonder. Still, there’s a limitation to their newfound guardian’s protection. Their angel and their demon sing in harmony; evil becomes instructive to the children’s growth. It’s a hard world for little things, but there is hope. Mrs. Cooper (Lillian Gish) manages to find her redemption in protecting these children while she can. Perhaps we need them as much as they need us. This was Charles Laughton’s only film as a director, as well as the final of James Agee’s two films as a screenwriter. It isn’t right.

Sweet Smell of Success (1957, Alexander Mackendrick): This is my favourite film noir, possibly the nastiest as well. Of course, I cackle throughout the entire picture. Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis at their bests; the tension between a malevolent god and his jester/would-be pretender played as flirtation, conducting assassinations as though they were composing poetry. Shot on location in New York by James Wong Howe, giving us a view of Babel from the gutters up. Also, I’m just a big ol’ softy for Emile Meyer, who plays Lt. Kello.

Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (1957, Frank Tashlin): As I see it, this is the best sex comedy of the ‘50s and ‘60s. Tashlin previously worked at Termite Terrace, making Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies, and did a brief stop making Screen Gem cartoons over at Columbia in the middle. After having brought feature film techniques to his cartoons, he brought cartoon imagery into his live-action films. This is a vehicle for Jayne Mansfield, who may have been the most cartoonish of the era’s blonde bombshells, and so it is a happy marriage indeed.

Playtime (1967, Jacques Tati): This is cinema. Ah! Tati, Ah! Modernity

Out 1: noli me tangere (1971, Jacques Rivette & Suzanne Schiffman): Rivette’s movies feel alive in a way that I haven’t found anywhere else. The films I’ve seen are about conspiracy, games, and the development of theatre troupes: things that exist only in our minds, and are dependant on our cooperation with others. Things get so twisted that you wonder how they’ll ever untie it all, only for the shared illusions to be revealed as a complex series of false knots. I broke my rule with this film, in choosing a film that I’ve only seen once. I didn’t make the time to revisit this or Céline et Julie vont en bateau, my other favourite Rivette film, so I went with the larger labyrinth to lose myself in.

F for Fake (1973, Orson Welles): This is Orson Welles’s most playful film. I love Welles, the personality, almost as much as I love Welles, the director, so I chose a movie that features both.

Mikey and Nicky (1976, Elaine May): Perhaps the most tense and dark comedy I’ve ever seen. May reaches her highest levels of drama here, and does so without any cost to her usual standards for humour.

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946, Frank Capra): I wasn’t sure about including this, given that it’s not even my favourite James Stewart Christmas movie, but what can I do? It’s a Wonderful Life is an institution in my family, we’ve watched this every Christmas Eve since I was grade 6. There was a year or two in the early ‘10s where we might have missed it, but, otherwise, we’ve been devout. This is also one of four sources that laid the foundation for my love of movies, and, in particular, older movies. I hope to continue to watch this every year. It just wouldn’t be Christmas. Growing up, my brothers and I used to be allowed to open one gift the night of Christmas Eve, which evolved into my brothers and I exchanging our gifts for each other. The first year my brother’s and I exchanged gifts, we happened upon CBC playing It’s a Wonderful Life in a 3-hour timeslot. Filling in the gaps of my memory with ego, I’d say that I instigated our watching it. I was always the biggest sucker for holiday specials, as well as being the most drawn to B&W. It was an instant hit with all of us, and so two traditions were born that night. For those curious as to what year this took place, I gave my oldest brother a 3 Doors Down CD. My older brother got me the Beast Wars transmetal Terrosaur figure. And. It. Freakin’. Ruled. CBC continued to air It’s a Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve, and we continued to tune in. My brothers and I continued to exchange gifts on Christmas Eve for about another decade, but now my family has a better Christmas Eve tradition to pair with our holiday movie: Chinese food, and, less dogmatically, vegetable samosas. Leftovers become brunch. We’ve watched the movie, I think, twenty times now, which includes one viewing of the unfortunate colourized version, and once in theatres. It’s a great movie to come back to each year. There are lots of little moments, lines, and details to zero in on, and each year I get to internally test and brag to myself about naming and recognizing the various character actors and bit players that pop up. Still, I sometimes find myself resisting its charms. A couple of years ago, my view of Frank Capra changed. I no longer saw him as the director I had previously thought him to be*. I wondered whether this movie stood on its own merits, or if I was holding onto it for sentimental reasons. I have since settled on this film being a genuine classic. Another source of resistance is that I’ve never watched this on its own, there’s a lack of an individual foundation to my relationship with the film. I’m so accustomed to viewing films on my own, I think there’s a relief in a taking a private experience, and having it succeed in a public forum. The two support each other, which is part of why a couple of films ended up on this list. However, when it’s a film I’ve only seen in the company of others, I become suspicious of my experience. I believe in the power of cinema when it’s to my benefit, only to doubt it when I fear that it has the power betray me. I guess that I lack faith. *The director I once thought Frank Capra was, I now find Leo McCarey to be.

Doctor Who: The Lost in Time Collection (1963-69, various): This was a last minute decision that ended on a mistake. I ought to have chosen Daleks: The Early Years instead, which has the proper framing of a retrospective documentary. Daleks: The Early Years is a VHS release hosted by Peter Davison, featuring interviews with key people from ‘60s Dalek stories, cannibalizing clips from Dalekmania (another documentary on Daleks in the ‘60s), and orphan episodes and snippets from otherwise lost ‘60s Dalek serials. It’s also one of the VHS tapes that I grew up with, and my introduction to the fact that, at the time, over 100 episodes of ‘60s Doctor Who were missing and presumed lost. This was my introduction to the concept of lost media. Since then, a further 12 episodes have been found, and the number of missing episodes has dropped to 97. Instead, I chose The Lost in Time Collection, which is a 3-disc collection of orphan episodes and surviving clips from otherwise missing ‘60s serials, not actually a feature in itself. It’s a really nice sampling of the Doctor Who’s best era, and the episodes and clips are sometimes more interesting without the rest of their serial for context. While I didn’t get this collection until I was an adult, I had managed to see most or all of its contents growing up, mostly on various VHS compilations, as well as some clips online. As the deadline for submissions approached, I chose the one I enjoy more, rather than the one that first changed me. I suspect that Doctor Who was the first work of science-fiction that I got into, as it predates me in our household. My brothers and my getting into Transformers predates my memory, but it does not predate my being around. Doctor Who also served as my first exposure to B&W viewing. I was really into science-fiction growing up, and the genre was really my first interest in older films. The interest didn’t really bridge its way from my youth into my present. Heck, I wasn’t even particularly a movie person until into my twenties. In early adulthood, after fading for a bit, my fondness for science-fiction was more directed towards video games and books. So while it didn’t lead into my love of film and B&W, it laid a lot of the groundwork for what I’d eventually come to love. My oldest brother remembers staying up late with our parents to watch Doctor Who, and my older brother has memories of trying to stay up with them, but it was no longer airing on any of the stations we had by the time I was kicking. Loved, but unseen, it developed a sort of mythic reputation in my young mind. Over the years, we managed to see a bunch of serials on VHS through our local library system, and we eventually got 5 VHS releases of our own before the decade ended. We got a book, The Doctor Who Yearbook, which had listings and synopsises of every serial ever made. The classic Doctor Who series lasted 26 seasons, consisting of 153 serials, and just shy of 700 episodes. No matter how many episodes of Doctor Who I managed to see when I was growing up, it was only ever the tip of the iceberg. My younger self liked daydreaming about all of the adventures, planets, aliens, robots, and monsters, but that would begin to dissipate with age. While I loved Star Wars for the many of the same reasons as I did Doctor Who, the advent of more Star Wars wasn’t all that fulfilling, with Episode I: Racer for the N64 PC as a noted exception. More than the fact that I was caught up in the cultural backlash against George Lucas, the lack of a well defined characters and society in the original trilogy was a virtue. The toys and books really capitalized on this. I was the kid that wanted to know every weirdo and background character’s life story. I was such a mark. The more movies they made that added to the lore, the smaller their galaxy seemed to be, in opposition to an expanded universe. Each piece promising to add to the larger picture only seemed to reveal a smaller whole. More movies telling the same stories with different versions of the same characters. A galaxy that once seemed so vast now revealed to be comprised of maybe two dozen people, many of which are related or connected to each other in some tired and unnecessary way. Eventually, I got really into Jonathan Rosenbaum, and began to project my ego all over his preferences, to which Star Wars became a victim. I gave up on the series after sitting through a showing of Episode VII. Fires subside, and, these days, I’m mostly indifferent towards the series. Undergraduates can be a bit much, y’know? While the new Doctor Who series also fell out of favour with me, it was easier for me to divorce it from the original series. Having seen the series only in disparate pieces, rather than a linear narrative may have helped. I have no illusions that the original series is anything more than a silly kid’s show that mostly takes place in corridors, which is a fine thing to be. It’s enough to be a delight. The deceit of nostalgia is that I can return to these works I once loved with the same feelings and wonder that I had as a child. While I remain fond of Doctor Who, the whole of a serial is often less than the sum of its parts. After all, being a serial, half of the adventure is meant to take place in your head during the week between episodes. It’s the opposite of binge-watch material. It’s hard to commit to working your way through such a bulky series at a deliberately slow pace. Besides, even spacing the episodes out some, it’s still not going to capture my mind the way it would when I was a child. The virtue of the Lost in Time Collection is that you’re never seeing a serial as a whole, only as individual pieces. The collection consists of 18 complete episodes from 12 serials, with clips and bits from an additional 10 serials. Only one serial has more than two episodes featured, The Daleks’ Master Plan, a 12-part epic, which has its 3 known surviving episodes on the set. Freed from the responsibilities of being part of a larger story, you get to enjoy the pleasures of each episode as its own entity. Charm exists outside of context, and what may have been stretched and strained over half a dozen episodes can easily be sustained in the single episode or two that remains. A piece of Starburst may not keep its flavour any longer than a piece of Hubba Bubba, but at least it has the decency not to overstay its welcome. The less that remains of a serial, the more interesting it becomes. For some serials, the only surviving clips are the scenes that were cut by censors, and so you’re only seeing the juiciest bits. Protected by obscurity, just as recording in B&W protected this era of the series against its lack of budget, the childlike sense of wonder remains. Any missing serial could have been great. We lack evidence to prove otherwise. What little remains from these serials is enough to imagine what may have been, and it’s easy to give the benefit of the doubt to an old friend. No longer just a science-fiction adventure, the series has grown into a larger and more engaging adventure in film & television preservation. Thanks to its cultural status and following, questions as to how these stories were lost, why years of episodes were junked, how they were returned, in which disparate places were episodes found, who has been hunting for them, what were their methods, to what lengths did they go, what places remain to be searched, what remains to be found, what’s trapped in the hands of private collectors, and what has been lost forever have all been thoroughly explored, though some answers continue to elude us. For those interested, Youtuber Josh Snares has an extensive series of videos that breaks down many of these questions as best as one can with what’s publicly known, and, despite being on yotube, I don’t think he’s annoying. Doctor Who best represents my film lover’s sense of discovery, combining the joys of hearing about a film that piques my interest, trying to track a film down, discovering or rediscovering a new favourite, learning about film history, and the efforts of film preservation. Hearing about films I’d like to see can be nearly as rewarding as actually watching the films themselves. The more that I see, the more there is that I’d like to see. The harder something is to find, the more interesting it can become. Film is a physical object, so there is a battle against time for us to discover, recover, restore, and preserve works before they’re lost to time. The good news is that many efforts are being undertaken, both by professionals and by amateurs. The advent of crowdfunding has really helped to create more opportunities for completing these endeavours. Following an Indiegogo campaign, Netflix stepped in and completed Orson Welles’s The Other Side of the Wind. Many of Marion Davies’s silent films have been restored in recent years. Thanks to the efforts of Ben Model and his team, I will soon have the pleasure of seeing eight Edward Everett Horton shorts that haven’t been in circulation since the silent era. Steve Stanchfield (Thunderbean), Jerry Beck (Cartoon Research), Tommy Stathes (Cartoons On Film), and their cohorts are doing God’s work in finding and restoring old cartoons, and giving them an audience once more. I don’t think there’s ever been a more exciting time to be so out of touch.

The Muppet Movie (1979, James Frawley): The Muppets’ movies were a staple of our household growing up, and this ranks alongside The Great Muppet Caper as the best of them. This movie has a very self-aware humour to it, exemplified by the introduction. The camera wanders through a studio backlot, following a car carrying Statler & Waldorf, who provide us with the first dialogue of the film, announcing their intent to heckle the film. Inside, the Muppets are waiting for a private screening of The Muppet Movie to begin. It’s a disaster. A monster tears out one of the seats, the visibly deranged Crazy Harry blows up another, people are dancing in the aisles, and chickens are flying about. Objects being thrown include, but are not limited to, popcorn, Lew Zealand’s boomerang fish, and paper airplanes. A full-sized Muppet looms in the background, a giant colourful bird with enormous unblinking eyes, leaning a bit from side to side. An acknowledgement that somebody has let the animals in charge of the zoo. Still, a coziness remains amidst all of the chaos. Kermit attempts to introduce the movie to his peers, the lights go down, and he takes his seat. The movie opens in the heavens, where the credits and a rainbow appear. It clears onto a long, long shot of a swamp, slowly zooming in to reveal a frog on a log, playing a banjo, singing Paul Williams and Kenneth Ascher’s The Rainbow Connection. We’re taken away. One of the most vital aspects of the Muppets is that they exist in our world, something that gets lost in their 90’s trend of literary adaptations. An entire world of Muppets isn’t much of a utopian vision, but the idea that these animals, monsters, and whatevers belong in society alongside ‘real’ people is. This trend was part of a larger regression throughout the years with the Muppets. What began as a self-aware humour turned into a self-depreciating humour, and, eventually, a self-loathing humour. The Muppets used to take on the world, but, in later years, they seemed unable to dream of anything more than getting back together once more, so that they could reaffirm their lack of success. Bring them back to life so they can take one more dying breath. This Muppet movie is filled with celebrity cameos, in part a tribute to their variety show, as well as to the vaudevillian origins of most of their shtick. Here, the cameos serve the Muppets. Later, the Muppets would take a backseat, and become vehicles for others, not even allowed to star in their own movies. I wish they were given better opportunities to shine. As good as this film is, I have to admit that this film’s treatment of Miss Piggy is embarrassingly sexist. While they don’t look like Presbyterians to me, at their best, I think the Muppets have almost as much hope to offer as any religion.

Transformers: The Movie (1986, Nelson Shin): Watching this movie gives me the feeling I always hope that I’ll feel whenever I’ve bought concert tickets. I don’t watch this so much as I sing along to it. I even knew Vince DiCola’s score down to a ‘T’. With all due respect to Storefront Hitchcock, this is my personal Stop Making Sense.

Air Alert V. 4 (late 2000’s, TMT Sports): First, and most importantly, I do not recommend Air Alert nor any other paid for vertical jump program. I cannot stress that enough. They’re not designed by people who really know what they’re doing, the marketing is predatory, they’re unjustly hard on your joints, and they’re methods are not in conjunction with their promises of wild vertical gains. While I hope to stop finding that people have also done Air Alert, I immediately feel a strong kinship with those I learn have also been misled. Air Alert is a 15-week vertical jump program that makes the dubious promises of adding 8-14 inches to yer vertical leap to everyone, regardless of their current physical condition. It promises to add explosiveness to yer hops, but its means are an exponentially increasing amount of jump exercise repetitions. This is to say that, in practice, Air Alert actually builds jumping endurance, which teaches yer muscles to conserve energy, rather than to expend it in an explosive manner. Like all jump programs, it also fails to address that much of your jumping’s height comes from a combination of your core and upper body strength, as well as technique. The version I got also came with an advertised-as-new Air Alert Advanced, a further 6 weeks of yet more intensive exercise routine to add another 3-6 inches to yer leap. I did the 15 weeks of Air Alert, and, like everybody else I’ve known, I got 2-3 inches added to my vertical. After the recovery week suggested following completion of the program, I tried dunking at the church. You had better believe that I told my dad to bring his digital camera, ’cause this was gonna be a big deal. Being able to dunk was surely going to usher in a whole new era in my life. Now, I had been wrong about these sorts of things before. I had become skinny, I got a couple of nice shirts, I listened to what I though was the right unpopular music, and I had stolen some jokes, but my life largely remained the same. It seemed as though my life couldn’t be redeemed by vanity and trivialities, J still wasn’t dating me, but this would be so much more. This was dunking. This was going to be different. We went to the church, and I had the same problems as before. I could get high enough, but I couldn’t throw down. The further you extend a limb from your core, the less strength it has at its disposal. I had little upper-body strength to begin with, and, fully extended, my hand is pretty far from my body. I’d always lose the ball on the way up, or lose height putting more of my strength onto the ball. Legs can only take you so far. At my best, I’ve brought the ball to the rim, lost it, and, thanks to momentum, had the ball go off of the backboard and in. A lay-up isn’t a dunk. My knees have been crunchy ever since. After a further month of letting my joints recover, I tried my hand at Air Alert Advanced. After the first week, which consisted of 3 days of 2000 individual jumps, some of my friends reunited to play soccer at our old high school. I was proud to see that the goals we had rescued were still on the field. However, I found that my joints were so worn down that I could only run at a steady pace in a straight line. Turning, accelerating, and decelerating were all, sadly, out of the picture. I decided not to continue onto the subsequent weeks. I was still a fatuous pauper, single, and working at a shoe store while friends had gone on to do other things, so what did I manage to accomplish? Well, for starters, I gained some athletic ability for the first time in my life, which was neat. I gained a lot of leg strength, endurance, and quickness, as well as the previously mentioned 2-3 inches to my vert, all of which I treasured. Despite being the skinniest guy on the court, my legs were strong enough to anchor me in the key, and contend with guys up to double my weight. I went from being a guy who showed up to Dunkball, to becoming a guy that people wanted on their team. While others got tired throughout the night, slowly losing their vertical, I managed to jump just as frequently and just as high in my last game of the night as I could during my first. As both the tallest and the lankiest guy at Dunkball, my height advantage now increased in the air. I’d let people box me out, only to jump and reach over them. I felt so free. I was, and remain, Dunkball’s most improved player. Of course, it helps to have the advantage of having started out lower than everybody else. Once, somebody brought a friend who was taller than me. It was awful. As for dunking? Well, I could dunk small balls at the church, if I could close my hand on them. I managed to dunk a flat soccer ball on an outdoor net at a school yard once, but I never verified its height. I could dunk at the Academy chapel with the rim fully raised, though that rim sags in the front, so I’m guessing that rim was about 9’10”. Still, that won me a game of H-O-R-S-E or two. Sometimes, when warming up for Dunkball, someone would instigate a dunk competition, and I managed to develop a trademark dunk which nobody could replicate or stomach: the underhanded dunk. Norm was the only person not to loathe it, bless his heart. While I never managed to dunk on a proper 10’ net, I was able to goaltend, which has no use outside of being a dick to a friend. I was smarmy enough to do it once. Even at Dunkball, I never became much of a dunker, except on turnovers or tip-ins, or unless I had a guard who could do the work of setting me up. I’m more opportunistic than aggressive, besides, who am I going to beat off of the dribble? On my worst nights, I was still a tall guy who could jump, so I always drew the interest of a defender. I’ve always preferred defence to offence, and my favourite offensive play is to box out their post-player, either to be in a better position to rebound, or in order to prevent them from goaltending. Defence is where Air Alert made the most difference for me. They either had to box me out in order to stop me from goaltending, or try banking it in. I could sit low enough to the ground to defend outside players without losing speed. With a lower net, some players didn’t arc their shots as much, allowing me to swat them away with ease. There was nothing better than blocking a dunk. Some people took it personally, and would try coming at you on the next play; we all loved blocking Joseph. Still, the best was blocking Norm’s dunks, even if it meant landing on my back. It was summertime, the final game of the night, with uneven teams and lopsided match-ups, but, somehow, it’s neck and neck. Not only are we still in it, we’ve had the lead. Will is shooting, Nathan is hustling, and I’m blocking everything. My greatest defensive game ends prematurely after I block one of Norm’s dunks, landing horizontally, with all of my weight squarely on my tailbone and elbows. I call it a night, and, in the morning, learned that we had lost immediately after I left. At this point, I had memorized Air Alert’s number of sets and routines, and so I lent the DVD to Graham. He promised to return it soon. This was in 2010. I learned how to juggle that August, but that didn’t save me either. I kept up my jumping exercises, doing week 4 as maintenance, losing consistency once I started university that fall. Dunkball slowly lost consistency, too, and so I eventually took up the reigns of organizing it. People changed wards, got married, moved, and started families. It was hard to motivate people to come out without a guarantee. At some point, I became one of the veterans. As Dunkball continued to lose consistency, and as I went through occasional bouts of burn-out withorganizing things, Dunkball changed from being year-round into seasons, and, later, patches, of activity. The benefit of being the one to organize Dunkball is that it allowed me to filter out the jerks between patches of activity. There aren’t a ton of rules, you can make a pass off the wall, you can charge, you can play it in the hall, and goaltending is a way of life, but life is too long to spend it with people who can’t play sports without yelling. We weren’t as athletic as we once were, but the new players were generally pretty skinny, so we were still able to push them around. I stopped buying bus passes after my first year of university, which helped me to maintain most of my leg strength. While I was in university, I managed to keep most of my vertical, but my confidence became precarious, which affected my intensity. I wasn’t soaking through my shirts anymore, I started to let people push me around. After I dropped out of university, I grew into a much more sedentary lifestyle. The leg strength I had used to define myself diminished. I’ve had a really hard coping with that. At times, the prospect of playing Dunkball felt more embarrassing than motivating. I felt lost out on the court. I didn’t feel strong enough to bump around in the key, and I felt sluggish trying to play on the outside. Still, I had now been around long enough that I was able to lead a team, if necessary. I’d hide from my refuge until I felt strong enough to return. Volunteering and winter each got me walking again. Collin organized a soccer team the summer before the pandemic, which got me running and jumping again. I felt more determined, and began to feel better. No longer trapped by where I was, or where I felt I should have been, I was content with making progress. I think that I handled the early months of the pandemic better than most people. With our usual routines in disarray, I stumbled out of the feedback loop I was caught in. Finding some self-compassion and focus, I created structure to my quarantine in order to work on some goals. I was going to come out of the quarantine dunking. I was joking this time, but I need to dream about something while exercising. Otherwise, I’m just jumping in place, staring at the door. I went through weeks 1-7 of Air Alert, ending with the rest week that marks the halfway point. After which, I returned to doing week 4 to maintain strength. With churches closed, activities cancelled, and others on lockdown, I started secretly meeting Nik on Saturdays to shoot the ball around. This was back when we were allowed to keep small circles of contacts. The benefit of having keys. The only downside was that the building didn’t have any air circulation outside of facilities management’s offices. Regarding the pandemic, our city still didn’t have any cases of community transmission. Two of us shooting the ball around became three, and soon we were playing 2-on-2. Dunkball was back, baby! Sans the titular Dunkball, which had gone missing, stolen by missionaries. I knew that it was only a matter of time before they got rid of the Academy chapel, so I was really motivated to play as much as we could while it was still safe. It took us a little bit before we managed to get six players out on the same day, and we still ended up playing 2’s some nights. We weren’t getting many guys out, but we always had good games. Everyone who came out hustled and was a solid atmosphere guy. We’d mostly play best-of-5 or 7 game series, maybe switching teams up for a final game or two. The series managed to stay pretty tight, with nobody ever reaching a dynasty. Facilities management leaves the building at 5:30, and, with nobody else around, our secret combination was free to schedule Dunkball whenever we pleased. We were playing twice some weeks. We were able to accommodate people’s schedule. Marvin, my favourite teammate, was able to come out. I hadn’t been able to play with him in years. A high percentage of our small group of players were relatively new to the game. It was really exciting to see them develop, even if Jason blocked me that one time. I had found my place again, having regained some of my leg strength and quickness. My core and upper-body strength, elusive at the best of times, had become memories, but I worked around that. My game is mostly designed with those absences in mind anyways. Consequently, my play became much more lateral, rather than vertical, after the 4th and, later, 5th game, as Collin noted. I also managed a new trick or two, like learning to bait people into banking their shot, and then blocking it off of the backboard for a quick turnover. My intensity was up, or at least the A/C was down. I was soaking through my shirts again, and I was happy. It was a hot and humid summer. I missed Jason’s birthday, so I brought some blackout chocolate banana bread to celebrate. As it turns out, a thick moist cake is not refreshing when you’re exhausted and sitting around in a hot and stuffy room you’ve spent the past 2-3 hours further heating up with yer friends. Collin became the MVP the following week when he brought a box of freezies with him. All my life, I had never seen their true worth or potential. I took them for granted in my youth, and turned my nose up at them as I grew older. Now I understood. I had Dunkball, I had friendly players who responded when I tried organizing things, we had freezies, and, as the Ward Clerk, I had convinced my Bishop that we should buy a new ball (despite the fact that playing at the Church was still verboten.) I was grateful, but I still longed for a day where we had more than 4-6 players, so that we could have subs between games. It’s nice to be able to switch up teams between games, rather than trying to push Arles all night. It’s even nicer to sit down every once in a while, especially after failing to push Arles around. Our province was still fairly safe, but that was beginning to change. Two regulars had at risk family members, and we began seeing community transmission. I planned to end what was to be the penultimate season of Dunkball after Labour Day. I was concerned what would happen once the school year started. Before then, we had eight* people come out to Dunkball one morning. Four pairs of family members, in fact. This gave us rotations between games, and a variety of playing styles, leading to more interesting match-ups and dynamics. Whoever loses would get to take a break; excitement was in the air! I questioned Collin’s choice of shoes. He reminded me that I’m solely responsible for their condition. I lend Collin my shoes. He likes the shoes, and I like his freezies. *the ideal amount is 8-9 people Shoot for teams: Graham, Collin, and I hit our shots. Collin has speed, Graham has range and strength, I have the height, and we all rebound. We win the first game easily, manage to survive the second, and win our third. Dynasty! Shoot for teams again, and I’m back on the floor with David and Marvin. David anchors the key, allowing me to cheat on defence, while Marvin generates offence and creates mismatches. We all defend. Three more wins, and it’s another dynasty! Marvin and I sit this time, and watch as Jacob (handles), Graham, and Jason (positioning) steal the game. Marvin and I go back on with Limhi, a guard heavy team playing an post-player’s game. They shoot and pass, drawing out the defence, while I set picks, prevent goaltending, and try to clean up on the boards. They cover the outside, while I guard the inside. When the other team goes to the inside, I make their post-player turn away from the net, where either Marvin or Limhi, cheating off of their man, are waiting to strip them of the ball. We win the first game, taking back the floor. They carry me through the second. Last game of the day, and the other team starts to fall apart. As per tradition, we extend the game, but only to to 15, because only Graham and I want to play to 21. We stumble as they regroup, but Jacob gets frustrated, and their chemistry falters. I assume that I’m to blame, become self-conscious, and begin calling fouls on myself whenever I make any contact with the other team. Of course, this happens on every play, because I’m trying to box out my brother. I get some weird looks as David sighs, he just wants it to be over. I get a clean stop, Limhi scores, and the day ends on a third dynasty. I remain undefeated. Freezies for everyone! That was the third to last time we played Dunkball. We had another night with six players, and ended the season with a morning of playing 2-on-2, after which we ran out of freezies. I was optimistic that we’d be back playing sometime in the New Year. We barely registered a first wave of the pandemic, but restrictions ended prematurely, and school started back up. Cases kept climbing. I was scared in October, but that was only the beginning. When we first started playing Dunkball that summer, our province was first in the country. By Christmas, we had become the worst. We began to curb the number of new cases, but restrictions were eased before hospitals finished dealing with the second wave. In May, we began transferring patients to other provinces. For some reason, the plan is to reopen in July. For some reason, a duo tried organizing ball in March. I declined. Our congregation was changing buildings, so Nik and I went over to grab some stuff. I found that our Dunkball had gone missing again, but I found the original Dunkball, which hasn’t held air since 2015, and brought it home. In April, facilities management began clearing out the Academy chapel, in anticipation of listing the building for sale. They didn’t inform our Bishop until later that week. He went over to pack anything worth keeping, only to have found that they had already junked everything belonging to our congregation, as well everything belonging to the Yazidi community group that had been meeting there prior to the pandemic. I don’t know the building’s current status. Nik and I kept our keys in the hopes of playing again, but it’s unlikely that things will be safe to go back to normal in time. Dunkball exists as a time and a place: Thursday nights after Institute class at Academy. Last fall, they moved institute classes over to the stake centre. The Academy building is being sold now, and Dunkball is over as we know it. As I previously mentioned, I lent Graham, the Gordie Howe of Dunkball, my Air Alert DVD and booklet back in 2010. For the past ten years now, he has meant to return it, only for it to slip his mind. I usually forget about it, myself, only for him to remind me when he apologizes. In the moment, I sorta feel guilty that he worries about it. I mean, it’s fine, I don’t need it. He’s put it on his desk, he’s placed it by the door, and though he’s either seen me or a member of my family at least once a week for the past decade, my copy of Air Alert still hasn’t made its way back to me. I’m not even sure that I want it back, but I appreciate his sincerity. It’s become tradition for him to maintain this false tension between us. At this point, I’d hate to see it go. What if this tension is what’s sustained our friendship throughout all these years? What if Graham’s only been coming out to Dunkball because he feels guilty? I won’t see him at Dunkball anymore, and, as of this week, he won’t be seeing me at church anymore. It’s things like this that keep us alive. I hope that Graham never returns my copy of Air Alert, but I hope that he always tries. ”There is no end to matter, There is no end to space, There is no end to Dunkball, There is no end to race.” - If You Could Hie to Kolob Dunkball, by W.W. Phelps.

I could have gone on about my legs, honestly. Now, I only included those formative texts that I’m willing to admit are still a part of me. I did not include those works whose influences I feel that I have repented of, which is why the 1967 Patterson-Gimlin footage of Bigfoot from Bluff Creek, California, The Weezer Video Capture Device, Newsies, The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny, nor anything related to Dorm Life or MST3K are not included on my ballot. In any case, I’m sorry not to have found room for Johnny Guitar.

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worldtattoogallery · 3 years

Photo

Tattoo art by © Mr Preston.

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tawneybel · 4 years

Photo

Imagine spotting Preston’s copycatting earlier than the actual ChromeSkull. Because his underling keeps trying to impress you. When you direct Mr. Cromeans’s attention to his second-in-command’s behavior, he immediately recognizes it as flirting.

Preston couldn’t handle you, Jesse fumes. That wannabe might have a high enough pain threshold for a tattoo, but there’s no way he would be masochistic enough for what Jesse has you do in private. Maybe Preston should be chained up and subjected to gen/ital piercings and soundings. Let’s see if he still thinks he’s tough enough to usurp ChromeSkull then.

It’d be nice to have videos of you fuck/ing (with) another man, too. Something for when he’s away from you–his true love–and Mrs. Cromeans is asleep.

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 4 years

Text

Jersey on my mind (part 32)

From the front door of the building to the elevator there were fifteen steps. Fifteen steps that passed a counter and an orienteering board over the more than ten floor Brooklyn building.

Just as every morning, Mila counted the steps. It had become a habit, just as she, before entering the elevator, began to unbutton her jacket. Inside the elevator she let out a lioness-que yawn as she parked herself against the back wall. Thankfully it had been a calm morning. Jim was already gone when her alarm yelled at her to ‘get her ass out of the bed’. Juri was already awake and parked in front of the tv, watching Clifford the Big Red Dog in his pajamas, which meant that Mila could take a shower before preparing his breakfast. While Juri ate his oatmeal with honey under a blanket on the couch, eyes glued to the tv screen and the happy, big red monster dog, Mila got dressed. Forty-five minutes later she dropped Juri at daycare, kissed him on the cheek and hurried off to work.

The elevator stops with a soft thud and she steps out on the ninth floor and heads for the glass doors to the clinic. She’s let in by the receptionists and is welcomed by the constant scent of fresh cut flowers on the reception desk.

”Good morning, Saif. Morning Vanessa.” Mila greets the always happy receptionist couple, lovebirds in real life, behind the counter as she passes through the empty reception.

The dressing room is empty when she enters. Mila removes her workwear, the slightly fancier than nurses-scrubs in a sophisticated shade of grey, from her locker. She leaves the white coat on its hook (it’s way too formal) and drops the bright pink Adidas trainers on the floor with a thud before starting to undress. They switch between the grey scrubs and plain white every other week; head dentist and dental practice owner Said Kadeem thought it would be a ‘edgy, yet fun way to brand themselves as a fun clinic’. In reality he just couldn’t decide which color he thought looked best. It’s the same with his morning-, lunch- and afternoon coffee; with or without milk? He can stand in front of the machine for hours it seems, with his forehead wrinkled together in concentration to make his mind up.

I’d die for a cup of plain, as black as fucking possible-coffee right now, Mila thinks as she pulls the grey pants over her hot pink thongs, reminding herself to do the laundry when she gets home. Putting milk into a cup of coffee is a crime if anything. She steps into the trainers and pulls the top over her head. She gives herself a last look in the mirror and adjusts her ponytail, before leaving the changing room, entering the break room. It’s not a luxurious clinic; no celebrity clients wearing bigger than their face-sunglasses or heavy politicians with a tail of bodyguards, but it’s one of the best private dental clinics in the area, which makes the staff spaces and benefits really generous.

Gotta get some luxury treatment for making it through university with a toddler at home, Mila thinks to herself and steers toward the coffee machine. She greets her colleagues, who are already parked at the table with coffee mugs in front of them, everybody except Lauryn, who’s entire face is hidden behind a huge Starbucks blonde vanilla latte with extra vanilla and coffee plus caramel.

”Rough night?” Mila asks.

”Never turn thirty.” Lauryn Cassidy groans and puts down the ginormous drink on the table. The bags under her eyes scream ’we need to rest you fucker’. ”Why am I even here today?”

”You’re thirty and responsible.” Kristian Shaffer responds. ”I’m impressed.”

Lauryn groans again.

”I liked myself better two days ago, when I was twenty-nine and carefree.”

”Remind me to take the day off after my thirtieth birthday then.” Sarah Preston says and pours a pack of raw brown sugar into her coffee mug.

”Gosh, I’m glad I’ve been there, done that.” Riley Palmer sighs and leans back into his chair. He puts his hands behind his head and flexes his biceps. ”Trust me, thirty is the new twenty.”

”My god such bullcrap!” sterile nurse Ava Cooper rolls her eyes at Riley’s remark. ”It’s almost as bad as that ugly ’carpe diem’ tattoo.”

”What?” Riley looks at Ava, then at his biceps, where ’carpe diem’ is imprinted on his skin with black ink, in a barely readable font. ”What’s wrong with that? It’s inspiring. Like, a mental note that-”

”Ey, we know what it means.” Mila interrupts him. ”And it’s ugly.”

Riley doesn’t get a chance to reply. Kadeem enters the room and a glued-on, convivial atmosphere settles across the table in the blink of an eye. It’s for the best not to quarrel in front of the boss.

”Preston-” Kadeem announces and points with his whole arm at Sarah. “Hallie Reynolds called and cancelled Phillips’ appointment this afternoon.”

”Is Phillip the one with the ears?” Lauryn looks at Aaisha to get answers, but the angelic Aaisha only bursts into a muffled giggle.

”No, that’s Lennox. You know, Dumbo.”

”Christ sake, Riley, stop giving my patients names.” Sarah gives Riley the evil eye and slaps him on his upper arm.

”Sergeyevna, you’re on your own this morning, I need to borrow Aaisha for some drilling.”

Mila and Aaisha look at each other. Kadeem loves his job, but most of all he loves a good drilling. Well, there goes that calm morning; making eye contact over the patients, joking around, singing along to the radio and Aaisha’s regular 11 am stretch, combined with: ”I’m gonna go down to the juice bar, you want anything?”

”Fine.” Mila replies to her superior in white.

”And please, tone down that bluntness today, will you?” Kadeem pleats. ”We can’t have more body builders leaving the clinic crying. Everyone is bad at dental health and everybody knows it, you don’t have to tell them.”

”I thought that was my job?”

”Our job is to dig around their mouths, smile and tell them to floss properly. And charge for doing so.” Kadeem turns to the coffee machine, which is the start of his first, dreadful choice of the day; milk, or no milk. ”Frankly, I don’t know how you seem to get them to come back every 6 months.”

”Witchcraft.”

”Really?” Kristian puts his head to his side and grins at her. ”Thought it was your radiant, bubbly personality?”

“Nope, that’s Cooper and Cassidy.” Kadeem says, without taking his eyes off the coffee machine. “Sergeyevna is like me. It’s in our culture.”

Yeah, the much well known, yet tremendously rare Moscow-Russian and Shiraz-Iranian-culture. Mila smiles a little. As soon as it became clear to Kadeem during her first interview that she was a relatively fresh immigrant, he became overjoyed and felt an almost unreasonable bond with her. Sure, they are both honest and forthright, but that’s more likely a personal trait. Otherwise they are like night and day. But she likes him, he’s a good boss. And his wife makes a hell of a baklava, not to speak of the kletcha.

As the clock strikes nine they simultaneously leave the break room and heads for their offices and treatment rooms. Mila turns on the lights, cranks up the radio and looks out of the window with her cup of coffee steadily in her hand. Another workday. She puts the mug down at the counter as she hears steps approaching. In the next moment, Vanessa appears in the door, followed by her first patient of the morning, Mr. Hardin.

“Mr. Hardin, nice to see you again.” Mila gives her patient a bright smile and takes his hand, gives it a firm shake. “How are you doing?”

She makes a gesture to offer him to sit down in the actually quite comfy dentist chair. She has taken quite a few naps in them after her lunch break since she started working at the clinic.

“Same old, same old.” The man with thinning hair sits down and shrugs at her. “At least I got the health.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Mila replies. “How’s Irene? Must be busy times now?”

“Yeah she’s got her ass full- sorry.”

“No worries. I bet.” Mila takes a seat in her rolling, saddle chair and rolls up to the computer, where she starts to fill in the patient file. ’Hardin, Mark. Regular checkup. Tartar removal’. Same old, same old. “So, just a checkup today.”

“Correct.” mr. Hardin says. ”How’s the kid? Juri, wasn’t it?”

“Yup, indeed.” Mila replies as she takes two pale blue rubber gloves from its box. “He’s doing well.”

“Is he walking yet?”

”More like running.” Mila focuses on the framed photography on the wall, picturing a tropical beach with clear blue turquoise water. Holy crap, he’s growing up so fast, she thinks as she pulls the gloves over her hands. “He’s been on the run for awhile now. Just as I was apparently.”

“They grow fast.” Mr. Hardin shakes his head, as if he can’t believe the basic biology of humans, and leans back in the chair. “But you’re young and healthy. That’s good. This virus, huh?”

“Yeah it’s really strange- Scoot, please.” Mila instructs her patient before continuing to check the tray on her cart, making sure all of her tools are in place. “Great.”

“Both New York Presbyterian and Mount Sinai West are soon overrun. I mean, if that doesn’t sound serious I don’t know what does. Irene’s working double shifts at Langone here in Brooklyn and they still seem to get more and more deaths each day. I think the death toll was, about 70 yesterday, and that’s just Langone. Must be like, 300 in New York alone.”

“Mhm, it’s horrible.” Mila replies monotonously, while scrolling through the x-ray of Mr. Hardin’s lower row of teeth from his appointment the year prior. She’s been trying her best to live life as normal as possible despite the deadly virus. Life has to continue, somehow. “Do you have any issues with sensitivity? Pain?”

“No, just tartar. Like, a lot. Irene found these small pieces in the sink-“

“We’ll fix that today.” Mila says quickly and gives her patient a radiant smile. She doesn’t need, or want, to hear what poor Irene Hardin found in the sink. She’s got a pretty good clue. “You’ve quit smoking yet?”

She turns and looks at Mr. Hardin, who’s shoulder goes up to his ears. He transforms from his regular, very accountant-self (because that’s what he is) to an ashamed puppy in the clinical chair. Mila shakes her head at him, smacking with her tongue. Mila turns to the radio and increases the volume of Angus Young’s voice wailin “You’ve been thunderstruck” to the more than famous guitar tapping.

”Ah. This is why I like going here.” Mr. Hardin says with a smile and points at the radio. ”I listen to NYC Rock in the car, every day.”

“Okay mr. Hardin, let’s rock and roll.” Mila pulls the sterile face mask over her nose. It smells clinical and plastic. She grabs the probe and the mirror and smiles with her eyes at mr. Hardin from underneath the mask.

She starts to work. It’s a regular day. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining into the office and Angus Young continues to blast out that they’ve been struck by thunder, about a billion times. The only thing that looks like its’ been struck by something is her patient's teeth. What on god’s earth is he doing during the nights? Chewing bricks?

”Mr. Hardin, are you tense?” Mila asks.

”Howch do choo do chiiit?!” Mr. Hardin manages to utter, with both wide eyes and wide open mouth. ”Schee, chish isch wchy I gcho cher! Ycho are likche a cheraphchist-”

Mila sighs and removes the tools from his mouth.

”No, Mr. Hardin. You grind your teeth, bad. They look awful. Stop it or you won’t have teeth left.”

”Oh.” He replies and swallows, then bursts into a smile again. ”But you see, this is why I go to you and not that crappy Family smile clinic down in Brownsville, that Irene goes to. Honesty, blunt honesty. I like that.”

”Good to know.” Mila says and signs at him to open his mouth again, to let her continue working on that tartar. ”Not everybody does. I once made one of those body builder’s cry because I scolded him for not brushing his teeth right.”

Yeah she was pretty hard on that poor guy, but honestly, his gums looked like minced meat. Mr. Hardin smiles as best as he can with his mouth wide open.

The next song is by The Hellacopters, which makes her smile once again underneath the mask. She saw them perform, one of their last appearances, with Darya a couple of years ago. But suddenly, in the middle of ”-hey boy, you understand. Say your prayers, or you'll be damned-” the song’s interrupted by the breaking news-jingle.

”We’re interrupting with some disturbing news from downtown Manhattan, where chaos has erupted outside Mount Sinai’s hospital.”

Mila pauses in a movement and glances at the radio.

”Police have been called to the morgue where the-”newscaster seems to be groping for words, as if he himself does not believe what to say. “The dead seem to have woken up.”

It is only thanks to the slightly sticky gloves, which hug around the tools, that Mila doesn’t drop them in Mr. Hardin's mouth, at that proclamation.

”Police began firing shots as the bodies- patients, began to attack civilians and medical staff.”

Mila returns to the tartar, but she can’t focus entirely on Mr. Hardin’s hardcore tartar infestation, even though it’s an astonishing collection; if Aaisha hadn’t been asked to help Kadeem out, she’d been sitting on the opposite side of Mila, and her big brown eyes would have been bigger than usual by excitement. It’s surely a dentist thing only, being excited by tartar. Mila tries her best to stay focused, but her mind drifts off to the radio and the rise of the living dead, where the ’on the spot’-broadcaster now interviews a doctor from Mount Sinai.

“-at least ten former patients, declared dead during the week, escaped the morgue and attacked people on the street. Dr. Berkowitz, head of ICU, can you explain what just happened?”

”I don’t know.”

“Were the patients in a coma?”

“No.”

”Dr. Berkowitz, did you or any of your staff, by any chance, make a mistake?”

”No, as I said, they were deceased. Dead.”

”You’re sure?”

”Yes, ofcourse.”

Mr. Hardin makes a gesture with his hand and Mila removes the tools from his mouth.

”Turn up the volume.” He says and rises on his elbows.

Mila obeys, reaches for the radio and turns the volume wheel up a notch.

“How do you explain the situation, then?” the interviewer asks, now louder than before. He sounds more and more irritated, or afraid, Mila can’t really know the difference. “Dead patients suddenly... awakes?”

“I can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Berkowitz, we have to- We get disturbing breaking news from Weill Cornell Medical Center that- what!?” The interviewer exclaims, as if he can’t comprehend what he’s hearing from the third party in his ear. ”Okay, ehrm- we get news that a similar incident occurs right now at Weill Cornell. I repeat, Weill Cornell. Police have been dispatched to the spot and civilians on the street have taken shelter in nearby shops and restaurants. It’s been confirmed that eight- no, nine, people have been injured and a woman has deceased, by severe blood loss. I repeat, one woman is dead and lying in the street. According to eyewitnesses- Neil, you sure about that?” The interviewer asks. “Sorry. Eye witnesses claim that the woman, and I’m sorry about this, is being eaten by the deceased. If you’re in the neighborhood, do not go outside, I repeat; do not-”

Both Mila and Mr. Hardin stare at the radio under complete dead silence. The tools are frozen in her hands and her heart beats hard inside the grey scrubs.

“I gotta-” Mr. Hardin swallows. “I- I need to call Irene.”

“Yeah..” Mila replies. A rush of sickness runs over her. Is the room suddenly swaying, or is she just, overwhelmed? Is this real? She casts a glance at Mr. Hardin, who climbs out of the leaned back chair, still with the pale blue plastic sheet around his neck. “Yeah, go ahead.”

He leaves the room. Mila hears him talk on his phone outside the door. Should she call someone? Her mind wanders to Juri and mama first. With trembling hands Mila picks up the phone from her pocket, unlocks it and goes into the messages. She changes the alphabet to cyrillic starts dictating a text message to mama. In order not to worry her beloved mama more than necessary, she simply writes: ‘Good morning mamochka. How are you today? Love you.’

She presses ‘send’ and then finds her way to the contacts, where she quickly finds ‘Jim’. Signals are heard. She spins in her chair, faces the window. He picks up the phone at the fourth dial.

“Cricket.” Jim greets her. His warm, amazing smile is felt through the phone and instantly calms her soul.

“Thank goodness.” Mila sighs and massages her forehead. “Hi.”

Jim chuckles on the other end. She can see him clearly in front of her. Black suit and white shirt. He’s just had a haircut and said bye bye to the ponytail. Tall, handsome beyond comparison. Probably with his tenth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. It’s a miracle he can keep his cool with that much caffeine in his system.

“Hi.” He replies softly. “What a pleasant surprise. Does milady want to hire a personal security guard?”

She can’t help but smile like an idiot.

“I can offer a very favorable package price.” Jim continues. “Annually. How about ... ten years? Initially.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

Through the phone, she can really picture how one of Jim’s eyebrows starts to go up, towards his forehead. Usually she plays along with his shenanigans and jokes, but she can’t. Not now.

“You’re on speaker or something?” He asks.

“No. No, sorry. I’m not.” Mila replies and sighs. “Have you heard?”

“Nope. Or, depends on what I’ve missed. What's the talk of the town?”

“You’re nearby a tv or a computer?”

“I’m in the office. Hold on.” Jim starts tapping on the computer. Mila hears the rustle of the buttons in the background. “Oh. That’s-” Jim pauses and reads. “All of them died of the virus?”

“Apparently.”

“I’d say it was a mistake by the hospital, if not- but...” he pauses. “‘New York Times reports that it’s more than twenty patients. Could be more.’ What the-”

“What’s happening?” Mila asks, can’t conceal her feel of discomfort.

“Dunno.” Jim says. “Hey, I can get off work by-” he pauses, as to looking at his watch. “I’ll pick Juri up earlier, in about two hours. I’m sure he’s fine but, just in case. We’ll fix dinner.”

What have I done to deserve this guy, Mila thinks inside her head.

“I love you.”

“You love me for my incredible mashed potatoes.” Jim grins through the phone. “Love you Cricket. It’s gonna be fine.”

Taglist: @lonewolf471 @twdeadfanfic

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc #daryl dixon x oc #jersey on my mind #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition

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sylviaplathink · 2 months

Text

via https://tattooswizard.com/artists/mrprestontattoo/

https://www.heartlesshandsclub.co.uk/

https://www.instagram.com/heartlesshandsclub

...

"I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn’t speak."

—The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, diary entry for 19 February 1956

#sylvia plath #sylvia plath tattoos #sylviaplath #tattoos #leg tattoos #the unabridged journals of sylvia plath #sylvia plath quotes #mr preston tattoo #literary tattoos #book tattoos

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redpillklaudiaspiechowicz · 3 years

Text

Atlantis The Lost Empire

“Atlantis: The Lost Empire is a 2001 American animated science-fantasy action-adventure film created by Walt Disney Feature Animation, marking the 41st entry in Disney's animated features canon and its first science-fiction film. Written by Tab Murphy, directed by Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise. Set in 1914, the film tells the story of a young man who gains possession of a sacred book, which he believes will guide him and a crew of mercenaries to the lost city of Atlantis.

Development of the film began after production had finished on The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996). Instead of another musical, the production team decided to do an action-adventure film inspired by the works of Jules Verne. Atlantis was notable for adopting the distinctive visual style of comic book creator Mike Mignola. The film made greater use of computer-generated imagery (CGI) than any of Disney's previous traditionally animated features, and it remains one of the few to have been shot in anamorphic format. Linguist Marc Okrand constructed an Atlantean language specifically for use in Atlantis. James Newton Howard provided the film's score. The film was released at a time when audience interest in animated films was shifting away from hand-drawn animation toward films with full CGI.”

“A massive tidal wave, triggered by a distant explosion, threatens to drown the island kingdom of Atlantis. In the midst of an evacuation from the capital city, the Queen of Atlantis is caught by a strange, hypnotic blue light and lifted up into the "Heart of Atlantis", a powerful crystal protecting the city. The crystal consumes her and creates a dome barrier that protects the city's innermost district. She leaves behind her husband, the King of Atlantis, and her young daughter, Princess Kida, as the island sinks beneath the ocean.

Several thousand years later, in 1914, Milo Thatch—a cartographer and linguist at the Smithsonian Institution who is marginalized for his research on Atlantis—believes that he has found The Shepherd's Journal, an ancient manuscript allegedly containing directions to the lost island. After his proposal to search for the Journal is rejected by the museum board, a mysterious woman, Helga Sinclair, introduces Milo to Preston B. Whitmore, an eccentric millionaire. Whitmore has already funded a successful effort to retrieve the Journal as repayment of a debt to Milo's late grandfather and recruits Milo to lead an expedition to Atlantis as soon as he deciphers it.

The expedition departs with a team of specialists led by Commander Rourke, who also led the Journal recovery expedition. The crew includes Vinny, a demolitions expert; Mole, a geologist; Dr. Sweet, a medical officer; Audrey, a mechanic; Mrs. Packard, a radio operator; and Cookie, a mess cook. They set out in the Ulysses, a massive submarine, but are soon attacked by the monstrous Leviathan, a robotic lobster-like creature that guards Atlantis' entrance. The Ulysses is destroyed but Milo, Rourke, and part of the crew escape and make their way to a cavern, described in the Journal as the entrance to Atlantis.”

Reading about all the work put into the making of The Doors of Perception made me think of this movie and specifically the character of Milo as proof that no matter how oblivious the world is to something deeming it as “fantasy” as it was called in the movie there will always be individuals that will strive to prove that what they believe in is right. This is a cocept for a character that I might design for my own story: someone that doesn’t have powers / the tattoo that would activate them but believes that people could have them and some people definitely do. The story will be from a view point of someone that does know about and has powers but adding a character that believes in these powers but doesn’t have any proof of their existance will definitely benefit the story and lead to some drama.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atlantis:_The_Lost_Empire

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slash-em-up · 4 years

Text

Marry Your Monsters Pt. 8

We start to head back into movie-territory, which is not great for anyone.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Miranda lay languid and boneless against the thin mattress of the hospital cot. Draped in nothing but scratchy sheets, she felt blissful as she watched Jesse idly caress her leg. Her husband looked at ease for the first time that night- but she supposed a few orgasms would do that to anyone.

Jesse lay stretched across the opposite end of the cot, Miranda’s limbs tangled with his own as he ran his hands over her exposed skin.

“I think we just made another baby…” she joked quietly.

Jesse huffed and pinched her big toe in reprimand, causing her to giggle. Sliding his hand up, Jesse began to massage Miranda’s calf.

Her eyes closed with a groan.

“Fuck you have no idea how good that feels…”

The kneading fingers tightened and flexed until the tense knots under her skin released.

Miranda lurched forward in her best attempt at a sultry wriggle while weighed down by her stomach and yanked at Jesse’s shoulder until the tall man was pulled up to lay next to her, moaning silently as Miranda sucked and kissed at the skin of his neck and shoulder.

“Mmm… I wish… you could kiss me…”

Her hand rose to touch the underside of the plastic mask covering his raw skin.

Jesse stiffened against her.

She knew immediately that she’d said the wrong thing as Jesse gently but firmly pulled himself from her embrace.

She sighed.

“I’m sorry…”

Jesse swung his legs so he was sitting on the side of the bed, facing away from her.

“Can – do you… want to talk about it?”

Broad shoulders visibly tightened.

“Jesse it’s going to be okay… we’ll get through this… no matter what happened, it’s not your fault it’s…”

She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before Jesse was up and moving.

The small metal side table was the first thing to go – flung across the room, smashing into the cement wall with a loud CRASH.

Miranda yelped and jerked as Jesse continued to destroy what little furniture was in the small suite. Chairs and medical equipment were tossed around like they weighed nothing.

A tray of metal tools crashed against the floor next to the cot, shocking Miranda out of her stasis and prompting her to yell loudly at her husband.

“JESSE STOP!!”

The tall man flew at her like a tower of rage.

His single brown eye blazed as he grasped her shoulders in a nearly crushing grip. His shoulders heaved and he shivered with unspent momentum; and for a moment Miranda was afraid that he didn’t see her – just a new outlet for his destructive energy.

But he did nothing more than stare at her. Gaze hard, angry, and so different from the man who she’d made love to less than an hour ago.

This was a stranger.

“… Jesse…”

Nothing.

“Jesse you’re hurting me…”

Strong hands slowly released her bare skin, showing pale, bloodless marks that would definitely turn to bruises later.

The flaming anger in Jesse’s brown eye slowly banked until it was no more, swallowed up by a growing mixture of horror and disgust as he stared down at his naked wife, looking at him like he was dangerous.

He was.

He was dangerous.

More than most knew.

But he’d never been dangerous to her.

Never to her.

But now…

Now his exterior matched the core of him and the monster was finally, fully released.

He couldn’t stay here.

Without a single glance at Miranda, Jesse grasped his sweats from the pile of clothes on the floor, yanking them aggressively up his hips before marching out of the room.

He slammed the door, not bothering to lock it behind him as he strode quickly down the hallway.

Where the fuck was everyone, he needed to kill something.

----------------------------------------------

Anyone who knew Spann would tell you that she was tough to rattle.

She’d pulled herself up from a life of absolute anonymity to become a key player in The Organization.

Was this where she wanted to be?

No, not necessarily.

She had her sights set a bit higher.

ChromeSkull’s right-hand fixer was playing a side-game that she didn’t approve of. If the resolution to that happened to leave his position open? Well, she wouldn’t mind stepping into his shoes.

She already did most of Prestons job anyway.

Her lips pursed slightly as she shot off a text to her wife, Lisa. The footage from the Miami whores death was taking longer to process than she’d anticipated.

Another late night at the office.

She sneered at the sound of Prestons heavy breathing on the other side of the video. Fucking amateur probably came in his pants. Or vomited. She couldn’t say which one was more likely, or more satisfying to her right now.

Her phone dinged.

L: I’ll be waiting up, I want to hear about the wife

Spann smiled lightly. She didn’t keep secrets from Lisa. That was the one stipulation she had when becoming involved with someone – she needed to trust them implicitly. Lisa had wriggled her way close enough to pull Spann to the alter. Fuck, she loved her.

And they were both intensely interested in the new player Preston had introduced into the game.

Mrs. Cromeans was not supposed to be here. Jesse had made it clear from the moment he put on the mask that his then-lover, now wife, would have nothing to do with the violent side of their work. As far as Miranda was concerned everything that Jesse did was on the up-and-up.

That made her arrival… complicated.

They weren’t exactly subtle with the hardware set around the abandoned factory. They had no need to be. And now Preston was cock-blocking her attempts to corral the situation.

What was his end game? What would he gain from having Jesse’s wife discover the truth about her husband’s ‘business’?

Not knowing was driving Spann insane.

She was pulled from her contemplation by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

Prestons office door across from hers was filled with towering tattooed skin as Mr. Cromeans appeared and wrenched the door open.

Watching silently, Spann observed the shirtless man huff in anger at the empty space his second was supposed to inhabit. Stomping inside she could hear him rifling through the desk, looking for god knows what.

He stepped back into the dimly lit hall moments later, looking agitated.

Spann decided to shoot her shot.

“Sir…”

Jesse’s head snapped in her direction; brown eye zeroing in on her in a way she could only describe as predatory.

She licked her lips, determined to keep any intimidation she might feel off her face.

Jesse crossed the small hallway in two strides, not leaning into Spanns space but definitely letting her get a feel for how much height and raw strength he had on her. As if she didn’t know after hours upon hours of watching him butcher and hunt and torture from the safety of the other side of the camera.

‘Find me a fish, Spann. I need a challenge.’

Spann blinked.

The nomenclature the Organization had adopted to refer to their quarry was quaint.

Piggies were whores – drug addicts – drains on society. Jesse’s particular brand were all beautiful women he lured in with money and good looks.

Fishies were different – they had status, families, some kind of connection; but one of those connections had placed them in the Organizations eye-line – and not in a good way.

Fishies were rarely permanently ‘hooked’. More of a catch and release until whatever connection they had could be handled to satisfaction.

To have ChromeSkull go after a fishy was… rare.

But rarity was something Spann was adept at overcoming.

She smiled up at her boss.

“I think I have just the thing to cheer you up.”

#chromeskull #chromeskull: laid to rest 2 #laid to rest (2009)#jesse cromeans #jesse cromeans x mrs. cromeans #jessica writes #horror movies #slasher fiction #spann deserves the world.... and a loving wife

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svucarisiaddict · 5 years

Note

“forget it. you fucking suck.” With the reader x Nick 🤗🤗

This one went a little long... “Watch this, Mommy!” Preston, your four-year-old called out to you as you came out the back door.

Nick waved and smiled. “We’ve been working hard this afternoon.”

“Show me what you got,” you said as you plopped down in the soft grass. The sun felt so good on your skin.

Nick turned his baseball hat backward and knelt down. He held his ball glove up in front of his chest. “Okay, Preston. Right in the middle of the glove.”

He nodded his head. Preston pulled his arm back and threw the ball. It made a soft thud in the soft leather.

Nick pulled his hand from the glove and shook it feigning pain. “Yow, Preston. Bringing the heat.”

“I got more where that came from, Daddy Nick!” Preston shouted.

Preston adored Nick. He had from day one of meeting him. It warmed your heart to see them together. For the last two years, Nick had been a father figure to him. Preston’s father, Tyler, had been in and out of your lives since Preston was born. If you looked up dead beat in the dictionary his picture would be there.

“Good job, buddy!” You clapped your hands as both of your guys beamed at you. “I think all that hard work deserves a big hot fudge sundae.”

Later that night it was just you and Nick lounging on the sofa watching the Yankees. Preston had fallen asleep hours ago after his bath. The day had totally exhausted him.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” Nick stated.

“Hmmm..okay,” you responded sleepily. Apparently, it had been a long day for you as well. You pushed yourself up right from where you had been resting your head on Nick’s chest.

He took a deep breath. “I want to adopt Preston.”

“You-you want to adopt him?” Immediately you felt tears prick your eyes. Preston and Nick had a tight bond, he was the best man at your wedding and he called Nick daddy half the time as it was. Neither you nor Nick ever corrected him.

“It would make me so happy,” Nick said softly. “I love that kid…” Nick’s voice trailed off.

The couple of guys you dated after Tyler never called you after hearing you had a kid. When you agreed to go on a blind date with Nick you were hesitant but being a cop you figured he had to be a decent guy. He didn’t bat an eye when you told him you had a son that was almost two that you were raising on your own.

“That would be amazing,” you said.

A huge grin broke across his face. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.” Nick cupped your cheeks then pressed a kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to tell Preston.”

“I’ve been looking over your paperwork. Mrs. Amaro. Your son’s father, Tyler Moore, has not had any contact in over two years. Is that correct?” Mr. Dailey your adoption lawyer asked.

“Yes, sir. That is correct. Nick has been the best father that anyone could ask for their child. He has supported him financially-” you started to explain.

He smiled and held up his hand. “It’s obvious that Nick cares about Preston very much and vice versa. The only thing that is going to hold this is finding Mr. Moore.”

“We have to have his permission? Even though he abandoned them and hasn’t even tried to contact them to ask if they’re okay?” Nick asked. His jaw was tensing and you knew he was getting upset.

“Mr. Amaro in most cases like this the father is usually found not fit or he signs his rights away. I honestly don’t foresee any problems,” Mr. Dailey said reassuringly.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?” Nick asked as he stood from his desk flashing you his megawatt smile. He furrowed his brow when he saw the look on your face. “What’s wrong?”

“Um-uh,” you stuttered. “He filed for custody. Countersuing. I-” You held out the manilla envelope that you were served with at work.

Nick put a hand to the small of your back, directing you into the locker room. “Here, sit down.” He motioned to one of the bunks and removed the papers. You could see his face redden and his jaw clenched the more he read. “That son of a- where does he get the nerve?”

“What if he takes Preston from me?” you cried.

Nick was by your side in a heartbeat. He put his arms around you. “Listen to me. That is not going to happen. He’s just doing this to hurt you. There is not a judge out there that would give him custody.”

“He’s been living right here in Manhattan. He never left, Nick.”

Nick gently rubbed up and down your arm. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

Nick walked up the four flights of stairs in the run-down apartment complex. When he knocked on the door a man with a faux hawk, tattoos and a cigarette hanging from his mouth answered the door. On the couch behind him was a woman with her eyes focused on the blaring TV.

“You Tyler?” Nick asked as he hung his aviators off his shirt.

“Depends. Who’s askin?” Tyler blew the smoke directly into Nick’s face smirking.

He smirked back at Tyler. “I’m Nicholas Amaro.”

“Oh, the douche that thinks he’s going to play Daddy to my son.” He took another drag off his cigarette. “Preston is my son. That’s my DNA.”

Nick nodded. “Can’t argue that one. Just tell me a few things. What is his favorite color? Is he a Yankee or Mets fan? What did he dress up as for Halloween last year? Did you know he has had three ear infections just this year?”

Tyler stood speechless as he listened to Nick’s questions.

“I’ll tell you the answers; green, Yankees, a tiger. He may have your DNA but that doesn’t make you a dad.” When he still didn’t get a reaction Nick shook his head. “Forget it. You fucking suck. It will be a cold day in hell that you’ll take Preston from Y/N. See you in court.”

“This is Y/N,” you said into the phone.

“Mrs. Amaro, this is Mr. Dailey. I have some good news. Preston’s father has not only dropped his custody case but he relinquished his rights. The adoption can move forward,” he said.

To say you were stunned was an understatement. You were prepared to go to war for your son, now you didn’t have too.

“Mrs. Amaro?”

“Um-yes. Thank-thank you,” you sniffled.

“You are most welcome. We’ll have the three of you come to family court sometime in the next couple of months. Congratulations,” he said in a cheery tone.

After you ended the call you sat on the sofa and took a deep breath. Your emotions took over. You buried your face in your hands and sobbed in relief.

“Momma. Why are you crying?” Preston asked when he found you in tears.

Quickly wiping the tears away you smiled at him. “These are happy tears, baby,” you said then blew your nose on the tissue Preston offered you.

“You cry when you’re happy?” He tilted his head and furrowed his brow. It was something Nick would do. “Remember we talked about Nick becoming your Daddy?”

He nodded his head and grinned.

The initial conversation about Tyler, Nick adopting him and what that meant was kind of tricky to explain to a four-year-old. Preston had always known about Tyler and that he was his father. Some of the questions were easier to answer than others.

“You will soon be Preston Amaro,” you said excitedly,

Preston started dancing and jumping around. When Nick came through the front door Preston ran up and said, “I’m going to be Amaro! Just like you and Momma!”

Nick's eyes snapped to yours. “Really?”

“Just got the call from Mr. Dailey a few minutes ago. Tyler dropped the case and signed over his rights,” you said softly.

“I-” Nick got choked up.

“I think Daddy needs a hug, Preston,” you announced.

#nick amaro #nick amaro x reader #daddy nick #protective nick

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forestwater87 · 5 years

Link

I detested most stuff and I still do

You see, I hate everything but you

“God, this is lame.”

“Aw come on, Max!” David, attracted like a bloodhound to the slightest hint of negativity, flocked to Max and gave him his most winning grin. (David rarely won anything, especially with that stupid smile.) “This is a very special experience for you campers!”

Max rolled his eyes. “A shitty waterpark in the middle of nowhere, full of screaming kids. It’s a dream come true.”

“Well, maybe if you went in the water you’d feel better! I could hold your sweatsh --”

“Touch it and die, camp man.”

“Seriously, Max,” Gwen said, coming up behind David with her arms already crossed in what she probably thought was an intimidating pose. Would probably be scarier if she wasn’t constantly trailing behind David like a duckling with an attitude problem. “This stupid trip cost us money we don’t have, so you better not ruin it.”

“Even if I wanted to run away, where would I go?” He threw his arms out to the side, making a dramatic show of looking around. “This place is more isolated and run-down than most Saw traps. Pretty sure I’ll die of tetanus just walking around.”

David looked like he wanted to say something inspiring (and dumb), but something over Max’s shoulder snagged his attention. “Mr. Campbell! Put those ‘No Running’ signs back!”

As the counselors ran off -- well, David ran; Max was pretty sure Gwen wouldn’t run unless a serial killer was chasing her -- he let his disinterested mask turn into an actual, evil-villain smile.

He’d only said he wouldn’t run away, after all. There were lots of things he could fuck up besides trying to escape.

He just needed his partners in crime . . .

“Max!” Right on time. He had a split second to brace himself before Nikki collided into his back, looping an arm around his neck and nearly dragging them both to the pockmarked cement. “This place is awesome! There are water guns attached to poles and I sprayed Preston in the face!”

“Amazing, Nik,” he replied, shrugging her off and readjusting his hoodie. “You really can find the bright side to even the shittiest things.”

Neil trotted up to them, already a little out of breath and wiping the sweat from his hairline. Max pulled an inhaler refill out of his hoodie pocket, but he waved it away and said, “I don’t think we can steal the guns. Not without a screwdriver, and I’m pretty sure I left mine in the tent.”

Nikki had already moved on. “The vending machine over there is broken! Neil and I got twelve packets of Cracker Jacks!”

“Do you even like Cracker Jacks?” he asked. Weren’t those just packing peanuts covered in caramel?

“I don’t know!” She tore a package open with her teeth and tossed the entire thing into her mouth. “Not really!”

Neil grimaced. “Jesus, Nikki, at least finish chewing --”

“Catch!” Nikki had already ripped into another packet and tossed a handful of Cracker Jacks in his face.

While Neil was spluttering and wiping peanuts off his face, Max said, “So what percentage of the water here d’ya think is pee? I wanna make sure I really emphasize the health code violations in my letter home. Maybe Mom and Dad will be so pissed off they sue the camp.”

(Not that they would; he was convinced his parents had learned English mostly by watching family sitcoms and cheesy coming-of-age movies, and they were convinced that garbage heaps like Camp Campbell “built character” and were part of the “true American experience.” No amount of common sense would get through to them. They were parents -- so, basically hopeless.)

Neil gave the pool a slightly nauseated look before shaking it off and turning back to him. “Even you have to admit this is a little fun.”

“I really don’t think I do.” He swept his arm up and over his head in a wide semicircle. “It’s a beautiful sunny day, everyone’s enjoying themselves, there’s some weird hipster shit playing over this place’s one broken loudspeaker. It’s picturesque. Disgusting .”

Nikki cocked her head to the side, listening to the tinny music crackling through the air like it was being played through a tin can. (And by a tin can. It sounded like a pile of tin cans in a clothes dryer that was also somehow tin cans.) “I kinda like it.”

“There’s a mandolin in this song. You know where mandolins belong? At Ren Faires and Scottish funerals.” Probably. He didn’t know much about Scottish funerals -- or what “Ren Faires” were beyond that Nerris liked them, and she seemed like the kind of weirdo who’d listen to tiny guitars -- but he doubted Neil or Nikki did either, so he was fairly confident he could get away with saying it.

His friends exchanged a look, one that set Max’s teeth on edge. “You’re doing it again,” Nikki said.

“Doing what?”

“Hating things,” Neil replied.

That wasn’t what Max had been expecting. “I mean . . . yeah,” he finally said, shaking his head. “It’s kinda my brand.”

“I know.” Nikki started chewing on the tip of one of her pigtails, the hair muffling her words. “And usually I like causing mischief, but it’s hot and I wanna go on the water slides!”

“She’s right,” Neil added, and Max began to feel like he was in some sort of intervention. “I know this place isn’t the best --”

“I’d rather be in Super Guantanamo.”

“-- but is it really more fun to just stand around being pissed off at everything?”

“Obviously.” The response was automatic, but the question actually threw him for a second.

Complaining was fun. He and Neil could spend an entire Saturday trading complaints and insults about the camp, their parents, even the weather if they were really running low on things that sucked. Max considered himself a champion at bitching about things, but Neil’s super-geek brain was so good at plucking out faults in even the most awesome things and somehow making these observations both stupidly obvious and even funny -- in his dry, “not entirely sure he’s actually joking” way.

And ruining things was fun: Nikki had the worst, impossiblest, batshit-craziest ideas, and buried in all that weirdness were some of the best pranks he’d ever pulled. Even when Max couldn’t shut her down on a bullshit scheme, it was fun watching his friends use science and Nikki-ness to make it work -- and fail, usually. It was even more fun when they were actually able to pull something off that shouldn’t have been possible (usually with his help and great insights; he was the best at causing mayhem and always would be) . . .

The look on Neil’s face when his jerry-rigged hamster ball actually allowed them to roll around the camp without popping on anything, even Nurf’s knives, was priceless. And so was Nikki’s war cry that sounded like an Indian from one of those old racist Westerns, which she reserved for explosions big enough to singe off their eyebrows.

But they didn’t want to do anything like that today. They wanted to just . . . what, enjoy themselves? In this pathetic soon-to-be-abandoned-and-bankrupt pile of junk?

And he was supposed to just go along with that?

Why the fuck would he?

They could hang out without him, they did it all the time. When he was busy . . .

Hating things, usually.

“Okay, fine,” he finally said, letting out a long, beleaguered sigh like they were being too annoying for words. (What? Sometimes being dramatic was fun too.) “I’ll do things your way for an hour. And if it still sucks, we break something. Like David’s legs.”

He wasn’t surprised by the way either of them smiled; after the entire summer he’d gotten very used to both of them. Nikki’s grin, so wide it was almost scary, with a tooth that got chipped during Fighting Camp and another one she lost a few weeks ago (then immediately swallowed to see if the tooth fairy would come into her stomach after it), the way she tilted her head like an excited puppy: same angle, same direction, every single time. Neil’s tiny, shy of his barely-crooked teeth, the way his gaze would land somewhere in the vicinity of Max’s face but never actually his eyes -- forehead, nose, for some reason his left ear (but never the right) -- before flicking down to stare at his dorky T-Rex hands, which he’d twist together until every finger-joint cracked, this teeny little divot in his right cheek that only showed up when he laughed, too small to even put a pinky in.

Max hated people smiling, especially smiling at him . But he didn’t totally mind with Neil or Nikki; they were his best friends, maybe his only friends. It’d be weird if they were frowning at him all the time.

“Come on then, sourpiss!” Nikki cried, taking one of his hands and gesturing for Neil to grab the other.

“Sour puss ,” he corrected, his fingers briefly settling on Max’s wrist, elbow, and forearm before closing tight around a handful of his sleeve.

Max let himself be dragged forward, wincing at the sticky caramel still on Nikki’s hand. “I’m not gonna run away,” he whined, scuffing his toes along the ground before remembering that he liked these sneakers. “You don’t have to --”

“Our way,” she reminded him, breaking into a half-skip, half-run that left Max and Neil stumbling to keep up. “Oooh, look! Flowers!”

“We aren’t seriously stopping and smelling flowers right now, are we?” Max demanded, almost overcome by the lameness of it.

Neil just shrugged, ducking away from a bee that zoomed out of the nearest one. “Our way, Max.”

He sighed and breathed in a lungful of pollen. “Yeah, yeah,” he managed between coughs. “But just for an hour.”

“It’s gonna be a rose, but like . . . a black one. With thorns. And it’ll say ‘Too Cool’ underneath. Maybe in the vines or something.”

“Wow, Ered!” Nikki said, leaning against the rickety wooden railing that was keeping them from falling off the long line up to the tallest slide. “Your dads will let you do that when you’re sixteen?”

She tossed her hair. “Totally.” She turned to Max and Neil. “You gonna get a tattoo?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna get ‘None of your fucking business’ on my forehead.”

Nikki pouted, shooting Ered an apologetic look. “Max, our way!”

“It’s been way over an hour,” he said. His hair and sweatshirt -- which he still refused to take off, though he did dump everything inside into David’s backpack -- were soaked and beginning to steam under the sun, and he pulled his hood over his eyes and rested his head on Neil’s shoulder. “Wake me up when we get to the top.”

His friends were quiet, Ered having turned her attention to a surprisingly impassioned conversation with Nerris over the benefits of each class in DnD. After a moment Nikki said, “Well, the hour is over.”

“And he’s still here.” Neil smelled like sunscreen and chlorine, and his skin was burning warm like the sunburn he would inevitably still get. As a strong breeze shook the wooden tower they were standing on, a chill caused Max to lean more heavily into him for warmth and wind-blocking. (Not snuggling. Not even in the same neighborhood as snuggling.) “Better than I’d expected.”

He could hear Nikki’s smile. “Me too!” They shuffled forward, ignoring the alarming creak of the wood beneath them. “He’s a good friend, deep down.”

“Ehh, very deep down, I guess.”

“Oh yeah. Like, in his toes or something.”

“You know I can still hear you, right?” Max said without opening his eyes.

“Absolutely,” Neil replied.

“We were counting on it!” Nikki added brightly.

“Max!” They’d reached a bend in the line, and he realized with horror, opening his eyes, that they’d come into view of David, who was apparently accompanying Space Kid. Birds of an annoying, friendless feather . “I’m so happy to see you’re enjoying yourself! Isn’t it great having fun off the grid like this?” David’s voice was sincere, a little bit tearful, but with an underlying I told you so that made his blood boil.

Max turned to Nikki and Neil, who understood what he was thinking from his expression. “We’re not letting him get away with that, right?” he muttered.

“Of course not,” Neil said immediately, and Nikki nodded.

“Slide first, though,” she said, as though they were going to just leap off the side of the tower or something. (Which, considering her, couldn’t be ruled out.)

Max grinned, giving in to the oppressive sunshine and shrugging out of his hoodie. “Slide first,” he agreed. “Then we’re doing things my way.”

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #cc max #cc nikki #cc neil #makkiel #well sorta #in my heart it is #but also they're children so there's no real romance at all #but i love them #and i fucking LOVE THIS SONG AND IT IS SO MAX #forestwriting #just lots of fluff #oppressive amounts of fluff

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