#so i drew more angel deuce !!!!!!!

[lanshappycorner]

angel deuce......(request from instagram)

[blues824]

❄️I read that you wanted a holiday request can I please request riddle with his s/o teathes him the woners of winter holiday.

🎁Giving him 12 presents for the 12 day of Christmas and you can choose what it it involves.

☃️Like making snow Angeles snow ball fights makings snowman. watching movies in ramshackle in a blanket Fort with snacks and hot chocolate.

✨ Happy holidays or New year if this request comes out then but if it comes earlier still enjoy the holidays ✨

Have a joyous December everyone! If you got midterms, you got this! If you got that mid-year project, you got this! If you are going Christmas shopping this late, you still got this!

Riddle Rosehearts

We all know how much fun his mother let him have before he attended NRC. Since then, he’s learned a bit about the holidays. He’s just never been romantically involved with anyone so he hasn’t discovered that side of celebration. 

Then comes you. You teach him about what it’s like to truly love and cherish someone, even outside of the Winter Season. He has memories of every single holiday leading up to this point.

He couldn’t help but look at you in pure love and adoration as you helped the dorm decorate both inside and out. You helped put the lights up around the garden and you helped set up the Christmas tree in the lounge. The entire time, you had a joyful smile on your face.

Once it was all finished, there was a quick Dorm meeting to debate their next winter activity. Since it was mid-day, someone suggested making snow angels. The way you were bouncing and clapping your hands in excitement was enough to convince the Housewarden.

Cater had one heck of a time filming you and Riddle making snow angels. You laid down next to each other and made the angels. Then you carefully got up and drew haloes and a heart between the two angels. 

You then suggested that the two of you make a snowman. You had Riddle roll the base while you got the middle and top sections done. You found some sticks and ran inside to get a carrot, a toque/beanie, and a scarf, along with a few spare pieces of coal.

You put the objects into place, and then pulled out your phone to take a picture and post it to Magicam. You turned to Riddle and let out a very happy laugh. How could he fall more in love with you?

Then your snowman was hit by a snowball. You turned and saw that Ace was the one who threw it since he was making another one. Riddle was about to behead him when you threw a snowball back at him with determination in your eye.

Then a snowball fight commenced. You, Grim and Trey vs Ace and Deuce. Riddle and Cater stayed on the side. Then, somehow, Riddle was hit by a snowball. Everyone gasped. You stared in horror, worried about the fate of your friend. Then Riddle sighed, gathered some snow, and joined the fight.

After about an hour, you suggested that everyone head inside. Trey was the first one in since he volunteered to make hot chocolate. You volunteered to help, which naturally made Riddle follow you into the kitchen as well.

You brought out the marshmallows and put them in a jar with a scoop, as well as set out the whipped cream. Riddle worked on crushing the candy canes. Trey was in charge of making the hot chocolate. You then volunteered Ace and Deuce to help bring it out.

Cater was so busy posting pictures that you decided to help out and put the whipped cream, marshmallows, and candy cane bits in his hot chocolate for him. You made sure that it looked nice before giving it to him. Riddle would never admit it, but he was jealous. 

After a while, you noticed how late it got and how you needed to get back to your dorm. Riddle most definitely volunteered to walk you over and handed you your jacket and cap before grabbing his own. 

You both walked hand-in-hand with Grim sleeping around your shoulders. It was quiet, but comfortable. The cold wasn’t stinging, but it was more delicate and friendly… even inviting. 

Once you made it to the door, you turned towards your lover and gave him a hug. You then invite him inside. He asked why and you said that you weren’t exactly done with the night yet. You asked him if he would be okay with building a fort and watching some Christmas movies with you, with the promise of cuddles.

How could he deny you? He hung both of your coats up before helping you build the pillow fort. When you finished, you then grabbed your laptop and pulled up your favorite Christmas movie of all time (comment your favorite, I wanna know).

You had a blanket wrapped around the both of you, and your fort was set up like a bed but on the floor. You were able to see the screen even sitting back for maximum comfort. After a while, you fell asleep. Riddle heard your soft snores and smiled in adoration.

He carefully pulled out his phone and texted Trey to make sure everyone wasn’t doing anything too reckless. He himself was breaking the rules, so it wouldn’t be fair if everyone had to. He was feeling generous today, thanks to you.

Eventually, his eyes landed on something that was propping the laptop up. He looked at it and noticed it was a gift. He quietly leaned forward, lifted the laptop up, and saw that the present was for him. There was a card taped to it.

Happy Holidays, Riddle.

This gift is the first of 12,

Symbolizing the 12 days

Of Christmas. 

Love you!

❤️Y/N

He quietly opened the gift and saw that it was a picture within a frame. It was a selfie you took a while back of you both. You decided that you wanted a picture and you told him to get in the camera. Last second, you kissed him on the cheek and captured it. He smiled softly, grateful to have someone like you by his side.

[youabandonedthem]

Hi I just wanted to thank you for how you portray droog because I'm tired of people treating him like an angel or smth when he's canonly a psychopath and I love that about him have a great day

Yes thx that you like it. I think people think that he is the most mature or something just cus they think hes all sexy in his clean pressed suit when maybe hes the 2nd most immature/arbitrarily violent out of the crew next to slicket. and takes the easy way out at work and is not nearly as diligent as slick when it comes to benign tasks. which you would not think at first but it is true and says a LOT. his methods and appearance are just cleaner. which is what he wants you to see and base his personality on so really his guise works on a lot of people

You did not ask but there is this story that represents him plus slick and deuce (in jack/cd form but anywau it's still them) perfectly but its a little infuriating by nature because the author isnt even a midnight crew main and this is the only story they wrote involving them evne though they seem to be the only writer on that website to really truly know all of them as they exist in homestuck. There is a point to be said on that someone who focuses on the whole universe rather than being dedicated to their special wives would represent the characters more fiathfully due to this sort of detachment yet holding that duty to the fictional world to be accurate. And then on the other hand someone who only thinks about their favourites and calls them hateful words like squickily scungily could more likely bastardise these characters to no end due to meaningless projection or shove them into memes that dont even make sense with the character and all that and this is how you end up with os much meaningless 'content' clogging up the tags. (i say this when obviously i like slick...But objectivity is present) Like i don't really get how you can say you like a character this much or for instance say you're the biggest authority on their character when you bastardise them like so and barely ever say anything meaningful about them. and type surface level "analyses" that fluctuate between acting like you came up with facts that are just obvious canon and then points that came out of nowhere and make no sense ex. "guys it seems that the events of the game can influence the npcs' personalities" WHOA!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Anyway I mean people will also simultaneously ignore stuff that is canon just because they might not like a piece of information or are adamant to see characters as one dimensional for some reason. or they go oh hussie gross XD it doesnt exist in my world and then they just say some things are not true. This is where the jenkins stare comes in . the lack of comprehending

I saw this meme image from 2016... the "do you take constructive criticism - It looks like shit - thats not constructive criticism" facebook post thing but they drew it with jack and dd and it's like.They would never say those things or talk like that. It was not even written in their typing styles and it had like a million billion notes. I dont get how so many people over the age of 15 can enjoy that really you dont like the characters you like some kind of removed representation of them that is no longer them. It is fun to make spinoffs of memes and enjoy that stuff but when it s actually out of character i dont really get it. Then i kind of made my own version that went nowhere...

But as well as that people are going to want to focus on whatever is nice or cute or hold up a characters evil traits in a showcased sort of way to the point if you talk about it there begins to be a requirement of 4 lines of bolded disclaimer NO I DO NOT ABUSE ANIMALS I DONT EAT PEOPLES PETS NO I DO NOT BEAT WOMEN AND I DID NOT THROW MY BABY DOWN THE STAIRS NO I DO NOT DO THIS IN REAL LIFE. THE THING WHAT I DREW THE CARTOON CHARACTER DOING. or it's voyeuristic in a spotify playlist mad scientist way because they think they are evil like whatever character. but not TOO EVIL becausethey dont kill animals that's BAD #doesthedogdiedotcom #animalLover. but actually this was all just a segue to how jack jacks it to dogs. umm...

[ashers-selfship-blog]

My long list of f/o tags

hsr = honkai star rail. twst = twisted wonderland pjo = Percy Jackson and the olympians. htptflob = how to protect the female leads older brother btv = beware the villainess. htgmhoms = how to get my husband on my side

Romantic f/os: diavolo (obey me!) : my king~ Simeon (obey me!) : my lovely angel <3 Dazai (bungo stray dogs) : you drew stars around my scars~ Chuuya (bungo stray dogs) : anti-gravity…gay :p

Pavia (reverse 1999) : Ciao, Amore! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ Melissa (btv) : the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen~ Nine (btv) : my pretty wolfboy butler <3 Yuri (btv) : the great mage and my queen yuri (0////0)

vil schoenheit (Twst) : ♬mirror mirror on the wall~♬ carter dimond (Twst) : ♢split card!♢

———- Parents: Barbatos (obey me!) : can you help me with something, dad? Lilia (Twst) :  ⚠︎NO cooking from you!⚠︎    Trey (Twst) :  ♧More pastries, please!♧ Zhongli (genshin) : ✎how about a story?✎   

Roxana Agriche (htptflob) : mama, look a butterfly! cassis pedelian (htptflob) : papa! Can you play with me!

———— grandparents: Sierra Agriche (htptflob) : how about I read you this one next <3

———- Little siblings/like my child: Kailm (Twst) :  how about a carpet ride?ᴖᗜᴖ         Ortho (Twst) : ✧・₊ tech buddies���₊✧   Silver (Twst) :  ᶻz a insomniac and a Narcoleptic ᶻz Nico di angelo (pjo) : ☾⋆♬I’m necromancin~♬⋆☾

Qiqi (genshin) : ❀oh sorry I forgot again❀ Luke (obey me!) : 💕my son, I love you so 💕 Poltergeist (reverse 1999) : ♡my little one♡ Ruby (htgmhoms) : ❤︎‬my darling ruby❤︎‬

————- Older siblings: Levi (obey me!) : ⟡Gotta collect them all!⟡. Belphie (obey me!) : ᶻzsleepy buddiesᶻz  Satan (obey me!) : how about this story next… /ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ. Beel (obey me!) : best bro, how about we get food! :D. Asmo (obey me!) : time for a makeover~. Mammon (obey me!) : can you get me off the ceiling s/i  Lucifer (obey me!) : please get out of your office, Luci Malleus (Twst) : ⟡sweet dreams⟡ Deuce (Twst) :  ♡⊹˚₊ a past delinquent?₊˚⊹♡ Jade leech (Twst) : 𓋼𓍊mushrooms?mushrooms!𓍊𓋼 Floyd leech (Twst) : chaotic duo (  •̀ - •́ ) Azul (Twst) : 𓇼 Oh you poor unfortunate soul 𓇼

———— Friend f/os: jamil viper (Twst) : oh goodness, they got in trouble again  "( – ⌓ – )   idia shroud (Twst) : this is your set up, really?  >:0 epel (Twst) :apple, apple..dip, dip..wanna try it? albedo (genshin) : 🜸☆aroace science buddies☆🜸

clara (hsr) : ♡Mr. Svarog & s/i… are my family♡. hook (hsr) : pitch-dark hook the great!  arlan (hsr) : let me protect you now…(ง'̀-'́)ง X (reverse 1999): don’t worry, let’s have some tea

———— Comfort f/os: kirby (Kirby) : my baby puffball <3 waddle dee (Kirby) : my fluffy little boy >:D

———- frenemy f/os: Solomon (obey me!) : sketchy magician >:( 

[ausaplenty]

Paperwork

Aziraphale Kiara. Crowley LiLi. Ineffable AU

This was going to mean a mountain of paperwork if it didn’t work.

She fussed at a spot on her skirt, massaging the dirt out of the ivory brocade.

Kiara jumped as the thud of a blade meeting bone and flesh echoed through her cell. The manacles felt heavy on her wrists, binding her to the rough walls. She flinched at the thunderous cheer filled the square outside.

The jangle of keys drew her attention to the cell door, a robust man in a scarlet overcoat and a sash in the colors of the French flag draped over his chest. He spoke in French, gesturing to the exuberance outside her jail.

The blonde frowned, maybe slightly cursing her terrible grasp of the language.

“Ah, excuse moi,” Kiara started, recoiling as the man reached for the chains linking her wists. “C’est un grandeur … errr mistake.”

Rising to her feet to address the newcomer, she put a bit more space between them. She opened her mouth to continue to plead her case but he held up a hand to silence her.

“I speak English,” he offered bemusedly. A new clamor of blade and exuberance drew both their gazes to her window. “Listen to that. The fall of the guillotine blade. It is terrible, no?”

“Yes,” Kiara muttered in sympathy. “Cutting off that poor woman’s head. Terrible.”

“It is Pierre, an amateur,” her jailor explained. “Always, he lets go of the rope too soon.”

The angel rolled her steely eyes.

“You are lucky that it is I, Jean-Claude, who will be separating your traitorous head from your shoulders.”

Really, celebrating your role in a murder. Uncouth, to say the least – downright barbaric to do so with the level of glee. If Lilian did not appear soon, Kiara would have to abandon the ruse and then this whole debacle would have been for naught.

“There has been a terrible mistake,” Kiara interjected. “I don’t think you understand –“

“I have good news,” the executioner – Jean-Claude – told her jovially. “You are the 999th aristo to die at the guillotine by my hand … but the first English.”

The blonde gave a tight, polite smile.

“Now … shall we begin?” he said, moving behind her as his hands shifted to her neck.

“Please. No.” Kiara darted away from him, glaring at him indignantly. “Dreadful mistake, discorporating me. Oh, it’ll be a complete nightmare.”

The paperwork alone would take her months to finish.

The guillotine crashes. The crowd cheers. And the executioner chuckles as he looks out the window, his hands lifted as he stilled unnaturally.

“Animals,” she scoffed.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, Angel, only humans do that,” a familiar voice drawled.

“Lilian!”

The blonde wouldn’t stop the delighted smile that spread across her face, but she quickly controlled it as she turned around. The demon was lounging on a stool by the cell door, her hand draped over her knee in dark garb marking her as a revolutionary – a chance for Kiara to mask her joy with disapproval at the choice.

“Oh, good lord,” Kiara tsked, ignoring the pleased lilt on the demon’s lips.

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the bastille?” Lilian pressed while she straightened. “I thought you were opening a gallery.”

“I was!” she tittered indignantly, shifting from one foot to the other. “I got peckish.”

“Peckish?” The word was incredulous.

The angel rolled her eyes. “Well, if you must know, it was the crepes.”

She paced back to the wooden bench in the center of the cell, the chains rattling with every step.

“You can’t get decent ones outside of Paris,” she explained sheepishly as she sat. She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “And the brioche.”

And a certain inkling that at the center of all this turmoil, she’d find one fallen angel to dine with her.

“So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution because you wanted a nibble,” the demon drawled, languidly gesturing to the angel’s ivory outfit. “Wearing that?”

“I have standards,” Kiara sniffed, smoothing the panel over her corset. “I’d heard they were getting a bit carried away over here but –“

“Yeah, this is not getting carried away. This is cutting off lots of people’s heads very efficiently with a big head-cutting machine,” Lilian interrupted. “Why didn’t you just perform another miracle and go home?”

“If you must know, I was reprimanded last month,” the blonde supplied quietly. “They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles. I got a strongly worded note from Gabriel.”

She’d been especially stringent with herself in the weeks leading up to this excursion, working to make sure the higher ups didn’t have cause to do an audit.

“Well, you’re lucky I was in the area, then,” the dark-haired woman teased dryly.

Yes. Lucky.

“I suppose I am,” Kiara admitted. “What are you doing in here?”

Lilian looked away. “My lot gave me a commendation for excellent job performance.”

Kiara’s eyes widened. “So all this is your demonic work?” she pushed as she rose to her feet, glancing out the window where the world had frozen.

That didn’t make sense. Lilian’s machinations were never specifically bloody (Job’s kids and his children were a technically – the demon hadn’t actually harmed a hair on their bodies, save for a little mental scarring and Kiara’s nagging suspicion that the youngest of Job had spent years trying to scale walls once again.) And this was brutality, raw and swift.

“No, the humans thought it up themselves,” Lilian answered. “Nothing to do with me. I told you, clever machines to kill each other.”

She snapped her fingers and the manacles dropped from Kiara’s body, clattering on the stone floor. With a small noise of relief, Kiara started massaging her wrists.

“Well, I suppose I should say thank you for the um … rescue,” the blonde said.

Lilian rose gracefully and fluidly from her seat. “Don’t say that. If my people hear that I rescued an angel, I’ll be the one in trouble and my people … do not send rude notes.”

“Well, either way, I’m very grateful,” Kiara retorted. “What about if I buy you lunch?”

“Looking like that?” A smile tugged at the demon’s lips.

Kiara sighed, scrunching her nose in distaste as she miracled the executioner’s clothes onto her body and vice versa. “Well, it barely counts as a miracle, really,” she commented, stepping shoulder-to-shoulder with Lilian.

The demon raised her hands and snapped her fingers, letting the world start to turn again as the executioner continued his statement.

Realization dawned on Jean-Claude as his hands touched the finery now adorning his body and the guards strode through the door to escort him out.

“Dressed like that, he’s asking for trouble,” Lilian drawled sardonically. “What’s for lunch?”

A mischievous smirk danced across the angel’s face. “What would you say to some crepes?”

~*~

“So tell me, Angel, what really brought you to this hotbed of turmoil and sin?” Lilian asked as she pulled the knife through the crepe with an ease that belied the strength in the action.

“I told you, it was the crepes,” the angel insisted. She fiddled with her own utensils.

“Oh come off it, you and I both know that you could have popped in and out before any of those bumbling fools noticed you,” Lilian retorted as she took a bite. She stabbed the air between them with her now-empty fork. “No, I’m betting there was something else.”

“It could be crepes,” Kiara muttered. “You know I’ve always been fond of them.”

Before humans had had proper time to devote to art and leisure and were toiling all day in the fields, foods had been her gateway temptation, with Lilian and Kiara sneaking away from their realm’s gazes to partake in whatever new delicacy the demon had stumbled upon.

“Yes, I suppose, but I know you’re fonder yet of fine art and, in particular, several rarer pieces that I know for a fact were housed in the palace of King Louie XVI and his … extravagant wife. That would be perfect tinder for a mob’s bonfire,” the demon drawled with a knowing smirk. She leaned across the table, her glasses sliding lower on the bridge of her nose so she could peer at the blonde. “Have you been looting the palace, Angel?”

Kiara fidgeted in her seat, stabbing a strawberry with an unnecessary amount of force. “Well, I couldn’t just let them be destroyed.”

“That’s positively sinful of you,” Lilian cackled as she threw back her head.

The blonde blushed, feeling the flush creep up her cheeks. “It’s not really! I’m not keeping it for myself or anything so … selfish. I’m redistributing it to people who could have potentially owned it if the piece’s previous owners had been aware of the peril!”

“You say tomato, I say breaking a commandment,” the demon teased. “Thou shall not steal, Angel…”

She should have been more affronted by a demon’s insult to her honor, but this was Lilian.

“Well, I couldn’t sit back and allow another Alexandria situation. All that precious knowledge – gone forever,” Kiara rationalized before she took a bite. She closed her eyes in delight as the taste hit her tongue. “I told you no where makes them like Paris.”

“Would it be worth all the paperwork if you’d have been discorporated?” Lilian prodded, her eyes gleaming playfully.

Seeing Lilian was worth the paperwork. The crepes were just a nice bonus.

[squidwen]

🐺♥️Guardian Angels Classmates🍎♠️⚡️

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Requested by @hanafubukki

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Summary: After spilling a potion onto the uniform of a Pomefiore student, you just signed your death warrant.

Cornered and beaten, he and his Savanaclaw cronies show no signs of showing you any mercy. But when help does arrive, is it enough to save you?

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The walls were cold in the corner you’d been backed into. You felt so terrified, so helpless, so panicked. Every cell in your body ignited with adrenaline and screamed for you to run, but you couldn’t. Frozen to the spot was your body, your mind silently pleading for this all to just stop.

“Il me semble que notre souris a peur,” said the Pomefiore student. The two beastman Savanaclaws behind him snickered. You were by no means fluent in French, but you did know that ‘souris’ meant ‘mouse’ and your nerves spiked; the sharp canines of your company making you feel minuscule.

“Look,” you said, trying to keep your voice level, “I’m sorry for spilling that potion onto your uniform. Someone knocked my elbow, which made me drop the test tube rack and-“

The Pomefiore pinched your lips closed.

“P’rhaps this runt don’t yet know how things work ‘round here?” said a Savanaclaw.

“It’s one thing to have no magic,” said the other, “but another thing to have no manners.”

Suddenly, pain burst from your abdomen and you doubled over. “I couldn’t have phrased it better myself.” The Pomefiore had kneed you in the stomach. Colours seemed to lose their clarity as the taste of blood and bile rose in your throat. “Who do you think you are?” He kneed you again. “Coming to our world, our school, trying to learn our ways? You have no class, no style. You make us look weak.”

The Savanaclaws drew closer, cracking their knuckles. “Yeah. We can’t have runts like you making us look bad. Not when RSA remains undefeated for ninety-nine years.”

As low as it was, you wanted to beg them to stop. Two blows were all it took to fill you with so much agony you felt ill. You knew you wouldn’t be able to take much more, but the men didn’t seem content on stopping. The Pomefiore’s bony kneecap kept you pinned to the wall at a perfect angle for him to bring his fist down onto your back.

But the blow never came.

The student was thrown back, a wailing blur of indigo and white, as you crumpled to the floor, gripping your sides. Breathing was a challenge. Air didn’t seem to want to enter your lungs no matter how many times you opened and closed your mouth.

“Nicely done, Epel!” said a familiar voice. You tried to crane your neck up to see who it was, but a pair of hands – no, two pairs of hands – gripped your arms and hoisted you up roughly. You grunted with pain. The Savanaclaws’ held you between them. You felt a degree of satisfaction seeing their eyes so wild with shock, but twice as much relief at seeing who was in front of you.

Ace and Deuce were standing side by side, their magic pens at the ready. Epel was behind them, pointing his own pen at his fellow Pomefiore.

“How dare you raise a hand to me, Felmier!” he shrieked, ogling his creased uniform. “When I tell Monsieur Schoenheit-“

“He ain’t gonna be too pleased t’hear ye’ve been bullyin’ people,” spat Epel, slipping back into his country tongue. “Ain’t mighty graceful of ya.”

The Pomefiore pursed his lips, but there was something in how his body went rigid that communicated his defeat.

Meanwhile, Ace and Deuce hadn’t flinched. “Take your hands off (Y/N),” Ace said sternly.

The Savanaclaws only grinned. They had made you their shield. Still holding on tight to your arms, they grabbed the nape of your neck and throat, ensnaring you in a collar of fingers. “Try anything and we do some real damage-”

“You wouldn’t know real damage if it punched you in the ribs,” said a voice from behind you.

Suddenly, the Savanaclaws went staggering forwards, clutching their torsos tightly with pained expressions.

“Or maybe you would?”

You had recovered enough from the Pomefiore’s attack to stay standing, but Jack, built like a bulldozer, almost knocked you over as he leapt from the shadows. Despite it being two to one, he easily defended himself against the smaller beastmen. A few further blows to the chest and stomach and the pair of them fled, tails between their legs, dragging their Pomefiore comrade behind them.

Once their footsteps had receded into nothing, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. That was until Sebek burst from around the corner, yelling his head off.

“Human!” he cried. “Trust you to get yourself into a fix while I’m on duty!” He had a roll of bandages clenched in his fist. Upon seeing you standing on your own two feet, he ground to a halt and clenched his teeth. “And for what? You seem fine!”

“No thanks to you, cabbage,” said Ace.

“You missed all the fun,” added Deuce.

Jack turned to you and eyed you up and down. You didn’t have a speck of blood on you, but he could tell from how you were slightly hunched over that you had sustained a blow to the midsection. “Does it hurt if I press here?” he asked, prodding your lower ribs gently.

“Yes!” you seethed.

He hummed to himself thoughtfully. “It could be a broken rib.”

“A broken rib!” exclaimed Sebek. “From a twig like that student! I’ve fought in many sparring tournaments with opponents far stronger than him and barely got a bruise.”

“That’s because yer half fae, Sebek,” sighed Epel. “Ya heal faster and’re sturdier than us. And besides, this ain’t about you.”

They all turned to you. Your forehead creased with discomfort as Jack hooked his hand under your back and hoisted you into his arms. However, you were relieved to not have to walk to the infirmary, and Jack’s strides were long and steady. You hardly felt any pain at all.

“What was their problem anyway?”asked Deuce. He still had a hold of his magic pen. “When you didn’t show up for a study session in the library we got worried. Never would have imagined you’d be in a situation like that. Good thing we all came to look for you.”

“I accidentally spilt a potion on the Pomefiore’s uniform,” you said. “And I suppose the… ‘usual problems’, too.”

“Usual problems?” asked Epel.

You bit your lip. Why did you say that? You didn’t want to tell these guys you had once again been victimised for your magiclessness. Appearing weak was never something you wanted to do, especially before your friends whom you wanted to make a good impression on. You were already physically wounded, even a bit emotionally; you didn’t want your pride to be damaged either.

Your face must have told a thousand stories because Ace nudged your shoulder. “Spill, prefect. Now.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Your exclamation sent pain rocketing through your chest, making you wince. “I just…I don’t know why people are so bent on shaming me for being magicless.”

“Simple,” said Sebek. “It’s a sign of weakness, lack of potential, and-“

“Sebek!” snapped Epel.

Deuce sighed, a sympathetic smile on his face. “In all honesty, I think it’s jealousy more than anything else.”

“Who’d be jealous of having no magic?” you asked.

“What I mean is, some people had to work for years to get into this school, and all you did was show up.”

“True,” added Ace. “But I’d say the deeds you do for Crowley make you earn your place here. Besides, why should you have to use magic when you have us five to use it for you whenever there’s trouble?”

“Trappola is correct,” said Sebek. “Although I prefer to use my magic to serve the young master, I am indeed now bound by my duty as your friend to protect you.”

Seeing the five of them all dote on you like this made your heart swell. It reminded you of the sleepover (click link) you had shared, how they had pledged themselves to watch over you like brothers for the duration of your stay in Twisted Wonderland. You couldn’t deny your first-year posse was beginning to feel a bit like a family, and you resolved that regardless of how harsh others treated you, you would always have these five to fall back on.

“Hey, Epel,” said Ace, a mischievous glint in his eye. “If that Pomefiore is so precious about his clothes getting ruined, how about mixing up the Dorm laundry so that his shirts get put in with the red jumpers your mum made us all for Christmas?”

“My mum poured her heart and soul into those jumpers!” said Epel.

“Oh come on! He so deserves it.”

Epel smirked. “I didn’t say no.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Author note: Thank you for reading x please do send in asks/requests for what I should do next. I always love inspiration.

[snailor-bee]

One Piece Headcanons: Whitebeard Pirates Edition!

Okay so after seeing Foz's amazing art of Whitebeard in pearls that they drew for me, my friend Angel was like "I'm starting to feel like pearls are your style." Which got me wheezing because pearls are definitely a Foz art staple but also pearls just happen to be my favorite so I'm always like "oh yes bring on the pearls" so I guess we're both pearl enthusiasts. ANYWAYS what this all means is I had a cute and fun conversation with @aifozu and @itsthefandommash about the Whitebeard Pirates and pearls and I wanted to share!

Situation: A look at how pearls relate to the Whitebeard Pirates. Characters: Pops, Marco, Ace, Deuce, Thatch, Izou, Vista, Rakuyo, Namur, Haruta, Jozu

The Whitebeard Pirates have a monopoly on pearls. No one quite understands why but they buy them up like crazy. They pushed very hard to get an island that was technically under Marine protection to become a Whitebeard Territory, which was unusual in of itself. Most of the time islands begged them for protection. It wasn't until after it joined the long list of Whitebeard Islands, that people understood. The island was known for its pearls.

When a new member of the crew joins, they are bought to a large chest and told to pick at least two. When it's opened, most are not overly shocked to see it stuffed to the brim with pearls, every color and size imaginable. Whitebeard Pirates are known for it, afterall although no one really knows the significance. New members see how many Whitebeard Pirates walk around with pearls, clearly it means something to the crew.

No one says anything when a newly minted member selects two, digging carefully for a very long time to pick their perfect pearls. Nor does anyone breathe a word when someone else swipes the first two from the very top without a glance. Or when someone grabs a handful, or two, or even more. At least two is vague, but Whitebeard remembers what it was like to have nothing. Even if treasure never amounted to much for him personally, if someone takes more than their fair share of pearls, no one says a word. They understand what it's like to want.

After the newest nakama chose their pearls, they are told that one is to be given to Pops. They are led to his room, and when they step inside most gasp with surprise. It's a huge room, obviously, to house such a large man. But it's also covered in strings and strings of pearls. There are tiny hooks in the ceiling that the pearls are draped over, others dangle down the walls. His room is covered, one pearl for every child. More than a thousand pearls, all in one room. It is always a sight to behold.

"Why pearls?" People wonder. And only nakama are ever told. We are all children of the sea and pearls are made by the sea. Pops never wanted for treasure, but pearls always held a special place in his heart. So, the Whitebeard Pirates have pearls.

When a new nakama drink a sake cup and become family, many are proud to have their very own pearl shining on a necklace, or a bracelet, or an earring. Others might have it sewn into their clothes and still others have it hidden away in a room. Everyone shows their love differently and every type of love is accepted. They are family and they are loved.

Whitebeard Pirates and their Pearls

Marco

Blue pearl necklace, on a gold chain. His belt also has a few small pearl accents.

Ace

It was hard for him to pick at first, but he finally settled on a black pearl. He didn't wear the pearl at first until someone made him a thin jute rope bracelet, the black pearl woven in. Now he wears it with pride.

Thatch

Has a large brown pearl set in a gold ring. It goes on his middle finger but he rarely wears it, usually preferring to have it on a chain under his shirt. But when they go on shore leave he makes sure to put it on.

Izou

His "first" pearls were a lovely purple that he made into earrings. However nowadays he has every color of pearl with every accessory. He has to match whatever he's wearing, afterall.

Vista

Wears a silver-white pearl on a hat pin in his top hat. Sometimes people try to poke fun at him until he pokes back with his sword and they shut up. He likes his hat pin very much, thank you.

Rakuyo

Wears a gold pearl that dangles from one of his hoop earrings.

Namur

At first Namur didn't wear his. He felt too awkward about it, too out of place maybe. Even if the Whitebeard Pirates accepted him, accepted fish people in general, he still felt apart for the first few years. After becoming 8th Division Commander and seeing the love the crew had for him, he felt comfortable enough to showcase his pearl. It's a shiny grey and as his webbed fingers prevented a normal ring, he had it embedded in his middle finger. (A little bit to match Thatch, but don't tell him, it would go to his head.) It's subtle and not many people notice. But Namur does and that's all that matters.

Haruta

Powder green and he wears it on a fancy brooch. It matches his outfit perfectly.

Jozu

Still keeps his in his room. He had chosen a large, lumpy off-white pearl for himself. Sometimes he takes it out to hold it and rub a thumb across its textured surface. It calms him.

Deuce

A light blue, he wears it on a leather bracelet.

Pops

Would laugh at the question. He has over a thousand pearls, why does he need one of his own? The classic white pearl, set in silver on a ring on his finger says otherwise.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I have a 🍋 with Rook and Deuce, romantic please.

Ohhh, I see we have a rarepair request 🤔 How unusual!

(The best part of writing any romantic Rook piece is that I can literally just write him as normal and it can easily be interpreted as romantic by default just because of how he acts. Oh, Rook... Never change 😂)

Order Up!

When Deuce sprinted, he became one with the wind.

It was not unlike the sensation of riding on a Magical Wheel—ripping through the world at a breakneck pace. So fast and so furious that the sun and grass and sky became one. Hair flying in his face, wind crackling and roaring in his ears, blood singing, his feet losing all feeling.

He was floating, he was flying, he was free.

“TIME!!” Vargas called—and Deuce gradually slowed to a halt, his inner tailwind dying down. “Good time, boys! Take a break and grab some water before our next set!”

“Yes, Coach!!”

Deuce doubled over, resting his hands on his kneecaps as he caught his breath. Some of his bangs stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps—he wondered if his eye makeup was still in place, or smudged. (If it was the latter, Riddle would not be pleased with him.)

A sudden chilling sensation at the nape of Deuce’s neck disrupted his thoughts. Cold, frigid—like a block of ice against his flushed skin. A feathery voice caressed the shell of his right ear.

“Bon travail, Monsieur Spade.”

“GAHHH!!” Deuce screamed like a maniac and bolted upright, arms flailing.

He knocked the bottle offered to him out of the hand of his assailant, and into the air. Up, up, up it went, momentarily catching the light of the sun before falling down.

Deuce, too, fell back—having lost his footing during his panic. The wind returned, roaring loudly in every pore of his body.

The bottle, and Deuce, racing to the earth.

And then came the firm support on the small of his back, the hand that expertly plucked the bottle from the sky.

Deuce stared at the world turned on its head, help up by a dangerously deep dip. A rich, velvet-lined laugh drifted to his ears as he was slowly eased onto his feet.

“I hope you’re unhurt!” Rook trilled with the tip of his cap. “Mes excuses—it was not my intention to startle you!”

“Oh, it was just you, Hunt-senpai... No problem, I just, uh... wasn’t expecting you to come talk to me. Did you need something?”

“On the contrary, Deuce-kun! I simply wished to commend you for your athleticism!”

“You... what?”

“I was so enthralled observing you make your rounds on the track field. Why, it was as though I was watching an angel take flight to the heavens themselves!!”

Rook sighed longing, throwing his arms out. “Alas!! Even you were not immune to the hubris that felled Icarus... For the closer you drew to the sun, so, too, did you draw closer to meeting your untimely demise...!! But nary did you plunge into the waiting ocean or the earth below, but into my arms!!”

“... I understood none of that.”

Rook beamed in spite of the confused response.

“Suffice to say, I was touched by your marvelous performance! You must be sure to replenish your energy after such intense exercise!” Again, he offered his bottle. “For you, Monsieur Spade! Drink up!”

“Oh, thanks!” Deuce accepted it with a tired smile.

It didn’t occur to him to ask what exactly he was putting into his mouth until he had already taken a large swig from the bottle. Water, perhaps—extremely chilled, to the point where it made his teeth chatter. At the same time, the drink boasted a tangy, sour zing, perfumed with the faint aroma of citrus.

As if reading his mind, Rook chirped, “It is water infused with the essence of lemon, refreshing and rich in electrolytes. Mon roi favors it as a pick-me-up!”

“So that’s what it is. I’m not used to this, but...” Deuce wiped away at a bit of it that had dribbled down his chin. He smacked his lips together, spreading the tartness across his tongue. “It kind of does feel invigorating.”

“Fufu. I’m glad to hear it.”

TWEEEEET!!

Vargas’s shrill whistle cut through the field.

“One more minute!!” their coach bellowed. “Then I’m expecting to see you boys hitting the track again!!”

“That’s my cue.” Deuce took another sip before handing back the bottle. “Thanks again for the water, Hunt-senpai!”

“De rein. I’m happy to be of service!” Rook thrusted a hand into the air, laying the other over his heart. “Monsieur Spade... Deuce-kun!! I implore you, spread your wings once more and show me the true breadth of your beauty!!”

“You got it! I’ll do my best, so please watch over me!”

The huntsman’s eyes creased. He said something, but Deuce couldn’t make it out over the second blow of Vargas’s whistle. (Surely it was Rook wishing him luck?)

“Fufu. You would ask me to watch over an angel? What I would give to have you watch over me in return.”

The first year jogged toward the starting line, the taste of lemon lingering on his lips. So sharp, so acidic—it was difficult to believe that someone as sweet as Rook had produced it.

But when life gives you lemons, he supposed that Rook turned them into lemonade.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter one: double deuces

chapter one of book three, of course ;)

"tell me a story (will ya, will ya) a real good story (I won't leave till ya) spill your guts old man; leave out any secrets, hiding in the... any skeletons, and all your other sins any skeletons, in the closet! any skeletons, any misfortunes any skeletons, hiding in the closet! any skeletons, any skeletons in the closet!"

“Happy birthday, my dear friend.”

Aurora had taken Sam out to that Vietnamese restaurant for lunch on her birthday. Twenty two years old and she could feel the very essence of age over her head. In New York for two years and it all felt like a blur and the clear real thing all at the same time. In a year's time, she would be on the brink of her mid twenties: it all felt so ephemeral and so quick at the same time. It felt so odd to think that not even four years ago she was still in high school and she had gone into a strange brand new place in the meantime.

Four years felt like a lifetime ago, especially since she looked on at her black hair and she swore it was growing lighter over her temples. It could have just been the reflection of the glass in the mirror for all she knew, but when she went to brush her hair, she swore there were some light tendrils near the crown. As long as it didn't turn into a striking pearly white silver color, she knew she would be fine.

Aurora raised her white china tea cup for a toast to her. The soft aroma of the green tea comforted her, and she followed suit with her own cup.

Ever since she and Emile had gotten together, and ever since she had gotten that dress for Kirk's wedding the next weekend, Aurora had been dressing up more nicely: at the moment, she had a rich deep purple velvet sweater wrapped around her body and a little red rose tucked behind her ear. Despite the bitter New York cold, she started wearing more floral print tights to go with her skirts; Sam had to take a second look at her face to make out the sight of the black eye liner about the smooth edges of her eyes.

Sam herself meanwhile found herself drawn more to black—Aurora said it was because of her hanging out with Testament the past couple of weekends as well as Joey on certain days after school.

“I think it could also be because I'm in the arts,” she told her the day before. “Marla wears a bunch of black and Belinda has been wearing a lot of it, too.”

“Hangin' around the arts and hangin' out with a bunch of heavy metal dudes,” Aurora chuckled.

The art scene seemed so far away from her given she was a student and she even began to struggle with classes in recent days. Indeed, the thought of forfeiting college itself to live down in the real bohemian side of New York City was more tempting than ever to her. But she had nestled in the Bronx, three floors over Frank and down the block from Charlie and Marla. It was either pick up and go live alone in another part of town or stay there and continue to do what felt like spinning her wheels day in, day out. Sam tried to not let her thoughts cast a shadow on her own birthday, but she couldn't help but look at her own reflection in her tea cup and frown.

“Maybe it's all the doing stuff after school that's getting to you,” Aurora told her. “We haven't really seen Marla in the past few weeks.”

“No, we haven't,” Sam confessed as she gazed out the window at the snow drifts along the sidewalk.

“Well, if it's any comfort, I've been getting antsy myself,” Aurora said. “Emile wants me to move in with him but it's gonna be hard to do it especially if it's just him who's helping me with the move.”

“And you're going from Long Island up to the Bronx, too,” Sam added, “it was bad enough for me to get my bed up the stairs in that building.”

“It was tricky for me, too,” Aurora continued. “And you and I also moved across country, too.”

“And how—from around the same area, no less. Well, San Diego is way further south in comparison to Lake Elsinore, but it's near the same range, though.”

“It's all within range of L.A., that's for sure. L.A. and Riverside.”

“Hey, if Greg, Eric, and Louie can talk nonsense while they're in the studio, we can, too,” Sam pointed.

“Makes sense—Southern California exiles, the both of us.” Aurora raised her cup again to her and they clinked them together before they took a sip in unison.

“When's your birthday, by the way?” Sam asked her as she held her cup close to her mouth. “I can't remember if you told me or not.”

“May twenty ninth.”

“Oh, I see. I kept thinking it was in October for some reason.”

Aurora chuckled at that. “Well, I haven't really made it much of a point because my parents always treated birthdays different in comparison to that of American culture. I always wanted an American style birthday party growing up in San Diego but that's probably the one thing they brought over from the Korean peninsula is the way birthdays are treated.”

“And how's that?”

“When we reach a certain age, they have different celebrations for them. Like your first birthday is 'dol' or three hundred sixty five days since you were born, and that came from the fact Korea didn't have as good of protection on their newborns as we do here: so when you made it to your first birthday, it was significant. The family says a prayer for the kid and then they eat rice, seaweed soup, and rice cakes—my mom has a photo of me from my 'dol', I'll have to show it to you if and when we go out to San Diego together. They have cake and candles just like Americans, but the cake is far different—it's a lot more savory than it is sweet. And on New Year's, they eat a soup so they can finish up the age they are for the certain year. So you're actually considerably older on the peninsula than you are here. If you're ten years old, in Korea, you're considered eleven or twelve.”

“Wow.”

“And when you reach fifteen years of age, and you're female, you're considered an adult. That said, I'm glad I'm a born American because I can't imagine coming to New York City as a fifteen year old.”

“I can,” Sam said.

“You can?”

“As a boy.” She thought about Alex right then.

“Now, boys have to wait 'til they're twenty before they're considered adults.”

“So Alex would still be considered a boy right now?” she asked her. “Being eighteen?”

“Yes!” Aurora then burst out laughing and clapped her hands at that. “Oh, god, I just pictured him in the traditional horse hair hat that boys have to wear on their twentieth birthday, and I also just pictured him picking up a giant rock and lifting it over his head, too.”

“How giant are we talking, exactly?”

“One that dwarfs his entire body.” Aurora raised an eyebrow at that.

“I dunno, Aurora,” Sam confessed with a shake of her head, “—he's pretty thin but he's also got that little bit of baby fat left on him. He looks pretty soft.”

“Bet you he's way stronger than he looks.”

“Joey is,” Sam continued as she brought her cup back up to her lips.

“Joey is!”

“Mr. Hockey Player—yeah, that boy's tougher than nails.”

“Well—we are going to be in the Bay Area next weekend,” Aurora pointed out. “A whole weekend of doing stuff while Kirk and—Rebecca, I think is his fiancée's name?—while they're getting married. We all can just hang out and be a bunch of genuine friends together for a couple of days.”

Sam squinted her eyes at that.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked her in a low voice.

“You'll see. And maybe Exodus and Death Angel will want in on the fun, too. Fun with the 'little four'.” She flashed Sam a wink as she sipped from her tea once again. Right then, the sole waitress in the restaurant showed up at their table with their bowls of pho: chicken for Sam, vegetarian for Aurora. One more toast and they both dipped into their bowls of fresh hot soup.

At least that night she was to have cupcakes courtesy of Marla, forty dollars courtesy of Belinda, and a jovial phone call from her parents that night. Nothing more, nothing less, but at the same time, she wished for more and she knew that her flight back out to California that next Friday was the start of something for her. Something big and grand, like that next weekend in the Bay Area. It would take place on a day that wasn't her birthday, but it would be something.

Since it was Wednesday, after lunch, she headed back to school for the rest of the day and then back to her place in the Bronx. She stepped in through the front door: the first thing she noticed was the vase of yellow tulips on the table. They had lasted so long, and for so long in the heart of the first winter following Cliff's passing, but she noticed the wilt as it began to settle in on the yellow petals.

She would keep them there on the table until the pure yellow color vanished and they lost their smell, much like with the black hat Cliff had given her.

Sam took her seat on the couch with her drawing pad rested upon her lap. She was an artist in New York City, and yet she lived so far from the actual art scene. The boots still on her feet and yet she had no means as to how to look for it outside of her school work. Marla and Belinda had their way, for sure, but there had to be something more. There had to be, especially since she began to put her head down and put more work into her art for her classes. The struggle still came down on her, even as she gave her fish tails more scales and her humans more of a shading around their heads. It all seemed to slip away from the in between her fingers.

Everyone seemed to be doing better: her classmates received more praise, even Belinda who, at one point, admitted that graphites were a challenge for her as well. And yet, when Sam drew a self portrait surrounded by roses and water lilies, one of the comments Miss Estes left for her on the back side of the heavy grained paper was “lots of effort.”

She was eager for the flight out to the Bay Area by the time that early Friday morning rolled around, and she and Zelda were seated next to each other. She had packed that copy of Siddhartha with her but she had no idea as to when she would get to crack it open over the weekend.

Zelda had put on a plain white T shirt and fitted black jeans, and she had combed her short bob of black hair back for the flight. Apparently all she had packed with her were white shirts and black jeans.

“Don't you wanna look nice like at Cliff's memorial?” Sam asked her with a chuckle.

“I've got some suspenders and a tie to go with them,” Zelda replied. “It's a wedding for a friend of ours, and he said that we can wear whatever we like. So I told him that I'm gonna be full punk chick there. I'm guessing you'll be the artist?”

“Of course,” Sam replied, “the full black, baby.”

Zelda raised a hand to her for a high five and the light for the seat belts flickered on right then.

“I'll tell you this, Zelda,” Sam began.

“What's that?”

She peered over her shoulder to make sure Marla and Charlie paid no attention to them, given they were right across the aisle from them. Sam then gestured for Zelda to move in closer to her: beyond her and outside the window, she noticed the first few flurries of snow against the pane. She hoped they would take off soon.

“I'm getting kind of bored of New York,” she whispered to her.

“Really?” Zelda raised her eyebrows at her.

“Yeah. It's just—falling into the whole 'same old, same old' thing. I'm an artist, I should be able to go places with it all.”

“Absolutely, absolutely.”

“And I just—” Sam shook her head. “It's a great big city but I feel like there's nothing for me there anymore. Two years there and I'm not feeling it anymore. I'm glad we're going back out to the Bay Area for just this one weekend because I feel myself slowly going insane.”

“And why are you telling me this in a whisper?” Zelda asked her in a soft voice.

“Because—I don't know how to break it to Marla yet, or Belinda for that matter. Aurora kind of knows, but not in that sense, though. I made note of it to her but she didn't really suggest anything to me.”

“You can come to Providence,” Zelda suggested, “there's tons to do in Providence. Narragansett and Natick, too.”

“I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel trapped. Two years ago, I came here to the Northeast for a change of pace and it feels like it's trapped me sideways. There's no way out unless I really genuinely leave. The downside of course is—leaving you ladies behind and leaving Anthrax behind.”

“Yeah, and—we kinda like you, Sam. I do, especially. And I know Aurora does, too. And Marla.”

“Aurora is one of my best friends. Her and Frankie. They're my best friends. I don't know how I would handle leaving them both behind for a change of pace. I feel me and Marla drifting, if I'm honest. Can't really blame her, though—school's getting hard on her.”

“Well—whatever you do, Sam,” Zelda started again, “I'll support you on it. If nothing, you'll get the full support from me.”

“Thank you, Zelda. That—that means a lot to me.” Sam showed her a friendly smile.

Zelda shrugged. “I'm from Rhode Island,” she replied. “Moreover, I'm a punk rocker from Rhode Island. We look out for each other more so than these metal boys.”

They touched down in the Bay Area at five in the morning, and right as the sun began to rise right behind them. The thick fog surrounded the airport and Sam thought about the one and only Christmas she and Cliff spent together.

“Looks like San Francisco,” she muttered. “Feels like it, too.” She closed her eyes as they rolled up to the gate. She and Zelda stepped out of the airport first and she breathed in that marine air. She swore that New York was in fact her one true home, but there was just something about California that brought her more so into that feeling. That feeling that she needed to be there. All the fleeting thoughts led up to that moment there on the sidewalk.

Cliff's remains were not very far away from there, either.

She, Zelda, Marla, Aurora, and Belinda all stood at the curb as Charlie and Emile fetched their rental cars. All those men awaited them not too far from there, and Sam was eager to see Joey again given he flew in from Syracuse. That morning in which he and Belinda woke up before her and flirted with each other went through her mind every now and again. She never realized how much she wanted him until he put his arms around her and they locked eyes with each other. She needed to at the very least see him again: he also promised her a birthday gift.

Within time, Emile showed up with the little black car for himself and Aurora, while Charlie rolled up to the curb in a short dark green van. The four remaining girls piled inside away from the damp cold; Sam wanted to refer to him and Marla in the front seat as “Mom and Dad” again but she decided not to as she shivered under her jacket.

It wasn't New York, but Sam had forgotten how cold San Francisco could feel once the winter time set in.

“Okay, so we're going to a place called Marin Heights,” Charlie told them. “I think that's where the guys—Metallica—got the loft for us.”

“I've heard of it,” said Belinda from the middle seat.

“Me, too,” Sam added from the way back; Zelda huddled next to her and shook her head about. Sam had no idea as to why she didn't bring a jacket with her given it was winter in California. But instead, she peered out the small notch of a window to the Bay itself. She remembered that Testament were to film a music video out in Alcatraz, and those cold yellow lights from the island itself pierced through the foggy darkness. She wondered if they had finally wrapped up the recording of their first album since she wasn't able to sit in with them over the past couple of weeks because of school. She also wondered if she would receive any credit on it like with Stormtroopers of Death.

Charlie wound through the city until they reached the freeway, which in turn brought them up to Marin Heights, nestled back in the hills on the north side of town: they reached a switch back on the hillside so Sam was able to see the very top of the Golden Gate Bridge as it rose through the fog. The clouds themselves split apart so as to let the first rays of sunlight through and the metal of the bridge shone that bright amber color with the sunrise.

No wonder Cliff loved it there.

She sighed through her nose and turned her attention back to the road ahead of her as it turned away into the hills. Within time, they reached the top, and a small villa of little brick two story houses nestled back in the trees. She wondered if the wedding was going to be there as Charlie pulled up to the gravel driveway and stopped before the one closest to the street.

“I think this is us,” he informed them. “Or it might just be check in, I dunno.” He climbed out and then Sam and Zelda followed suit. The latter raised her lanky arms over her head and closed her eyes. Meanwhile, the former spotted a tall lanky boy with long black hair perched on a stone post on the other side of the driveway. He faced the other way but she knew those rich jet black curls anywhere.

“Joey?” she called out.

“Hm?” Zelda asked.

“Joey's over there.”

Zelda peeked around the rear end of the van and she nodded at her.

“Yeah, he is! Go get 'em!”

Sam then ducked around the end of the van and hurried over to him.

“Joey!” she called out. “Joey!”

He turned to face her with his eyebrows raised. He had lost a little weight so his waist was rather slim like Joey's, and the black hair dye held up, but she knew those deep eyes anywhere.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted him as she skidded to a stop before him.

“Hi,” Alex replied back to her with a thoughtful look on his face. “What's happening?”

“I thought you were Joey for a second.”

“You thought I was Joey?” he laughed at that.

“You have similar hair to each other.”

“His has more of a pile, though. Like right on top of his head. That big pile of ringlets atop his head.” He gestured to the crown of his head. “Even though I'm sitting down, I think he's a little bit shorter than me, too?”

“I think so?” Sam shifted her weight right there. Stray strands of his black hair lifted off of his shoulders in the wind and he ran his hand over the back of his head. He shivered from the feeling over his skin.

“God, it's cold out here,” he muttered as he adjusted his jacket.

“Yeah, it's pretty nippy. Not New York, but it's that California cold, though.”

“You know, both my parents are from New York,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Both obscenely smart Ivy League professors. They came out here before I was born to teach over at Berkeley.”

“Is that why you had the gray streak?” she asked him.

“Nah, I have no idea where that came from.” He shifted his weight yet again on that post. He seemed uncomfortable sitting there but Sam had no idea where to go right then. Charlie's voice behind her caught her ear and she peered over her shoulder at his talking to James.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Alex told her as he shifted his weight a fourth time. “Aurora told the five of us last week that it was her assistant's birthday and she didn't know what to get you.”

“Aw, thank you—it was back on the twenty first, though.”

“Happy belated,” he corrected himself, and she swore he winked at her. Someone called his name and he looked off to the distance.

“Hang on—” he said, and he darted past her towards Charlie.

“Sam?” Zelda called out to her, and she jogged back to her. Aurora had climbed out of Emile's car right next to them and she shivered inside of her windbreaker.

“What's up?”

“Apparently the wedding is today,” Aurora announced.

“Today?” Sam was stunned.

“Yeah. Three o'clock. I guess Kirk's lady couldn't wait for it a second longer so they're doing it today.”

“So we get a full weekend of good ol' fun,” Zelda added as she clasped her hands to her upper arms.

“Exactly!”

Sam turned her attention to Alex, who was talking to Charlie about something. His black hair twirled in the cold winter winds. Even from a distance, he had such a grave expression on his face that it made Sam think he was much older than in reality.

Belinda had the right idea: he was very precocious. But now she had a little bit of insight into the boy in that he was raised by intelligent parents. It was a start with Alex and she could only wonder from that point onward.

Aurora and Emile led her, Zelda, and Belinda into the cabin behind Charlie and Alex, and once they stepped inside of the cozy foyer, Zelda was eager to turn on the heater.

“Terrible idea not to pack a coat,” she muttered as she hurried down the front foyer in search of the thermostat, “terrible idea not to pack a coat!”

Sam and Belinda meanwhile took to the narrow stairwell in front of them, and they made their way up to that second level: to the right stood a couple of rooms, while to the left was the bathroom and two more rooms. The door at the far end stood slightly ajar, such that when they reached the top, they spotted that head of black curls outside the doorway.

“Hey, Joey,” Belinda greeted him. That lopsided grin and those big brown eyes returned the favor, and Sam's heart skipped a couple of beats at the sight of him. He didn't appear to be ready for a wedding at all with his plain white shirt, extra tight blue jeans, and ragged white socks.

“There are my girls,” he said as he padded closer to them.

“Oh deary me, you're gonna be down the hall from us?” Sam teased him.

“Yup, me, Frankie, and Charlie and Marla. We're gonna be all here at the end of the hall if you need anything.”

“You know the wedding is today right?” Belinda told him.

“Oh, shit, is it really?” Joey raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, Aurora just told us,” Sam added, and her heart sank at the thought of him barely being in the know of these things. “Three o'clock. So Bel and I are gonna get settled in and get dressed.”

“Oh, damn, thank you,” he told her, and his brown eyes sparkled at the sight of her. Cold as the earth and as engulfing as venom. He doubled back to his room and Sam pushed open the door in front of her. Inside stood a small bunk bed and a heavy wooden dresser underneath the window.

“Top or bottom?” she asked Belinda.

“You're older and got way more inside, so top,” she replied as she lay her purse down on the faded blue comforter upon the bottom bed. Even though they had plenty of time before the wedding, Sam wanted to clean up, and change her clothes and look her best. She hadn't been to a wedding in what felt like forever: there was one from when she was three years old, but she had no memory of it and she had no clue as to who even got eloped then, either.

Belinda offered to curl her hair and do it up extra nice, but she promised her there was very little to actually do up given her hair sat flat on her head. If only she could make curls into a crown like with Joey, but she had what she had in the form of a red wine colored dress and a thin black sweater over the top: the dress was a bit snug around her hips but she need not obsess over something as trivial as that when she remembered what Joey wanted to give her.

She was about to head on back inside of their room when she spotted him on the other side of the hallway with the five men from Death Angel, if she recalled correctly. Once again with the quintets and she would learn all of their names in the meantime. But he had a box wrapped in old faded red wrapping paper tucked under his arm and she hoped it wasn't just a wedding gift, especially since he still hadn't gotten dressed.

He laughed at something one of them said and he turned around.

“Oh, there you are!” he called out to her, and he scurried towards her. The tape on the edges of the box and the crooked look of the paper itself told her he wrapped it in a hurry, but she didn't mind at all once she slid her fingers under the edge of the paper closest to her. Careful not to tear it, she unwrapped it and lifted the lid. Inside was a pair of black leather gloves and a red and white knit scarf, the latter of which she ran her fingers over to find it softer than anything she had felt before. It was as soft as a cat.

“It's your own pair of gloves plus a scarf,” he declared. “I just think about how cold you always get upstate.” He shrugged at that.

“I love it, Joey! It's so soft.”

“It's cashmere.”

Sam gaped at him. “Cashmere,” she echoed him.

“Yeah—it was marked down, though. But it's cashmere. I wanted to give you something nice and good and good and nice.”

She slipped the gloves on and they fit around her fingers as if they were made for her. Joey offered to put the scarf around her neck; he stood before her, a country boy in a plain white shirt before a California girl in a dark red dress, and he wrapped the scarf around her.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered to her. “Happy birthday. Double deuces as of ten days ago!”

“Thank you—” She put her arms around him and she held him close. His slender little body was as soft as that scarf, and he smelled of fresh baked bread, something she would be willing to experience as long as he didn't have a drop of alcohol on hand.

Maybe there was in fact something more to life than being in that groove all the time. Maybe she could find a way to break out of her shell, and she could owe it all to him.

And she still hadn't told her parents about him.

[alphacygni]

The one with the interdimensional snogging.

****************

Crowley’s Flat

The Night of the (Not) End of the World

 Evil, it had been established, never sleeps. Crowley himself indulged, of course, but otherwise, on the whole, the maxim stood.

The question occupying Crowley at the moment, however, as he watched Aziraphale circle his flat like a jumpy mouse dropped into a maze, was the inverse proposition: does Good sleep?

Given that Evil is boundless and ever abroad, Good would have to keep up, wouldn’t it? Good couldn’t be seen slacking. There was a whole deadly sin for that: one of Crowley’s favorites, in fact[1].

Metaphysics aside, however, Aziraphale did look tired. The first yawn had been understandable enough, coming as it did while Crowley tried to explain, with little success, the purpose of a wireless router.

The second yawn had burst through the angel’s admiration of Crowley’s tropical orchids[2].

The third came just as Aziraphale’s circuit brought him to the statue, where it battled a puzzled smile and a lean in for a closer look. “What the deuces are they—“

“Fancy a lie down?” Crowley interrupted, directing the angel away. “The bed’s through there if—”

The look on Aziraphale’s face told him he’d been dangerously misunderstood.

“If you want to rest.” As if to illustrate, Crowley stretched his arms theatrically. “I’m knackered myself. Could do with another century-long kip, probably.”

The mouse in the maze appeared to have gotten an electric shock. “Oh…well. Yes. I suppose I wouldn’t say no to a rest. Tiring business, the Apocalypse. I’ll, uh…I’ll take the sofa.”

They both looked at the black sofa skulking in the center of the room. Corners glinted and pristine leather menaced. It looked as inviting as a metal bench in a heatwave. When Aziraphale finally worked up the courage to sit, the cushions growled resentfully.

“Modern furniture,” Crowley explained. “Not really about comfort.”

“I should have known modern design was one of yours.” The angel gave him a small smile.

It bolstered him. “We could…I mean, if we’re both going to lie down, I don’t see why we couldn’t…?”

A swallow. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Your virtue’s safe, angel. Besides, we’re about to spend Devil knows how long wearing each other’s faces and bodies around. I think we’re past the point of blushing about lying in the same bed.”

As it turned out, however, they weren’t.

The moment they were lying beside one another, the angel blushed furiously. It was uncomfortably charming[3].

They stared at each other, as far from sleep as two beings—celestial, infernal, or otherwise—could possibly be. Neither suggested sobering up. Alcohol, at the moment, was a marvelous ally.

“Well,” Crowley said unhelpfully.

“Yes.” Aziraphale agreed. “Rather.”

Sheets whispered as they turned away from each other, back to back, Crowley on his side, the angel on his—a miniature cosmos on thousand thread-count silk.

“G’night, angel.”

“Um…yes. Good night.”

Silence.

The first few minutes eked past, and Crowley was sure he’d never been less relaxed in his life. Each shift registered Richter-like; each sound poured through a funnel into his ear.

One of the nice[4] things about linear time, however, is that it just…moves on, continues, end over end, until a person can grow accustomed to even the most unnerving events. And so, eventually, as time ticked forward, the strangulated muscles in Crowley’s back loosened, the whites of his eyes faded. Shoulders rounded forward, and he let himself stretch: all of him, corporeal and non-corporeal bits alike. It was a hellishly good feeling. Manifesting in a physical body wasn’t terrible, but it was irritating: something like walking around with a pebble in your shoe except, in this case, his body was the pebble and the shoe was a radiant form of demonic energy that permeated all that had been or would be from the beginning of creation to the end of time.

Beside him, the angel’s breathing stopped, which Crowley took for a good sign.  He’d relaxed enough to give up the illusion of oxygen-carbon dioxide exchange and had even begun to release his corporeal hold a bit. In the space at their backs, reality slackened, fluttering between this world and beyond.

It was in this way that Crowley got a peek.

It wasn’t the sort of peek one got, say, through a lit window from behind bushes. This was in a mirror, darkly, and had nothing to do with eyes. Crowley stayed turned away, but he saw it nevertheless: the angel, Aziraphale—all of him, dazzling as a beam of sunlight might be if it could multiply itself infinitely and blaze across every wavelength and color at once.

Had Crowley been pretending to breathe, the sight would have taken his breath away.

So rapt was he, in fact, that he startled stupidly when the angel spoke.

Spoke is, perhaps, an inaccurate term. What Aziraphale said was not aloud nor in any language that has ever sounded on the Earth. It was a celestial tongue—one Crowley had not heard in more than six-thousand years and one no human could ever hope to comprehend. To human ears it would sound like nothing so much as Beauty shaped around Truth: the cool whisper of wind on a spring morning. The ache of bowed strings. The ecstatic crash of waves on a still and empty shore.

The closest translation into human English, however, would be in the decidedly less transcendental vicinity of: I’ll show you mine…

Crowley forced a useless breath. And another.

He was vaguely aware of the spot where he gripped the sheets.

He wanted to throw open the curtain and let the angel look—yearned for it in a way that had 6000 years at its back. He longed to show and to be seen as he hadn’t been seen since Before. Since his wings had burned black.

But he knew better. He had to measure it. Tread lightly.

He didn’t want to go too fast.

A fraction—as titillating a fraction as he could manage—Crowley released his hold on reality, too. Between their backs, matter bucked and waved as if caught in a breeze. For the first time in his corporeal existence, Crowley felt the prickle of hair on the back of his neck. The uncanny thrill of being watched by a hundred eyes.

When the angel’s wing touched his in that space between it was soft and almost. Feathers and light slid for no more than a held breath. Nothing to see.

But to feel…

Crowley still remembered—still relived often in the pit of his stomach—the sensation of his Fall. The pull and the terror, the blistering heat that that gave way to creeping cold and to the gleam of amputation.

This was the opposite—not a Fall but an Ascent, electricity pinging to both poles at once. It worked down his spine like a teasing finger, stroked up his leg like a wanton hand. It grabbed him, firm, about the middle and filled him until there was nothing left but surrender and a hunger too hot and immediate to name.

It was warmth. That warmth of the Beginning, before everything else.

Around them ions rattled, every atom singing, echoing in those hollows between electrons.

He was panting (uselessly), he was sweating (uselessly), and he’d cried out, he was sure, whether in this reality or the one beyond he didn’t know. A moan, a prayer or both at once.

How does a demon say hallelujah?

At the sound, the angel startled, and the curtain drew taut once more.

Another fall.

A diz z y pop and

a lack.

“I…I don’t know if this is a good time to…”

Everything settled back into the mold of reality, sliding around the angel’s tiny, earthly voice. Crowley became aware of his eyes again, sight and color returning in patches as if he’d stared too long at the sun. When he touched them, he found them damp.

“There…there’ll be a lot happening tomorrow.” The angel’s voice juddered as he stood, renewed breaths uneven. “I’ll, um, I’ll keep a watch.”

But Crowley heard the words behind—a different sort of unspoken language.

It was that same question again.

What if I did the wrong thing?

And Crowley wondered, as always, if there was ever a right one.

Alone again, he rolled over until he was on the other side. It was still warm.

He breathed in that familiar scent and tried, desperately, to rest.

**************

[1] In the same way waiters at posh restaurants are asked to try dishes so as to make recommendations, demons are required to indulge in each of the deadly sins in order to more effectively tempt humanity. Crowley had spent much of the doldrums of prehistory trying them out one by one. For his money, sloth had the others beat by a country mile, though lust could come a close second when the timing was right. He’d never quite got the hang of acedia, so he was glad when they knocked that one off and replaced it with a proper, respectable sin like envy.

[2] Tropical orchids did not typically thrive in London, but Crowley’s orchids knew what was good for them.

[3] Crowley was, in fact, briefly tempted to rearrange his rank ordering of the deadly sins.

[4] And terrible.

[beemansclub]

Wrestling Tags Master Post

I’ve been gaining some followers, so if you need help navigating my wrestling head-space here ya go.

Singles

fight grumpy bear fight – Kevin Owens ➡️ high flyin murder bear – Kevin doing rope moves and/or being acrobatic ➡️ you are such a little shit and i live for it – Kevin being a turd sunshine bear cub – Sami Zayn / El Generico sourpuss has a tag – Seth Rollins / Tyler Black nui honu o ka naau – Roman Reigns dreadlocked swamp bear – Bray Wyatt yeti monster hurls a xmas tree – Braun Strowman ohno is hero – Kassius Ohno / Chris Hero bayley aka pure sunlight – Bayley murder lioness – Nia Jax asskicking cupcake – Candice LeRae dogg always be dancin – Road Dogg / BG James nxt dad – HHH aj the king of petulance – AJ Styles jack the gentleman – Jack Gallagher rudeboy neville – Neville / PAC halfdragon ember moon – Ember Moon prince mustafa – Mustafa Ali smol demon prince – Finn Balor / Prince Devitt gloriously roode – Bobby Roode queen heel – Steph McMahon what is it with you and elbows through the announce tables? – Shane McMahon everyone’s favorite omega – Kenny Omega aa and his banana – Austin Aries dolph gunn – Dolph Ziggler (he’ll always be Billy Gunn’s son to me) uncle samoa joe – Samoa Joe a perfect tye – Tye Dillinger tozawa – Akira Tozawa handsome rusev – Rusev glow queen – Naomi dutch antihero – Aliester Black / Tommy End trashy snarlboy – Pete Dunn mustache mountain the youger – Tyler Bate mustache mountain the elder – Trent Seven wolfie bear – Wolfgang villain☔️ – Marty Scurll adam bay bay – Adam Cole the greatest peacock – Dalton Castle ricochet👑 – Ricochet / Prince Puma dusty – Dusty Rhodes goldie – Golddust baby dream – Cody (Rhodes) / Stardust royal nattie cat – Natalya jimmy jacobs – Jimmy Jacobs kinshasa king – Shinsuke Nakamura not a cat (wo) – Will Ospreay takahashi and daryl – Hiromu Takahashi (and Daryl) tranquilo naito – Naito walking with elias – Elias (Sampson) thumbs up thumbs down – Sami Callihan / Soloman Crowe / Jeremiah Crane ruby riot – Ruby Riot hippie juice – Juice Robinson / CJ Parker philly boy gulak – Drew Gulak hottest dad – Joey Ryan no ham dar – Noam Dar foxycase – Alicia Fox he thinks his name is trent – Trent(?) Beretta chuckie t – Chuck Taylor mr crazy posture – Kyle O'Reilly fishie butt – Bobby Fish sterling graves – Corey Graves / Sterling James Keenan kogane no hoshi – Kota Ibushi we can roll – Rickey Shane Page / Christian Faith lil kazu – Okada Kazuchika cabana!!! – Colt Cabana lone wolf – Baron Corbin gresham 🐙🌈 –Jonathan Gresham penta – Pentagon Jr / Penta El Zero (0) M rising fenix – Fenix mjeff – MJF cedric – Cedric Alexander cien – Andrade Cien Almas ds david starr – David Starr jack sexsmith – Jack Sexsmith the lights not right for velveteen – Velveteen Dream / Patrick Clark pagefabe3.0 - Adam "Hangman" Page jersey bred fighter – Sonya Deville friesian clydesdale – Drew McIntyre tilly's bad boy – Joey Janela prince tana – Hiroshi Tanahashi tom tim philippe phillips – Tom Philips (WWE Commentator) deathmatch ref – Drake Wuertz / Drake Younger 316 – Stone Cold Steve Austin y2j – Chris Jericho brodie – Luke Harper / Brodie i like this boy who wrestles barefoot! – Matt Riddle star factory – Curt Hawkins / Brian Myers #zsj🇬🇧 – Zack Saber Jr miz the wiz – The Miz slam dancer – Zachary Wentz officer o'scare – Dan O'Hare

Teams and Groups

milk and honey tag team – Sheamus and Cesaro (Sheasaro) ➡️ cesaro is so underrated – Antonio Cesaro / Claudio Castagnoli ➡️ this irish idiot – Sheamus jeriko experiment – Chris Jericho and Kevin Owens storyline ➡️➡️ crash and burn ending – JeriKO (Festival of Friendship and after) ➡️➡️ its ending :( ��� JeriKO (buildup to Roadblock: End of the Line 2016) unicornmen of a new day – The New Day ➡️ big e is a national treasure – Big E ➡️ xavier austin creed woods phd – Xavier Woods ➡️ kofi the goat – Kofi Kingston thicc southern bears – The Revival ( Dash Wilder and Scott Dawson) the polyamorous tag team – DIY (Johnny Gargano, Tommaso Ciampa, {Candice LeRae}) ➡️ not replaceable – Tommaso Ciampa (was originally for DIY break-up) beauty and the man beast – Heath Slater and Rhyno fashion po po – Breezango (Tyler Breeze and Fandango) ➡️➡️ The Fashion Files are Amazing Comedy started from the bottom now we here – anything with Kevin and Sami/Generico ➡️➡️ cute but evil guardian angels – Sami & Kevin as friends post HiaC 2017 bullet club brothers – Luke Gallows and Karl Anderson sheasaro and their daughter bayley – Cesaro, Sheamus, and Bayley ladder kings – Matt and Jeff Hardy ➡️ broken and woken – Matt Hardy ➡️ brother eagle – Jeff Hardy superkick party animals – The Young Bucks (Matt Jackson and Nick Jackson) red shoes white shoes – Street Profits (Montez Ford and Angelo Dawkins) royal 1s – AJ Styles and Charlotte grindkore ascending – The Ascension (Konnor and Viktor) deuce uce – The Usos (Jimmy and Jey Uso) 🤙 – Samoa Joe and Roman Reigns big guys soft hearts – War Machine aop – Authors of Pain (Akam and Rezar) axe n bow – The B Team / The Miztourage (Curtis Axel and Bo Dallas) the rep – The REP.

General Wrestling Tags

wwe after dark – anything not “live” on USA uudd is (➡️ and it’s beautiful ) – up up down down content house show  wrestling is beautiful – stuff I find funny, abnormal, and/or cool; storyline paralells; sportsmanship wrestling is a serious thing – when they do off the wall bullshit (actually used once for a serious post.. so I guess can go both ways ) i just cant quit you wwe – now used as a generic “untagged” for wwe content indies posts  indies time machine  smackdown lovelies – I’m a RAW Brand person so this is the guys on Blue I like cross promotion stuff impersonating other characters mmc – Mix Match Challenge yes yes yes yes – Bray’s heavyweight title run frenemies making magic – When rivals team up to beat a third (or fourth) rival during a match southpaw regional wrestling excited panda rolls – wrestlers rolling around with their newly won title aesthetic

Extra Special Tags

otp: kev + titles – Kevin kissing, hugging, or cuddling his titles otp: kev + zoos *kevin speaking french *sami speaking french *sami speaking arabic *joe sensually promising murder !cesaro voice: fellaaaaa – Cesaro using “fella” to refer to Sheamus !kevin owens voice: i never once felt bad i feel great [ripping signs] – Kevin ripping people’s signs that's deep kevin – interviews where he gets deep this is more for kevin’s hands than anything – he talks with them a lot, they’re expressive wonderful blue thunder bombs the guerrero gag – "Using" weapons behind the ref's back to trick them for DQ

[firstdraftpod]

Ep 186: Alfred Gough and Miles Millar

First Draft Episode #184: Alfred Gough and Miles Millar

  Alfred Gough and Miles Millar, the TV and screenwriting duo behind Smallville and Into the Badlands, join Sarah to talk about their debut thriller, Double Exposure. The guys talk about how, even after writing and/or producing more than 300 hours of television and movies, they are still engaged in learning and improving their craft; getting on the superhero train WAY before the MCU; and delivering a satisfying ending in books.

Links and Topics Mentioned In This Episode

Bugs, a BBC One TV show created by UK-based Carnival Films (Agatha Christie’s Poirot; Downton Abbey; many others)  for which Al and Miles wrote two episodes

The Hardy Boys series of children’s mysteries created by Edward Stratemeyer (who also created Nancy Drew)  and written by ghostwriters under the pen name Franklin W. Dixon

The Peter Stark Producer program at USC, where Alfred and Miles met and learned all aspects of the film industry

Laura Ziskin, producer of No Way Out, and Pretty Woman, who was an influential teacher at the USC film production program to Al and Miles

William Goldman, an author (Adventures in the Screen Trade, The Princess Bride, many, many others) and screenwriter (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid; All the President’s Men, among many others) renowned for writing scripts that entertained the reader -- a trend followed by screenwriters Shane Black (Lethal Weapon; The Last Boy Scout) and Joe Eszterhas (Flashdance; Basic Instinct)

John August, Al and Miles’ classmate at USC and screenwriter of Big Fish, Frankenweenie, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, as well as author of the Arlo Finch middle grade series (listen to his First Draft interview here)

Mango, the spec script that Al and Miles sold right out of film school

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, the movie that made Al and Miles’ spec script a hot commodity out of film school

Scriptnotes, the podcast co-hosted by John August and fellow screenwriter Craig Mazin, which is a worthy companion podcast to any writers who enjoy First Draft!

  Bugs, a BBC One TV show created by UK-based Carnival Films (Agatha Christie’s Poirot; Downton Abbey; many others)  for which Al and Miles wrote two episodes

Homicide: Life on the Street, a police drama based on the work of David Simon (The Wire; Treme; The Deuce)

3rd Rock From the Sun, a sitcom in the 90s starring John Lithgow and Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Lethal Weapon IV and Shanghai Noon, the two buddy comedy scripts that Al and Miles wrote before Smallville

The WB, Smallville’s network (RIP)

Lois and Clark, the TV show about Superman that predated Smallville

    X-Men, the 2000 movie that helped bring about the superhero resurgence on film and TV

Christopher Nolan, the writer and director who rebranded Batman in the well-regarded Dark Knight trilogy of films

    Thor: Ragnarok and Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse, two recent superhero movies with tons of comedy

Spider-Man II, Al and Miles’ take on Spider-Man, which was a little more serious than the Spider-Man we know today

Jenette Kahn, executive, publisher, editor-in-chief of DC Comics when Al and Miles created their spin on the Superman universe with Smallville

    Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dawson’s Creek, some of the teen stories that dominated TV when Smallville debuted

I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore (the pen name of James Frey, Jobie Hughes, and Greg Boose), and the film of the same name written by Al and Miles, and their first collaboration with James Frey (author of A Million Little Pieces and book entrepreneur with Full Fathom Five)

Hannah Montana: The Movie, which Al and Miles produced, thanks to Al’s oldest daughter, who was obsessed with that TV show

Jet Li, Jackie Chan, Donnie Yen, and Michelle Yeoh are among the internationally respected martial artists and actors Al and Miles have worked with

    Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers are some of the epic movies that inspired Al and Miles for the world of Into the Badlands

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown as a model for the franchise character with a little-known job that leads to globe-trotting adventures--the kind of story Al and Miles were interested in telling with Double Exposure

The famous transcript of Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Lawrence Kasdan talking about Raiders of the Lost Ark

    The Alfred Hitchcock film North by Northwest, The ODESSA File by Frederick Forsyth, and the works of John le Carre are among the films and authors cited throughout Double Exposure

Last Remaining Seats, a program that shows old movies in downtown Los Angeles

The Zapruder Film (YouTube link) (warning: depicts a presidential assassination), which might factor into the Double Exposure follow-up novels…

Mimi Leder, director of Deep Impact, gave the guys some great advice when they were feeling overwhelmed

“Just cut the last two lines of every scene.” Advice from Quentin Tarantino that Al and Miles swear by

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins and Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, two thrillers that they admire

Hilary Mantel, author of Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies

James Patterson

Waterstones bookstore in London

        The Shannara Chronicles by Terry Brooks, which Al and Miles adapted for television

  Al and Michaels loved taking Masterclass online classes from: David Mamet; Aaron Sorkin; Shonda Rhimes; and James Patterson

  Subscribe To First Draft with Sarah Enni

Every Tuesday, I speak to storytellers like Veronica Roth, author of Divergent; Michael Dante  DiMartino, co-creator of Avatar: The Last Airbender; John August, screenwriter of Big Fish, Charlie’s Angels, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; or Rhett Miller, musician and frontman for The Old 97s. Together, we take deep dives on their careers and creative works.

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